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ariadnelives · 15 days

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Dokkaebi Fire - A Short Story

Author's Note: The bulk of this story takes place during the events of "Force Majeure," directly between chapters 8 and 9, during the crew's time in hiding in Xiagu. It is not intended to be read in sequence. If you'd like to catch up on the series so far, you can do so on ao3 or tumblr.

“Cookie?” Pilar called into the flat as she entered, not waiting to be let in. “It's me today. Ariadne's making final preparations for her surgery tomorrow, but she'll be by as soon as she's back on her feet.”

Aoibheann sat on the armchair in the living room, pointed at the television which appeared to be carrying a local news broadcast from one of Saturn's other moons. She had a blanket draped over her lap, and she watched the news broadcast idly, taking in none of it.

“Remember, starting tomorrow, Ariadne won't remember anything beyond the six-month point in our stay here, and we have to keep it that way, so, be careful what you say around her.” Pilar laughed without joy.

Aoibheann did not.

“You know,” Pilar tacked on, “I'm a complete liar. You could dime out the whole plan and I'm pretty sure me and Ari would absolutely leap for joy as long as it meant you were talking again.”

Aoibheann glanced over at Pilar wistfully, dark circles under her eyes, but said nothing. These little responses indicated their old friend could still hear them in there, that they could get through to her, even if she couldn't muster the strength to respond. She'd barely spoken since they lost the station. She was usually a tightly-wound powder keg, full of fire and passion, and she had to direct it towards her purpose or else she’d explode. Now, it was like all that fire inside her had gone out, and all that was left of her was an exhausted shell of a woman.

She seemed able to move around on her own, but rarely found the motivation to do so. She had grown somewhat thin and gaunt, as she only ate when fed, so every day, Pilar or Ariadne or one of her apprentices would stop by to see her and make sure she ate. Sasha had been spreading herself far too thin on Ariadne's project, but still found time to check in on her and monitor her physical health. Her apprentices had removed all sharp objects, belts, and shoelaces from the premises, but Pilar thought that was overkill. She had known Aoibheann long enough to know she would never physically harm herself. Still, it didn't make it easy to watch her torture herself like this.

Pilar sat next to her, and gently took her hand.

“I hate having to feed you this stuff, Cookie,” she said, opening up a small gray package she'd brought with her. “Replicated MREs. No wonder Baltimore and Beam went to a convenience store twice a week when they were in the army.”

Aoibheann looked with disdain at the lump of meat before her, served with a mush that could only be described as “prepared grain.” She hated eating it as much as Pilar hated serving it to her.

In their small hidden town of Xiagu, all of the food came out of the replicators. Xiagu had a surplus of energy, with its passive solar collection and years of nobody to use the stored power, so nobody was worried about the expenditure of creating food and water from reserves.

Back on the station, they had only managed to earmark power for replicator use two years previously. Like most spacecraft, all of the water fixtures were powered by replicators, generating as much water as needed from a stored bank of energy, which was in turn refilled by a device in the drains which converted waste-water into energy. The food replicator could make prepared meals, but crew members would only be allowed to use it if they could make up the energy cost. This happened pretty naturally, as everybody had to use the bathroom regularly and could credit this to their account, and had the handy benefit of encouraging people to clean up after themselves-- every time you emptied your trash into the energy-reclamation chute, you added replicator energy to your canteen account.

However, back home, most people didn't bother to use the replicators, because truly, Cookie's food was better fresh than anything they could produce, and she loved making it. Here in Xiagu, however, the replicators had nothing but military-grade “Meals Ready to Eat” and raw ingredients programmed into them. When the town was alive, there had been gardens to produce the vegetables, and people to tend them, harvest them, and cook them in the many small restaurants. Now, all that was left was replicators.

Cookie's star apprentice, Yellow, had been put in charge of the replicators while Cookie was indisposed, and had very few requests for anything other than the prepared MREs since they'd been there. Everyone on the crew was required to learn to cook, from Cookie, and nobody particularly felt up to trying to fill her shoes. Everyone had pretty much accepted meals of nondescript lumps of meat, vegetables, and starches on the firm belief that any day now, Cookie would be back on her feet, doing what she loved.

Yellow was the one in charge of food distribution, and had desperately been asking Ariadne to authorize them to reopen Cookie's kitchen, with her at the helm, until Cookie was well enough to resume her post. It's what Cookie would want, she insisted, but Ariadne was taking Cookie's condition unusually poorly, and had refused to allow the kitchen to operate without Cookie present. Yellow was frustrated, but understood. Nobody would feel right about having communal meals like before without Cookie.

Pilar carefully cut up the packaged meal and fed bites to Cookie, who halfheartedly complied with each bite. She offered her a cup of tea, which Cookie held for warmth but wouldn't drink without prompting.

“Look, Aoibheann...” Pilar said, “I know you're not well. I know this has been harder on you than anyone.”

Cookie met her gaze.

“But I don't...” Pilar began, and choked. “I don't think Ariadne will go through with this with you in this condition. She cares about you too much. You know what you mean to her. To me. She's not going to put herself at risk until she knows you're okay.”

Aoibheann looked downcast.

“She needs you,” Pilar whispered. “I need you. Please come back to us.”

****

Aoibheann's mind drifted back to when she’d met Ariadne and Pilar, thirteen years previously. She had been living on the streets for two years and had only passing contact with Pilar. She had been homeless since the Hanguk-Éire massacre, when Susan Weaver’s bombs had incinerated her family’s house and restaurant, left her and her mother destitute, and claimed her father’s life. Her mother had turned to drugs to cope with the loss, and ultimately found herself bleeding out in the gutter after an altercation with a pusher who she couldn’t pay for her latest fix.

She had distrusted the new girl at first. In her experience, another new person living under the overpass was another person who might get to the good scraps before her. She didn’t need any more competition. There was, however, a certain unspoken respect between her and the Aguilar girls. They were the only kids living on the streets of that particular block, and they had to look out for one another. They didn’t talk much, but they had struck up an arrangement. Pilar needed to go foraging to keep Sasha fed, and knowing that she would have to dig through trash bins and steal from loosely-guarded shops to make this happen, she felt it was too dangerous to bring her nine-year-old sister along with her.

So, she struck up an arrangement with Aoibheann: if she kept Sasha safe while she went out on runs, Pilar would try and steal a little extra food so Aoibheann could eat as well. Pilar and Sasha had been squatting in an abandoned house on a nearby side-street, and Aoibheann could crash there in exchange for keeping an eye on Sasha. It was shelter, and food, and it was a better deal than she was getting anywhere else. Under normal circumstances, Aoibheann would’ve developed a mighty crush on Pilar, but crushes were the sorts of things normal girls got to have. Aoibheann needed to focus on staying alive.

The new girl had been Racquel when they met. She had been raving about how the world was going to end, a secret conspiracy to reign atomic hellfire onto the bio-domes. It was the standard fare of the doomsaying lunatic, so nobody paid her much mind, but she’d named Ramos and Ramos specifically in her raving, and that caught Pilar’s attention. Nobody hated the Ramoses like Pilar, although Aoibheann didn’t yet know why.

So, Pilar and Racquel started going out on runs together. Suddenly, they were bringing back more than enough food, not only for the four of them, but they even got to share it with the others under the bridge. One day, they came home clean, wearing fresh clothes, and carrying a bundle of new clothes under their arm. They told her that Racquel’s name was Ariadne now, and that they would be needing her help a lot more often. They’d found some sort of mentor, who would “get them out of here,” but they’d need to spend hours, even days, with her at a time.

Aoibheann wasn’t a fool. She knew that if they succeeded in getting out of here, that she would be left behind. She couldn’t, however, risk being thrown out on the street. She’d watch Sasha and crash on the floor of this abandoned townhouse as long as they’d let her.

Sasha seemed like such a little kid then, although Aoibheann knew on a logical level that she was only three years older.

“If you could be anything in the world when you grow up,” Sasha had asked her one day, while the other girls had been away at their mysterious mentor’s for a few days, “what would you be?”

“I’m just trying to grow up,” Aoibheann said, “if I can make it that far, I’ll see what I can get.”

Sasha scrunched her nose. “You’re not playing the game right.”

“I’m being realistic,” Aoibheann said.

Sasha breezed past this. “I’m going to be a doctor when I grow up.”

Aoibheann considered pointing out that Sasha had a third-grade education and no money, but thought better of it, and instead just sighed. “Well, it’d be a crying shame if you starved to death before then,” she said. “Let’s see what your sister left us.”

Aoibheann looked at the handful of scraps Pilar had left on the table. Pilar had stolen them an entire rotisserie chicken, which Aoibheann had admonished her for-- the abandoned house did not have a working refrigerator, she pointed out, so she’d have to use the meats straightaway or they would quickly spoil and attract flies-- and several cans of diced white potatoes, which Pilar figured would keep Sasha’s stomach full, but Aoibheann pointed out had very little nutritional value. This was, of course, in addition to the six chocolate bars Pilar had, being thirteen years old, been sure to nab on her little excursion.

Aoibheann had nothing in the way of seasonings, except for a variety of salt and pepper packets she’d taken from a loosely-supervised outdoor seating area at a nearby restaurant, as well as, on one extremely lucky day, three sets of cheap silverware and a bottle of hot sauce.

She did, however, have access to a small metal trash can with a lid, water from a neighbor’s hose spigot-- Aoibheann felt bad about this, because water was so tightly regulated on Mars and the owner would surely be steeply charged for the waste, but this was a low priority compared to their survival-- and an old gas stove that the new girl had rigged up to illegally supply them with heat.

Aoibheann had cut the meat off the bones of the rotisserie chicken and plopped the bones into the cold water with all the fat and gristle, and opened up a few of the salt packets into the mixture. She put it on the stove and let it heat up to a boil, then turned down the gas and watched as the mixture turned a translucent yellow. She eventually fished out the bones with her knife, and dumped all the potatoes, and the meat from the chicken, into the broth.

After it had stewed for a while, Aoibheann took a taste. It was thin, watery, and somewhat bland, but it would do for the time being. Using the now-empty potato cans, she scooped out two servings of soup and handed one to Sasha.

“Now, we just have to keep it just hot enough,” Aoibheann said, “and it won’t go bad. We’ll be able to eat this until your sister gets back.”

Sasha took a taste. “It’s…” she had been taught, if she had nothing nice to say, to say nothing at all, so she didn’t finish her sentence. Aoibheann had spent enough time with her to know what she meant.

“It’s a tick bland like this,” Aoibheann shrugged, passing her the hot sauce. “Give it a dash of this, it’ll be a sight better.”

Sasha complied, tasted it, and her face made it clear that while it was in fact a sight better, it still wasn’t quite tasty.

“My mom used to make potatoes with a cheesy sauce,” Sasha said sadly. “They were really spicy. Pilar’s favorite food.”

“My dad was more of a cabbage man,” Aoibheann said. “My mom handled the meats, him the veggies. Hanguk-Éire cuisine is… all about things coming together in the pot.”

Sasha added a little more hot sauce to her soup.

“I wanted to be a cook,” Aoibheann said. “Like my folks, before, all this. My dad was a cook. His dad was a cook. His dad was a cook. And so on and so on, all the way back to our homelands.”

“You could still be a cook,” Sasha said, eyeing her soup. “...someday.”

“Well, we’ll have to get your sister to scrounge us up some quality ingredients, then, won’t we?” Aoibheann said.

The two of them finished their soup, and Aoibheann noted that it was getting late, and insisted that Sasha go to bed. Sasha refused without a story, and Aoibheann tossed back a “tough titties” which was met with an infuriatingly irresistible pout.

“FINE,” Aoibheann groaned, and improvised a story.

“Once upon a time, there was a kingdom,” Aoibheann began. This was how all her stories began, they all took place in this kingdom. “The kingdom, you see, had been through every horror you could put a kingdom through. It had been invaded. It had been burned. It had been taken over and torn in half and put back together again more times than you could count. Every evil overlord you could name had taken the place over, at one time or another. So the people in the kingdom, they were always sad, and they started to wonder, would they ever be free? And then, one day, they found out, there was another kingdom, just like them, halfway round the world, and they decided to join forces. But then, after a few decades of unity and prosperity, the entire world fell into darkness, and the people of the two kingdoms had to run. They ran far away, and found a new promised land in the desert, and built a home there.”

“Then, one day, in the new kingdom, there was a little girl who lived in a little house with her ma’ and her da’, and she loved her life. The dark creature from the old world, it caught up with them. It took her da’, and burned down her house, and she and her mother had to go out into the woods.”

Sasha looked scared. “The woods?”

“Aye,” Aoibheann said, “and her mother dear didn’t last long. There were these flares of Dokkaebi Fire, the goblin lights, and mother dear thought surely she could follow them to safety… Pretty soon, the little girl was all on her own.”

“I don’t like this story,” Sasha said, trying not to betray how frightened she was.

Aoibheann sighed. “Neither do I. But see, the story has a happy ending.”

“Happy?” Sasha asked.

“Happy enough,” Aoibheann replied, “for now. See, the little girl knew not to follow the goblin lights. She ran into the dark, and there she found… a brave, dashing adventurer. A gorgeous girl, noble and good, who’d been lost in the woods herself.”

Sasha’s eyes brightened at this. “Did she have a sword?”

“A little one, aye,” Aoibheann laughed. “And she was on a quest, to find a way out of the woods. But the problem was, she had to look after a sweet, wee little baby, and couldn’t leave it long enough to make any real progress. So the little girl, she’d faced all the darkness in the world. She could handle a wee little baby! She agreed to take care of the baby while the adventurer looked for a way to save herself and the little one.”

“Did she find a way out?”

“Someday she will,” Aoibheann said, “but all she found so far was… a sorceress.”

“This story has everything,” Sasha said.

“The sorceress was as beautiful as the adventurer, and sharp as a tack, but she was untrained. Powerful magic, but she didn’t know how to use it.” Aoibheann explained, “so, together, they managed to track down the Baba Yaga, a wise but crafty old witch, who could teach the sorceress and adventurer how to find the way.”

“And the little girl?” Sasha asked.

Aoibheann thought about this. “The little girl gets to spend time with the sorceress, and the adventurer, and that sweet wee little baby,” she said, “and she appreciates the time she has with them. Someday, they’ll find their way out, and she’ll still be in the woods, but she’ll always be glad to have met them. The end.”

Sasha crinkled her nose. “That’s a bad ending,” Sasha said bluntly. “The little girl should just leave the woods with them. Then find the creature that took her house, and kill it.”

“And how’s she gonna do that?” Aoibheann laughed.

“The adventurer and the sorceress will help her!” Sasha said. “Maybe the Baby Yaga can tell her some spells!”

“Baba Yaga,” Aoibheann corrected. “Okay, so say she does. Say she tells the adventurer and the sorceress everything that happened, and they go slay the evil creature. What happens next?”

Sasha thought about this. “Maybe they fight another creature,” she said. “An octopus?”

“Why are they fighting an octopus?” Aoibheann asked, still chuckling.

“It’s guarding a treasure,” Sasha said as though it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “You have heard a story before, right?”

“Fair enough,” Aoibheann said. “And then, say, they beat all the creatures. What then?”

“Happily ever after,” Sasha said triumphantly.

“Well, you’re a sight more deft at this than I am,” Aoibheann said. “Let’s get you to sleep, I’ll do better next time.”

Aoibheann swaddled Sasha in the dirty, tattered blanket that they’d found a few weeks earlier, sat out in the hallway, and began to cry.

In the present day, Aoibheann thought back to her sobbing in the hallway. At the time, she was convinced that Ariadne and Pilar would surely abandon her when they finished training with Blue. When they started building their first spacecraft in an alley under the bridge, she’d defended it from thieves and scrappers at knifepoint, even thinking that they would use it to leave her behind. When, against all odds, Ariadne had built a spaceworthy craft, she was stunned into silence when they invited her along.

“Don’t be dumb,” Pilar had said, extending a hand to her “of course we’re taking you with us. We started this crew to keep Sasha fed. How are we gonna do that without a cook?”

And so, Cookie had been born. As the goblin lights lit the way to ruin, Pilar’s hand pulled her onto the right path.

****

Now, Pilar’s hand was busy cutting up bites of nondescript meat and placing them into Aoibheann’s mouth.

“Do you remember… back in our street urchin days,” Pilar asked, “Me and Ariadne would come home from Blue’s, put Sasha to bed, and then you, me, and her would stay up late gossiping. We’d show you all the cool stuff Blue had taught us in our lessons, and you’d take the ingredients we’d stolen for you-- better ones, after you started giving me lists-- and you’d teach us how to cook like you.”

Aoibheann almost smiled, and Pilar saw it.

“Alright, you’re right,” Pilar said, cutting her another bite and placing it in her mouth. “Nobody can cook like you. Don’t let it go to your head. But you taught us to cook better than most people.”

Aoibheann accepted another bite wordlessly.

“You know, Ariadne used to use Blue’s tricks to fix up that abandoned house, Alan’s house, and I used to show you all the martial arts tricks, and you’d be rapt with attention,” Pilar said. “When me and Ari started dating, we had a friendly debate about it. See, I thought you had a crush on her, and she thought you had a crush on me. Joke’s on us, turns out you were more than capable of having both.”

Aoibheann came close to smiling again.

“Funny, that’s a fond memory now. Back then, it was the worst year of our life,” Pilar said. “Wonder what we’ll remember fondly from now, when we’re older.”

Aoibheann’s fractional smile faded away. She couldn’t imagine anything worth cherishing from this time. But then, she couldn’t back then, either.

“And we don’t have to talk about…” Pilar cut herself off. “I mean, the… what we’ve had together… The unspoken closeness between the three of us. Rare as it might be that we’ve acted on it, it’s still special to me. To us.The problem has never been that we don’t feel about you, the way you feel about us. If you wanted... what’s between the three of us... to be more, it’d be yours in a heartbeat.”

Aoibheann looked down at her lap.

“We’ve always loved you, Cookie,” she explained. “And don’t get twisted up on the definitions. Every sense of the word. Whatever you’re thinking I surely can’t mean… I mean it. I don’t know what’s going on in your head. I just hate to think that… I mean… we’re going into the most dangerous time we’ve ever faced. If something happens, to me or to Ari… I just want to know you know what you mean to us. To me.”

Pilar gave her another bite, and Aoibheann didn’t fight her on it.

“Do you remember our wedding?” Pilar asked, and laughed. “Of course you do. Hard to forget something like that. Do you remember how angry you were that we wouldn’t let you cook us a grand feast?”

There was a spark in her eyes that demonstrated that she had not, in fact, entirely let this go.

“We stole the supplies for hamburgers from a local grocery store, and made Beam cook them,” Pilar said. “We actually almost got caught, pulled over for speeding on the way home. Ariadne told the cop her name was Ariadne Baltimore. Small town, local cops, everybody knew their parents, they figured they’d just miscounted the sisters, and let her go. Idiots.”

Pilar sighed.

“You weren’t allowed to cook because Ariadne needed you by her side,” she explained. “You were her maid of honor for a reason, Cookie. Our crew, our marriage, our family… where would we be without you? Would we even be us?”

Pilar offered Aoibheann another bite, and she didn’t take it. Pilar looked concerned. She hadn’t eaten nearly enough to be satisfied yet.

“What is it?” Pilar asked.

Aoibheann opened her mouth, thought hard, her eyes darting back and forth as though she was trying to make sense of something she couldn’t put words to.

“Aoibheann, are you… are you alright?” Pilar asked. “Should I get Sasha?”

Aoibheann shook her head vigorously. She had been lost in her depression for months, wondering if she was really better off waking up in the morning, but suddenly, the floodgates had come open, and she couldn’t wait one more second to let out what had been eating at her and destroying her soul ever since they’d lost the station.

Her voice was dry and raspy. She had not spoken more than two consecutive words in weeks, and her body vehemently protested the sudden change in this policy.

“Was it my fault?” She asked, thinking back to a conversation she'd had with their tormentor years ago. “Did I do this to us?”

****

“Excellent work today, everyone,” Cookie’s voice boomed through the kitchen. “The festivities went off without a hitch. This is an anniversary our captain won’t soon forget.”

“Thank you, Chef,” her crew echoed back.

“Dismissed,” she said to the assembled kitchen staff, and then quietly approached one of the greener pirates who’d recently started the galley rotation that was mandatory for the whole crew. “Libby, a word?”

Cookie ushered Libby into a small room at the back, which she used for prep when she was working on more intimate, personal projects. This was the room where she prepared birthday meals for Spacebreather, Ariadne, and Sasha. This was the table on which she’d painstakingly crafted Ariadne and Pilar’s wedding cake. The small walk-in freezer was the one where she’d had a brief, clumsy tryst with Blue on a rare visit to the station, after Cookie had enraged her by challenging her to a contest to see who could make a better mole negro oaxaqueño sauce, and then winning it.

Libby had been invited into the inner sanctum, and the look on Cookie’s face made it absolutely clear that it was not an honor.She was in deep trouble. Worse still, there was a salt shaker on the table in front of her.

“Do you think this is funny, lass?” Cookie asked. “Is this a fun game to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chef,” Libby said, actually looking somewhat convincing.

“The cap of the salt shaker was unscrewed. One shake, and dinner would’ve been ruined.” Cookie said. “It was your responsibility to set the table in the captain’s quarters.”

Libby got immediately defensive. “Anybody could’ve done that,” she said, “I didn’t do it, it’s totally unfair that you--”

“Anybody could’ve,” Cookie said. “But I gave you a responsibility. You were responsible for the Captain’s table. You signed off on a table with an unscrewed salt shaker on it. That makes you responsible for the salt shaker, whether you placed it there or not.”

“How is that fair?” Libby replied indignantly.

“Lass, why do you think Ariadne requires all crew to complete a rotation in my kitchen before they’re cleared for field service?” Cookie asked.

“She needs someone to cook for her?” Libby asked derisively.

Cookie sneered. She did not care for Libby, and never had. The girl seemed to attract drama. How, she wondered, could someone with so few friends be so perpetually in the middle of a falling out with a group of them? “And why do you think my standards are so meticulous?” Cookie asked.

Libby declined to answer, because she knew her honest answer would get her in trouble, but her face betrayed what she wanted to say: “Because you’re a huge bitch?”

Cookie answered her own rhetorical questions. “The skills you need to be successful in here, will be invaluable to you out there. You didn’t go over your loadout with a fine-toothed comb. You didn’t take the responsibilities you were trusted with seriously. You allowed your crewmates to operate with faulty equipment, that, had I not intervened, would’ve caused the mission objective to fail.”

“To be clear,” Libby said, “the ‘mission’ was serving them dinner.”

“IN HERE IT’S DINNER,” Cookie bellowed, her eyes full of all the rage and fire that she kept tamped down in her heart every second of every day, and slammed her fists on the table, knocking down the salt shaker. The chrome lid clattered off, and salt spilled onto the teak countertop. Cookie wordlessly grabbed a pinch of it and tossed it over her left shoulder. “In here, you fail in your duties and it means dinner isn’t very good that night. Out there, you fail in your duties and your sisters in arms die. That’s why Ariadne makes you work with me before you’re allowed to work for her. You can’t be trusted to handle the stakes out there if your team, and your commanding officer, can’t even trust you to do your job correctly when the stakes are only whether tonight’s chicken will be a little dry. Is that crystal clear?”

Libby looked as though she was about to protest, or accuse Cookie of being melodramatic, but Cookie cut her off. “Think very carefully about what you say next,” she said, “and if you’re lost as to what answer I’m looking for...” She pointed at the band that she kept tied around her head, so that even if one of her brilliant red hairs slipped out of its tight bun, it would still not fall into her face. It was white, and said, in bold black text, “YES CHEF.”

Libby grumbled. “Yes, chef,” she said. “next time, I’ll check the table settings more carefully.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cookie said. “But I think it’s important that you know… I know you put the shaker on the table.”

“What?!” Libby snapped.

“If the Captain, or her first mate, were to be poisoned, I would need to be able to verify who’d done the deed.” Cookie said. “Every step of my meal preparation is accounted for. There is a record of every action taken in this kitchen, cupboard-to-table. If something goes wrong with a meal, within seconds I will be able to identify the point of failure and exactly who was responsible for preventing it. Of course, it helps to have a private video feed into the captain’s quarters.”

Cookie tossed her communications device onto the table, and hit play. It projected a small, but surprisingly clear, hologram of Libby setting the table, smirking as though struck with an idea, and unscrewing the cap of the salt shaker.

“You have… a security camera… in their quarters?!” Libby asked.

“I’m the only person in the system they trust with it,” Cookie said. “I trust them with my life, and they trust me with theirs. Now, I gave you a chance to confess to your little prank, and you decided to lie, to pass the buck onto someone else. I’m afraid I can’t let that slide. I’ll have to fail you for this rotation. Come back at the start of the next one and you can reapply.”

“What?!” Libby snapped again. “I’m two days away from finishing! I have to start my galley rotation over again just because you caught me playing a harmless prank on your little pervy peep-show?”

“Call it pervy if you like,” Cookie said dismissively. “The nature of my relationship with the captain and her first mate is enthusiastically sanctioned and is, frankly, none of your concern. The behavior you showed in here, would’ve only spoiled Captain Ariadne’s dinner. If you showed the same level of carelessness and irreverence out there, it might’ve gotten someone killed. ‘Harmless’ indeed. You’re not responsible enough for field work until you can prove you can handle kitchen duty.”

“This is bullshit,” Libby said, gathering up her things to storm out of the room. “Like it even matters whether that bitch’s little dinner is ruined.”

Cookie slammed her fists on the counter again.

“Captain Ariadne is the greatest woman who ever lived,” Cookie growled, “and if I hear you speak of her like that in my presence again, you’ll lose a hell of a lot more than your galley rotation.”

Libby moved to storm out, but Cookie rushed the door and held it shut.

“Now, you listen to me, you little twerp,” Cookie said, jabbing a finger into Libby’s chest, shaking with anger. “That woman pulled me out of the gutter-- pulled all of us out of the gutter. There is nothing more important than the work she does, and we are the beating heart that allows her to do it. So if you want to be a part of this crew, you’ll show her some goddamned respect and start taking your work fucking seriously.”

Libby looked furious.

“What do I want to hear?” Cookie asked pointedly.

Pilar was astonished. “You think… because you were hard on the Nameless in her galley rotation… that she went totally off the rails, tried to kill us, and drove us out of our home?”

“Yes, chef,” Libby grumbled after a beat, and Cookie allowed her to pass.

****

“She tried to say we were like a cult,” Cookie said weakly. “That we were just minions blindly following Ariadne’s orders. That we turned against anybody who didn’t fall in line.”

“Is any of that true?” Pilar asked rhetorically. “Does the crew actually act like that?”

Cookie let the tears come. “I do,” she said. “What if she… how do I know she isn’t holding my devotion, my zeal, against the entire crew?”

“You… blindly follow Ariadne’s orders?” Pilar asked, entirely rhetorically. “That’s a surprise, I thought you really believed in our mission.”

Cookie was taken aback. “I do!’

Pilar smiled. “There’s some of that fire,” she said. “I’ve missed it. Aoibheann… when is the last time Ariadne actually gave you an order?”

Cookie had to think about this, but came up short.

“Exactly,” Pilar said. “This is what’s been eating you, all this time?”

Aoibheann looked afraid to reply, so she just asked what she’d wanted to ask, ever since they were driven out of their home.

“Do you forgive me?” She asked. “Does she… does she forgive me?”

Pilar looked Aoibheann square in the eyes. “Cookie, you’ve never needed our forgiveness. An insane terrorist attacked our home. There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent that.”

This was not what Aoibheann wanted to hear.

Pilar sighed. “Of course we forgive you, Aoibheann,” she said in a voice that sounded entirely earnest, but using words that betrayed how sarcastic she was being: “for not allowing someone who turned out to be a sexual predator and an actual serial killer tamper with our food and ruin our anniversary. We forgive you for being the most devoted friend we’ve ever had. Because someone else mistreated us, it must’ve been wrong that you treated us right. We will always forgive you for loving us, Aoibheann. You will never lose our forgiveness for that.”

Aoibheann was struck speechless again.

“Don’t go quiet on me,” Pilar said affectionately, “I just got you to talk again! I’ve missed your voice.”

“I appreciate your taking care of me,” Cookie admitted, “while I’ve been… not myself.”

Pilar gently put her hand on Aoibheann’s, and gave it a squeeze, and then told her the most reassuring truth she had.

“The Nameless is a user,” she said. “She wants a bunch of people who act like puppets and put her well-being first. Ariadne spends every second of every day encouraging her crew to think and act for themselves, and to put each other’s well-being above all else. That’s why she thinks Ariadne’s a tyrant. Not because you defended her honor after a sociopath tried to ruin her anniversary and then called her a bitch.”

Aoibheann felt as though she’d just received absolution for something that had been dragging her through the muck for months. How could she not believe Pilar, of all people? She began to cry openly.

“Hey, hey,” Pilar said, “it’s okay! I got you.”

“I’ve let the crew down,” she said, “had them eating this flavorless mush for however many months. I’ll be back at a stove first thing in the morning, don’t you worry--”

Pilar laughed. “Aoibheann… Cookie, I’m glad you’re back but… don’t push yourself too hard, okay? Let your apprentices handle it for a bit. Besides, you haven’t walked by yourself in a pretty long time. It’ll take a bit before you’re seaworthy again, let alone fit to run a kitchen.”

Aoibheann looked downcast. “Well, I’ve spent enough time sitting around like a lump being no good to anybody,” she said indignantly.

“You’re plenty good to us,” Pilar said flatly, “just by being here. We love you, Cookie. You don’t need to… justify your existence by being a devoted servant.”

Aoibheann was uncomfortable with this sentiment, and it showed on her face. This was, after all, how she showed her affection for Ariadne and Pilar. How could she show them her love and devotion without being able to cook for them?

“I don’t know how to…” Cookie began. “Please… Please, just… tell me what to do.”

Pilar sighed. She knew Cookie was far too devoted to her duties to go completely without orders. “She and I will be back in a few hours, for dinner. Let her hear your voice. Tell her you love her, and wish her luck on her procedure. If you have the strength, give her a hug. And, most importantly, just… please, be okay. Be kind to yourself and take all the time you need to get back on your feet. We’ve only got the one Cookie, so take care of her for us, okay?”

Cookie smiled, and squeezed Pilar’s hand back with what little strength she could muster.

Pilar picked up the now-empty tray that the MRE had been on. “Now that you’re back, do I have your permission to start up the kitchens? Let your apprentices do some real cooking?”

Cookie nodded her head.

“Then I guess this is truly an event worth of celebration: you’ve had your last Meal-Ready-To-Eat,” Pilar laughed. “I’ll see you tonight, Cookie. I want to put some meat back on your bones, so I’ll be cooking, and I expect you to be looking over my shoulder and barking orders at me the whole time.”

Cookie looked at her and smiled, and Pilar’s heart melted. It had been a long time since anyone had seen that.

****

Cookie’s apprentices stood in a straight line at the back of the Hotpot Spot, an abandoned restaurant that Sweettalk had identified as her childhood favorite. Cookie, wearing the chef’s coat she’d fled the station in, freshly laundered, and her trademark “YES CHEF” headband, limped into the restaurant, supported by a cane that Sweettalk had fished out of her childhood home, and said had belonged to her grandfather.

Cookie was still not back to full strength, but her apprentices could see the fire they’d come to fear and love had returned to her eyes.

“As you may have noticed,” Cookie announced, the natural loudness of her voice undiminished by her time indisposed, “I have been… unwell, of late. As such, I am unable to resume my duties at this time.”

Her staff turned to her chief apprentice, Yellow, for guidance. Yellow remained silent, so the rest of them did as well.

“It’s alright, kids,” she said, stamping the cane on the ground loudly. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m not my old self yet. It’s fine. I wouldn’t feel right resuming my post here anyhow. This isn’t my kitchen. I’ve called you all here because you are the apprentices most equipped to run a kitchen of your own.”

Yellow nodded in assent.

“As such, I have a new directive for each of you, until such time as we’ve retrieved my kitchen, and I’m back to my usual vim and vigor, each of you is to select one of the defunct restaurants in this town, take your pick of the remaining staff and any available volunteers, and you will run your kitchens to the standard I have taught you.”

Cookie sighed.

“I know what you all think,” she said. “I know what you’ve said to me, in the past. You think your best is only a pale imitation of my cooking. But I need you all to know that… isn’t true.”

“Chef?” Yellow asked.

“I was the fourth person on this crew, lass,” Cookie said. “The first person to join, after the founding members. At the beginning, we had one mission: Keep Sasha Fed. There is nothing I value more highly than that mission. I live for it, and if I’m blessed with the chance, I will happily die for it. We may have expanded the definition of ‘Sasha’ to include everyone we love, but this mission is and will always be my life’s labor. Food doesn’t just sustain us. It is love, in physical form. The Captain and the First Mate have been very gracious to me, in the time we’ve known each other, by allowing me to show them my love and devotion in the way I’m able to offer. Over the last nine months, they have shown me the devotion was not one-sided, and given me the love I was able to accept. So your mission is, as it always has been: get in the kitchen, and show your love to the crew. Fill their bowls with it, in the way only you can, with or without me. And when your cup is empty…”

Cookie choked up a bit, and did a halfway decent job masking it.

“...When your cup is empty, allow those who love you to fill it back up, until you’re ready to pour from it again.”

After a long, uncomfortable beat, her crew shouted back “Yes, Chef!”

“I have been derelict in my duties,” Cookie said. “I let you go this many months without loving one another properly, because you wouldn’t do it without me.”

“Chef, permission to speak freely?” One of her younger apprentices, a quiet young boy who specialized in pastries, piped up.

“Granted,” Cookie said.

“You never ordered us not to run the kitchens without you. In fact, before…” He paused carefully, then opted to leave it unsaid, “before, you always taught us how to take the lead for the rest of the crew, when you had to cook for the Captain’s table. We wouldn’t run the kitchens without your say-so because…”

“It’s okay, lad, no need to be scared of the likes of me,” she reassured him.

“We were ordered not to,” he told her. “The Captain was very clear: ‘There’s no crew without Cookie.’”

Cookie leaned on her cane and looked a bit sad.

“She couldn’t handle it, Chef,” Yellow explained. “Knowing somebody else was doing your work, while you were suffering the way you were.”

Now Cookie could feel her heart melt. “She said that, did she?”

The young baker boy winced. “She said that there’s nothing more important than the work you do, and that everything the crew does, is just so you can do it,” he said. “She said… well, she said she was derelict in her duty to you, and that she couldn’t replace you until she’d made it right. Until you’d forgiven her for letting you down.”

Cookie laughed. “We’ve known each other a long time, indeed,” she said. “The captain is a sentimental one, I’m afraid. She blames herself for all this. For my condition. Don’t tell her I said this, but she’s still more Catholic than she’d like to admit.”

Everyone’s eyes flared at this. Of course none of them would tell her she’d said that, as they all valued keeping their heads attached to their necks too much. Cookie was one of the only people in the system who could get away with saying something like that in front of Ariadne.

“She could never let me down if she tried,” Cookie said, “and even if she did, I will always forgive her. That you can repeat to her. Now, that’s enough prattling on from an old fool. You all have restaurants to open. To work!”

“Yes, Chef!” Her apprentices all shouted, and broke formation to claim their restaurants.

“And remember,” she shouted after them. “If you talk to the Captain, this was her idea!”

She had, in fact, passed her forgiveness along to Ariadne the previous day, before her surgery, and assured her that she didn’t need forgiveness, the same way Pilar had done to her. After her procedure, Ariadne wouldn’t remember Cookie giving her consent to reopen the kitchens, but she was delighted that when she came out of it, she seemingly remembered, on some level, that she had been absolved of all wrongdoing.

She was relieved when, during the fight Alicia staged with her, Ariadne had suggested they put her apprentices to work in the kitchens. Despite being set back several months, she was done punishing herself, and letting everyone else punish themselves with her. It was a do-over many were not fortunate enough to get, and after all she’d lost, Aoibheann was not one to turn her nose up at a second chance.

****

Months later, when all this was over and Sasha’s medicine and a lot of good eating had restored her muscles into mostly proper working order-- she still felt uneasy at times, and preferred to keep the cane on hand, just in case-- they were repatriated to their home, the Nameless had been defeated, and the station had erupted into a celebratory frenzy. Yellow and the kitchen staff had burned the candle at both ends to supply enough party snacks to keep anyone from drowning in all the wine. Two former crew members, Baltimore and Beam, had returned to the station to join in the celebrations. Sweettalk and Sasha had, believing themselves slick, pulled Ghostrunner and her new girlfriend Vigil back to their quarters. Alicia had brought Blue back to the station and, in the haze of wine, loudly announced her intention to start a relationship with her, before disappearing back to her own quarters. Cookie and Blue had, despite their past rivalry, a deep, abiding respect for one another, and Blue was one of the few people who was authorized to do as she pleased in the kitchen. Cookie knew firsthand that after Blue’s enthusiastic and athletic lovemaking, she would likely need something to eat, and a bit more wine, so she’d set a bottle of red and a bowl of fresh mozzarella in conspicuous locations in the hopes that she would find them. Cookie was, uncharacteristically, not in the kitchen that night.

If she had learned anything from the past year, it was that she had to sometimes set the weight of the world down, and allow the people she loved to take care of her as much as she took care of them. So, as had become tradition, once per month, she would retire to the Captain’s quarters instead of her own, and allow her friends to show them how much they loved her. Pilar spent the day marinating meats, just the way Cookie had taught her, and Ariadne had built a heating element into her personal dining table so that Pilar could cook them some of Cookie’s favorite foods.

They would then retire to the bedroom for a night of passion-- Ariadne always had some new device she’d built and wanted to show off. Being married to Spacebreather, she was in the unfortunate position of being a bit of a pillow princess, but not on pillow principle, and so never had anyone else to use it on, and Cookie was the only person other than Ariadne who Spacebreather was willing to touch. They would spend this time laughing, and experimenting, and making sure not an inch of her, or the captain, went unkissed, and then they would fall asleep in each other’s arms, all the while gossiping and reminiscing the way they had back on Mars.

Sometimes, on these nights, Cookie would think back to what Spacebreather said to her, during her episode, about how if she ever wanted something more between them, she could have it.

The thing was, she didn’t want something more. She treasured these nights they had together, but as far as she was concerned, nothing had changed about what they were to her. They were her best friends, and they were her calling in life. She would, to the best of her ability, serve their mission with almost religious zeal. Even unto her death, she would prioritize keeping her loved ones happy and healthy. She had already loved them, more, she believed, than she could ever love anyone else, even when they had started an exclusive relationship with one another, and she was just a heartbroken teenager pining after them both. How could she want something more, when she couldn’t even imagine something better than what she already had?

The first time the three of them had ever fallen into bed together, years after Ariadne and Pilar had made it clear they were soulmates, they had been a ball of teenage hormones, propelled by a raunchy party game that had gotten a bit out of hand. Aoibheann had awoken mortified and furious at herself for daring to succumb to her own desires like this. Her whole life, whenever she’d allowed herself to love something, it was taken away, and that only when she accepted that something was beyond her grasp, would she stand a chance of being lucky enough to attain it. She was sure that by admitting to her wants, and acting on them, she had ruined everything. Except, Ariadne and Pilar noticed her embarrassment and simply chose to behave as though nothing had changed. It had happened only occasionally in the past, and each time, Ariadne and Pilar would wait for Cookie to bring it up. Otherwise, it was completely unspoken.

The one crucial difference was, now, Aoibheann “Cookie” Gyeong, once the saddest girl on Mars, had finally accepted that it was okay to want, and to act on those wants, that this was not following the goblin lights to her death as her mother had. She, who loved her life so much that she shut down for the better part of a year when she feared it had changed irreparably, spent most of her time refusing to acknowledge what she loved about it. She did her job, showed her love, and asked for nothing in return except for the ability to keep doing it.

“You know,” Ariadne said, running her fingers through Aoibheann’s long, smooth, bright red hair, as a sleeping Pilar cradled them both in her arms, “we don’t do any of this for you. We do it because we like doing it. It’s fun for us.”

Cookie laughed. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed,” she quipped.

Ariadne smiled, and told her something she’d waited years to be sure Cookie would be ready to hear. “Thank you,” she said, “for being my friend. For loving me. For making what we do worth it.”

Aoibheann shot a smile right back. “I could say the same to you.”

#core story #lgbt

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thelaisydazy · 2 months

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Mama's Boy - Chapter 2

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Petra "Mama" Mayfield

Previous Chapter ┊ Next Chapter

It had been three days and Ghost’s side was healing well.

Petra was sitting at the creaky old desk in the clinic, expertly replacing the batteries in her beeping hearing aids, the ringing in her ears drowning out the quieter sounds of the base: the hum of the fluorescent lights, the buzz of the too old AC unit, footsteps.

It was the last one that snuck up on her as the shape of a soldier practically appeared in front of her. She glanced up seeing Roach standing there, quietly looking down at her. He looked concerned at the tiny devices between her fingers. The sergeant gestured with his hands, motions Petra was familiar enough with having learned the unspoken language herself, though they sometimes had difficulties with the differences between the American and British variants.

“They just need batteries,” she answered him, popping the last plastic piece back into place before returning the hearing aids to their usual place, the incessant ringing quieting. “See? All better.”

She watched the quiet Roach smile at her. He was almost boyish compared to the rest of the team, being a few years younger than Petra herself. His face was round and his nose turned up a little at its tip. He had soft brown hair and eyes to match. Out of everyone on the team, he was probably the least affected by their lifestyle. He was easy going, a prankster. Though she suspected he took missions seriously and that he was good at what he did if he ended up with the 141. Best of the best she’d been told when she’d been recruited.

It was lunch time, Roach reminded her. Sweet boy. She gave him a nod.

“Yeah.. guess I should eat something huh?” Petra said, standing.

---

There was no mess hall on this base, it was too small to require one, so the team was left to their own devices for meals. There was a small kitchen in the common area though, nothing fancy but good enough for the handful of soldiers and Petra to make some quick meals, sometimes larger shared meals were cooked, but those were rare.

Petra settled on some leftover takeout she'd gotten a few days prior when she'd heard one of the guys was heading into town. She didn't bother heating it up though, just settled into an empty chair and dug in. It wasn't exactly good cold, but she was just hungry after skipping breakfast and needed to eat more than she needed something that tasted good.

Roach sat nearby, tucked into a microwavable cup of soup. The two ate peacefully for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet of the empty common room.

A light tap on the table turned Petra's head in Roach's direction, the thumb on his other hand lightly tapping his chin, the other fingers splayed and palm open. Mama.

“Yes Roach?” she said, swallowing a mouthful of cold rice. The soldier gestured some more, he was in a talkative mood today. The two continued on like that for a while making small talk between bites of food.

“Hey a few nights ago Price called me to take care of Ghost,” Petra said. “LT said he got hit with some shrapnel. What the hell happened?”

Roach blinked brown eyes at her, confusion in his gaze. His hands explained that, as far as he knew, there hadn't been any missions planned for the past week. Hell, he didn't even know when the next mission would be.

She shouldn't have been too surprised by his answer. It wasn't entirely unlikely that the captain and lieutenant had planned a mission without informing the rest of the team. Knowing Ghost, it wasn't out of the question that he'd gone on that mission solo. Which worried Petra knowing the condition she'd found him in. How had he managed to get back to base on his own in such a state?

A hand waved in front of her face, pulling her away from her thoughts. Roach was concerned, asking what happened. She shook her head.

“Nevermind Gary,” she said. “If you don't know, it's probably for a reason.”

---

The treadmill hummed under her feet as she worked her way from a jog to a run. It had been weeks since she last did any training, not that she usually needed it. Since arriving on base Petra hadn't seen any time on the field, staying mostly confined to the clinic.

The last time she'd stepped foot out on the field, Petra had been deployed with a small team of other soldiers as escort for some civilians. They were meant to take them from a small village that had been bombed to high hell to a refugee camp a few miles away, but not everyone had made it. Enemy soldiers had laid a trap on their route, and they walked right into it.

They hadn't even seen them coming. One moment they were walking alongside a small convoy of vehicles, the next gunfire rained down around them.

Petra had ducked behind one of the vehicles, pulling a young mother and her child down next to one of the stopped tires. She didn't even know if the woman could understand her as she shouted for her to stay low. The medic wasn't meant for combat, but she had still been trained. A medic that couldn't defend themselves or their patients was practically useless in a fight. She'd fired off several rounds that night, not sure if any of them had hit their marks. A pair of hands had gripped her shoulders, almost throwing her into the passenger seat of the truck she'd been ducked behind, the mother and child into the back. A sergeant climbed into the driver seat, speeding them off to safety.

Petra's heart thumped in her chest as her feet pounded harder against the treadmill track. Her lungs burned but she pushed through it, despite the crackling at the edges of her vision as the room tilted.

A pair of arms caught her, lifting her from the machine and placing gently to the gym floor.

“Mama,” a voice said, swimming somewhere in the air around her. Petra shook her head. “Petra!”

She looked up from where she was now seated on the floor, spotting the familiar balaclava wearing man staring down at her. He sighed as he could see her gaze focus on him.

“Where's your bloody head?” Ghost questioned, his gravelly voice harsh. He was bent over with his hands on his knees to look at her, his eyes narrowed at her. “You nearly fell off the damn thing.”

Oh.

“Sorry,” Petra mumbled, feeling a wave of embarrassment come over her. “Got a little lost in my head. Wasn't paying attention…”

Ghost stares at her expectantly. “Lost?” He asked.

“Yeah, it's fine,” she answered. “My mind wandered a little. Thanks for catching me.” She started to stand, aware that it was probably the only time he'd seen her out of uniform. Petra was wearing a black tank top and a pair of gray joggers, her hair pulled back into a curly poof of a ponytail with a pink scrunchie.

She then registered that Ghost had come to the gym only three days after she'd bandaged his side. She opened her mouth to scold him.

“You need to be more careful,” Ghost said gruffly, which gave Petra pause as she just stared up at him. “You're our only medic. We can't afford to have you laid up for a few days.”

Defensiveness curled inside Petra like a snake. “Oh? Coming from the same man that would have bled out if Price hadn’t sent me after you,” She shot back. “You’re going to get on my case for losing focus for half a second, but you can sneak off on a mission no one knows about and nearly get yourself blown up? I don’t think so, Ghost. Not a shot in hell.”

Ghost was quiet as he stood from his crouched position, his jaw clenched under his mask as his eyes bore into the medic. “If you can't handle a run, how did you make it this far as a combat medic?”

“Well if I saw any time off base, maybe you'd have some confidence in my ability on the field,” Petra frowned at him. “But since I arrived here two months ago, you guys have been on how many missions? And I've just been sat here in the clinic.”

Ghost didn’t say anything then, just turned to stalk off to another part of the gym. Petra hooked a finger into the back of one of her running shoes, pulling it off in a smooth motion and chucking it at the lieutenant’s back. He sidestepped just in time for the sneaker to miss him and hit Soap in the chest as the Scot came walking up.

“Aye ya wee hen!” Soap scoffed. “What’d I do?”

---

Petra left the gym shortly after explaining to Soap, perhaps a little too angrily, that she’d been aiming for Ghost who moved out of the way. By now she was heading back to her bunk, needing a shower to clear her head. She was still fuming over Ghost’s assumption that she couldn’t handle fieldwork. She’d handled herself well in the past, well enough that she’d been hand selected to join the 141. Sure, she didn’t have the same combat experience as the rest of the task force, but she was trained to fight when she had to and she had a cool enough head under pressure to treat even serious wounds while under fire.

She could still remember the day she’d met with Kate Laswell, an American Station Chief with the CIA, whom she assumed was a lot scarier than she turned out to be. Though she still had no intentions of finding out what it was like to be on the woman’s bad side.

“Petra Mayfield?” she asked, thumbing a file on her desk. “You go by Mama?”

Petra stood in front of Laswell’s desk, arms behind her back, standing as tall as she could manage with her height. At the time she’d had no idea what she was there for, she had been trying to get her discharge finalized when her CO handed her the summons for this meeting. “Yes ma’am.”

Laswell looked kind, seeming to understand the serious look on the young woman’s face. “I understand you’re looking to be discharged,” she said. “Guess I heard of you at just the right time then.” She paused and motioned to the chair across the desk from herself. “Sit. I just want to talk about a new opportunity for you.”

Petra sat stiffly. Her mind combed over everything she'd ever done in the military, searching for whatever may have earned her a meeting here.

“You’ve been enlisted for the last nine years, started training as a medic right out of basic?” Laswell asked. She had Petra’s file in front of her, no doubt having the answer there.

“Yes ma'am.”

“You were stationed in Ankara, got involved with a few skirmishes,” Laswell continued, looking through the file. “Refugee escort assisting Task Force Stalker. Not many medics jump into combat the way you did. Merrick said you worked well with his team, even if you threatened one of his sargeants.”

“In my defense ma’am, he snuck up on me in a firefight,” Petra said, doing her best to not sound defensive. “When he threw me into the truck I had to assume the worst.”

Kate nodded slowly. “That’s a good instinct to have.” She paused again, closing Petra’s file and folding her hands over the document. “Then there’s the Charleston Parade Bombing. You were there that day, weren’t you?”

Petra’s hands balled into tight fists in her lap at the mention of that bombing. “Yes ma’am,” she said through clenched teeth. “That was before I was even old enough to enlist, I don’t see how it’s relevant to my file.” It shouldn’t have been there. Laswell that dug into her past.

Kate put up a hand. “Relax, I just want to make sure everything I have here is accurate,” she said. “That was twelve years ago, you must’ve been young. You must have been scared.” She was met by silence. “You lost some hearing that day.”

“I lost a lot that day,” Petra said sharply. “What is this about? I was getting my paperwork pushed through to be discharged and head home.”

“You’re direct, that will serve you well,” Laswell said. “There’s a task force across the pond in need of a permanent medic. With your experience with Stalker, along with everything else I’ve read about you, you make an excellent candidate.” Kate leaned back in her chair, staring at Petra, who looked like a deer in the headlights. “It’s need to know. I can’t discuss anything further until I know whether or not you’re in. So, what will it be?”

This wasn’t real. Petra had everything in Ankara packed up and ready to go home after nine long years, and now she was sitting here discussing going right back into the fray with some unknown task force that she knew nothing about. But Kate Laswell was known for scouting the best of the best, Petra didn’t know if she fit that description. But, if she was here now, there was a reason.

“You expect me to just agree to join a team without knowing anything?” Petra asked. “I follow orders, but going in blind like that? That’s asking too much.”

“That’s a no then?” Kate asked, raising her brows.

“I won’t put up with any push back with my.. Impairment,” Petra said, shifting in the chair. “I’ve worked too hard to push past it. If I’m going to show up there and be treated as anything less than capable, then I’m out.” She leaned forward, determination glowing in her eyes. “Now, I want to hear about my new placement.”

Laswell chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re just as headstrong as I heard you were.” She reached into a drawer in her desk and pulled out another file. “You’ll be stationed at a private base near Manchester. I won’t be able to give you an exact location just yet. You’ll be working with Task Force 141, under Captain John Price.” She reached over the desk and handed Petra the file containing just enough information to tell Petra what she was getting into while maintaining the confidentiality of the operation.

The medic pressed her lips together taking in everything. It was a small team at least, five soldiers in total. Although most days were bound to be slower than she was used to, she imagined any injuries she would be treating would be more serious overall. What was she doing? She had been so close to going home, and now she was agreeing to take on something new. “When do I leave?”

Kate Laswell smiled. “I could have you on the next flight if you're ready,” she said. “I’ll have your belongings from Ankara sent over as well.”

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x oc #ghost x oc #simon ghost riley x oc #cod fanfic #dazyfic #Mama's Boy fic #petra mama mayfield #petra mayfield #mama

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indigosunsetao3 · 3 months

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Would It Be Enough?

Chapter 3 - Late Night Talks

Masterlist of Chapters

Warnings: 18+ - No minors Rated E - Please read the tags on A03 for any of your triggers

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Original FMC 6.5k words - AO3 Link

Emma hadn’t called her family yet; she wasn’t ready to recount everything that had happened out loud. Let alone with her mother who would demand every detail then shriek and cry as if she too had lived through the whole thing. Her mother was dramatic in every sense of the word and while Emma loved her, she wasn’t ready for all of that yet. So instead of a call she sent an email, blaming poor reception on the inability to call. In the email Emma stated all was fine, that she was moving locations and would let her mom know the new one as soon as she did, then asked for all the usual family updates.

Emma had managed to contact her job however and told them, before she could back out, that she wanted to stay. She conveyed she prefer to be on a base like the one she was at now but she would take anything they could offer that was safe. They seemed relieved, and almost happy to meet her requests. They had heard about everything that had happened and were currently dealing with the large fallout and trying to get others home that demanded to leave. So, the opportunity to place someone elsewhere would be much easier and make it less of a risk of them losing their military deal.

The phone call had only taken about fifteen minutes, the email another ten, then Emma was once again left to her own devices. She was too restless to try and lay back down and wasn’t ready to be alone with her thoughts. So instead, she took the time to walk around the base, not really taking in everything she saw but enjoying the numbing distraction nonetheless. The building itself was a decent size, more areas blocked off with keycard or number pad access than not, but she had managed to walk most of it. She didn’t dare go outside; afraid she wouldn’t be able to get back in without any sort of clearance. Maybe she could ask her coworkers about that if she found anyone that seemed like they could help.

The hallways were clear most of the day, people having jobs to do, out on patrol or sleeping if they were the night shift. She had only run into a few coworkers before dinner time, most of them keeping to the small sleeping area that had been deemed theirs or in the communications room trying to make arrangements to get home. She hadn’t seen the rest of the 141 task force that day either, and she had been looking for any slightly familiar faces in this foreign place. Despite no one saying anything to her the few people she did see stared and she felt like a complete outsider, which she was if she thought about it. Maybe asking to stay here wasn’t the best idea.

Dinner was a loud affair. She had been sitting in a common area that had ratty couches and coffee tables thumbing through a six-month-old magazine when meal time was called. She was starved, even if her stomach was still uneasy, and she followed a group of people at a distance to the mess hall. It was packed with people, tables already filling up as she grabbed a tray and took the food that was offered without really looking at it. She was looking over her shoulder most of the time to try and find a place to sit that was as alone as possible, even if it was just a chair against a wall.

She found some coworkers that had taken a small table near the back of the hall and sat with them quickly. The din in the room was reaching a pitch that was making her head throb so badly she thought you’d be able to see her pulse under her skin. And the loudness of it was setting her teeth on edge, her body feeling like it just wanted to run to somewhere quiet. As quickly as she could, without looking like a feral animal, Emma ate the bread, some sort of pasta and downed her water before she rose from her chair. She was done eating before most people at the table around her, some with the same haunted look she had, had even started to eat. She made an excuse about having to call home before rising from her seat at the bench and carrying her tray to the cleaning area.

Her hands were shaking as she dumped the rest of her uneaten food into the trash and stacked up the tray, plate and utensils. She needed to get out of the mess hall, she needed the silence from earlier that day and some damn pain medicine that she kept putting off. Taking a quick deep breath, she turned around to head to the door when she finally saw a face she recognized. Alex was walking her way with his tray of food that he just grabbed. She faked a smile and attempted to sidestep him but he stopped her, clearly able to see past her front of body language.

“You alright?” He asked twisting his body a bit to block the room from staring at Emma and instead only able to see his back. “You look pale,” he continued his eyes assessing and Emma knew he saw that she was shaking like a leaf.

“Fine I just, I need some air and silence,” Emma said even her voice shaking a bit. “It’s just too loud in here, too many people.” She explained, her hands balled into fists to keep them still. “I’m just going to stop at the hospital wing,” she saw the eyebrow raise, “I just have a horrible headache. Then I’m going to bed. I’ve barely slept in the past two days so it’s probably exhaustion.”

Alex didn’t look like he bought her story fully but he nodded, “let me know if you need anything alright? Our area of the base isn’t far from where they have you all set up. Just take a right when you leave your room and go down that hall. There’s a small common area at the end of the hall and our barracks are off of that.” He watched Emma go and she could feel his eyes on her back as she walked, her stare locked on the exit door as she quickly walked toward it, resisting the urge to run.

Out in the hallway she let out the breath she had been holding and leaned up against the wall, holding up a hand that shook violently. She just needed to breathe, she knew the signs of a panic attack and she just had to carefully get her breathing under control and somewhere quiet for everything to pass. She wasn’t about to breakdown here in front of all these people because another group of people had turned to come into the mess hall. Emma quickly shoved her hand back down to her side, gave a polite smile and headed to the hospital wing for the third time that day.

This time she was able to find someone quickly who supplied her with some ibuprofen and a large bottle of water after taking down some of her information. They insisted she come back if she still had the headache in the morning and Emma nodded and told them yes of course she would come back, knowing full well all of this was just panic and exhaustion. She hadn’t even made it back out of the hospital doors before she took the ibuprofen and swallowed them in one sip of her water. Next stop was bed. She needed some rest and was hoping that the exhaustion would finally win and pull her into some sleep.

Blissfully the room was empty when she arrived and Emma weaved her way to the back of the room where her claimed cot was. She didn’t have any personal belonging of her own, anything she had was still left at the bombed-out hospital if it was still even intact, but Soap’s jacket had done the job to hold her spot. She had been afraid to leave the jacket, not wanting someone else to take it, but rationalized that his name was on it and she doubted there was anyone else around called Soap that could claim it as their own. She needed pajamas, needed new clothes, shoes. There were lots of things that she needed but that could wait until tomorrow. She needed to sleep now.

Crawling into the bed, the overhead lights still on, Emma burrowed down into the cot, pulling the blanket up to her chin before stuffing Soaps jacket under her pillow for some more cushion. She tossed and turned a few times before she was comfortable and eventually pulled the arm of the jacket out of its bundled mess to pull it over her eyes to block out the light. The smell of leather and cedar was much stronger in this position now but it was at least a calming smell and she was able to fall asleep for a bit.

People filed into the room as the night progressed, Emma waking at every sound of the door opening and closing and people talking in hushed tones. She kept telling herself just a little longer, just wait out the noise a little longer and she could be asleep. Soon people were settling down around her and Emma felt herself drift back to sleep. Her arms were clutching tight to the jacket that had moved to be closer to her chest, as if seeking some sort of comfort from the material.

She was running down a dark hallway. People were screaming, the building was shaking and there was gunfire everywhere. She reached out a hand for Ronald, her fingers grasping for his. If she could just grab him, pull him down and out of line of the bullet she could save him. She knew it was coming that maybe, just maybe she could stop it. Just as her fingers grabbed his wrist the bullet hit in him the neck. The blood spray coated her face and chest and Emma reeled back screaming. Her own hands moving to wipe at herself. Not again, not again. The blood was hot on her face and she scrambled to wipe it all away as Ronald lay on the ground screaming for help. Pleading with her to help him and not let him die.

Emma awoke with a jolt, sitting up partially on the cot. Her hands scrabbling on her chest as if they were trying to rip something off of her. It was just a dream. Well, this time it was just a dream but that had truly happened. Her chest was heaving to get air and her mouth was dry as if she had been screaming. Reaching down blindly she searched for her water in the dark before finding it on the floor next to her cot and downing half of it in one go.

The person in the bed nearest to her was awake and staring at her, she was sure she had awoken them by the look they were giving her. It wasn’t all anger on the face, there was sympathy as well, but she could tell they were annoyed. Maybe they had just been avoiding their own nightmare when she dragged them into her mess. “Sorry,” Emma said quietly before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She needed to move, needed some light to shake the dark images from her mind and get out of the sleep haze that made everything seem too real.

She weaved around the beds as best as she could, using the light that seeped under the door as her guide to avoid outright running into anyone. Slipping out into the hallway as quietly as possible Emma slid the door shut so it barely clicked. She was squinting at the bright light of hallway, it seemed these stayed on day and night, before she rubbed at her eyes and tried running some fingers through her hair. Even at night the base would be full of people working and she didn’t want to walk around looking half asleep. And she needed to walk, and maybe someone to talk to.

It seemed silly to do it, but Emma made that right from their sleeping area and headed toward the area Alex had said was the 141 task forces little area of the base. Maybe he’d be up and she could talk with him. She barely knew him but he seemed friendly and concerned enough to listen to her late-night musing, if he was even around. She certainly was not going to knock on any doors to try and find him and risk waking anyone else up. If he wasn’t there, she’d just leave and see if she could find something on the television in the other common area she had found.

The walk was not long and the only lights in the common room were from the hallway, the small kitchen area along the left wall and the muted television. It was enough light to see though and not too bright to bring back that blistering headache that was threatening behind Emma’s eyes. Their couches were a bit nicer; they had a card table of sorts setup for eating off to the side and a bigger selection of reading material on the coffee table. Looking over her shoulder Emma debated leaving, she could go to the actual common room where she figured she’d be more welcomed and read there. But that ran the risk of more people and this place was deserted. She could always use the excuse she was waiting on Alex if someone happened upon her, and it wasn’t like this area was behind a locked door anyway.

Taking quiet steps to the couch Emma sat down and mused over what there was to read. Some magazines, a discarded mystery novel and some random paperwork. She opted to stay away from the paperwork and grabbed a magazine, mindless reading would be a little easier to take in. Leaning back on the couch she read for a bit but found the light just wasn’t bright enough for her and the squinting was making her eyes hurt. She wasn’t going to turn on a light so she tossed the magazine onto the table and turned her attention on the television. It was a rerun of an old sitcom and she curled her legs up on the couch to watch it in silence, her eyes taking in the dialogue from the subtitles.

She was halfway through the second episode when she heard a door open nearby, causing her to jump slightly and turn her head around on the couch. Emma was silently praying that it was Alex because if it was anyone else, she was sure they would be extremely confused as to why she was here and may even tell her to leave. She had a one in six chance of it being who she hoped and she waited, her head barely poking up over the back of the couch.

It wasn’t Alex though. The man was a bit bulkier than him and his hair, which he was currently ruffling, was a dead giveaway that it was Soap. This option wasn’t so bad, at least it wasn’t Ghost or their Captain Price. She had more than a two second conversation with Soap and he was friendly enough, the other two were much more intimidating. Emma stared at his back as he padded into the kitchen light and started digging around in one of the cabinets. He was in his sleepwear, which consisted of just comfortable pants apparently. It was too hard to see in the dark but she could make out some tattoos on his arms that she hadn’t noticed before now. They didn’t cover his skin fully and she found herself staring at the muscles of his back as he rummaged around above his head before blinking hard.

The longer she waited to say something the more awkward it was going to be when she finally did. But what did you say to someone that you were ogling in the dark, without being a complete creep or scaring them to death. Nothing came to mind and as she heard the sound of a package tearing open, she finally settled on “hey.”

Soap didn’t answer as he turned around quickly, dropping his snack on the counter with a quiet thud. His had instinctively went to his side where Emma would have guessed is where he kept a gun or knife when he was in gear. Or maybe he did have one in his pocket, he didn’t seem like a man that would let himself ever be caught by surprise defenseless. His eyes were narrowed as he looked at her in the dark, his mouth in a tight line and jaw clenched. Ever the soldier assessing the situation, looking for threats and the best way to eliminate them. His eyes found Emma on the couch quickly, her head fully over the back of the couch now and one hand raised in a small wave.

“Creepin’ Jesus,” Soap rasped as his tense body relaxed and his arms fell to his side. “You’re lucky it was me and not Ghost,” he stated before turning around to grab his snack. He then went to the fridge and opened in pulling out a bottle of water.

“If it was Ghost I would have laid down and pretended to not be here until he went away,” Emma replied and while it was joke, she wasn’t actually joking. “I had a feeling I may be able to convince you not to kill me,” Emma added as she curled her legs up under her body to sit properly, having been laying down to watch the television. “I was waiting on Alex,” she explained as he came around the couch and took up one of the armchairs.

“Alex?” Soap asked, as he settled into the chair and took a bite of what looked like a pastry. “Was he supposed to meet you? I can go get him,” he offered moving to stand up once again, more than willing to go get the man.

“Oh no, I, ah,” Emma started before sighing. “I saw him earlier and he said if I needed him to come down this way. That this was your task forces area and your barracks were behind it. But I wasn’t about to start knocking on doors. I don’t need him, I just,” she ran a hand through her hair feeling silly. She knew she was babbling, the words falling out of her mouth without much thought before she could have stopped them. She should have just stayed silent and let him go through the cabinets for his midnight snack. Or better she should have just turned around when she saw no one was up in the common room and gone back to where she had come from. “I didn’t want to sit in the silence,” she tried explaining again, “well in the dark in the silence. Even though it’s pretty dark and silent in here. I mean, I’m just going to stop talking now.”

Soap grinned and nodded as he adjusted to sink more into the chair, his long legs nearly hitting the coffee table as he stretched out. The water bottle was set in his lap between his legs and in another bite his pastry was gone and he tossed the empty wrapper onto the table with ease.

“I know what you mean,” he said after a brief pause. “About the silence that is. There are nights I want to be alone in the quiet but then it’s too quiet and I can’t stand it.” His eyes were a bit distant as he looked toward the windows where the blinds were drawn. “Talking is the best thing for it. Well, that’s what Price tells us anyway,” Soap chuckled a bit as he took a sip of his water and wiped his lips off with the back of his hand. “I don’t think Price has ever talked to anyone about anything like that in life, save maybe Laswell. I’ve talked to a few people; it takes the sting out but the ache doesn’t fully go away.”

Emma nodded and pulled an extremely flat and worn pillow into her lap, wrapping her arms around it as she picked at her nails. “I’ve seen a lot since I’ve been over here, and even before. Working trauma cases has been pretty much my field of expertise since I started. I learned how to cope with the aftermath well enough. Therapy and all that,” she blinked, staring hard at her hands. “But it’s different when it happens right in front of you, you know.” She looked up and found Soap watching her intently and he nodded when her eyes met his before she went back to staring at her hands. It was easier to look away when she was talking about it, it felt like she could stave off the tears better.

“I normally see it once the act is over you know? I am the cleaning crew saving people, and I know I can’t save them all. I’ve lost plenty right under my hands,” she twisted her hands so they were palm up for a second. “But watching someone shot and die within moments right there. Getting their blood on me as the bullet hit them.” She shuddered remembering Ronald’s face and the way his hands tore at his throat to try and save himself. How the pool of blood under his body grew too large too quick and Ghost has told her to leave him, that he was already gone. Even if he wasn’t gone right at that moment he would be very quickly and there was nothing Emma could have done.

“It was my fault. I was scared and didn’t want to run alone to the trucks. He was my mentor, I trusted him and I wanted to run with him. I reached for him and ever the person to help he moved to take my hand when the bullet hit him,” she choked. Finally admitting what had been eating at her. She could use the excuse that he was slow and she would have to drag him, but deep down she knew it was because she had been terrified to run alone. She wanted someone there beside her and being the man Ronald was he was going to help her, even if it cost him.

Soap, of course, had no idea what she was talking about, but now that the flood gate was open, she was just going to lay it all out there whether she truly wanted to or not. Emma felt the tears she had been fighting slip down her cheeks but didn’t move to wipe them away, hoping she could get them under control before he saw. She took a shuddering breath and inclined her head to the side to look away from Soap hoping to be subtle about it. Her eyes were fixed on the light coming in from around the blinds in the window and she blinked furiously to get the tears under control but they just kept coming faster and harder.

“Lass,” Soap said quietly and she heard him adjust in the chair, setting the water bottle on the coffee table. “It’s not your fault,” he stated quietly but Emma still didn’t turn around to look at him still trying to feign she was okay. It was no use to try and hide the tears, he could see the way she was breathing, how her shoulders shook slightly and the pinch in her face as she blinked hard. “Things happen out there that you wouldn’t believe could happen, that shouldn’t happen. But they do and it always happens to the wrong people and no matter how many times you play it in your head and blame yourself there was nothing you could have done.”

Emma finally wiped at her face, her fingers digging in a little too hard because she was frustrated with herself for letting go like this. She knew the break was coming, between the lack of sleep, the trauma she had seen and the near panic attack at dinner. But why did she have to do it here in front of him? She could have found a bathroom stall to cry in, stepped outside even if meant she was locked out for a bit, or even just cried into her pillow in her stupid cot. She just had to go and try to find some company, hoping for a distraction from the inevitable, and instead had sped along the process.

“If Ronald hadn’t reached back out for my hand he would have stayed down, wouldn’t have been in the path of that bullet and it would have cleared right past him,” Emma argued as her shoulders slumped and she curled tighter around the pillow, her knees coming up to put her body in a tight seated ball position. “He could have made it out, he could have just run on his own and gotten out to the trucks and he’d be here right now. But I got in the way,” a shuddered breath, “my cowardice got in the way and he just wanted to help me like he always had,” she hiccupped and buried her face in the pillow. “And now I’m here and he’s not.”

Soap had listened quietly to her as she talked, watching as she continued to curl in on herself, the guilt weighing her down. The tears were almost too much for him though and he kept shifting in his seat wanting to go to her but also not wanting to crowd her space. He couldn’t stand seeing someone hurt and he knew that she was in pain, the kind of pain that was visceral and nothing could quite fix it except you yourself.

“You’re not a coward,” he said firmly getting up from the armchair and moving to sit in front of her on the coffee table itself. The wood groaned under his weight but he ignored it hoping it would hold up for him, it had been beaten to hell and back and lasted this long it could make it a bit longer. “Hey, you are not a coward,” Soap said again, his voice still commanding but not abrasive but she still didn’t look up from where her head was now buried in her arms. “That shit you went through, that you saw, was terrifying. I would have been frightened and I’ve been through plenty of battles, but I’m at least prepared. You had no warning, no defense, no training. You were thrown into a shit storm and had to find a way to survive.”

Emma had heard him move in front of her, felt his knees brush against her shins as he adjusted on the table, but she hadn’t looked up. She just kept her face buried in the pillow listening to him as she cried in earnest now. Therapy had told her crying was cathartic, that it was good release but why did she have to fall to pieces right now with him in audience. He had seen her get sick, be terrified out of her mind, almost delirious with exhaustion and now this. She wouldn’t be surprised if he would be glad to see the back of her when she eventually moved bases or he did. Even now the poor guy had just gotten up for a midnight snack and he stumbled upon her mess. He must think of her a little naïve bird that put herself in a situation she obviously could not handle.

“Sorry,” she muttered and furiously wiped at her eyes with her palms and attempted to take a calming breath, though it was shuttering. “I shouldn’t have come down here and bothered you. You probably just want to get some sleep and I barged in on your area. I’ll just go,” Emma stated and she moved to uncurl her feet out from under her. There wasn’t much room to put her feet down and she ended up planting them on the floor between his knees. “You should get some rest I didn’t mean to keep you.”

Soap held his ground as Emma attempted to leave, not moving his legs from either side of her where he had her basically pinned on the couch. He knew what she was doing, he had seen her do it at dinner time with Alex, she was at a breaking point but didn’t want to be a bother to anyone. If she hadn’t run out of the mess hall so fast, he would have left the table to walk with her but before he could push Gaz down the bench to get up, she had already been gone. Her eyes stayed downcast as she attempted to pull herself together and to politely wait for Soap to move out of her way but he didn’t budge. Instead, he reached a hand out and gently put his fingers under her chin to tilt her face up to look at him. She didn’t resist, nor push him away, so he held his hand there while ducking his head a bit to get into her eyeline which was still trying to look away.

“If I wanted to go to bed, I would have done so already,” he explained, “or I wouldn’t have left it to begin with.” He smiled a bit when Emma’s eyes finally met his, her face still apprehensive and nervous. “I get the nightmares too. They follow me around, chase me out of my sleep at all hours of the night. Sometimes I can shake them off,” he paused, “then other nights I need to get up and move. Maybe get a snack,” he smirked because that is exactly what happened this time. “Watch a little television to distract me. Sometimes I can fall back asleep and other times I can’t. Why do you think this couch is so worn down and beaten? Why the television was still on? I bet you just missed one of the guys who left and attempted to go back to bed. All of us have made the rounds out here multiple times. Sometimes I’ll find someone out here and we just sit in silence and stare at the tv not really watching it.”

Emma sniffed a bit as she looked at Soap finally while he talked, her eyes darting between his as he spoke, taking in what he said. It helped to know that others dealt with the same thing she did, dealt with it the same way as well. But it also gave her pause to know that he had been up that evening because he too had a nightmare, or running thoughts he couldn’t turn off, and needed a distraction. “Yes, but I am sure you weren’t expecting to find a crying stranger on your couch,” she said and laughed a little bit.

“Well, no,” Soap said with a laugh himself, “you scared the daylights out of me. I’m sure you saw me reach for my weapon which I luckily did not have on me. You’re welcome to come down here but word to the wise next time turn on a light.” He grinned and brushed the side of her cheek gently with his thumb before he lowered his hand back down into his lap again.

Emma had felt every single touch he gave her, felt where his fingers held her chin and his thumb brushed her cheek before he pulled the warmth away. If she had been braver, she would have leaned into the touch to encourage him to not pull back, not just yet, but she didn’t.

“If you don’t mind me staying here a little longer, I’m going to watch some more television before I go back to my cot,” Emma stated as she pushed to settle back into the couch, her legs pulling back up into a cross-legged position. “Don’t feel like you have to stay out here with me,” she added on as she looked at him still sitting on the table.

“I don’t feel like I have to stay, but I’m going to,” Soap answered as he pushed to stand up. Emma watched him move, how his arms flexed with his weight and her eyes darted to his still covered injury. Ever the physician she noted that it had not bled through the gauze so the stitches were holding, but she still didn’t like how he was still using his arm like it was nothing.

“I’m fine,” Soap said as he looked down at her, clocking the fact she was staring at his injury. “I’ve had worse,” he pointed to a scar of an obvious bullet wound on his left shoulder. “Price had to dig that one out in the field. Took two days to get an evac because we were pinned down, kept it as clean as I could with water and a ripped-up shirt. I survived,” he shook his injured arm, “this is nothing. I’ll be back at it in the morning.”

Emma frowned at that, just because he had to do it then to survive didn’t mean he needed to do it now when he was safe on base. But she wasn’t going to push him on it, she didn’t want to badger him like a mother even though she felt like she needed to. Most military personnel shook off any advice she gave them anyway, he was no different and she knew people after him would be just the same. “As long as the stitches hold up, I won’t pester,” Emma responded simply before Soap took a seat next to her on the couch instead of going back to the arm chair.

“What are we watching?” Soap asked, kicking his feet up on the table, pushing some magazines out of the way with his feet before crossing his legs.

“An old sitcom,” Emma replied looking around for a remote to find Soap already had it in his hand and unmuted it. “I never sat and watched it all the way through. I’ve seen episodes here and there. My family used to watch it when it aired.”

“American’s do love their sitcoms,” Soap replied with a smirk as he rested his uninjured arm on the back of the couch casually, his other propped up on another pillow at his side. “I do like this one though, Alex brought it because he said British humor is too dry and I’m half inclined to agree with him, just don’t tell the rest of the team.”

Emma grinned, she secretly agreed with Alex though British dramas were much better than the American ones in her opinion.

They settled into an amiable silence on the couch, chuckling here and there as she show progressed along. Emma didn’t move from her seated position though she was very aware of Soap’s arm right behind her, not touching but present nevertheless. As time wore on though Emma found herself finally getting drowsy again but she wasn’t ready to go back and be alone. She shifted a bit in her seat so she could rest her head back on the couch, careful not to touch Soap as she did so. Soap had noted that she was starting to drift, that her eyes were heavy and every once in a while, she would jerk her head back up as if she had infact dozed off and caught herself. He didn’t say anything, didn’t dare move to wake her up but he watched her out of the corner of his eye until she finally did fall asleep, her head lolling to the side.

Soap turned the volume on the television down once he was certain she was out but continued to watch the show. He wasn’t getting any more sleep tonight; it was already almost four in the morning and he had a strict six am start time. He knew Price would clock his lack of sleep in an instant, especially if their morning debrief ran long and Soap had a chance to relax. But he’d manage, he could sleep later, he’d done much more on much less sleep in his life before.

“Lass,” Soap said as the clock neared closer to five. Ghost would be up any minute, he rose with the sun without needing an alarm. Gaz wouldn’t be far behind puttering around in the kitchen making coffee because the mess hall didn’t make it strong enough for his tastes. Emma didn’t move at his voice though. He reached out and gently shook her shoulder but Emma only mumbled a bit and adjusted herself away from him, to move as if she were going to lay down on the couch. “Emma, you need to go to bed,” he tried again, catching her arm to keep her from laying down, but she said something else unintelligible and shifted away from his touch again.

With a grumble Soap clicked off the television and rose from his seat on the couch to look around. He knew if he left her here, she would be woken up by all the noise as the 141 got ready for the day. But if he moved her, he was also afraid she’d wake up and he wasn’t about to carry her all the way back to her sleeping quarters. He tried rousing her once again but Emma merely muttered something that sounded like a string of threats that caused Soap to laugh. “Fine,” he finally stated aloud, more to himself than her since she was clearly in a deep sleep.

Bending down he slid his right arm under her legs and his left arm moved to slip under her shoulders. Emma stirred but didn’t wake and didn’t fight him on it either. He hoped she stayed asleep until he at least deposited her into the bed, otherwise it was going to be awkward for everyone involved. Her exhaustion seemed deep though, one that was down to the bones, and she seemed like a heavy sleeper as it was based on her muttering. He lifted her easily and rose into a full standing position before carrying her back toward his room without much fuss. He saw the light under Ghost’s door was on and he heard someone shifting around down the hall already.

Quickening his steps, he shouldered open the door to his room, which was a glorified university dormitory, then shut it quietly with his foot. Emma still hadn’t woken as he put her gently into his bed, removed her flip flops and pulled up the kicked down blankets from when he’d woken up hours before. He stepped back and held his breath waiting but Emma just rolled over on her side so her back was to him and curled herself around the pillows there and continued to sleep.

#fanfic #fanfiction #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #my fic #soap fanfic #call of duty #cod #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x oc #would it be enough?

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darkvveb · 4 years

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5.26.2020. e/d tw in tags

#my gf refuses to eat most of the time #left to her own devices she usually eats one small meal a day #and ive been trying to make her eat more but every time i do she seems angry at me #and idk if im misinterpreting that or not #but on god shes making me want to relapse so so bad #might fuck around n trigger myself on purpose #i cant eat more than she does bc then im bad #and i keep up my facade but i really just wanna cry #she put her hand on my thigh earlier and jiggled it around and i wanted to throw up #idk maybe im overreacting #personal #hurt #love

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americxn · 3 years

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𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕/𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕙𝕟𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕪 (𝕛𝕡𝕞 𝕩 𝕘𝕟!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣)

wordcount: 2k warnings: none :)

“James, have you seen my phone?” You ask, James’ attention snapping to where you were knelt on the edge of your shared bed, tossing aside cushions and lifting up the covers. “The phone is where it always is, dearest.” He offers, gesturing to the outdated corded telephone sat on a low table by the front door. “No, I mean my phone.” You mumble, pushing off the bed and beginning to rifle through the drawers of the dark oak nightstand positioned next to the pillows on your designated side. “Oh, you’re referring to that advanced device you always carry around?” “Yeah,” you answered vaguely, slamming the bottom drawer of the bedside table shut before straightening, your hands coming to rest thoughtfully on your hips. “I could’ve sworn I left it here but it’s gone.” As you looked around the room, James gave a small shrug, his attention falling back to the book rested in his lap. “Oh wait, I’m stupid - I left it in the bathroom.” You spoke more so to yourself, your words falling deaf on James’ ears, who was once again wholly concentrated on the novel clutched in his hands.

“Jameeees,” you sang whilst shouldering open the door to your shared suit. Your lover looked up from where he lounged in one of the plush armchairs positioned by the cold fireplace, open curiosity painting the pale planes of his face. You walked over to him, your hands hidden behind your back. Perching on his warm lap, you revealed the box you had been hiding with a flourish, presenting it to him with an enlivened flourish. He frowned softly in curious interest, taking the box from your hands and pulling the hastily tied ribbon undone. You watched, barely able to contain your excitement as he removed the lid of the box, carefully setting it aside before peering at the item that lay within. “It’s a phone!” You exclaimed, unable to help yourself as you reclaimed the box from his grasp, pulling out the phone and showing it to him. “Now you won’t have to sit and stare at your telephone like a lost puppy every time I leave the hotel.” Your words brought a gentle scowl to his brow, his pride bristling at your suggestion; it was true of course, but James was far too ‘busy’ to ever admit it. “You’ll be able to call or message me from any room in the hotel.” A content smile replaced his scowl in response to your words as he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a cold touch as he took the phone from you. “This looks like the phone that Sally has.” He mused, turning the sleek device over in his hand to examine it. You hummed your assent. “Yep, it’s the same type of phone. I thought that’d be best, she can teach you a bit more about how to use it. But look,” you snatched the phone from his fingers, swiping on the screen and opening the camera app “it takes pictures! Good quality too. And you can download any apps you like, you can get all your books on here, watch movies, read the news, literally anything. Social media too, I could make some accounts for you if you’d like...?” You words trailed away at the sight of the slightly lost look displayed on his face as he blinked slowly at you, overwhelmed with the abundance of information you had just thrown at him. “Sorry.” You smiled sheepishly. “They’re easy to use I promise. And you have plenty of time to figure it all out on your own. I’ve already put my contacts on there so you can get into contact with my whenever and wherever.” The arm he had slung around your lower back tightened, pulling you into the warmth of his chest as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Thank you, my love, it all seems extremely intriguing.”

“My love, could you pass me a towel please?” James spoke from his spot before the shower he had just climbed out of, water running off his skin and pooling at his feet; he had forgotten to bring a towel into the room with him and there were no spares occupying the bathroom. “Dearest?” He called again, beginning to shiver slightly, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, beads of rapidly cooling water dripping from the heavy strands at the nape of his neck and trickling down the pronounced planes of his back. “Y/n?” He tried once more, a slight shade of growing exasperation entering his tone. The hard tiles of the floor were cold under foot as his bare soles padded to the door; he swung it open halfway before peering around it, scanning the room for any sign of you. His eyes stilled on the bed where you lay splayed out on your back, your eyes open as you stared at the ceiling, mind clouded in deep thought. The music you had blaring through your airpods drowned out any other sound and so you didn’t notice the bathroom door open and didn’t pay any attention when James spoke your name even louder, studying you from around the door in confusion. Eventually he pushed the door open fully with an exasperated sigh, looking right at you pointedly as he crossed the room, pulling open his wardrobe and crouching to retrieve a clean cotton towel from the compartment at the bottom. Straightening, he slung the towel around his shoulders, pouting softly as he retreated back into the bathroom, seeing that you still hadn’t noticed him crossing the room mere feet from you, completely exposed.

“Shall we go down to the bar this evening?” James questioned, craning his neck to look at where you bumbled around the room, tidying up a bit and humming softly to yourself. He waited for several beats, expecting a response before frowning when you didn’t so much as deign to acknowledge his question. “Y/n, darling?” He threw up his hands in exasperation when you still didn’t pay him any heed, focused on gathering up the few stray items scattered across the vanity and crossing the room to deposit them in the drawers of the bathroom. “Y/n.” He repeated, standing from his chair and trailing you to the bathroom, lingering outside the door and awaiting your return. You gasped when you bumped into his chest upon stepping from the room, a hand rising to cover your heart in shock. “You scared me.” You laughed breathlessly, reaching up to take one of your headphones from your ear. “What are you doing?” You asked, brushing past him to continue tidying up the room. “I’ve been trying to catch your attention, you’ve been blatantly ignoring me.” He sounded genuinely hurt and so you turned, quickly hurrying back over to him whilst shaking your head. “No, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry; I can’t hear you when I’m listening to music.” You explained, gesturing to the ear that still housed one of your airpods, the other clutched in your fingers. “Oh. Is that what you were doing the other day? Listening to music? Because I was calling out for your attention and you didn’t pay notice.” “Oh, I’m sorry.” you offered, feeling guilty at the slightly disheartened look creasing his features. “Yes.” He sighed. “You were laying on the bed and I thought that you were sleeping but your eyes were open. I was concerned.” You smiled softly at this, reaching up to brush the stray strands of hair away from his ear. “I’m sorry, just come and kick me or something next time, but look,” you brought your airpod up to his ear, carefully wiggling it into place. He instantly brought his shoulder up to his ear, his neck bending at an extreme angle as he tried to cringe away from the music blasting through it. You laughed openly at his reaction, watching as he reached up to rip it from his ear. He twirled it between his fingertips, his lips parted in disturbed confusion as he examined the small device carefully before passing it back to you with a shudder. “That is an invention from hell.” He stated seriously, looking on in disgust as you inserted it back into your own ear with a giggle.

“I’m just going to run down to reception,” you shouted over your shoulder, opening the front door to you and James’ shared suite. “Why?” His voice was muffled, emanating from the door to his study that branched off the main room. “There’s a microwave in the staff room behind the front desk, I’m hungry.” There was a pause as James considered your words, before responding with: “A what?” You smiled softly, your hand aching as it struggled to hold the heavy door open. “Don’t worry, I’ll only be five minutes.”

Ms Evers watched from where she stood beside the large mahogany dining table as you and James pushed open the door to your rooms, arm in arm, talking fondly to one another. Her eyebrow raised in silent reprovement, the table before her fully laid, food already piled high on the plates arranged at either end. “Sorry, we’re a bit late.” You offered with a small, guilty smile, untangling your arm from James’ and making your way over to your seat. “The food has long since gone cold.” She grumbled, scanning the table and the food she had so lovingly laid out, her hours of labour now seeming unsatisfactory at the sight of the meals having lost all warmth. “It’s okay.” You insisted. “I’m sure it’ll be just as delicious as usual.” Hazel took little comfort in your words but offered you a tentative smile regardless, stepping away from the table and readying to leave you and James to eat. “Or we can go and warm it all up again?” You suggested. She turned, regarding you with confused intrigue. “If I put it back in the oven, it will surely burn?” Shaking your head, you reached for your plate, picking it up before skirting around the table and taking James’ in your hand, too. “Come on.” You encouraged over your shoulder as you walked to the door. “Let me show you both the miracle that is a microwave.” They trailed you all the way to the ground floor, the full plates of food heavy weights in your hands as you pushed open the door behind the front reception desk with a foot, kicking it open to allow James and Ms Evers to follow you through. There was a small kitchenette in the corner of the room, Liz and Iris turning from their positions lounged opposite one another on the worn couches that made up the drab common area for the hotel staff. You greeted them warmly before taking the food to the microwave; you put James’ plate in first, stepping aside to allow him to watch his food go round and round in marvelling interest. He flinched slightly when the timer went off, allowing you to push past him to pull open the small door and fish out his plate. It was steaming hot as it placed it before James on the counter, replacing his plate with your own. You were too busy watched your own food get the life revived back into it that you didn’t notice when James picked up a fork that was sat on the side, using it to spear a piece of potato and bring it up to his mouth. He gasped in startled pain as it passed his lips. “No.” You scolded, batting the fork away from his mouth as he chewed fervently, the food too hot in his mouth as he struggled to swallow. “It’s way too hot.” You sighed, rubbing his shoulder as he finally managed to swallow the small piece of food, glaring down at the rest of his plate in vexation. “I’ll get you some water.”

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins @ananad1 @shlutnutt @sanni333 @mossybank @tatesimper

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ventiiology · 3 years

Text

— ✦ || home

title . food for the soul characters . kaeya , diluc , jean , lisa , noelle , albedo , zhongli , childe , scaramouche type . fluff , platonic , semi-modern

everyone jokes about how you’d probably end up haunted by spirits, ghosts, phantoms and whatnot because you built a small restaurant over ‘sacred grounds’.

“alright, i think it’s getting pretty late. i’ll be heading home now. bye [name]!”

“thanks for staying back to clean up with me, i really appreciate it.” you thanked lumine as she packed up her things, “also, tell aether i said hi.”

“i will.”

the bell by the door tinkled as the blonde exited the restaurant. you sighed. your day was far from over. you went to the door that separated the shop from your house, and found a certain someone rummaging through your fridge in search of food.

“ajax. don’t you dare steal my yoghurt.”

“ACK!— oH uh, hEy. i wasn’t planning on taking the yoghurt, anyway.” the ginger backed away from the fridge with an apple in hand.

“you should wait for the others to appear so i can make you all some food.” you scolded the ghost.

yes, it was a common thing for people to joke that you were going to be haunted by some ghosts that were angry about how you’ve built your restaurant in the spot you did. but, none of the ghosts you encountered seemed even remotely mad about your decision.

and yes, he was a ghost.

“good evening, [name]! if you’re going to make some food, we can help you,” a soft voice spoke up. you turned to see noelle and jean. “it’s fine you two, i can handle it tonight.” the two nodded and proceeded to walk through the wall into your dining room. ajax followed suit, but decided to use the door instead of phasing through the wall.

you started to gather the ingredients you required for the meal tonight. it was best if you started preparing the food now, so that when all of them were here, the food would already be ready and they wouldn’t have to wait for it to finish cooking.

“carrots? you know xingqiu despises those,” another person said behind your shoulder.

“he’s not coming today, so it’ll be fine. i declined noelle and jean’s offer to help me, but since you’re gonna cause trouble with ajax if i send you to the dining room, you might as well fetch me some stuff. can you get me the carrots?” you asked. kaeya groaned but complied.

“kaeya, do you know when diluc’s comi—”

“good evening, [name].”

“oh, there you are. good evening, diluc. i thought that since kaeya had just arrived, you wouldn’t get here till a few more people came.”

“usually that’d be the case, but i heard that one of the two fatui had arrived first. he and kaeya in the same room never ends up well without... supervision.”

“ouch. that hurt more than expected, dear brother.”

“i’m just speaking the truth.” diluc said as he took the carrots from kaeya’s hands then placed them next to you.

“thanks, diluc. both of you can go to the dining room now. can you please help noelle and jean set up the table?” the two nodded and left.

now that the ingredients for one of the dishes was already in the pot, you could start setting up your second dish.

“cutie~! you’re making soup with vegetables! mm, my favourite.”

“yeah, i’m using the recipe that zhongli taught me.”

“i see. well, i’ll be going to jean.” she said before leaving you to your own devices.

“hello, [name].”

“...hello.”

“zhongli! scaramouche! the two of you arriving together is the last thing i expected.”

“psh. it’s mere coincidence.”

“alright scara. now both of you, shoo.”

“good evening. i hope i’m not too late.”

“it’s fine, albedo. now, before i get too distracted and all the food burns, you all better settle down in the dining room.”

a few more minutes passed and finally, you had all the food on plates. you carried them one by one to the table, and set down the meals in the middle of the table.

“i see you’ve cooked ‘a buoyant breeze’... i haven’t had a dish like this since— hmm... and the taste... it’s almost the same as i remember.” zhongli muttered, tasting the soup you made. when he had told you about this recipe, it also came along with the story of someone he knew very well who made that dish as his specialty.

“jade parcels. it’s been a while since i’ve tasted these.” diluc said, taking some jade parcels and placing them on his plate using chopsticks. ajax used a fork to stab through one on diluc’s plate and ate it cheekily.

“you actual—”

“calm down, diluc. there’s still plenty more.” you said, cutting in, while glaring at ajax as a warning.

lisa was chatting to jean on the other end of the table while noelle sat by them, eating quietly. scaramouche sat as far away as possible from diluc and ajax. albedo listened as kaeya talked about something you weren’t bothered to fully listen in to and zhongli seemed like he was in deep thought.

you smiled slightly. your dining table used to be small and only able to accommodate probably four people, but now here you were, with a big table that was able to seat many. you didn’t regret building your restaurant here. you’ve gotten to know so many individuals. you wouldn’t prefer it any other way.

note . i might do some form of continuation of this. a little ‘get to know the ghosts’ kinda thing and some background info, basically.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #jean x reader #lisa x reader #noelle x reader #albedo x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #scaramouche x reader

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kiwi--bot · 3 years

Text

Patterns

Rating: T Words: 2,872 Warnings: Blood, Injuries, Al-An doesn’t understand emotions very well. Summary: Al-An prefers when things fall into an easily recognizable pattern. It’s how data forms, it’s easier to work with, and less surprises make it easier to remain efficient. Robin is a rogue bit of code in the set sequence.

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Indeed, it had been quite some time since Al-An was allowed to exist in any dimensions outside of their temporary isolation. And truly, Robin had done well in the fabrication of an Architect form that would suit their needs to relocate the pair off the planet, and return to their home with the remedy for the Kharaa Bacterium; for the Architects of their home world.

Unfortunately, following the reconstruction of their new form, Al-An is hit with the immediate problem that their supposed mode of transportation has... degraded over time; and they are quite lacking really on the resources department. Countless amounts of bits and bobs, here and there, that simply corroded over the years, or just did not operate further. And every small tick of a list of issues added up to an inoperable phase gate. Yet Robin-- ever so helpful Robin-- offers to help collect whatever Al-an could need to repair their ship.

“Always together, even if you’re not stuck upstairs anymore,” She had joked, tapping the side of her head in an emphasized way. How Al-An could only think of how true that statement was...

And so, life on 4546B settled into somewhat of a steady, even pace for Robin and Al-An.

Robin relocates her primary base to the facility where Al-An prepares for convenience’s sake. She wakes up late in the morning, and Al-An’s learned to get a cup of coffee steaming hot and settled at her nightstand at precisely 13:29. This in turn helps her wake up and become functional no later than 13:50-14:00, depending on how late she was up the previous night.

Following that, Al-An fabricates a nutritious meal of her choosing, and it’s set onto a table-- or, a section of the facility that’s been repurposed into a table-- and she eats before she heads out for the day to find the resources needed. (And always, Al-An makes sure that there’s a fabricated meal packed away in a thermally-controlled container for her to take along.) And like clockwork, Robin is back at 22:22 with her Seatruck stuffed to the brim with all the supplies she could find.

And usually Al-An has to check her for injuries or parasites and she just grins when they comment on how inefficient her resource-gathering is if she must hurt herself every single time. “Awww, you just like to fret over me, Al-An,” she coos as they utilize their on-hand medical devices to knit up skin from a rather nasty bite.

“I do not fret, I observe,” Al-An states plainly, and Robin rolls her eyes, only wincing a little when Al-an has to wipe over another puncture with that strange antiseptic gel, and the skin closes under the heat of that magic little tool that Robin has yet to scan. “And I know that humans are one of the most fragile things that get in more trouble compared to any living creature I have yet to meet.”

“I’m gonna talk that as a compliment, Al-An.” Robin flexes out her wrist once the wound is all sealed up, the only reminder a faint scar left in the wake. She flashes a grin at the Architect, who would promptly turn back to what they had been working on prior before they needed to patch her up.

At 27:00 or 28:00, Al-An ceases working for a short period-- one Robin requested so that they don’t overwork themselves. Of course, an Architect cannot really do such a thing as ‘overwork,’ but Al-An humors her. And Robin’s meal is fabricated and settled on the table no later than 28:50. She used to always request Al-An eat dinner with her-- and although they do not eat like she does, they sit nonetheless at her side.

And Robin will scroll through her PDA and read the day’s logs once again, chewing hear and there and really making an inefficient use of her time as she often does. But humans like to be that way-- leisurely, as Robin once corrected them-- and so Al-An will not question it again.

She always leans back against the stone of the her temporary seat, shrugging and shuffling and making a good amount of noise that could startle even the most focused Architect from their endeavors. Over time, she would unconsciously lay against Al-An’s side, and that often settled her, so they would not comment.

If they had to admit something, the pressure therapy from her body weight was a welcome one, given they did not have the proper tools to recreate such things.

Robin turns into bed anywhere from 1:00-3:00; it will depend on what areas she visited, and what the day’s events involved. And she will bid Al-An goodnight with a smile and pat on their arm, before she retreats to her bed. Although, she doesn’t really go anywhere, because her ‘room’ is just a small section of the facility adjacent to where Al-An primarily works.

She’s fabricated herself a bed, some storage, and even hung up some curtains to block out the steady glow of the facility. It’s a small little space that reminds Al-An of how Architects would furnish the habitats of subjects they used for research.

Peculiar.

And this is how their pattern would fall into, resetting each day at 13:29 with the first coffee of the day. Al-An finds the repeating pattern of each day, as Robin would put it.... soothing. Did Architects even need to be soothed? Historically?

No. And yet Al-An could not help but find this... calm, inside the promise of the known. Perhaps it was a way for them to deal with the fact that they might not know what would await them on the other side of the phase gate, where they would have to face their people, and answer for their mistakes. Perhaps that reason is why they can now find solace and even comfort in something as simple as a daily pattern.

How the other Architects would be baffled at the thought. The very notion of it was so unlike them all. Al-An would have to blame Robin for this, at the very least.

Merging with her cerebral cortex must have changed something in their emotional status....

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And with the promise of a steady pattern, Al-An could find each day predictable enough to not impede any portion of their work. They worked quickly to repair what needed repairs, to adjust what needed adjusting, to alter what needed altering.

Steady. Steady. Steady. Repeat.

The illusion of this pattern gets shattered when 22:42 arrives one evening, and Robin is not yet home. Al-An, logistically, should be business as normal. She could have gone farther, she could have had a small set-back, she could have gotten distracted. But when 23:22 arrives, and Robin is still not home, Al-An finds they cannot work.

The data rolls in front of their vision as normal, the facility is operating at 100%, and they have spent the better part of this week weaving data in such a way that it is second-nature. But their hands do not move, their gaze is transfixed on the door, and the progress of their work is stunted.

She should be back by now. She should have been back exactly 60 minutes ago.

Al-An cannot work. They shut off their normal programs and instead set up a long-range scan. It puts them off schedule immensely, but they, for once, cannot find it in them to care about inefficiency. It takes 20 minutes for the scan to prepare, and the entire time, Al-An keeps their gaze on the door. Like Robin will burst in any second, with a couple new wounds, yes, but here, and alive.

Robin does not enter the door by the time the scan is online at 23:42.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:43.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:44.

Robin does not enter the door as the scanner searches at 23:45.

Robin is not home as the scanner searches at 23:46.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:47.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:48.

Robin is not home safe as the scanner searches at 23:49.

Robin must not be safe as the scanner finds her at 23:50.

Al-An must prepare for the worst, even as they wish to leave as soon as the scanner reads her biosignature in the Arctic. No good in retrieving her if they do not have food, medical supplies, warmer clothing, an extra hair tie-- she always complained when her current one would break-- and anything else humans needed when they were potentially in distress--

No.

Robin is not in distress. The very thought has the Architect frozen to the spot, a flicker of something so unfamiliar buzzing through them. She is fine, just delayed. Off-schedule, off-pattern. No matter, Al-An will locate her and then they will both repair that.

They finish collecting everything needed into a neat pack, and just as they prepare to put the facility into lockdown, there’s a familiar faint splashing, and then footsteps padding across a stone floor.

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It is 24:17 when Robin Ayou enters the Architect facility she calls home with her arm crudely wrapped in a sling and her leg leaving a trail of blood. But nonetheless, she’s got the same grin on her face, and carries something sharp in her uninjured hand. She’s limping.

“Al-An!” She calls, her voice loud and full of excitement. She’s stumbling over her own feet, and Al-An blinks to her side to catch her with the beam of their mechanical arm, lifting her right off the ground. She doesn’t notice how their posture is tight and tense, instead waving the sharp object in her hand. “Al-An I did it! I fought off one of those Shadow Leviathans and I freaking won!”

Al-An does not reply.

“It tried to eat me, Al-An!” Robin’s arm waves wildly in her excitement, and she doesn’t protest when Al-An brings her to the empty table to seat her, once again getting to work on mending what is broken. Her injured arm has several gashes in it: some down to the bone, and covered messily with plant matter. Al-An removes those and starts on sterilization.

“It yanked me by the arm, but I was quick-- I stabbed him right in the eye, and I held on, because he was pulling me towards his mouth!” She grins wider, adrenaline masking any pain from the antiseptics, or how the beam begins to knit the skin and muscle back to one piece. “I lost my grip on my knife, but I grabbed his spine-- or whatever those glowing things on his belly are-- and I held on and kicked him right in the stomach!”

Al-An silently redirects attention to her leg, where acidic liquid had eaten through her suit and burned the skin-- not too horribly, but bloody. That is treated next.

“And then I must of hurt him bad, because he let me go, but not before I yanked and yanked on those spine things-- And look! I got it, I ripped one clean off!” She’s talking quickly, her body thrumming at the thrilling tale, and feeling so alive. “I felt bad at first, but then I remembered that he tried to eat me, so I shrugged it off, and he backed off after I ripped off this. I won, Al-An! Against a freaking Shadow Leviathan!”

Robin laughs, slapping her now healed hand against her forehead and grinning wildly. “God, I thought for sure I was a goner when I didn’t take the prawn suit down--”

“And why didn’t you, Robin?”

They are both startled by the tone of Al-An’s voice. And Robin finally realizes that Al-An is stiff, mechanical in how they treat her-- so different from the almost caring way they usually do. And they are glowing a sickly yellow color, their gaze transfixed on her wounds as the mechanical arm fixes up the burns on her leg.

“I-I.....” Robin is at a loss, her eyes now locked onto them. “I.... don’t know.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Al-An finishes up work on her leg, and then does a general scan over her to make sure they didn’t miss any other wounds. Processing, methodical, even.

Something is wrong, Robin thinks. Even now, as they seem to pull away from the situation, the same sickly color tinges the edge of her vision. Robin catches their arm as they turn to assess her findings, and she doesn’t miss how they tense.

“Al-An....” She begins, but stops. She can’t find the right thing to say. It all feels wrong. Like anything she says next won’t be the right thing to say. But she tries with, “Are you okay?”

“That is hardly a question you should ask me, Robin.” Al-An’s voice has gone back to the same, even tone as when they first met, but it’s all off. Too even, too tight. Like there is something beneath the surface, just hiding and waiting to strike like an Ice Worm. “You should ask yourself that. You were the one who was injured. Sustaining traumatic injuries is detrimental to the overall health of--”

“Did I scare you?” She asks, and Al-An falters.

“Fear is not a concept we feel,” They state, and yet they now feel the sinking familiarity of it nonetheless. Fear. They were afraid, they had been afraid when Robin was not home at the right time. They were scared when Robin returned injured. They were scared when she recounted her harrowing tale, and they were scared that she’s going to do it again and they would not be there to pick up the pieces--

“Al-An...” Robin’s voice cuts through the swirling data inside their head, and her eyes are soft as she reaches and touches their chest gently. She feels.... awful. Physically and emotionally. How could she not realize that they were upset? How could she have been so blind when she’s normally so in tune with the Architect? “Al-An, I’m really sorry.”

“You have done nothing that warrants an apology,” Al-An states; but their lights flicker pink for the briefest moment. “You were simply acting inefficiently and radically in a way that could have resulted in several versions of a potential death, which is not uncommon for your species.”

Robin smiles. That unintentional insult was 100% all Al-An. She shifts closer to them, and then her arms wrap around them, and she leans her head against their chest, and she imagines she can hear their heartbeat through their thick, armored body. “I know, I was being an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you, Al-An. Never had a hug before?”

“Architects do not partake in this sort of behavior,” Al-an tells her. But, nonetheless, they mimic her movements, and their organic arms encircle her smaller frame, and having her close to them like so reminds them just of how tiny and delicate she is. “....Touching one another was not commonplace.”

“Then I’m gonna make it commonplace, and I’m gonna give you a hug everyday until I catch up on the hugs you’ve missed out on your whole life,” Robin hums as she closes her eyes, yawning.

“That would be impossible, given the length of your human lifespan,” Al-An corrects her, but they find the idea of one of these each day not entirely unpleasant. Robin laughs, and she just smiles. And their lights shift to a light pink as she falls asleep against them, and they return her to her bed: asleep too early for the schedule.

But it was alright to be a little off-pattern.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

And so, life on 4546B settled into somewhat of a general routine for Robin and Al-An.

Al-An has her coffee ready at 13:29 and she drinks it as she wakes up and rolls out of bed by 14:00. Al-An fabricates breakfast, packs her a lunch, and she’s out the door for the day’s work. And if she returns at 21:57 or 23:37, Al-An is not worried. After all, she’s returning with less injuries, and that is good enough for them.

Together they sit when Robin has her dinner and Al-An has their break around 28:42, and Robin reads aloud her PDA entries to Al-An-- even though they could easily scan and upload the documents themself, it makes her feel happy, so they indulge. And Robin leans back against Al-An without hesitation once she’s done eating, and they find the pressure nice.

And when 1:00 or 2:00 rolls around, just before she turns in for bed, Robin will throw her arms around Al-An for their daily hug, and she will hold on tight for a good few minutes, and Al-An learns to hold her in return. Perhaps if they held long enough, tight enough, she would never be in danger again.

And they find that perhaps, maybe... they like hugs.

And Robin fashions the Leviathan fragment into a necklace, that she gifts Al-An.

And Al-An wears it everyday.

#Subnautica #Subnautica: Below Zero #Robin Ayou #Al-An #Robin/Al-An #Al-An/Robin #KiwiBot Writes

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goldentournesol · 3 years

Text

to be true, to not be true (part 1)

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: early in y/n’s and spencer’s relationship, y/n fears the growing distance between them, although what seemed to be possible infidelity, is actually much worse–for spencer.

Length: 2.9k

A/N: i wrote this in collaboration with one of my favorite writers on here, Mia over at @mggpleasedontlookhere. She is so wonderful and hopefully you can see both of our writing styles here!

masterlist

The sunlight streaming through the windows made the hairs on my skin dance in glee, although it was the soft breeze invading the space that contrasted the radiant warmth. An equilibrium was achieved–a needed balance. The same can be said about the nerves crawling about my stomach and the naive excitement that made me light-headed whenever I was around Spencer. I glanced up at him from where my head lay in his lap. The reflected glow from the TV danced across his features making my heart jolt. My stare caught his attention and he sent me a small smile, his hand leaving traces in my hair. It was his day off and I had no problem spending it in suffocating proximity with him.

“This is nice,” I breathed, leaning back into his soft touch. He hummed in response, almost in contentment, if not for the moment his eyes seemed far off, entangled in a distant thought. It was so brief, I might have missed it. His job took a lot from him and I knew that, which is why I never pushed him. Instead, I let the subtle aroma of morning coffee and fresh linen confine my senses, leaving me oblivious to reality.

Although not a few moments later, the ping from Spencer’s phone burst the fantastical bubble that surrounded us. My eyes lingered on the cartoon characters plastered on the screen but I couldn’t help noticing the way Spencer’s fingers would thump rhythmically against the floor. Adjacent to his palm, rested his phone, revealing several notifications as it came alive. Albeit I paid no mind to their context given I was enamored by the picture of me on his homescreen. A faint smile graced my lips at the observation, feeling a wave of warmth rush my cheeks.

“I wonder who that is,” I teased, referring to the image. Spencer must have misunderstood my point of reference, hastily explaining that new language that Morgan had introduced him to through text messages.

“Spencer, using emojis does not constitute a new language.”

“Considering its context, I would argue it is–I mean look at hieroglyphics!” I covered my face in amusement, running my hands over my eyes. A sharp exhale left my lungs as my chest filled with contagious giggles. It seems that I was too consumed in my fit of laughter to notice Spencer stealthily concealing the device and turning off his ringer.

“First of all, hieroglyphics is a formal writing system-”

“And does that not ‘constitute’ a portion of language? Also, isn’t texting a writing system in itself?” His lips formed into a sly smirk, thinking he’d gotten the best of me.

“You’re right in the way that hieroglyphics is part of the language, however it’s all but the ‘expression’ of that language.” I debated, gesturing to the air as I explained my point. For a moment our eyes met, and I could feel my playful resolve melt away under his gaze. Despite the pause in my confidence, my stubbornness shone through.

“All I heard was that I was right,” he jested, tickling the side of my waist. I jumped at his mischief, collapsing into pleas and begs as he continued his assault at my skin. My stomach churned in delight as my hands attempted to pry him off of me, the premise of our conversation vanishing into air like wisps of smoke.

Spencer’s days off were becoming increasingly rare, I’d barely seen him in the last two weeks, but we’ve managed to salvage enough time between cases for a date. The excitement buzzed through my veins as the clock ticked closer to 7 pm. I was growing restless in the apartment, obsessively checking my phone for the time. Spencer is usually right on time, if not early. Dread and anxiety clogged up my throat as I waited for him. For hours, call after call would be sent straight to voicemail. The weather outside seemed to be in tandem with the way I felt. The rain was as unforgiving as the tears that striped my face.

I was never one to hold a grudge. But it happened once, then it happened twice. Slowly, it became a habit and it was impossible to reach him.

I guess date nights on Thursdays were now obsolete.

He came over to my apartment maybe once whenever he was in town and even then he was nearly unrecognizable. His shy, loving demeanor was replaced by explosive irritability and general unease. I wished he’d just talk to me, but he continued to brush me off. He was being distant and strange, his behavior was so unlike him. Knowing him though, he was probably too stressed or busy to get around to doing simple tasks like eating a balanced meal. Spencer can be quite scatterbrained, and I hadn’t seen him in around a week. So, around lunch time, I made Spencer a healthy meal packed with proteins and veggies and decided to pop into the BAU and drop it off. It felt like a good way to cheer him up. Maybe we’d have lunch together at the park he always liked to visit. It wasn’t that far from headquarters. Hell, I’d even eat lunch with him at his desk at this point.

The walk into the BAU was strangely nerve wracking, I could feel my heart in my throat. I had an uneasy feeling in my gut but I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy glass doors open. My eyes scanned the bullpen for my boyfriend but I couldn’t find him. Standing there in confusion, I was only snapped out of my trance when someone bumped into me from behind.

“I’m so sorry–oh, it’s you! Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?” JJ said, closing the file she held in her hands and wrapping me in a one-armed hug.

“Hey JJ! I was looking for Spence, I got him lunch, but I can’t seem to find him anywhere? Do you know where he is?” I said as I pulled back from the hug, she began to say something but was interrupted.

“Woah hey, sunshine! I was wondering why it suddenly got so bright in here.” The deep voice of none other than Derek Morgan came from beside us and he was, of course, donning his signature cheeky grin. I couldn’t help but grin back, even though my chest was nearly caving in on itself.

“Did Spence come in today?” JJ asked Morgan, whose brows immediately furrowed.

“No, I haven’t seen him today. I think he might be coming in late, I’m not sure. He’s been kind of off, lately.” Morgan said, eyes searching my own for an answer.

“He has, hasn’t he?” I exclaimed and the two nodded in agreement, “I’ve been worried about him, maybe all that emoji-talk finally got to him.” I laughed slightly, but stopped when I found Morgan’s expression shift.

“What do you mean? I stopped trying to explain emojis to him like months ago, if the genius doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it.” Morgan shrugged, unknowingly allowing the literal caving in of my chest to take place. JJ noticed the change in me immediately.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” She asked in her usual caring manner, but I could barely hear her over the rushing of my blood in my ears.

“Nothing, nothing. Um, if he comes in today, can you just give him this?” I dismissed the conversation and handed over the brown bag with the lunch I made, disguising the sharp exhale that left my lungs. Before JJ had the opportunity to utilize her profiling skills, I gave both of them a cordial nod and left the office.

My steps felt heavier with every collision against the tile, albeit the loud thumping of my heart drowned out reality around me. My mind warped itself around irrational thoughts as my loyalty to Spencer attempted to retaliate against the invaders. The concept of Spencer as dubious and sly fell foreign to me. However, that lack of knowledge only added fuel to the imminent blaze that engulfed my head and stomach.

I swarmed with alternate realities, trying to make sense of the unknown. If Spencer was aware of my method of defining a solution, I would’ve been scolded by my naivety and illogical thinking. Oh to be a scientist–to have a mind like his. It’s a gift yet a heavy burden to carry. Is that it? Was that it? Does he not believe I’m capable of understanding a mind like his? Was I stupid? No. He had shared intimate momentos of his life before, so what was it? What can I not offer…What can I not promise to make him drift away like this?

It must have been me, right? I must’ve hit a boundary the last time we spoke! Or was it his work? No. By the time my thoughts stopped buzzing, I realized my feet carried me to the park I intended to visit earlier with Spencer. An unfamiliar pang hit my chest, sending reverbing waves throughout the cavity. A sort of ache rested in the core of my heart–something I didn’t think I would feel when reflecting on my relationship with Spencer–my Spencer. I guess I was so used to the warm bubble he fabricated that I forgot how cold the real world was.

Was that it? Did I stop being that for him too?

The thought of the slow degradation of our relationship sent a chilling shock through my veins while I swallowed pins and needles. My hand rested on a park bench next to me, letting myself use the wooden beams as support. Looking out into the far pond in the center of the park, I pulled myself to take a seat. The wind began to whistle through the trees, and the lake of glitter–the nickname I gave whenever the sun casted its glow onto the surface–lost all of its beauty. Crickets didn’t even dare to sing their usual melody and birds flew south to their homes. The breaths I took kept going nowhere, dissolving into nothing even though my chest expanded and retracted.

I pulled at the ends of my sleeves, tucking my knees into my chest as the air grew crisp. Questions of infidelity and unfounded justifications collided creating a mass of insatiable curiosity. My head coincided with entropy–it enjoyed the chaos–until suddenly it went blank. Every tether that kept me grounded vanished, my consciousness going into autopilot. I didn’t even realize the burn that resided in my eyelids or the wet streaks coating my cheeks–maybe from the dryness or something more. It was only the small drop of water landed on the back of my palm that pushed me out of the addicting trance.

Another one had landed on my forehead. And another one. And another one. I cringed as I felt the water drip from my head to the crevice of my ear. The clouds began to rumble a somber tune as it began to rain. Plucking myself from the bench, I made no hurry to make it back to the house. In a way, the droplets cascading the skin distracted me–seemingly blissful compared to the former events.

Once again, my feet held a prominent consciousness as it was the only part of me that was stable, leading me to the doorstep of my apartment complex. With what felt like a last ditch effort, I checked my phone for any new messages from Spencer. My heart lurched seeing a new notification pop up. To my surprise, it was from him.

With a deep breath and newfound hope, I unlocked the device, taking a moment to gaze at the picture of I and Spencer on the screen, before proceeding. My shoulders dropped, the tight squirming in my stomach halting. A hopeful smile crept on the corners of my lips, the previous distrust dissipating from my unreliable mind as I read the words displayed in front of me.

“Date night tomorrow?”

Tomorrow night couldn’t come quick enough. It somehow felt like I was holding my breath the entire day until I finally saw him. He was apologetic and sweet enough that it quieted my anxieties for a while. If he held any guilt or shame, it wasn’t apparent, or maybe he hid it well. Or maybe I was being ridiculous and reading far too much into things that could be circumstantial. But this was Spencer…my Spencer, the tenderhearted, gentle soul who made way too many corny physics jokes.

Dinner went by much smoother than I expected, but I still felt like there were things unsaid. The words felt lodged in my throat, almost like an itch I couldn’t reach. Either by mindless habit or by sheer deliberacy, we ended up in our favorite park. The very park that I found myself running to in a fit of frustration yesterday. Our feet seemed to know the way of our usual path along the pavement. I wondered briefly if there was a place I stepped in twice without noticing it. There was a lull in conversation and before I realized it, the words escaped me stealthily.

“Hey, Spence?” I started, and he took his attention off his shoes to look at me, “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you about something.” The way the words stumbled ungracefully from my lips had me cringing. He lifted a brow in intrigue and caught my eye, silently profiling me and my nervous behavior.

“Anything, love.” The use of the amorous term caught me off guard and I had to swallow under his intense gaze. I felt myself open my mouth, but the words died on my tongue as the blaring of his ringtone took the place of my voice between us. It was almost as if the scratchy melody startled him because the way he snatched himself away from me to look at his phone was worrisome.

His brows bunched together as he took a look at it, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Without waiting for my confirmation, he pressed the phone to his ear and took a few large steps away from me, as if the space would give him more privacy. I suddenly felt extremely exposed without him by my side.

The emptiness beside me lingered of his scent, almost mocking me, the words constricting my tongue. If I had a second longer, maybe the phone call would’ve been obsolete, maybe for the first time in a long time he would’ve been selfishly mine, even for another moment. I found myself suffocating in the same place I was yesterday like some poetic injustice. Perhaps I’m just a marionette, dangling from loose strings as the universe had their way with me. Frankly that would be less upsetting than watching Spencer slip through my fingers, knowing that it was possibly me who sealed that fate, and not some otherworldly being. It would’ve been my doing, and that’s something I’m not yet ready to realize.

Maybe it was my undying curiosity or growing twinge in my chest every second passed that led me to consult the moral figures weighing down my shoulders. At two opposing extremes, they debated the right course of action–or if doing the right thing was even the course of action to consider. Surprisingly in the end, it was my impulsivity that answered for me, wasting no time to stipulate consequences.

I shook off the twisting feeling in my stomach, pushing myself off in Spencer’s direction. I kept justifying my actions by telling myself that all I would be doing is checking on him, although the underlying motive was nothing under disguise. I whispered the same mantra to myself with every inch closer. I gritted my teeth as the antsy sensation traveled to my shoulders, slowing my steps to contemplate my reasoning.

What am I doing? A harsh exhale of detest left my lungs, leaving a light yet deserved burn in my esophagus. It seemed incredulous to me that I was willing to eavesdrop on my own boyfriend, although it didn’t seem like that minutes ago. I bit the inside of my cheek in shame, turning myself around.

Has this all been in my head? No, it can’t. Then why would he lie? He wouldn’t, but he did. Confusion set deep within me, however it was my guilt that left an everlasting mark. Maybe Spencer had his reasons, he would never deliberately fib–at least the Spencer I knew would never. But what if that’s it? Did I really know Spencer that well? The world around me closed in rapidly, my senses overwhelmed. Did I make him lie? It would make sense considering my recent possessiveness. Did he see that? Did I drive him away?

I bit down on my bottom lip, threatening to break the skin. I ran my hand through my hair several times, taking a few calming breaths to compose myself. No, I can’t think like that. This is Spencer, he’s my Spe–no, maybe he never was mine?

Unable to contain my contradicting thoughts any longer, I shifted around with a newfound determination. Pushing the bile building up at the bottom of my stomach, I prepared to march my way to him. My body set aflame with feigned confidence, hopefully enough to fuel the overpowering desire to know the truth.

To know whether the truth actually lied in the irrationality of my mind

To know whether the truth lied in the coarseness of my behavior.

To know whether the truth lied in the prospects of Spencer’s job.

To know whether the truth-

“I guess I’ll see you on Thursday!” Spencer smiled with endearment–a smile I thought was reserved for me. “It’s a date…”

To know whether the truth was that he was no longer mine.

part 2 feedback is always appreciated!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #cm #mia <3

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deadorcaffeinated · 3 years

Text

Sparks, Pt. 4

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Chapter Summary: You get ready to confront the God of Mischief. But are you ready for that?

A/N: Finally, a bit more Loki.

TW: Eating

After a year consisting mostly of isolation and non-consensual experimentation, it was strange, to say the least, to have people actually give a shit about your well-being.

Shortly after Fury called the meeting to a close, Nat took you to a sort of staff room, oddly normal for a ship like this. State of the art, but with all the basic workings of a regular office’s staff room.

“You must be starving,” she said, pulling some things out of an impressive reach-in refrigerator. “Sandwich? I make a mean ham and cheese.”

Your stomach suddenly let out a worrying growl, and you winced.

“Sounds fantastic, actually,” you realized you couldn’t remember the last time you’d eaten. The lab hadn’t exactly been feeding you five star meals.

A comfortable silence settled into the room while Natasha assembled the sandwich. The quiet sounds of her work lulled you into a sort of trance, as you stared at the wall, and definitely didn’t think about how an agent of a secret organization was preparing you lunch on a giant aircraft carrier thousands of feet in the air which was also occupied by two gods, a historic super soldier, and the most famous tech genius in the world.

No. You didn’t think about it at all.

She presented you with her finished product and a glass of water with a flourish, which also included a bag of chips and an apple. “It might be too much, so only eat as much as you want. It’s better to take it easy when your stomach isn’t used to meals like this.”

You nodded and gave her an expression which you hoped looked more grateful than grimace. Truth be told, you were holding back emotion as even this small kindness felt overwhelming after the past year.

But as you picked up the sandwich to take a bite, a heavy set of footsteps stopped at the door.

It was Thor, his large frame standing almost sheepishly in the doorway. “Apologies for interrupting. May I speak with you?”

To your surprise, the question was for you, and after a nod, Nat touched your wrist and said, “I’ll be right outside. You can have the room.”

After she exited, Thor approached your table with a sort of caution.

“Oh, sorry, uh, would you like to sit down?” You stuttered lamely, when noticing his hesitation.

He nodded and did so, dwarfing the chair and the table. You hadn’t really taken the time to notice before, how huge his arms and shoulders were. A single bicep was larger than the size of your own head.

“Don’t let me interrupt your meal. You need your strength,” Thor said, eyes flicking to the plate. “Especially if you’re going to be facing my brother.”

Ah. That.

“Is that…” You were still having a bit of trouble processing the identity of who you were talking to. “Is that what you wanted to speak with me about?”

“Loki’s always been deceptive. I just wanted to warn you not to listen to anything he says, especially not at face value. He will try to distract you, deceive you, and it will seem he knows more about you than he should.”

As he spoke, you noticed he kept eyeing the potato chip packet next to your plate. You pushed it towards him, and he gratefully accepted, popping the bag open and nervously munching on its contents.

You hummed in thought. “I understand. Maybe it would help to know what kinds of abilities he has? What sort of tricks he’s able to pull?”

Thor seemed to relax slightly, having something to occupy his mind and hands. He regaled you with a few anecdotes of how Loki had used his magic to trick him, some from their childhood, and some more recently.

You found yourself both more reassured and more nervous, afraid there might be something you would miss allowing Loki an out. Or a way to hurt you. But all of that aside, it was almost fun to converse with Thor like this… being nearly immortal led to having many interesting stories to tell, and the more he told the more animated he became. He even had you laughing at some points.

“Thank you,” he held up the empty chip bag. “I haven’t had these since my last visit to Earth. A favored Midgardian dish, if I recall.”

You smiled. “No problem. And thank you for warning me. I know it must be difficult to... fight with family like this.”

“Yes,” a sad half smile lifted one side of his lips, “I’m afraid that is something I am still coming to terms with.”

Before he rose from his seat, Thor clapped you on the shoulder. “You know, you remind me of my first Midgardian friends. I believe they would like you. One of them zapped me with a small device that even mimics your powers.”

With that strange but kind remark, Thor left the room.

….

Natasha said she had things she needed to attend to, but that you were welcome to walk around as you pleased, and to just be careful not to stumble into anything that looked even mildly secret or dangerous.

So you aimlessly wandered the giant airship, mostly in an attempt to walk off some nerves. You tried to memorize your paths, memorize the turns and rooms, but after a while you realized just how much you’d fucked up. It was a fruitless endeavor, and you eventually found yourself quite lost.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself.

You turned the way you came, but as you did so, something shifted in the corner of your eye. Whipping frantically towards the movement, you felt your body tense like an animal being hunted, and thoughts of the masked man from the labs flooded your mind.

No, he couldn’t be here. Your mind was playing tricks, your anxiety was getting the better of you.

“My, my,” a silvery voice said into your ear. “You are jumpy, aren’t you?”

Reeling back, you slammed into the opposite wall, nearly knocking yourself out with the force of it. You still didn’t see the source of the voice.

“What is the reason for this skittishness, I wonder?”

Loki.

He materialized in front of you, and you froze like a deer in the headlights. He rolled his eyes. “Calm yourself. This is not an escape attempt.”

You did not find that convincing.

“This is merely a projection. My real body is still in that cell… Here, see for yourself.” His right hand swept out to beckon to you, palm up.

Did he want you to… touch him? Your earlier conversation with Thor filtered through your head, and you knew it would be a bad idea. You did not move. Again, frustration showed on Loki’s creased brow.

“Fine, look.” Then, through a wall of solid steel, Loki passed his hand as if he were just a hologram.

“What do you want?” you asked abruptly.

He looked faintly surprised that you had spoken, but schooled his expression quickly. “I want to know more about you.”

“What?” It was your turn to be surprised (not that you’d stopped since he materialized from nowhere). “Why?”

“It’s not every day I meet a mortal who can withstand an Infinity Stone’s power,” he chuckled, as if that were clearly obvious.

Your blank stare must’ve clued him in to the fact that the significance of this ‘Infinity Stone’ was lost on you, because he only sighed.

“Rest assured, it’s not something a normal human should be able to do,” he said. “So… what is different about you?”

He stepped closer, and though you knew he couldn’t touch you, you recoiled further into the wall. His stare was piercing, and he clearly enjoyed that it made you squirm.

Finally you mustered up the courage to respond. “I’ve already told this story once today,” you said, sounding more like a petulant child than you meant to.

“Touchy subject?”

“It’s not particularly fun to talk about, no.”

He didn’t move any closer but didn’t relinquish you your space either. He just studied you as if he could discern your entire history from your visual being.

You wondered if you should just turn and walk away, or if he had some way of stopping you. Even more unexpected though, was the realization that you wanted to talk to him, that maybe this conversation could help you in your real life encounter that was to happen soon.

“Why did you approach me in the pub?” you asked, and though it wasn’t the answer he apparently wanted, he looked pleased that you were engaging him now. “I was curious.”

“And when you blasted me with the scepter?”

“I wanted to see what would happen.” He shrugged, as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“And now that you have? What do you want?”

A beat of silence. Then, “What do you think?”

You thought, if he had had a plan before, your presence must have thrown quite the wrench and that if he were smart, he would be trying to figure out exactly how big and disastrous that wrench would be. “I think you didn’t expect me to be involved.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That is true.” Then a smirk began to form on his mouth and he squinted at you. “They’re planning something with you, aren’t they? Fury and his subordinates.”

Your widened eyes must have been all the answer he needed. How did he know?

With a laugh, “They have so much at their disposal, weapons of mass destruction, all of Stark’s technology, and they defer to the prowess of a child they’ve only just met?” Loki leaned in so close the green of eyes felt overwhelming. “They must be truly desperate.”

A familiar voice, Tony’s, called your name from around the corner, echoing off the metal walls of the hallway. But Loki didn’t move. His eyes remained on you, so sharp and curious, you felt like an animal on a dissection tray.

“Until next we meet, then.”

And with that, he vanished.

“Sparks,” Tony came around to your stretch of hallway. “Thought that was your voice. You lost? Talking to yourself? You know, cabin fever usually takes a lot longer than a few hours to set in.”

Still a little too stunned to speak, you gulped and nodded.

Tony’s eyes narrowed with concern. “You good? Looking a little green around the gills, Pikachu.”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m alright.” Your voice returned to you. “And.. Pikachu? Really?”

Tony wasn’t entirely convinced but seemed to let it go. He shrugged. “I like to change it up-- and are you, or are you not, electrically charged at all times?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. He clapped you on the shoulder.

“Come on,” he turned, waving you to follow him. “Want you to see what we cooked up for ya.”

————

The conducting table was ready. Only a few moments before you stepped into Loki’s cage, the first time you would be in the same physical space as him since he basically almost murdered you.

Cool. All cool. You were definitely not feeling a panic attack setting in. You were definitely breathing at a normal rate and not feeling your lungs seize up in your chest.

“We’ll be right here, if anything goes wrong,” Steve said, laying a hand gently on the back of your shoulder.

“Aye,” Thor said. “I’ll be standing with you.”

There was a stone in your throat as you looked at Loki through the thick glass. He seemed to feel your gaze, and slowly turned to look, grinning when he saw you watching.

Loki’s hands were shackled, sitting on the table in front of two conducting handles, which were mirrored on the other side. The idea was that you both grip them, and you would be able to dig through his mind… theoretically.

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” you said. You felt sweat under your arms, and your face getting hot with anxiety.

Fury eyed you. “Just do what you can.”

The door to his cell whooshed open, and flanking you on either side as you entered were Cap and Thor. Loki regarded them with that same smirk as they entered, soon followed by Fury and Natasha. Tony and Dr. Banner remained on the other side of the glass.

“Is this the best you can do?” He said, his eyes flaring at you. “Insulting, really.”

Fury ignored him, directing you to the empty chair at the other end of the table.

“On my go,” he said, and stood to the right of the table. He pinned Loki with a stare.

Loki shot back a challenging look before his gaze settled on you and his hands moved to grip the handles. “On your go.” And at that moment, in full purview of that slanting grin, you understood why he was called the God of Mischief.

Fury nodded at you.

Now or never.

And, sparing a passing thought to the entropy that was your life and the risks of what you were about to do, you grabbed the handles.

Tags: @purplekitten30 @scorpionchild81 @mjaudrey @srhxpci @the-maroon-panda @lirinstaalem

#sparks #loki #loki x you #loki x reader #avengers reader insert #loki imagine #loki x original character #loki laufeyson

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gifted-burnout-archive · 3 years

Text

BLUE

Part Three

Day 23/93: Dallas, TX.

Word Count: 7.6K+

Author’s Note: it’s the third installment, and things might be heating up. song in this chapter is ‘Let’s Fall In Love For The Night’ by FINNEAS, it gives me such reggie vibes, and it’s most certainly a reggie x reader song. and if you are wondering why i know so much about dallas, texas and the surrounding area, it’s because i visited! it might be one of my favourite places on earth, and i felt required to include it in one of my stories at some point, so here you go.

Context: This is an AU of Julie and The Phantoms. Here, the boys are now alive again, aging alongside Julie and Y/N, and they are all now in their early twenties: Julie is 19/20, Y/N and the guys are 20/21. Same goes for Flynn and Carlos and Ray and all that jazz, basically everyone is older.

WARNING: abusive behaviours, drinking. Please see this post for more information.

If you are in need of help, please consider reaching out to domestic abuse hotlines in your country. This link leads to a wiki page with a few hotlines sorted by country. Remeber there are people who love you, and who support you.

part one is here - part two is here

“Where do I see myself in ten years?” Y/N echoed the question that had been asked of her as the team lounged around the front of the bus. From her spot atop one of the dining tables, sat crossed legged with her camera in hand, she had a view of her entire tour family: from Julie in the kitchenette with Alex, making Poptarts; to Flynn to her right, typing away frantically on her laptop. Luke was the one who asked her the question, sat across from her and throwing an unsolved rubix cube up into the air, and to his right sat Reggie, tucked in the booth seat corner scribbling away at his notebook, a smile on his face that had Y/N warm at the sight. “I asked you a far easier question, Patterson.”

“I’m serious, Y/N. I mean, I can tell you where I’ll be, where the guys and Julie will be. I can guess at Flynn but it depends whether she plucks up the nerve to ask out Carrie or not-” Luke was interrupted by his own chuckle, a reaction to Flynn flipping him off without looking away from her laptop screen. “But you? I don’t know.” He shrugged, catching the rubix a final time before pushing it over the table to Reggie. The dark-haired boy glanced up for a moment, looking Y/N over as she held up her camera and snapped a picture of him.

“Actually, I wanna know the same thing.” Reggie backed up his fellow bandmate, closing over his book and smiling at his friend when she rolled her eyes. “When you’re thirty, Y/N, where do you want to be?”

“Geographically? Emotionally? Ideally?” Y/N found herself avoiding the question because, quite honestly, she wasn’t sure how to answer. She hadn’t really thought what her future might hold, she hadn’t really had the chance to.

But being posed with the question, being asked for an answer, her lips started moving before her brain could register.

“Put me somewhere warm, and green: with enough money to be comfortable, enough friends to be sociable, enough booze to get drunk and enough beautiful things to take pictures of.” She offered, lifting her camera and snapping another picture as Reggie and Luke looked at her with soft smiles. “What about you, Reginald? Luke says he’s got you figured out.”

“I think what you’ve got going sounds pretty good, I might just join you.” Reggie smirked, only taking his eyes off of Y/N to glance over at Luke, the boy’s eyebrow raised and arms folded. “You know, in amongst the fifth album and rock star lifestyle.”

“Would that be the country album no-one expects?” Y/N asked with a grin, and Reggie’s eyes lit up.

“I mean, I’ll still learn fiddle if you’re up for it, Reggie.” Julie commented from the kitchen, returning from her snack making expedition with Alex in tow, the boy munching down on a Poptart like he’d never eat another: the boys had a tendency to eat like it was their last meal. “I mean, perfect place to start learning, Texas bound.” She added, cosying up against Luke, the pair sharing a kiss before she handed over the frosted sweet treat.

“Why didn’t we know you were from Texas?” Flynn questioned, her eyes finally leaving the computer screen to accept a snack Alex offered, who then grabbed another from the plate and handed it to the photographer sat on top of the table. “I mean, I found out from Y/N last week.”

“It never really came up.” Reggie shrugged, sitting up straight to make room for the blonde drummer, their bus taking a sharp turn. “I mean, I only lived here until I was ten: once my dad sold his company off we made the move to California as quickly as possible.” he explained, he and Y/N sharing a small smile.

Their night under the stars had bled into the early morning as they retold their lives to one another, making sure to cover almost every detail: Y/N didn’t mention Stephen, for more obvious reasons than either of them cared to admit. Reggie had told her all about growing up near Dallas, about learning to ride his pony Flash, about his parents thinking the move would fix their marriage, but how it ultimately didn’t. He. Of course, left out some key details too…

The last thing Y/N needed to know about was his dad’s violent fits or his mother’s excessive drinking.

“Glad to be back though… And since we have the whole afternoon and night to ourselves…” Reggie pointed to Flynn for confirmation, her nod causing attention to focus back on the bassist. “Flynn and I have a plan for the night.” Reggie beamed when Y/N clapped her hands in excitement, though his other bandmates looked a little sceptical. “I promise, it’s fun.”

“Reggie, your idea of fun before you met us,” Alex gestured between himself and Luke, who sat across from them, cuddled into Julie’s side. “Was shovelling horse shit at some dilapidated stables and pretending you were a cowboy.”

“Yeah, well, I was supervising.” Flynn sighed happily, closing over the laptop she hadn’t turned off in almost two days. The band wanted to get some recording done in Nashville later on the tour, a surprise they had all constructed for Reggie’s upcoming birthday, but a complication with bookings and the admin over in Tennessee had risked the possibility of it happening. Of course, Flynn hadn’t stopped emailing and calling until it was sorted. “It’s going to be an amazing night. With no horse shit involved, metaphorically and literally.”

“ETA, ten minutes from Dallas folks.” The radio crackled over the sound system, that had spent most of its time being used to play background music as they travelled, with Ronnie sharing their travel information quickly. “Paparazzi inbound, unfortunately.” He added, groans echoing around the cabin.

The last year in particular had been hounded by reporters and gossip columnists looking for the latest rumours to spread about the team. The lies ranged far and wide, from Luke and Julie breaking up to Alex cheating on Willie to them all being part of a cult to Reggie ‘notorious’ love life. The bassist was the last single one of the band, it only made sense that with their rise to fame came constant claims from anonymous girls that Reggie was their boyfriend, their husband, their baby daddy.

“Hotel security say they’ve got it under control, but I doubt it.” Ronnie added, and with that the six set into action to get ready for their swift departing from the bus. Poptarts were quickly eaten before everyone was back on their feet again: Luke and Julie taking on the pre-assigned role of collecting instruments together and packing them away for the moving crew, Alex rushing to his room to grab his last few necessaries that would live in his fanny pack for the next few hours, Flynn disappearing into the back to make one last phone call about interviews happening in Austin two days later with Rolling Stone, leaving Y/N and Reggie alone in the bus’s centre.

“You’ve been looking like Luke the past few days, Reginald.” Y/N spoke up first, slipping off the table and grabbing her camera bag from the overhead storage, beginning to dismantle her device as Reggie fiddled with the rubix cube Luke had left on the table. “Constantly scribbling… I haven’t seen you ever write as much as you have on the bus these past few weeks.” She remarked again, her hands methodical and practised in her work, quick to pack her camera up and close the casing.

“I found inspiration, what can I say?” Reggie said with a smirk, his fingers flicking the cube round and round with practically no effort, his eyes focused on Y/N instead of the colour puzzle before him. “Did you bring any hoodies with you?” He asked, suddenly changing the topic, and Y/N shook her head. She wasn’t really needing to: after all, their US tour was taking place in the summer, they had planned the route rather meticulously to miss the southern heat of July or the rains and wind chill that came to the north in April and May. Constantly travelling away from bad weather meant the need for anything warm had crossed Y/N’s mind, save for the occasional cardigan or blanket.

“Why would I need one?” She asked, walking towards the back of the bus with her equipment as her phone started to buzz in her back pocket. “Shit…”

“We don’t want the paparazzi seeing your face, do we?” Reggie questioned quickly. “Grab one from my room before we jump off.” He added as Y/N picked up the phone, mouthing a thank you as she answered and disappeared into the back of the bus, slipping into Reggie’s room to locate her disguise and shutting the door quickly.

“So we just don’t talk now, is that it?” The voice that came down the line was angrier than usual, and Y/N took her first chance that day to catch a glimpse of the time, Reggie’s bedside alarm clock reading 4.38 pm.

She had forgotten to call Stephen for the third time that week.

“Babe, babe I’m sorry. We were all just chatting and I got caught up in work and completely forgot.” She tried to explain quickly, her face falling when she heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Did… Did something happen at work?”

“I want to bring you home for a few days.” Stephen spoke up after a moment. “After Nashville. I know you guys are busy with the tour, but do you think you could talk with Flynn? Get someone to cover the Florida and Alabama gigs so we can maybe spend some time together?” His voice was sweet, sincere, and Y/N found herself smiling at the idea. Of course, it wouldn’t be great for the team, but would a few days really hurt?

“I, I think that would be a great idea, babe.” She answered as she opened up Reggie’s drawers, taking a moment to pick out her favourite on his hoodies, one with a rather terrible calculus joke printed on the back, and pulling it on over her travel clothes. By the sound of Reggie’s plans, she’d need to change for their events that night, but she had some clothes laid out in her own room, she could scoop them up and change in the hotel. “I’ll have to make sure with Flynn, it obviously depends on whether we can get one of the assistants to step up for a few days, helping with Julie’s make up and the guys’ clothes and such but-”

“You know Flynn will be alright with it, just say yes already.” Stephen chuckled on the other end of the line, and a part of Y/N wondered if she should just say yes without checking, if she should just this once not fight him on it. Stephen was always in the right on these things, she often challenged him regardless.

Unfortunately, she just couldn’t hold her tongue.

“Babe, that’s not how my job works.” She remarked, walking out Reggie’s room and back to her own with a smile to Alex as she passed by him sifting through some music sheets Y/N didn’t recognise, no doubt new stuff the boys and Julie had been writing. As the bus slowed down a little too suddenly, Y/N grabbed for stability on her wall, waiting to straighten herself back out and continue talking as she collected her necessary items for their evening in Dallas. “I do still need to book time off, to run through procedure with my temporary replacement, to plan ahead at least two weeks in case of an emergency, the whole team do. It’s a lot of work, and I’m happy to do it but-”

“Am I really the bad guy for wanting to bring you home for a few days? So we can sleep in our bed together, so we can see our families?” The heavy sigh from the start of the call came back. “Y/N, you’re acting like you don’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

“I do want to spend time with you, Stephen! You know I do!” Y/N promised it, almost pleading. “But this tour was always going to happen; I skipped out on the last tour to spend time together…” She reminded him. The fact that she had done so, missing on a West Coast trip for two weeks that she wanted to go on, that meant something to Stephen at the time. It was certainly a big decision for her to make, choosing her boyfriend over her friends, her best friends…

“You are coming home after Nashville, alright?!” Stephen snapped, and Y/N had to move the phone away from her ear to stop the harsh noise from echoing around her head. “You are my girlfriend, when I ask you to come home you do it. Or is everyone else in the entire world more important than me?” He asked.

“Of-of course not, baby… I’ll,” Y/N took a deep breath as the bus came to a halt, the sound of her friends outside her door forcing her to quickly roll up her clothes and stuff them into her handbag. “I’ll see you in Nashville, we’ll go home after, we will… I’ll be sure to sort it all out with Flynn and the team.” She conceded, the idea of a week off suddenly sounding like much more of a chore than it had a few minutes ago. “I love y-”

The phone hung up before she managed to finish the words, but a part of her was happy she didn’t have to say it.

“Y/N?” Julie’s voice accompanied a rapping on her bedroom door, Y/N quick to grab her things as it creaked open, the shorter girl looking back into the main area of the bus as she entered. “Are you ready to go?” She asked, stopping dead for a moment once she turned to face Y/N.

“What?” The photographer asked, trying to offset the tension created by Julie’s frown with a soft chuckle, but it did little to assist. Julie took a few paces forward, the girls toe to toe, and reached a hand up to wipe a tear from Y/N’s cheek she didn’t even notice was there.

“IS everything alright, Y/N? Did Stephen do something?” Julie asked with more seriousness than Y/N had heard from her in years: the girl was always playful in her tone, a fan of a joke, but this was new, intense, the concern almost scary.

“Everything’s fine. I had something in my eye.” Y/N lied, putting on her smile and giving a convincing enough performance that Julie seemed to let the subject go, the girl nodding and walking out of Y/N’s room, back to the band and Flynn, prompting Y/N to follow behind before she was left alone. She checked in the mirror to make sure her face was clear of signs of upset before joining the back of the queue.

That was too close for her liking.

“I knew you’d pick that one.” The voice was Reggie’s, a happy remark at her choice of camouflage as he let Julie and Luke pass by him, their four friends heading out into the chaos of camera flashes and loud voices badgering for gossip. Y/N froze a little at the noise, Reggie quick to notice and take her camera bag for her, his free hand offering itself to her. “Grab on, I’ll get you through without a scratch.” He said with that same charming smile she had always found so suiting for him.

“Promise you won’t lose me to the sea?” She asked, half-joking, half-serious. She had been lucky enough to miss most of the band’s brushes with paparazzi, or manage to slip by them without a second glance if she was with the crew: but she was on the bus this time, she was going to pass through them no matter what. It seemed to her better to do it with someone instead of alone.

“I promise.” Reggie recited back to her, and Y/N took his hand tight in her grasp as a response, the feeling sending tingles up Reggie’s arms that he did his best to stifle any physical reaction from. With that, and a shared nod, the pair started in a jog out the bus, into the mayhem.

Y/N hadn’t often thought about why she disliked her picture being taken: she wasn’t sure what it was that stopped her from being in front of the camera and instead behind it. And while the utter anarchy of flashes and incessant questioning weren’t the true cause of her strain of scopophobia, Y/N deemed them as reason enough to hate everything about being on camera.

It made her even more grateful to have gotten indoors, the few seconds of exposure from the bus door into the air conditioned hotel lobby feeling like years: gave her an overwhelming sense of relief, after changing into her outfit for the night, a rather lovely white lace dress and accompanying tennis shoes, to find their mode of transport for the evening in the hotel’s basement, an old blue Cadillac, a 62 series in fact, waiting with an attendant who promised any and all reporters had been cleared off.

The early May weather was ideal for the open topped car drive west from Dallas city centre, Y/N tucked into the front passenger seat as Reggie drove them, Flynn, Julie, Alex and Luke squeezed into the back of the car, singing along to the radio over the sound of the wind rushing past them. It was almost movie-like, ‘Amarillo´ blasting as they drove down the highway, Reggie glancing over at Y/N every once and a while to send a smile her way while he kept an easy control on the wheel, one arm holding the car straight while the other rested on the back of the bench seat, dressed like he belonged at the steering wheel with his black muscle tank on.

Despite the unsure waters she sat in with Stephen, Y/N found herself relaxing into her seat properly, with Reggie’s arm moving down to rest against her shoulder as they drove out of the city, here camera poised and capturing snapshots along the way.

“So, where exactly are we going?” Alex questioned from the back as they passed their second possible turn-off, the mounting suspense too much for the blonde to bear. He had come a long way with dealing with his anxiety, but not that far, and when Reggie and Flynn shared a glance, it seemed high time the truth was revealed about their activities for that night.

“So, obviously this is my home turf.” Reggie started off by saying, taking a moment to remove his arm from Y/N’s shoulder and indicate hi changing lanes before returning it to the preferred spot. “But one place I loved more than anywhere else in Texas is Fort Worth. It’s like, cowboy country.” He had the biggest smile on his face as he revealed their location, Y/N snapping a picture. “They have a stockyard and cattle parades and a cowboy museum and this huge maise maze. Of course, we can’t do all of it, I mean by the time we arrive half the places will have closed for the night, so I’ve compromised and with Flynn’s help, we have two stops tonight.” Reggie pulled off at the correct junction, speeding along the slip road towards Fort Worth.

“We’re going to a rodeo, and a honky tonk.” Flynn informed the group, the four friends without any previous knowledge of the evening’s plans sharing glances.

“Uh, that’s great… But what exactly is a honky tonk?” Luke asked on behalf of the group, the questioned directed at Flynn, but when she just shrugged, as oblivious as the others, all focus was on Reggie for an answer.

“It’s a massive music venue, actually this one is the world’s biggest. They’ve got them all over the south, mainly for country music. Huge dance floor, tons of seating: food, drink, pool. Billy Bob’s is the best, hands down: think of any big country artist, I can guarantee they’ve played there at some point.”

“Billy Ray?” Flynn asked first.

“Yep.”

“Willie Nelson?” Alex next.

“Like, a dozen times.”

“Dolly Parton?” Y/N asked next, Reggie nodding fast and smiling at her.

“We are headed to the home of country music history, folks.” He announced, followed by a whoop that had the whole car laughing away, all smiles and sincerity. There was nothing quite like seeing Reggie happy: he just turned into a sun, their sun, lighting up the entire space around them, his joy infectious and seeping into the cars around them.

The rest of the drive into Fort Worth went by as any car ride the six friends shared often did: with an excessive amount of singing, Alex complaining about Reggie’s speed on turns at least four times, and Luke giving Julie the same lovey dovey expression he had kept plastered on his face for her since high school. By the time they were pulling into parking lot nearest the rodeo, the sun was tickling the horizon, close to dusk, streetlights starting to flicker to life on the nearby streets.

One said streetlight sat right by the rodeo entrance, and under it stood a rather short lady waving enthusiastically at their car.

“I can’t decide whether she’s cute or crazy…” Flynn leaned forward and muttered in Y/N’s ear, causing the girl to try and stifle her giggle at the comment. The boys and Julie were first out of the car, Reggie taking the lead and getting to the woman waiting for them before Y/N had even had time to grab her camera bag, though the girl soon rushed over with Fynn to join the rest of the group.

“Uh, right! Guys, this is Naomi. She is a city coordinator, helps visitors like us feel at home. Naomi, this is Luke, Alex, and Julie, who you probably know of. That’s Flynn, our band manager, and Y/N here is our photographer slash make-up artist slash general beauty guru.” Reggie was quick to introduce, Naomi wasting no time in giving each member of the friendship circle a tight hug.

“Well, welcome y’all.” She said once she had let go of Julie, the last to embrace. “Now, the rodeo has another thirty or forty minutes until it starts, and I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you, Miss Molina?” Her accent was thick, the sort of deep south accent you might expect from the state, with the Texan twang that Y/N could sometimes slip into Reggie’s own cadence.

“Oh, right… I forgot to mention.” Flynn muttered, Julie glancing between her best friend and the older woman with raised eyebrows.

“Well, Julie, we were hoping you might do us the honour of singing the anthem tonight? When we heard Julie and the Phantoms would be visiting, well the whole council just knew we would have to give it a shot and ask.” Naomi explained with the sweetest smile and warmest eyes Y/N had ever seen: they were the sort of deep chocolate brown that, when the light caught them just right, turned into a sea of gold flecks over hazel iris. She lifted her camera, zooming in and capturing the woman’s side profile discreetly as Naomi awaited Julie’s answer.

“I’d love to.” Julie responded to the celebration of the council member before them, who let out a squeak of glee.

“Oh, thank you so much darlin’!” She exclaimed. “Now, the rest of y’all can go have a nose around the area, some of the stores around here might still be open, Cavender’s across the way will be. Get yourselves some souvenirs, some hats, try and blend in with the folk round here.” Naomi offered, and it seemed to be sound advice: for the people starting to arrive for the rodeo that night, almost all of them were wearing the signature cowboy hate one associated with Texas, matched with the boots and buckle belts. Naomi herself had a hat atop her black waves of hair. “I’ll take Miss Julie here in and set her up with her mic and all.” She explained, and with nods of agreement shared amongst the group, alongside a quick kiss between Julie and Luke, the lead singer disappeared into the building.

“You, me.” Flynn said, grabbing onto Y/N’s hand and starting a march around the corner towards the bright shine marking their clothing destination. “I can trust you to pick out the best accessories for everyone, Y/N, and I want some cowboy boots.” Her determination left Y/N’s happily helpless, following after her friend in search of head gear and footwear suitable to the region.

The boys wouldn’t have been too far behind them, the three walking in a lazy line towards the same destination, though their amble compared nothing to Flynn’s near sprint, each of the bandmate’s taking in the atmosphere of the place they had landed themselves in for the night, Reggie most of all. He grew up in the Lone Star state after all, and their walk along the side of the rodeo and the connected Billy Bob’s Honky Tonk brought back memories Reggie had forgotten after almost twenty years since his last visit.

He was reminded of the way everything smelled, of how the air tasted, of how the sound travelled from street to street. He recalled the old junctions, walking the memory alongside his younger self, found himself reminiscing about his fond childhood in the area before his parents’ marriage fell apart.

“You know…” Luke’s words broke Reggie from his day dreams, the guitarist walking backwards in front of Reggie and Alex, pulling his backpack around to the side of his body. “I was hoping you might spare me a minute to talk about your latest work, Casanova?” He continued, coming to a stop and prompting his confused bandmates to do the same, though the words quickly began to make sense when Luke revealed a black notebook from his bag.

A black notebook that wasn’t Luke’s own.

“Really, dude? Taking my shit off the bus?” Reggie reached out to retrieve the journal from Luke’s hands, but the guitarist held it back, opening to the bookmarked page and shaking his head as he read.

“Calm those horses, Reggie… This is really good.” Luke was often one to tease the bassist on his writing ability, Luke was definitely the stronger of the pair, but the compliment caught Reggie quite off-guard. Before he could refute the statement, Alex was by Luke’s side reading, mumbling the words as Luke’s sang out the chords Reggie had scribbled down.

“… That is really good… When did you write this?” Alex asked, looking up at the red cheeked raven-haired boy before him and Luke.

“I just… I was inspired, the touring life certainly helps when I need inspiration.” Reggie shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he did.

“Sure, it’s 100% not Y/N that’s got you writing love songs…” Luke teased a little more, Alex punching the boy’s exposed bicep in response. “Ow?” He questioned, but when Alex shrugged in response, the pair looked back at a now frowning Reggie. “Dude…”

“It’s just songs…” The bassist sighed, running a hand through his hair and glancing over towards the nearby store, making sure Y/N was nowhere in sight or earshot when he spoke up again. “Never going to perform them, am I? Not when she’s with him…”

“You say that like we prefer Stephen over you.” Alex snorted, and Reggie glanced up at him in confusion. “What? It’s pretty clear to me who Y/N should be with, think it’s pretty clear to everyone but Y/N who she should be with…” He muttered the last part, arms folding as his head ducked down. The words though, they gave Reggie a sliver of hope he hadn’t been offered before: he had thought his interest in Y/N delusional at best, psychotic and cruel at worst, but knowing his friends thought they were good together, that it wasn’t all in his head, made Reggie feel a little better about the love songs he had found himself writing in the weeks prior.

“What you guys talking about?” A call from across the road had the three boys pretending to act natural: Luke quickly shoving the songbook into his backpack while Alex and Reggie tried to seem innocent, like they weren’t just talking about the girl who had asked the question.

Of course, upon second glance, Reggie was left speechless anyway.

Y/N crossed the road with Flynn by her side, the pair accessorised like true Texans with hats and boots, armed with bags of attire for their friends, but Y/N was more than having fun: she looked absolutely beautiful. Her white sundress with its v neckline pulled taunt against her chest now she had added a brown leather belt to her look at her waist, her tennis shoes swapped for a pair of cowboy boots, a hat finishing the look. She presented herself as a local, and Reggie found himself trying not to gawk too much.

“We have hats to go around.” Flynn announced as they came withing twenty paces of the trio, pulling the first from her bag and tossing it towards Luke, who caught the thing with ease. Y/N passed one to Alex as she came to a stop, Flynn fishing a second from her bag and setting atop her own head.

“And for the homegrown.” Y/N handed over the bag in her hands to Reggie with a smile, watching with eager eyes as he lifted out a deep brown hat that fell somewhere between Wild West Sheriff and Indiana Jones, and a belt with ‘TEXAS’ engraved into the buckle. “Need to rep the home team, Reginald.” She added, clasping her hands in hope of a reaction. “You like it?”

“I love it…” Reggie whispered, nodding his head as he spoke, taking a few seconds to take in the items before putting the first on top of his head, a perfect fit, then standing up to loop the belt through the unused belt loops of his jeans, a silly grin on his face as he caught his reflection in a nearby window. While Alex, Luke and Flynn started their walk back to the rodeo venue, the latter armed with a hat for Julie as well, Y/N feel into place beside Reggie, she too admiring their reflection in the glass surface, taking the hat off her head for a moment to rest her cheek against Reggie’s shoulder.

“We look good, Reginald…”

“We sure do, Bug.”

Alcohol and unchecked emotions never really mix. After Julie’s performance, and then a night of Y/N hiding her eyes in Reggie arm as bull riders were bucked from the creatures, and using the complimentary liquor provided to take her mind off of her paranoia, heading over to Billy Bob’s next door shouldn’t have been on her cards. She was already buzzed; she should have taken up the offer from Naomi for a lift to the hotel…

But she didn’t want to miss Reggie.

The pair had been inseparable for the entire night, like they usually were on tour: except Y/N was drunk for the first time in a while, and trying to work off her argument with Stephen earlier in the day, she wasn’t letting her Reginald out of sight. He didn’t mind, of course, he always liked her attention, and if he let his mind wander it felt like, for a moment at least, it felt like they were something more. Y/N cuddled into his side, his arm around her shoulders, their friends around them.

With the bar doors opening came a wave of music and cheers: a local band were playing that night, one Reggie seemed vaguely familiar with as he hummed along to the song.

“Hi, we’ve got a table booked under Naomi’s name?” Luke called over the noise to the hostess by the door, Julie tucked into his side, more in an attempt to keep Luke walking straight. There were plenty of perks to being a resurrected ghost-human hybrid: alcohol tolerance was not one of those perks.

“Indeed you do, folks! Lemme just take y’all over, we can get you some drinks too if you’re up for it?” The hostess offered with a cheery smile, slipping out from behind the bar and beginning a quick walk down towards the dancefloor. Alex and Flynn were hot on her tail, Reggie and Y/N ambling along behind, keeping the lanky blonde in sight for reference, while Luke and Julie abandoned the group altogether for the dancefloor as a slow song came on.

“Could we get four, beers?” Alex asked as he and Flynn sat down, catching Y/N by Reggie’s side about fifteen paces out. “And uh, could you open it under a tab. Luke Patterson.” Alex added, pulling a backpack from his shoulder Y/N didn’t even realise he was in possession of, and retrieving Luke’s card from the front pocket, handing it over to the hostess.

“I sure can do. Can I just say, I love your guys’ music, we have it on in here before we opening almost every night.” The hostess said with a bright smile, a blush rising to her cheeks as Reggie smiled back at her, coming to sit down across from Alex and Flynn. “I’ll get those drinks right away.”

“I forgot that bedroom eyes were a thing…” Flynn mumbled as the hostess left, reaching out and clasping onto Y/N’s hands from across the table. “We should both be in bed. We have actual jobs. These guys can party but just watch what happens when we wake up with hangovers tomorrow and the whole day falls apart.” Flynn prophesised for Y/N, who squeezed her hands in reassurance. The smile on her friend’s face though as her drink arrived told Y/N that they were too far gone to stop at any point soon, and as such, the four friends clinked beer bottles as their night began.

Minutes were quick to turn into hours, one bottle of beer equally swift in turning to multiple rounds and shots on the side. Within the first hour, Y/N opted to switch her phone from silent to off, tired of the constant calls from Stephen, no doubt wanting to question her whereabouts. By hour two, she had convinced Reggie to spare her a dance or two. By hour three, that had turned to more than twenty songs on the dancefloor alongside Julie and Luke, the four only stopping to grab their refreshments as Flynn and Alex spent a large portion of their evening winning card games against the table to their right.

“Alright, alright, alright! Hey, thanks guys!” A booming voice called as a man ran up onto the stage, the band disappearing off as he took over the centre mic as hour four came close to finishing up. It was almost one in the morning, by what the rather buzzed tour team could tell, and the night was very much still young. Alex and Flynn had joined them all on the dancefloor, the slow dances and coupled dance offs between Juke and Reggie and Y/N forming into a dance circle of the friends showing off their best line dancing moves: Reggie was quite clearly the winner of that one. “We all having a good night?” The announcer asked again, and the crowd of the honky tonk cheered in response.

The place was deceptively large: it had taken Luke a solid twenty minutes just to find the bathrooms earlier in the night, and he got so lost on the way back, a mixture of his over-friendly nature once a bottle of beer was in him and simply the sheer amount of people in the building, that Flynn had to assist Julie in finding him.

The group all stood together near the centre of the dance hall as they watched the stage over the heads of their fellow patrons, Alex boosting Y/N onto his shoulder so she might see better. As she hugged onto the blonde’s back, another few people pushed through the crowd to ask the band for autographs.

This was the other common occurrence of the night: when they weren’t dancing or winning money off of Texan cowboys, the four band members had been overcome with a wave of people asking for pictures, autographs, or just for them to accept the compliment someone was paying. Y/N forgot just how famous her friends were sometimes, but it was overwhelming clarity, that night, that if her four dearest friends got pestered everywhere from the streets of LA to the honky tonks of Fort Worth, they’d be pestered anywhere.

“Now, for those visiting us tonight, I am your Master of Ceremonies for the evening, the name is Jacob Blythe.” As if on command, the crowd shouted back “Well, howdy Jacob!”, causing the man to chuckle heartily into the mic, the sound echoing around the hall over and over. “I introduce myself because a little birdie told me we have some friends from the Sunshine State with us tonight.” He added, and the crowd cheered. The team’s ‘incognito’ night out was truly public record now, but it was far too fun to really care. “So, our band tonight will be back after their break, we don’t wanna tire them out now. But that does mean we are in need of some musical talent!

“Now, I’m not pressuring none, but if any particular individuals wanna come up and give us a tune, I think we’d all be mighty grateful.” The MC stated, Y/N climbing off of Alex’s back as the four bandmates shared glances. “So, do we have any volunteers?”

Before anyone had a chance to stop him, Reggie suddenly disappeared from his spot amongst the group, appearing a moment on the stage behind the MC, who let out a rather high-pitched scream as Reggie sat his hand on his shoulder in greeting.

“What is he doing?” Y/N found herself asking, watching her friend picking up an acoustic guitar from its stand and fixing the strap around him before he clipped on a capo and stood himself in front of the mic.

“Good evening, Fort Worth. I’m Reggie.” He introduced himself to the cheers of the crowd, a spotlight focusing onto him as he spoke. He wasn’t quite sure why he was up on that stage, in fact every bone in his body seemed against it: but his hands settled into place over the strings and his fingers began to play a sweet arpeggio, getting used to the foreign guitar. He was lost to impulse, no doubt partially thanks to the liquor in his system, but he was confident enough to keep going, maybe too scared to stop.

“I think he’s gonna play.” Julie remarked, stating the obvious as she grabbed Luke’s hand and led him closer to the stage, Flynn doing the same to Y/N as Alex followed behind.

“I uh, I usually leave our band’s songwriting up to Luke, right there.” Reggie added as he continued to play, pointing a hand out towards Luke who waved to the surrounding crowd, another round of whoops sounding. “But I dabble, and since this is my home state… I have something new for you guys tonight.” He finally paused the arpeggio, taking one last sigh before using the same chords and beginning to play the mysterious song.

“Let’s fall in love for the night and forget in the mornin’.” He sang out, his voice so soft and sweet that Y/N found herself instantly fixed on the music. She was often this way with Reggie, whenever he sang she could swear that the rest of the world disappeared. “Play me a song that you like you can bet I'll know every line. 'Cause I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid, don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, stop that noise.” Reggie lifted his hand from the guitar, his eyes scanning the audience to send a wink towards his friends, two of whom recognised the lyrics of his chosen serenade. “I know better than to call you mine.”

“Wow…” Y/N whispered, impressed, lifting her elbow to nudge Alex, but meeting thin air instead.

“You need a pick-me-up?” Reggie sang, Alex appearing at the drumkit on stage behind the raven haired singer and joining in on a drum line, to the cheers of the crowd. “Well, I'll be there in 25. I like to push my luck, so take my hand, let's take a drive.” With a nod towards Julie and Luke, he coaxed the other bandmates onto the stage, leaving Flynn in charge of the entranced Y/N, pushing the girl alongside her towards the front of the crowd. “'Cause I've been livin' in the future hopin' I might see you sooner. I want you ridin' shotgun. I knew when I got one right.” He continued to sing, passing off the guitar to Luke as Julie took her place at the piano and played the chords with a smile Reggie’s way.

“Let's fall in love for the night and forget in the mornin'. Play me a song that you like you can bet I'll know every line.” Reggie sang out, this time accompanied by the harmony of Julie and the backing vocals of Alex and Luke, the four sharing smiles as they performed. “'Cause I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid, don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, stop all that noise. I know better than to call you mine.”

As Y/N watched on, nestled in the crowd, she couldn’t help but wonder when Reggie was struck with such romantic inspiration. She had spent almost every day for the last near month with him, and with his last big hit being ‘Home Is Where My Horse Is’, she allowed herself the curiosity, a beer in hand that she found herself sipping away at as she observed.

“Where’d you get that drink?” Flynn whispered into Y/N’s ear, who shrugged and took another sip.

“I love it when you talk that nerdy shit. We're in our twenties talkin' thirties shit. We're makin' money but we're savin' it, ‘cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it.” The song continued, the crowd cheering and dancing along to the music while Y/N found herself fixed to her spot, not even noticing as Flynn played safety guard and relieved her of the drink in her hands. “You won't stay with me, I know, but you can have your way with me 'til you go.” Julie and Reggie harmonised on the line, Luke and Alex suddenly disappearing from the stage, Julie taking her leave, quick to pull Flynn away with her and leave Y/N alone in front of the stage. “And if all your kisses turn into bruises, I'm a warnin’.”

And then, Y/N struggled to breathe, completely paralysed when Reggie’s eyes locked with her own.

“Let's fall in love for the night and forget in the mornin'.” Reggie lifted the microphone from its stand, walking round and jumping off the low stage onto the dancefloor as he sang. There was a confidence in the music he couldn’t dispel, emotions he might have never admitted otherwise coming into the open, at least that was what he hoped. His walk was in time to the best of the drums left to echo as he sang acapella, his feet only stopping once they were toe to toe with Y/N’s.

“Play me a song that you like you can bet I'll know every line.” They had been that close all night, dancing away to the sounds of the country band, or when Y/N had spent half the rodeo hiding in his arms fearful for the bull riders in the arena below them. But it felt different, intimate.

“'Cause I'm the boy that your boy hoped that you would avoid.” His free hand lifted hers from her side, taking her hand in his and lifting their arms above their heads to spin Y/N on the spot: that action too was slow, something that made the rest of the world outsiders looking into a rare moment. “Don't waste your eyes on jealous guys, fuck that noise.”

“I know better. I know better. I know better than to ever call you mine.” The look the pair shared, Reggie finding himself smirking as he let the mic fall, it was nothing either of them had experienced before, and Reggie vanished into thin air as the crowd erupted into cheers.

It was only once he had disappeared, only once the crowd broke into thunderous applause, that Y/N felt herself breathe again. She was overcome with a dizziness she would equate to the feeling after a rollercoaster ride, paired with the sound of her heart in her ears and near pounding out her chest, and that was before mentioning the flush that coloured her cheeks and nose red. A part of her might have called it fault of the alcohol, but Y/N had never felt more sober. His smirk was sketched into her memory, the feeling of his hand on hers burned in her skin, the smell of his cologne a scent she had never noticed was so very enticing before. It was like she had been transported to some kind of paradisal state of being, the way his eyes held her own like she might drown in the deep sea green irises…

There wasn’t much Y/N could make sense of in the few moments that ended the performance, but she knew, deep in her gut:

This wasn’t good.

Y/N’s Instagram Feed: Day 23/93

and the rumours begin...

Tags: @reggiesleatherjacket @bookdealer5 @nerdie20 @epikskool @gabriella-superwholock-universe @midnightpsychic @siennanoelle01 @catwx3 @oswin05 @trxnxtysstuff @strangermiraculousloser @izzyhogue @random-thoughts-003 @theatricalfangirl @aliceinemeraldcity @kristencoontz @sunsetpatterson @ghostlyb1tch @caitsymichelle13 @lovesanimals @j-mar-memester @avs-hart @ohyoureaqueenbutuncrowned @eries45 @im-a-writer-right @independentgirl @aberette13 @lord-of-the-fried @ellepscal @korydickson @kcd15 @lukeys-giggle @aunicornmademedoit @carleywhittaker @lolychu @delicatelukepatterson @a-whole-a-lot-of-fandoms @voguesir @reggieandthereggies @overlyhypedup @crappy-unicorn @amortiff @writerinlearning @parkeret @kaylinfayezink @uglypeachh @xxcxrolinexx @writingforphantoms @isabellaskyliner @sophiathefirst @musicconversedance @calicokitkat @nynke2004 @lukesrosetattoo @kiss-themoongoodbye @megnmendes @haydieenzzibug @thesweetestsinner @fangirlangioma @moviesbooksandfandoms @saroo-hawks @charliessunset @lanasfandoms @bigdesi @avngrsinitiative @lazydaisy19 @hologramband @rogersangel @mybrainiswhack @uhmitstori @mon-charmante @mjflower @heimdoodle @-episkey- @simp4madi @obxmermaid @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve @n0wornever @aliciameix @kinda-just-chillin-here @jatpfan99 @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @daisiesforlacey @valntynegillespie @ritz-hell-hotel @ssprayberrythings @mishappend @lukespaterson @dovegranger @morganayennefertyrell @queenxxkiller @kmsmedine @parkeret @bookfrog247 @poe30-blog @dmcfarland1 @magnet-girl

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fnf-brain-rot · 3 years

Text

[Whitty x Boyfriend]

Chapter 5 - Let's just chill!

Boyfriend awoke with a bit of an issue in the.. south region..

He groaned, putting a hand on his head before sitting up. It hurt too. He was about to handle it when he felt a presence to the side of him.

Whitty was just standing there..

Staring..

The blue haired male screamed and threw himself off the other side of the bed, which only made Whitty blink and lean over to look. "Sorry I startled you." He called to him. Boyfriend could only see the swirls in his vision. He eventually got up, pulling himself back onto his bed, also bringing his comforter back up as well. "Whitty, how long have you been standing there?"

"Mmh... Most of the night."

"Wh-MOST-"

Boyfriend threw his hands up in exasperation. "Did you SLEEP??" In response to his question, Whitty shook his head. "I told you I don't really need to." Boyfriend grimaced in his direction, making a small sound of discomfort to himself, then sighed heavily. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I thought you were having a nightmare." Whitty admitted softly. Boyfriend's cheeks began to heat up as he spoke. "It sounded like you were calling my name.. Was I.. doing something bad to you?" Whitty seemed hesitant to ask, gently pulling on the large shirt he was given.

"No no no! You didn't do anything bad! I uh.. It was uh.." Boyfriend bit his knuckle. Well he certainly couldn't say what was actually happening, but he was such a bad liar. "It was a recap of our day out.. yesterday!" He blurted out. Whitty blinked. He did something bad yesterday. Bee says it wasn't directed towards him, but he was still weary of him thinking about it. "How about you go wait in the living room? I'll make us some breakfast, yeah?" Boyfriend offered, and Whitty nodded, turning around to leave the room, of course, obliviously leaving the door open. Boyfriend let out a gentle sigh and got up to close it, then deal with his issue. Shouldn't take too long..

___________________________________________

Whitty sat down on the couch, nervously fiddling with his fingers as he stared at the blank tv. He couldn't have left a bad impression right? Of course not, if he didn't like him, he certainly wouldn't invite him over, and cuddle with him. Cuddling.. was nice. It would be nice to do that right now. He decided to figure out the tv, picking up the remote and mashing a random button. He pressed damn there every button on the device before actually getting to the power button, and he couldn't help but jump when he heard the tv turn on.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to meet Dearest's daughter today. At least it was only her, and from what he knew, she knew nothing about him other than when they first met. Does she even know she's meeting the same guy? She looked pretty scared of him. Whitty squirmed in discomfort at the thought. What if she knew about him and her dad? What if she didn't like him? What if she rats him out? His head swirled with worst case scenarios, and he couldn't help but stress about it. Boyfriend exited his room about five minutes later. Whitty could hear the bare feet slap against the wooden hallway floor. "Whitty? Whitty, what's wrong?" The blue haired male rushed to the couch. Whitty hadn't realized he had started crying, clutching his head in his hands like he felt a pain too great to bare.

Boyfriend hopped onto the furniture beside him, gently hugging his head against his chest. "I'm sorry, did I upset you? I promise you didn't do anything bad." He mumbled softly. Whitty shook his head. "I'm just.. nervous." Boyfriend parted a bit, looking down at the bomb with a slightly confused expression. "Nervous? About what?"

"Meeting her."

Boyfriend understood. She did talk about how scary and dangerous he seemed. He didn't exactly specify that it was Whitty he was talking to. There is a chance she could freak out when she sees him. Maybe Boyfriend hadn't thought this all the way through..

"How about we eat breakfast? It's hard to think on an empty stomach." He hugged onto Whitty again, gently rubbing his back. Whitty quickly began to relax. No one had ever done this with him before, and it was really affective. He really liked it. "Can we do that thing first? The cuddle?" Whitty asked softly, and Boyfriend grinned. "Of course we can, Whits." He got down, then climbed into Whitty's lap, but he faced him this time, wiping away his tears, just like he did under the tree. Whitty couldn't help but smile a little, wrapping his arms around Boyfriend in a slightly tighter squeeze than the first time. He felt warm..

___________________________________________

Boyfriend had decided to make waffles, oatmeal, grits, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, anything he could honestly find in his kitchen to make a big enough meal for someone who eats so much so fast. He himself was contempt with eating two waffles and some eggs, while Whitty, of course, ate everything else. "Dude, where does it all go?" Bee then asked, receiving a simple "hm?" from Whitty across from him. "Like.. You eat so much, but it's like it literally melts right off of you." Whitty shrugged. "It kinda does.. I digest food faster than normal humans." He explained softly. He picked up his dirty dishes and put them in the sink, with instruction, and did the same with Boyfriend's dishware. "Aww you don't have to clean up after us every time." Boyfriend laughed, sitting up and stretching before standing out of his seat. "I like to. I like to think it shows.. my appreciation for you feeding me." Whitty responded in a soft tone. Of course he didn't really know how to DO dishes, just put them in the sink. Boyfriend would deal with that pile later.

"Come on, let's get ready to go. I have a whole day planned for us." Boyfriend bounced on his toes before rushing back to his room to change. Whitty sighed softly. He didn't know how to use the dryer..

Boyfriend was quick to throw on his usual baggy jeans, white shirt, and his cap. He could barely contain his excitement, he was running back and forth in the hall, of course grabbing his mic and pocketing it for good measure. Whitty had crouched down in front of the dryer, staring intensely at it. "My clothes are trapped." He whined softly. Boyfriend came out from behind him, and couldn't help but laugh. "This is the handle to pull it open." He pulled it, and Whitty let out a sound of relief. His clothes were free!!

___________________________________________

"I'm gonna miss this carpet."

"We're gonna come back dummy."

Whitty blinked. He hadn't thought of returning to his house, he thought he was only letting him stay one night..

Boyfriend was sneaky in managing to get him to stay. He secretly applauded himself. He then smiled up at Whitty, gently grabbing his hand. "Let's get going!"

He decided to take Whitty to all his favorite spots. There was a burger joint he and Pico occasionally hung out at, and Whitty was totally down to eat again, so they went.

"Yeah, all the good stuff happens at night, so that's when we go see Gigi." Boyfriend explained with his mouth full, and Whitty nodded to show he was listening. "Oh crap, I forgot! I'm battling her mom tonight! I don't really know where though, they were gonna come pick me up." Boyfriend put a hand on his head and threw it back in distress. "Does this mean I won't meet.. Gigi?" Whitty questioned him. Boyfriend shook his head. "I guess we'll just have to wait until after. Her mom is sneaky as hell, who knows where she is at any time." He shuddered. That lady genuinely scares him.

Next up was the mall.

Whitty was hesitant to go into such a crowded area, but Boyfriend led him through the door in the back way. There were way less people coming through there, so he wouldn't have to worry about being spotted. As they entered, though, Whitty got this weird feeling.. Like they were being watched. He looked around the clothing section they were in. It was quiet back there too, save for the gentle music playing from the speakers in the ceiling. "Ooh! We should shop clothes for you!" Boyfriend then suggested. "But.. I won't be able to carry them with me everywhere.." Whitty objected, holding his hands up nervously. "You won't carry them everywhere. They'll be at my place." Boyfriend pointed his thumb at his own chest proudly.

He really did trick him into moving in, didn't he?

"The only money I get is from the collabs I've been doing so far, so until I get rich and famous, you can get one more outfit and a pair of shoes." Whitty hummed uncomfortably. Now he was taking more money from him, great. "Hey, I'm offering. Now go pick out what you like." Boyfriend smacked Whitty's leg at the knee cap gently, and Whitty quickly held it, puffing his cheeks. "Fineeee, I'll go pick out something.." He huffed reluctantly, but proceeded to look at some shirts and pants and such.

___________________________________________

The two walked out of the mall with one bag, and Boyfriend was holding a box, which had his new shoes in it. "Thanks.. for getting me new clothes. I'm sorry to spend your money." Whitty mumbled shamefully, and Boyfriend huffed at him. "I told you, I don't mind. I want you to be comfortable since it's obvious you've never relaxed a day in your life." Bee grunted in response, nudging his leg as they walked. Whitty laughed nervously, looking behind them. He swore up and down he felt like someone was following them..

"Where to next?" Boyfriend thought out loud, mostly to himself. It was already one in the afternoon, they only had about three hours left until they were coming to pick him up. They decided to go back to the house. Whitty felt uncomfortable being out in the open for so long. "You're sure you didn't tell anyone you were talking to me?" The bomb asked, taking his shoes off inside the house. "Yes, Whitty. I haven't mentioned your name to anyone. If anything I addressed you as 'the guy I battled last week' to Pico. Why?" Whitty shook his head, stepping onto the carpet, then relaxing all over again. It was just so soft-

"Whitty?" Boyfriend turned to look at him. Whitty sighed under his breath, then sat up. "I.. felt like someone was following us. All day. It just feels ironic that I'm supposedly meeting someone-a friend of yours-today." He muttered. Boyfriend stared at him for a moment. "You don't think.. You're not thinking I set you up, are you?" He asked hesitantly, putting a hand to his own chest. Whitty didn't answer right away. He curled up into a ball in his spot, the possibilities beginning to race through his mind all over again. Suddenly he didn't feel as safe as he wanted to. Suddenly he couldn't trust Boyfriend as much as he wanted to. Bee could see him breaking down into an anxious wreck, staring intently at one spot on the floor.

He was a little hurt, yes, but this guy had so many people out for him, it wasn't even funny. He couldn't be mad at him for being cautious. That's why he's still alive today. "Whitty.." Boyfriend approached him, and his heart broke when he saw how Whitty coiled away a bit. He didn't stop though. He crouched down, putting a hand on his head. Whitty slowly looked up at him, his black, inky tears trailing down his cheeks once again today. "When I told you I would be there for you, I meant it." He told him. "I wouldn't throw you in the gutter. Remember that? I would never set up my friend. If you don't feel safe going outside, you can stay in here, okay?" Boyfriend gently leaned forward, placing a kiss on his forehead.

Whitty had no idea what that was, but he liked how it felt. It was like his worries melted away with the feeling. Like he was.. safe. He took a breath, then nodded at Boyfriend's words. "Wait.. do that again?" Whitty's eyes held a less somber expression, and he gently held onto Boyfriend's head. This caused him to blush heavily. Whitty could feel his face heating in his hands. "W-What? A-A kiss?" Boyfriend was a little surprised as Whitty nodded. He tried to calm his heart beat. He could feel it beating out of his chest, so hard he would have thought he was having a heart attack. He leaned down and gave Whitty another peck on the forehead, and the taller couldn't help but close his eyes at the warmth it gave him.

"Thank you, BB." Whitty responded softly, letting his face go, then standing back up. "Y-Y-Yeah! N-No p-problem!" Boyfriend's hands were shaking, and he was laughing awkwardly. His face was so red, and Whitty remembered what that meant. He smiled, then picked Boyfriend up, a high pitched "beep!" coming from him. "Whitty!!" He exclaimed nervously, hiding his face in his hands. Whitty tilted his head. That must be an even more positive reaction! He sat down on the couch, still holding Bee in his arms. He was determined they would cuddle until Girlfriend came to get him.

___________________________________________

Boyfriend jolted awake to Whitty staring down at him. Again. He yelped out, but quickly exhaled, putting a hand on his own chest. "You don't wanna be late for your battle." Whitty noted softly. He was still holding Boyfriend. No wonder he fell asleep so fast. He sat up, and Whitty allowed him to, setting him on the floor in front of the couch. Boyfriend stretched his arms up, groaning at the good stretch. "Thanks Whits.." He mumbled softly, his face quickly beginning to redden again just by looking at him. "I'll protect the house while you're gone, don't worry." Whitty told him, and Bee laughed. "I'm sure you will." He made his way over to the door, slipping his shoes back on. "You sure you'll be okay?" He turned around, and watched as Whitty curled up on the couch. He nodded in response, turning the tv on. Bee smiled, then made his way out.

Whitty really wanted to see Boyfriend's little rap battle, to of course be emotional support, but he couldn't be seen. It sucked. He felt lonely all over again, sitting in the living room, sitting on a small couch in front of a tv playing something he wasn't interested in, and he had no knowledge of how to change the channel. He hugged his knees to his chest, puffing one of his cheeks in thought. Boyfriend seemed to genuinely care for him. He.. really did care for him.. Hopefully his friends are similar to that. Even if they weren't, Boyfriend was enough for him. He was all he needed..

___________________________________________

Whitty looked away from the cats on the screen about an hour later to the sound of the front door opening. His insides fluttered, like.. weirdly. He put a hand on his chest as the door opened, and Boyfriend walked in, talking to someone and laughing. He turned to look at Whitty, then winked. "Gigi, here's the guy I wanted you to meet!" Girlfriend walked past him, and looked directly into Whitty's eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, and Whitty began to sweat nervously. "H.. Hi-"

"I'm very sorry!"

Whitty's eyes widened, and his cheeks began to glow orange. "I also participated in pushing you to that point, and I wanted to apologise for doing that." She took her shoes off, making her way into the living room. Whitty and Boyfriend let out a breath of relief, the latter quickly following after her. "I-It's okay.. really.. it happens.." Whitty stammered awkwardly, shrinking against the couch as she smiled up at him.

"I'm Girlfriend, but just call me Gigi. I hope we can get to know each other better. And don't worry, I'll keep you a secret from my parents." Whitty's eyes brightened as she spoke those words. She seemed kind already. "See!! I told you it would go well!" Boyfriend hugged Girlfriend from behind, making her giggle. "Yeah.." Whitty mumbled to himself.

Maybe it won't be that bad making friends..

#fnfboyfriend #whitty #friday night funkin #fnf whitty #fnfwhitmore #whitty x bf #bf x whitty

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dorizardthewizard · 3 years

Text

The Revival of Akillian: Chapter 10

Okay, there’s a few things that need to be addressed with this chapter so check out the reblogs for translator notes!

------------------------------------------

Prologue / Chapter 9 / Chapter 11

10. CRUEL MEMORIES

“We remind everyone that the head of Sonny Backbones, the leader of the Pirates, is still priced at two million standard credits. For a more beautiful Galaxy, help Technoid!”

After this cheerful message, which shows Sonny Blackbones’s square head from the front and in profile, the advertisement break ends and the match resumes between the Wambas and the Pirates. This friendly match, “sponsored by Technoid” (despite the participation of the Pirates, long-time enemies of the company), is in its second half. The score is still a draw despite the obvious technical superiority of the Wambas. However, the Pirates seem to know in advance their strategy and their special moves, and come close to cheating thanks to their flux, the Seed of Shiloe, which allows them for a brief moment to produce decoys – projected doubles of themselves. This destabilizes the Wamba players… but they are not left out, compensating for the “treachery” of the Pirates by speed and agility which, on their own ground, the Jungle Stadium, they use profusely with their flux, the Roar, which expresses itself over their bodies in the form of golden sparks. In addition, they seem to be having a lot of fun, which is not the case with the Pirates who, despite their tricks, are falling behind.

“...an incredible leap, almost a somersault that Wouwambou just performed!” cries the excited announcer. “He kept the ball anyway, his clawed feet give him a definite advantage over his opponent - rather his opponents, it looks like there are two of them... no, he has only one defender against him. Wouwambou makes a very long pass to Lun-Zaera who was just waiting for this opportunity! She easily escapes the Pirate defender by leaping over, her control over the flux is remarkable, that of the ball too! Lun-Zaera rushes towards the goal, nothing can stop her, it seems, but here is the number 8 Pirate - a substitute? - who tackles the ball, too late, Lun-Zaera has flown off with the ball at her foot, she performs a sort of pirouette, she is back on the ground, it seems that she has lost the ball... but no, the ball is in the net, it’s a goooal! The Pirate goalkeeper didn't see it coming and I admit neither did I, that’s how fast it was! 1-0 for the Wambas! ...”

Aarch turns off the TV and turns to his team, sprawled out on benches in the lounge cabin of the Tanaga, his personal ship (still piloted by Clamp, the Scrap he intended for this role having proven to be totally incompetent).

- As you know, Lun-Zaera is the star striker of the Wambas team. Her speed is legendary, so beware of that in particular... what did I just say, Thran?

- Huh? Uh...

Sitting next to his dozing brother, Thran leans over a small device he had cobbled together from bits and pieces of various components, salvaged from the Arena Stadium construction site.

- 67 hundredths of a second, - he says, his eyes wide. - From what I recorded, Lun-Zaera scored that goal in 67 hundredths of a second! (He looks up at Aarch who is scrutinizing him, arms crossed, brow furrowed) You said she’s very fast, sir. My device proves it!

- Well, Thran, you’ll be against her in no time!

Aarch shows the team a small golden-brown satellite that orbits near the large and beautiful planet Wamba, whose emerald jungles appear beneath mottles of iridescent clouds.

- You can see the Ibo moon through the portholes. From its light, the Wambas derive their flux, the Roar. It gives them greater agility than usual...

- What about us, sir? – interrupted D’jok. - Why do we have no flux? It was the Breath of Akillian, right?

- Yeah, but it disappeared because of the great ice age, - Thran explains. - The Catastrophe caused a shift in the orbital axis of our planet, which upset the entire magnetic field, and the Breath vanished. It’s scientifically proven, isn’t it, sir?

- That is the circulating theory, yes. - confirms Aarch.

- But sir, - insists D’jok. - What Tia can do with the ball, is that thanks to the Breath?

- Yes, that’s right…

Tia looks down, intimidated, as if D’jok were talking about a flaw she might have. Sitting across from her, Rocket smiles at her.

- But why is she the only one with it? - asks Thran. - Especially since she is from Obia!

- You all have it in each of you, I’m sure you do, - says Aarch. - But it won’t be enough for you to wake it up like Tia; you will also have to learn to channel it, to tame it. That will undoubtedly be the most difficult part...

- In the meantime, - intervenes Micro-Ice. - We will have to manage without it, is that it? Scoring goals in... how many did you say, Thran? A fraction of a second in any case. Well! No need to worry either way, it’s just a friendly match, right?

Aarch comes to stand in front of him.

- You will learn that there are no insignificant matches, Micro-Ice. You and the others have only one desire and that is to play on this team. And I want this team to go far, very far. So, you absolutely have to play to win!

- But if you don’t want to win, Micro-loser, - laughs Sinedd. – We’ll be fine without you!

Aarch turns around to face him.

- We won’t win anything without everyone on board, Sinedd, and you especially would do well to remember it! I already told you, you play too selfishly, but football is a team sport! Understand?

Sinedd frowns and pouts, but refuses to respond. Aarch continues:

- I can’t wait to see you in action on the pitch. In the meantime, rest, because you will need all your strength!

With these words, he joins Clamp in the cockpit. Sinedd takes his set of GF-Cards out of his pocket and takes a seat at a table.

- Anyone up for a game? Who wants to get demolished?

Thran, D’jok and Rocket go looking for their own cards and join Sinedd around the table. Micro-Ice goes to sit next to Mei, who ostensibly ignores him. She gazes sullenly at the planet Wamba growing in the portholes. It seems like it’s hellishly hot down there, full of mosquitoes, spiders, biting insects… Tia prefers to isolate herself in a sleeping cabin. Ahito, well, he doesn’t need to isolate himself to fall sleep.

Sinedd deals the cards with a smirk: sure of his victory or already cheating? Thran contemplates his deck with dreamy eyes.

- What’s the matter, Thran? – remarks Sinedd. - Have you never seen GF-Cards before or what?

- Do you realize that if this works out, one day we too will have our faces on GF-Cards? I can just imagine it... Thran, 300 caps, top defender on the... uh... the... what is our team called, guys?

- Hey, but… wait a second… you’re right! - D’jok realizes. - We don’t even have a name! A great team must have a great name! What should we call ourselves?

- Your turn, D’jok. – prompts Sinedd.

- Uh… - wonders Thran. - Galactik Bats isn’t bad, right? Or… uh, I don’t know, The Fireballs?

- Yeah… - says Sinedd, scooping up the cards. - Me, I’d say something like the Zeroes, or the Broken Feet!

Clamp’s voice echoes in the living room:

- Kids, get back to your seats and buckle your seatbelts. We’ve arrived!

- Did you hear that, Sinedd? Buckle it! - snaps Micro-Ice.

***

True to their reputation for hospitality, the Wambas had invited Aarch’s team to feast in the Council of Elders building, the equivalent of the Akillian Confederation. “Equivalent” is a big word, because comparing this building to the luxurious Confederation building would be liked comparing a cave to a castle: it is a large hut all made of wood and bamboo, with a thatched roof and walls of plant fibers, surrounded by a path of planks held up by long poles. It is nestled in a lush jungle, formed by gigantic trees (beside which Akillian Cedryans look like shrubs), whose enormous roots become entangled with the vegetation that masks the ground. Under this majestic foliage grow many bushes, giant ferns and mushroom trees where vines and climbing plants intermingle. Mangroves and swamps with uninviting brackish water are all around, which bathe in the heat and humidity of an oven. An abundance of wildlife rustles there, a crescendo of birdsong, cries, chirps, cackles, and buzzes of swarms of insects... fortunately kept at a distance by fragrant smoke suspended from the poles. On the other hand, the heat overwhelms the Akillians who sweat profusely, feeling shortness of breath and thickened blood.

A large common table has been set up on the platform, where they share the meal with their future opponents; pleasant, courteous and considerate, like all Wambas. The table is chaired by Wakura, Patriarch of the Council of Elders, a post similar to that held by Adium in the Akillian Confederacy. But unlike Adium, a young bureaucrat, Wakura was once a great footballer, who repeatedly led the Wambas to victory. Servants dressed in lavender - a sign of their belonging to a lower caste - bring trays of steaming food. Smoky and fragrant… a bizarre, sour, and spicy smell. D’jok grimaces.

- Do you know what the Wambas eat? - he asks Micro-Ice at the table next to him, looking worried.

- Yeah, exactly. Mimouk, the Cyclops cook at the Cafeteria, told me about it one day... that’s why I’m freaking out!

A servant sets a dish in front of them that looks like a gray, hairy mash, decorated with a sort of large strawberry, vaguely reminiscent of a human head. The smell rises to the nose like mustard, only more pungent.

- Good… good luck and bon appétit, Micro-Ice.

- You too…

D’jok grabs his wooden spoon and goes to help himself. He holds back, his eyes wide.

- But what is this thing?! (The “mash” just shuddered, making a sort of hiss) Am I hallucinating, or does it move like it’s alive?

- Uh... well... from what Mimouk said... - begins Micro-Ice with a downright disgusted expression.

Someone bends over the dish and plucks the “strawberry” with his three fingers. This is Wouwambou, the captain of the Wambas - bright green eyes, pearly gray complexion - apparently well recovered from his flu on Akillian.

- It’s called Blatch: a puree of fresh spiders in Colmache oil. A real treat! (He stuffs the thing into his mouth - it cracks and squeals) You’ll see, it’s really delicious.

- We don’t doubt it for a second… - Thran grimaces, disgusted.

- Or a very small fraction of a second, - adds Micro-Ice. - Just a few hundredths, eh, Thran?

Wakura taps his goblet with a knife that was used to cut up a local fruit, demanding silence. He then gets up:

- My very dear friends! I am happy to welcome you on behalf of all the Wamba people. I am particularly touched to welcome the team that Aarch has just formed to our planet (he turns to Aarch, who is sitting next to him). Aarch, you should know that with us, you are at home!

- Thank you, Wakura. It is an honor for me to be invited to your table.

- And now, dear friends, I propose a toast to your health! - adds the Patriarch, raising his goblet.

The Wambas gulp down the contents of theirs. The Akillians feel obligated to imitate them. It is a whitish, mucus-like liquid with a pronounced muddy taste.

- Yuck... - belches D’jok. - What is this stuff again?

Lun-Zaera, seated in front of him, leans over, licking her lips.

- It’s Gatcho slime soaked in the mud of the backwater. Isn’t that divine?

- Uh… I think I’m going to throw up… - replies Thran, suddenly pale.

- You may not know, - Wakura continues. - But your coach has been with us for a long time. You could even say he rebuilt himself here, mentally and physically. We fed him, we took care of him! This is why the bond between Aarch and the Wambas is so strong...

Aarch lowers his head. This innocent and kind evocation of Wakura’s brings back to mind some very cruel memories...

It was ten years ago. A group match qualifying for the Galactik Football Cup. Aarch was attacking, although Artegor Nexus claimed otherwise. Overflowing with the Shadow’s Smog that spread a trail of black ink behind him, rage in his heart, hatred in his eyes, he rushed like a madman towards the Cyclops’ goal.

“Aarch attacks with a startling breakthrough, he decided to take his chances! The Cyclops defense have sensed the danger and decide to cut Aarch off in his tracks!”

Massive and determined, united by a telepathic bond, the three Cyclops defenders rushed to meet him. Without deviating an inch, without attempting any tricks, Aarch hit them head-on. The Smog he gave off prevented them from using their flux, the Psycho-Bug, which boosts their perception and cohesion. He chuckled, amused at how he had hurt them.

“Aarch fought off the Cyclops effortlessly! What determination in this player!”

It wasn’t determination, it was fury. The Smog was also confusing his mind, like an overdosed doping drug. He no longer thought, no longer saw, no longer respected anything. With Artegor Nexus dragging him down this dangerous slope, he had become a war machine destined to pulverize opposing goals. He passed to Artegor, immediately marked by two Cyclops, who returned the ball to Aarch, who resumed his inexorable charge, jostling and knocking down an opposing player.

“Foul!” He heard through his earphones - but he didn’t listen, he ran, blind and deaf. Another Cyclops tried to stop him, having seen the referees flashing. Screaming in fury, Aarch crushed him, suffocating him under an overflow of Smog. He went to shoot at the goal... the ball disappeared: there was a foul, so play had stopped. His dark energy no longer finding an outlet, it spilled out of him like a hemorrhage of ink. He rolled on the floor, drooling and growling. The Smog escaped, flowing from him in huge black streaks. Lying on the ground, his arms outstretched, he still writhed, wanting to get up, finish the match, finish the Cyclops, but he could not… the Smog flowed, he groaned, losing the Breath, his life… his teammates and even his adversaries ran up, worried, a flying stretcher descended from above… the Smog flowed… and everything went black.

***

The blackness lasted several months… the first memory that came back to his mind was this great yellow sun that warmed his eyelids, filtered by foliage which seemed to him to be several hundred meters high. Around Aarch, wooden buildings, thatched roofs… he was lying almost naked on a mat spread on a bed of rough planks, a brightly colored cushion under his head. Birds were singing, insects chirping. A beautiful young woman with short brown hair, big blue eyes and full lips stepped out of a house of wood and cloth, bringing with her a plate of steaming vegetables. For a moment, Aarch believed in heaven. He smiled at this divine apparition...

- So, how is our patient today? Are you feeling better?

Later, Aarch learned that this woman was called Simbai, Dame Simbai. She was a Human exiled to the planet Wamba, where she learned the secrets of native plants and medicines. It was she who, by her mark of care, patience and concern, had succeeded in restoring to Aarch his physical strength, his sanity and his memory… and it was Clamp, his old and faithful friend Clamp, who had torn from the Shadow hospital where he had been taken, where the local doctors proved powerless to contain this hemorrhage of Smog: they had never seen something like that before… later, when he felt better, Dame Simbai explained to him that she believed the Breath of Akillian and the Smog of Obscurantis were two incompatible fluxes, which had competed within Aarch to somehow “dominate” him. The Smog had won him over after his long stay on the Shadows’ planet, but it had made him furious, devoured by an inordinate ambition, a rage to win that only occurred among the greatest dictators or warlords... Artegor apparently fared better, no doubt because the Breath of Akillian was weaker in him. But hadn’t he, too, become arrogant and ambitious, driven by an obsession to win?

- Are you okay, Aarch? Aarch?

He tears himself away from contemplating the mangrove swamp, and the species of dragonflies the size of pigeons that frolic there in a colorful ballet dance.

- Simbai! You have no idea how happy I am to see you!

She has aged a bit; her brown hair has grown, her big blue eyes are protected by small glasses, but her lips are still so attractive, her smile so charming, and her waist, surrounded by a wide red belt, still so fine...

- Are you surprised to see me? I still live here, don’t you remember?

She leans over the edge of the wooden pontoon, dipping her hand in the warm yellow water of the backwater.

- Yes, of course. I haven’t lost my memory again, you know (Aarch joins her, kneels on the ground, then grabs her wet hand). Dear Dame Simbai… (He places a hand over her fingers) Dame Simbai… - he repeats in a tone of respect, deference… and love.

In Dame Simbai’s ear, a small shiny clasp beeps, audible only to her: her permanent link with the Flux Society. Master Zimbra thus lets them know about her encounter with Aarch... as expected.

***

In front of the entrance porch of the large hut of the Council of Elders, Tia, sitting on a rock, also contemplates the backwater. She would have been swimming there just to cool off, but she wonders with some anxiety what dreadful beasts could be splashing about in these silty waters. Besides the sweaty heat that puts her to sleep, she feels a bit heavy, has a rumbling belly and the unpleasant feeling that the Blatch is still wriggling in her stomach. What atrocious food! ...she ate it all the same, because her parents always told her that she should be able to eat anything: “If one day you become an ambassador like us, know that it is extremely rude to refuse the food offered to you by the peoples you visit. So, you will give us the pleasure of eating without complaining what your housekeeper is preparing for you!” Well, it’s not deadly, if Aarch has lived here for several years… for an old man like him, he looks pretty good.

Wouwambou takes a short stroll on the path, in order to take advantage of the relative coolness - only thirty-five degrees today - and to digest the succulent Blatch which he had eaten a little too much of. He suddenly stops, noticing Tia on the rock in front of the entrance. The green irises of his eyes widen, a sign of intense emotion. It’s her! …“She must not be able to play anymore. Never again. Am I clear enough?” Oh yes, Artegor Nexus was very clear. And Wouwambou, that fool, accepted the money. He was able to pay for the doctor, the medicine, and even bring credits to his family. Now he has to honor his end of the bargain... he does not think for a second to shy away, because the Wambas are not like that: they keep their promises, even if it would cost them their lives. But this young Human looks so kind and so fragile… why should Wouwambou prevent her from pursuing her passion? Why must he hurt her, her soul and body? Ah, cruel fate! How devious and wicked humans are! He slips away, feeling shame; he especially doesn’t want to have to talk to little Tia, to bond with her - only to destroy her afterwards. This is totally against the Wamba spirit.

Coming out of the house in search of a bit of coolness, Rocket descends the steps leading to the pontoon, and joins Tia at the foot of the rock. She stands up quickly, ready to flee, then relaxes: Rocket is not an enemy, he does not mean harm to her. As long as he doesn’t touch her, he’s fine.

- Tia… you haven’t told the others about what you know, I hope?

- What are you talking about?

- You didn’t tell them I was Aarch’s nephew, did you?

- No, of course not, come on!

She accompanies her words with a smile and sits down, losing her gaze in the depths of the jungle. Rocket in turn climbs onto the rock and sits next to her, dripping with sweat.

- Well, that’s good! That way, we will each have our little secret...

Sharing secrets is a good start to sharing other things afterwards, such as intimate moments, he thinks. Can he afford to take Tia’s hand, or is it still too soon? But his remark does not produce the desired effect at all:

- What are you talking about, Rocket? - Tia gets angry. - I have nothing to hide!

- What? But… uh… - he stammers, unsettled. - Your arrival on Akillian...

- Excuse me, miss… - a voice echoes behind them (it is one of the Wamba servants, he seems rather old). – Haven’t we bumped into each other somewhere?

- I don’t think so! - Tia answers sharply.

- I’ve worked on many planets, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you before. - insists the servant. – Aren’t you the daughter of... oh, what’s their name? This couple of diplomats?

- I’m telling you, no! - retorts Tia, who jumps down from the rock and walks away briskly.

Rocket gets up in turn, then glares at the Wamba: this idiot screwed everything up! Embarrassed by the hostile expression, the servant walks away muttering.

- It’s her, I’m sure. My memory never deceives me.

#galactik football #the revival of akillian

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benscursedkid · 3 years

Text

*title from the song of the same name by mansionair and a continuation of this post*

synopsis: rebekah and ben’s relationship progression throughout their second year at hogwarts. (plus some bonus of other characters too.)

pairing: ben copper x mc; ben copper x rebekah roberts

genre: angst, fluff, etc.

words: 5.160

a/n: is it 5am rn for me? yes it is. did i skip the ice vault scene because i’m tired and lazy? you bet. also, i know they’re in second year and thus supposed to be around twelve years old but i’m pretty sure i forgot what being twleve felt like (must be all the repressed embarrassment yikes) so i apologize if this seems slightly too heavy or at times mature for that. but then again, this is hphm so y’know... trauma <3 also be warned, i’m tired so this is unedited as of rn. i’ll come back and edit it maybe tomorrow or the next day but if you’re reading this then i have not done so yet. pls, enjoy anyway!

She woke up that morning with a spring in her step. Her bags had been packed for weeks, her robes already ironed and an outfit laid out for the morning. She discarded it, choosing instead to pull another one out of her trunk and switching their spots. The young girl ran all over the house, picking up anything that had been thoughtlessly left out and almost forgot to take time to sit and eat breakfast.

It was a thing her parents still tried to insist on. Eating meals as a family despite the fact that they are indefinitely one member short. Their motivation usually wore off by lunch only to be half-heartedly reignited by dinner.

The effort is just what she’d wanted except…Rebekah hates it, truth be told. They do nothing more than inquire about Rowan and Ben, occasionally touching on the weather before falling silent again. And that’s how they remain for the rest of the night. Disappearing into their room seems to be more habit than pastime for them now and Rebekah is left to her own devices. They don’t watch her father’s favorite movies, they don’t make any plans for the next day, they don’t laugh over old jokes. Sometimes, when the moon is high and her spirits are low, she wonders why they can’t try like she does. To fix their family. Her brother may no longer be around, but surely she is enough to keep them going, right? Surely, knowing that they still have their daughter left is enough...isn’t it?

Her thoughts often took those turns at home, but today she hadn’t let them get to her. Her parents could be heard getting ready for the day in the solace of their quiet room while Rebekah finished brushing her teeth and gathering some last minute research she had done the night before. Mysteries might be fun, but it’s about time this one got solved.

They were even quieter on the way to King’s Cross than usual—even by their new standards—but Rebekah didn’t care this time. Her mind was too busy running in different directions to spare a moment to anything else.

“You be careful, ‘Bek,” Her mother whispers presently into her hair, her thin arms wrapped around her small body in the tightest hug she’s received since she came home two months ago. Her voice is uneven and Rebekah can feel the quivering of her lips against her dark hair. “Stay in one piece, alright?”

“I will.” She promises swiftly, the words leaving her mouth without much thought.

Her father tries for a smile that even he has to know doesn’t land. “Say hi to your friends for us, yeah? Let them take care of you.”

His voice was gentle, his tone and intentions soft and well-meaning, but Rebekah can’t help but bite her lips to keep back a frown. It is glaringly something he would never have said before and for whatever reason, she doesn’t like the fact that he says it now.

Her father’s hand reaches the back of her head, his palm cradling her cheek affectionately as she pulls away from her mother. He seems about to hug her himself, but in a move strangely unlike him, he doesn’t. Somehow she knew it wouldn’t come. Somehow her heart breaks just a little more anyway.

The train whistles and she notices that her trolley has already been taken to the luggage compartments. Sound and perception come back to her all at once as the atmosphere seems to crack. Students mill about them in tandem and the heavy scent of the train’s engine prickles at her delicate nose. Her mother and father find their place again, stuck together like glue, and take a small step back. When they look at her their eyes are tired.

“Have fun, Rebekah.” Her father offers as her mother struggles to keep up her already thin façade of a collected person.

She nods at them in farewell, her body already turning towards the train. “I will.” She says again.

She hated the summer holidays this year, yet turning her back on her parents is still a stinging betrayal that quells the breath in her throat. She makes a point to not look behind her lest she fall apart all together.

Fortunately, there are still some reunions to be had today, the first of which she walks into before even stepping onto the Hogwarts Express. With her arms held tightly around herself and her eyes cast downward, Rebekah doesn’t notice it when a familiar head of blonde hair sticks itself out the window as she approaches the steps.

“Rebekah!” Cheers a soft voice, one that is usually not heard over the ring of the crowd.

On instinct, her eyes follow the sound, landing on the sight of Ben Copper with his neck stuck all the way out a compartment window. Unwittingly, all her claustrophobia melts off of her and a giggle even falls like a trickle from her lips. Her hand comes up to cover it but she doesn’t miss the way Ben’s cheeks flush deep with pink.

The sight only strengthens her smile.

“Ben,” Rebekah greets with a grin, moving out the way of the steps to instead walk over to stand directly in front of his window. Her hand still hesitates between covering her mouth and balling into a fist at her side. She swallows the uncertainty down. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing? Doesn’t your neck hurt?”

He blushes again and Rebekah gets the overwhelming urge to ruffle his already messy hair which clearly still shines with product. “No! Well, not before you mentioned it…”

She chuckles. “Looking for the best view?”

“Not anymore.”

Emotions grips her throat and her smile hesitates between freezing and growing even larger. For his part, Ben simply rubs at the back of his neck shyly, unable to meet her eye now.

His mouth opens to respond when she doesn’t immediately say anything back, only to be interrupted before he starts by a much higher, much more enthusiastic voice.

“Rebekah? Is that you?” Rowan gasps, pushing Ben slightly to now fit her head through the window. The blonde grimaces next to her, his nose scrunching up in discomfort and the scene is so comical Rebekah has to laugh. It comes off her chest like a heavy secret she hadn’t known she’d been carrying.

“You’re here!” Her friend gushes, her lips splitting with a grin so wide Rebekah fears it may cut her face in half. ‘What are you doing standing out there? Come in, the train will depart soon!”

Rebekah doesn’t mention how absurd she looks with her head popping out of a window like a cartoon character. She merely shakes her head and does as she’s instructed.

It doesn’t take long to find her way to the compartment, even with the onslaught of students now hurrying to board the train. The whistle sounds off again somewhere, but the happy chatter of children and teens mute the sound of it. She’s barely taken a single step into the compartment when Rowan launches herself at her for a hug. Rebekah returns it gently, ignoring the way the rim of the other girl’s glasses press intently into the skin by her ear.

Rowan releases her quickly, her arm looping through hers and already beginning to speak a mile a minute about something or other Rebekah doesn’t quite manage to catch yet. Perhaps she would, if her eyes hadn’t caught on Ben’s. His own are a warm and welcoming gold with the rays of fading summer sunshine catching on them through the window screen. They cast little squares across his face that Rebekah finds difficult not to count before—

Welcome back, he mouths to her silently, not daring to interrupt Rowan now that she’s started on another one of her tangents.

Rebekah grins, a slight blush of her own rising to her cheeks. She nods to signal her acknowledgement before turning back to Rowan, barely catching the end of her complaint about the library near her house.

It’s good to be back.

~✾~

I haven’t seen him since we stepped off the Hogwarts Express, Penny will tell her later but only after Ben has already been gone. Why hadn’t she noticed his absence sooner? I’m a little worried, Rebekah. Especially after what happened last year with the cursed ice.

She tried to bring it to McGonagall’s or Angelica’s attention earlier, but Dumbledore called for everyone to go immediately to their dorms after dinner. No exceptions.

They were ushered to their rooms like cattle, their prefects doing their best to calmly give them orders. Chester, for his part, seemed to pay her some extra attention. In hindsight, Rebekah knows that he has good reason to be suspicious, but at the time his scrutiny only served to further agitate her.

How could he have disappeared already? Why did no one see him leave?

Why didn’t she?

And why is it always those closest to her?

~✾~

Her sleep that night was fitful and her appearance the next morning was even worse. And just her luck, her least favorite person caught her at the door to Transfiguration the next time she tried to see McGonagall.

“You look worried, Roberts.”

Rebekah sighs, her usually level temper flaring at the mere sight of her troublesome classmate. “What do you want, Merula?”

The Slytherin smirks, looking nonchalantly at the black polish chipping from her fingernails. “I was just wondering if you’d had any luck finding that cowardly mudblood friend of yours.”

Her eyes snap sharply over to Merula’s. Green meets magenta in a swirl of anger and pride, each of them holding onto both. When Rebekah speaks, her voice is low and measured. “Do you know what happened to Ben?”

“I know more than you,” The other girl mocks but suddenly she doesn’t seem so teasing anymore. She takes a taunting step closer and despite the daylight peeking through the windows, her eyes darken with mirth. “I know that sometimes even when people are missing, they’re exactly where they’re supposed to be.”

The words are more than just a punch to the gut. It’s bad enough to be reminded of Jacob’s absence, but implying that the world is better for it is…

Merula takes this moment of hesitation to drive her point home. “There are things happening at this school you could never begin to understand, Roberts,” Jacob did. “Trying to uncover those things is going to get you killed.” Like Jacob?

“No,” Rebekah shakes her head, her hands balling into fists she just barely manages to keep at her sides. “Trying to get in my way is only going to end up hurting you, Merula.”

Merula glowers at her, her lips twisting up into a snarl. “You’ll learn everything soon enough.”

“If you’re not going to help me find Ben,” Rebekah snaps, her glare sharper than she thinks it's ever been before. “Then just stay away from me, Merula.”

“As you wish, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Rebekah finally pushes past her, but her words linger in her head far into the rest of the day.

~✾~

“Please, Madam Pomfrey,” Rebekah pleads, pouring all of her worry and concern into the five syllables. “Someone should be with him!”

But the healer just arches an unconvinced eyebrow, refusing to move from her place blocking her entrance into the hospital wing. She crosses her arms at Rebekah’s comment. “And you’ve come to the conclusion that a skilled healer is not enough company, Miss Roberts?”

Rebekah makes a noise of frustration that sounds strangled in her throat. “He needs a friend, Madam!” The woman does not budge and Rebekah runs a fraught hand through her short black hair. She’d wrestled her Ravenclaw tie loose earlier and discarded her robes at her dorm the second she’d gotten back from the fifth corridor, figuring that it was only a matter of time until Ben got seen here.

“I won’t bother him. I won’t bother you. I won’t bother anyone, I promise.” It’s been days since she’s heard from him, she was starting to worry... “Please,” She says eventually, the weight of all her troubles finally managing to drag her down. “I just want to see him.”

Pomfrey studies her closely for a long time before something close to recognition flashes across her face.

She steps aside.

~✾~

He doesn’t wake up for another four days. By then the weekend has come along and not so easily, might she add. She’d spent much of her time after and between classes sitting in the hospital by Ben’s bedside. In the back of her mind, she knew that she should have been more worried about the notes and the quills and the clues, but every time she thought about that doubt crept into her mind.

Surely, her luck couldn’t be that bad? How likely was it really that one of her very few friends was conspiring against her? And that it could be Ben? Of all people?

It wasn’t just unlikely as far as Rebekah was concerned. It was impossible.

Ben would never do that to her.

Rowan and Penny had been worried about how thin she was stretching herself. Between classes and clues and uncomfortable hospital wing chairs. After her honesty in his class, Flitwick had given her a small extension on the last homework assignment, given how often—and how commonly known—she visits Ben when she can. Even Chester had taken to checking in on her, not that she was the one who needed it.

And yet in spite of all this, she was not with him when he woke up.

She’d been resting in her dorm with Rowan after being kicked out by Pomfrey the day before. The matron claimed her worried frowns and her frequency in the wing were beginning to scare some of the other students and instructed her to take the weekend away from the smell of pumpkin juice and disinfectant. She hadn’t wanted to leave, but she had been able to get Pomfrey to promise to alert her if anything changed.

The rest of her and Rowan’s roommates had quickly vacated the premises when it became clear that Rebekah was not going to leave. She thinks they’re afraid of her, like many other people she’s noticed. Thinks that she’s mad. Like your brother, some of them say. You’re cursed.

But Rowan stayed. For a while she tried to distract her with art or wizard’s chess, but eventually they settled on a book. Rowan sat on her bed, the book spread out on her lap as she read it to Rebekah out loud while she sat on her own bed upside down in boredom. Rowan had the better voice for it, they decided, and a longer attention span.

It was like this that they found her. The poor frazzled student Pomfrey had apparently sent to fetch her. It’s Ben, they exclaimed and she swears the whole common room fell quiet behind the half-opened door. He’s awake. And he’s asking for you.

Before she knew it, her legs were moving. She wasn’t really thinking—they knew where to go—as they ran her down the corridors. The pale morning sun blinked at her as she passed each window. Until the door came into view and she only just had enough wits about her to slow down, steady her now labored breaths before entering the wing.

She pushed the door open and Madam Pomfrey was on her immediately. “That was quick.” She says matter-of-factly, her hands folding in front of her the way they commonly do, her shoulders straight and expression relaxed.

Rebekah ignores her. “Is he alright?”

“I believe so,” She answers quickly without preamble and she heaves a sigh of relief. “His memory is erratic, but I have seen patients in far worse condition in my time as Matron of Hogwarts.”

“You said he asked to see me?”

“Many times, along with other strange requests and proclamations. I believe he’s experiencing some state of delirium.”

“Can I talk to him?” She asks, ignoring the way her heart flips painfully in her chest at her previous words. She doesn’t want to think about how disoriented he must have been. She should have been there.

“Mister Copper has been through quite an ordeal and still remains in a very delicate state—” She begins but one look at Rebekah’s face tells her that little she can say will matter. She sighs in something that sounds like sympathy before gesturing over to his bed. “Make it fast.”

She smiles briefly in lieu of thanks before she’s moving again towards the familiar spot by his bedside. Pomfrey hadn’t even moved her chair.

Despite his clearly groggy state, Ben smiles weakly as she approaches, recognizing her immediately. His voice is meek and scratchy when he says, “Hi, ‘Bekah…”

Her lips pull up slightly at the unfamiliar nickname and she allows herself to fall habitually into the chair beside him. She reaches out to take his hand, but thinks better of it and wrings them together nervously underneath his bed instead. “How are you feeling?”

As she says this, Ben frowns, his whole body slumping further into his bed at the reminder of his condition. Dark spots can be seen beneath his eyes despite being unconscious for the past four days and his skin is still pasty and almost as pale as hers. Not for the first time, Rebekah wonders just what happened in the near week and a half it took to find him in the corridor.

“Cold. Tired. Sore,” He laments, but his mouth manages to pick up just slightly anyway. “Not that different from usual to be honest.”

Rebekah wants to laugh at his attempt at a joke—no matter how self-deprecating, acknowledging the effort it must have taken, but she doesn’t quite manage it. Instead, her brows knit together even more in worry for his health and well-being.

“Are you comfortable?” She finds herself saying, her eyes flicking to his rather flat looking pillow and the cold bars of his bed. “Is there anything I can do?”

Ben smiles and this time it takes. He still looks tired and he still looks ragged, but not so lonely anymore. The sight reminds her of what a twelve year-old boy should look like as his round cheeks wrinkle with the change of expression.

“Seeing your face is enough,” He admits a bit sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers purposefully, ducking his head down to look at them. “Madam Pomfrey is very helpful, but she doesn’t have the most comforting bedside manner.”

This gets a chuckle out of her at the truth of it and Ben’s smile returns victoriously.

Now it is Rebekah’s turn to look away and she nervously crosses her ankles before uncrossing them again. She shifts only subtly in her seat. “She said you asked to see me?”

His face twists in confusion. His head tilts in tired frustration. “Did I? I feel like I’m losing it…”

A small part of her is left disappointed with his lack of remembrance, but it is far overshadowed by the full force of her concern coming back at his clearly patchy memory. Just what did that cursed ice do?

Her hand twitches again to reach out to him but this time she listens to it. Her hand wraps cautiously around his wrist in what she hopes is a consoling manner. “What were you doing in that corridor, Ben? How did you get trapped in the ice?”

The Gryffindor shakes his head in anguish. “I don’t remember. I can hardly remember anything at all. Madam Pomfrey thinks it has something to do with the ice.”

Emotion lodges itself in her throat and for a moment she can’t speak. Ben looks away from her, seemingly in shame, but shame for what she isn’t sure. And she hates that she questions it. This isn’t fair! Why must these things always happen to her?

Paranoia pricks at her conscience and climbs up her spine. She has no choice but to press further. “I found a letter to you in the artefact room,” She explains and Ben still refuses to look at her directly. She isn’t sure whether to take that as a bad sign. “It led me to another one that told you to go to that corridor…”

“I’m sorry, Rebekah,” Ben whispers as though he doesn’t have the strength for anything else. “I just don’t remember…”

Something pulls at her chest. “Ben—”

“That’s enough for today, Miss Roberts,” Pomfrey announces, having snuck up behind Rebekah while she’d been distracted. “Mister Copper needs his rest.”

“But—”

“It’s okay,” Ben grabs her hand, his own not much bigger but it still offers her the reassurement that is intended. “I’m kind of tired, anyway.”

Rebekah frowns half in suspicion and half in confusion. “You just woke up.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Pomfrey clears her throat and Rebekah sighs, reluctantly releasing her hold on Ben’s hand and offering her friend in question a wave as she disappears back behind the privacy curtain.

She doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, but her mind stays stuck on the hospital wing and the missing week and a half of Ben’s memory of how he got there.

~✾~

In hindsight, meeting Bill had been, thankfully, one of the only good things to come out of that term. At the time, she couldn’t have ever guessed the way that things would soon be playing out, but one thing that was a constant in her life when nothing else was is Bill Weasley.

Her surrogate big brother—and arguably the best one she ever had—went on to get her through the worst of times. Even when he couldn’t be there, he always lent her his support. Rebekah doesn’t know where she’d be without him.

And to think she almost met him for the first time with a book about Patricia Rakepick. She knows now that hindsight isn’t always funny.

~✾~

Speaking of older brothers, she never quite expected to find comfort in dry as wood Chester Davies of all people but—What are prefects for?

Rebekah’s grin comes surprisingly easy, all traces of her nightmare forgotten. “Badgering everyone about house points?”

“Hey!”

~✾~

Rebekah groans as her face plants into her textbook, her head feeling like it holds nothing but bricks. Certainly no useful curse-breaking information.

A light, breathy chuckle is heard from beside her and if she weren’t stressed out of her mind, it might have brought a smile to her face. Her shoulder is cautiously poked as her study companion regards her fondly.

“You’re not tapping out already, are you?”

She lifts her head just high enough off the potions book to glare at him through the dark strands of her hair now stuck to her face. “Remind me again why we didn’t invite Penny to teach us this instead?”

He hums as though in contemplation, but the smile threatening to lift his lips tells a different story. “Because I need the extra study time and you were just bored enough to join me?”

It’s mostly a lie. She knows that she needed to study some possible potions her and Bill could bring into the vaults and ever since he got out of the hospital wing, she hasn’t been able to see Ben too often lately...but yes, he also did really need the study time. Unfortunately, the hospital wing isn’t the most convenient place to do homework and even though he did every assignment his roommates brought back to him, Ben had fallen a bit behind in Snape’s class.

Though, really, she doesn’t think anyone but Penny is exactly ahead.

Still, she frowns as Ben reaches to brush some of the hair out of her face. The tips of his fingers graze over her skin and he clears his throat before looking away.

Rebekah does the same, casting her eyes around the room. Truthfully, there’s not much to look at. It’s the same potions classroom it's always been: dark, dreary, and slightly dingy. Though, she must admit that the faint green light coming from the dungeon corridor does cast a rather lovely reflection across his face.

“Well now I’m even more bored.”

“I’m sorry.”

Instantly, her brows draw together in slight disappointment and surprise at the sudden sad apology. When she looks back over at him he’s already turned subtly away from her, but his eyes are somewhere else. Somewhere distant and far away.

“Ben, are you sure you want to deal with the cursed ice again?”

He actually barks out a laugh, but’s hollow and strained. “No, I am absolutely unsure,” He huffs, chewing anxiously at his lower lip. “This potion makes me feel better about my likely injuries, but I’ll learn a new charm to try and avoid injuries and trouble altogether—”

Without thinking, Rebekah allows her hand to fold over top of his and Ben stares at it for a second, his cheeks going a little pink again before continuing.

“—s-sorry, Rebekah,” He stutters out for a moment and she finds it more endearing than she thinks it really is. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Somehow, I find that strangely hard to believe.”

They laugh together effortlessly, most of the weight from before gone. As always, the expression transforms his face into something more youthful and unburdened—the way she thinks it was supposed to be. The sound of their laughter mixing together like paint sounds like music to her tired ears.

“But seriously though,” Ben adds as it winds down, all thoughts of potions and textbooks forgotten. “I’m still going to do it.”

She can’t help but ask. “Why?”

And when he answers her, he says it simply. As simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you need me to.”

~✾~

She fell asleep on the train.

Ravenclaw had a huge celebration the night before for winning the house cup. Rebekah hadn’t the energy to join in on the festivities—the cursed ice had really done a number on her, not to mention that bloody knight—but it was rather amusing to watch Chester run around trying to put out the fires of adrenaline. With all of that joy and creativity in one room, she’s sure he was up all night.

Her and Rowan had their own secret celebration too. They congratulated themselves—and Bill, Penny, and Ben internally—for making it past the ice vault… and then spent the rest of the night theorizing on what the next one could possibly be. They certainly weren’t left empty-handed after all.

But her brother’s voice haunted her well into dawn. She saw his face every time she closed her eyes. And she missed him.

She missed him so much it hurt.

“Rebekah,” A whisper. A tap to her shoulder. When did she fall asleep? “Rebek—”

“Don’t just poke her like that!” Mocks another voice, one equally as familiar yet in her groggy state she is unable to place it.

“Well, the train has stopped, Rowan—”

“But you’re not gonna wake anyone up poking them like porcelain china, Ben—”

“Please tell me the two of you didn’t argue the whole time I was out?” Rebekah croaks out, her throat tight from recent disuse, attempting to blink herself fully awake.

Rowan huffs slightly but doesn’t disagree while Ben remains still and silent and Rebekah suddenly realizes she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. She sits up to give him his shoulder back and he offers her an understanding smile.

“I’ll have you know I was perfectly civil—”

“—You threw your muggle studies book at me—”

“—well it’s the one I like the least, so—”

Rebekah whines petulantly and throws them both a pleading look, her lower lip pulled over her other one in a pout. “C’mon, guys, summer holiday just started. Can’t this wait?”

Their frowns remain on their faces but they don’t object and Rebekah supposes she’ll have to start taking that as a win.

“Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long to gather their things and leave the train. Given that it has been stopped for the past few minutes, most students have already left. Only the slow stragglers remain. Ben and Rowan take up a spot on either side of her as they exit their compartment and descend the few short stairs to the King’s Cross platform.

Immediately, the warm rush of summer air hits Rebekah as her foot touches the ground. With most of the families gone or leaving, it’s not as noisy as it was the last time she was here, but her ears do manage to catch on a voice calling out to them from her left.

Rowan laughs from beside her and waves at her parents and cousins, her grip on her trunk nearly going white with how hard she squeezes it in excitement. She turns to give the shorter girl a quick hug and promises to write to her frequently, stopping only to throw Ben a hesitant nod of farewell before she’s skipping off to join her family.

Rebekah takes a look around but does not immediately spot her parents. Or Ben’s.

His throat clears and she turns back to him. His blue t-shirt ripples a little in the soft breeze, his hair waving with it, and his eyes bore into hers with intent. His brown eyes shine with something that feels like a goodbye and a hello all in one.

She smiles.

He opens his mouth but his attention catches on something behind her and she knows what he sees as an expression of fondness and recognition crosses over his features. His hand comes up into a small wave before looking back to her and sending the universal wait gesture.

“Thank you,” Rebekah speaks before he can and catches him off-guard. “For all your help this year. I...I’m sorry about your memory. I’m sorry you couldn’t get it back.”

Ben seems to shiver at the reminder before collecting himself. He shrugs in a more nonchalant way than she’s almost ever seen him. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault. Besides, considering where I ended up...I’m not sure I’d want to remember it anyway.”

She tries for a smile at the silver lining, no matter how bleak it is, but it feels cheap so she bites it back instead.

“I’ll write you everyday,” Ben promises quickly, nodding almost confidently. “That way I wo—”

“Don’t do that,” She shakes her head, her smile half of a tease. “You won’t have too much to talk about if you write to me every day. Your letters will get short. Every weekend should suffice.”

Ben nods at the idea. “Okay. Every weekend.”

A beat passes between them. Neither of them speak.

“I’ll see you later, Ben?” She asks somewhat hopefully and strangely somewhat unsure. Where did her uncertainty come from?

But he only nods, a smile finally breaking through.

“See you later, Rebekah.”

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harryspet · 4 years

Text

little doe [1] peter parker

[Warnings] peter parker x oc, multiverse oc, future dd lg dynamic, future dubcon?, mostly fluff, very innocent oc, broken english

A/N: This is part one to a short series! I usually write dark fics and this idea has a lot of potential to go that direction so forewarning! For the most part, I plan to make this similar to a dd lg style relationship with Peter being more of a big brother rather than a daddy. Anyways, some darker themes and smut are probably ahead! (I’m imagining the oc as Dahyun from twice but feel free to imagine whoever or self insert)

In which she’s not from this version of earth but Peter still grows fond of her.

word count: 2.5k

Peter would never tire of being Spiderman. He thought things might change after high school but there seemed to always be bad guys to test him and for him to defeat. He loved saving people, of course, but the learning was the best part. He had seen things people could only dream about. And staring at her through the glass that separated them, he knew he was about to learn a lot.

“Where did you find her?” He asked Pepper, who was the one who had called him to the lab.

“Wyoming, she landed in the middle of a field there. The man who owned the property thought lightning had struck nearby. She wasn’t in some capsule either, completely naked, and barely breathing. She looked human so they took her to a nearby hospital.”

Peter crossed his arms, still in his spider suit minus the mask. He had been called here just after a mission and, although he desperately craved a shower and a warm bed, his interest was piqued, “I’m guessing something went wrong in the hospital if she’s here now.”

The girl was on the thinner side, a little malnourished, and her hair was a bright white. The gray jumpsuit she was wearing contrasted with it, “When she finally gained consciousness, she panicked. Long story short, the entire hospital floor was wrecked. It burned and then it flooded.”

The girl did not look like someone who could do something like this, not when she was so small. She was walking around the room, running her fingers against the wall as if she was trying to understand every detail of her surroundings.

“So her powers?”

“We think it has something to do with the elements. I don’t think she can summon them but she can control them. S.H.I.E.L.D brought her to us to develop some sort of device to keep her powers in check.”

“She still looks . . . human,” Peter said as the girl approached the glass. It was one way but the girl’s neon blues stared right into him. Could she somehow see him?

“We think she’s from earth but a different version. She must’ve escaped through some hole. That’s why Fury thinks we might already have the sources to control her.”

Peter took a step closer to the glass, completely entranced by her eyes, “Does she speak English?”

“We don’t know. That’s why you’re here,” Peter’s eyebrows rose and he flashed Pepper a confused look, “If she loses it, you’ll be able to handle it better than one of our engineers here. Besides that, aren’t you curious, Peter?”

Pepper knew that the young and adventurous side of him was still there. That was why she chose him. Either that or she thought he was expendable.

He put his masks back on and Peter willingly entered the lion’s den. Except the girl didn’t pounce on him … at all. In fact, she backed away quickly from the college student, positioning herself in the corner. She scowled at Peter, her fingers balled into a fist, as she grew frustrated that she had no sources of energy to draw from.

Peter’s heart sank and he quickly pressed a control on the holographic control system that appeared around his forearm. His mask disappeared and he put his hands up, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m one of the good guys.”

Her fists seemed to loosen but she didn’t move any further. Peter looked around the room and there was only a metal bed bolted into the wall, a fire-resistant blanket sitting on top of it.

“I’m Peter,” He spoke again, “Do you have a name?”

Again, no response. Maybe she didn’t understand English. He moved a hand to point to himself, “Peter,” He repeated his name a few times and then pointed to her, “What’s your name?”

Excitement shown in his eyes as she slowly lifted a fist and pointed to herself, “What’s… .your . . . name?” She repeated back. For a moment, he thought he was successful but she didn’t seem to know what she was saying. Her pronunciation was good but he wondered if that was only because of her intelligence. She was trying though and he continued to smile.

“Peter,” he pointed to himself and then pointed back to her and waited expectantly.

She shook her head. Well, it seemed that it was a universal gesture.

Peter sighed, slowly lowering his hands and then suddenly she spoke but it was a language he did not understand. Still, it was her name but, unlike her, he doubted he’d say anything close to correct pronunciation.

“Good,” Peter nodded, “We might have to come up with a nickname.”

“Peter,” She said, his name and his eyes widen. She pointed to her throat and then down to her stomach. She was hungry.

Although he couldn’t see Pepper, he looked towards the glass, “Food and water please.”

A few moments and several awkward glances later, a tray was being slid through the small slat in the door. Apparently they had decided on a turkey sandwich, chips, a bowl of fruit and a small glass of water. Peter was about to carry it towards her but she flinched again.

He decided to sit it down in the middle of the floor, take a few steps back and sit. He sat cross legged and then gestured to the food. She was going to have to come closer at some point and he’d sit and wait until that happened.

Her stomach growled, he heard it, but she didn’t move closer. She held her stomach in pain and fell to her knees. Peter wanted badly to go to her but he knew that would only scare her more, “Please come and eat,” He practically begged. He held his hands up again, “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

She thought for a minute longer until she started to crawl closer. Peter tried not to make any sudden moves because her striking eyes never left his. She made it to the tray and looked at him over one time. There was a plastic set of utensils but she didn’t seem to notice as she dug her hands into the bowl and pulled out some strawberries.

She ate as if it might be her last meal, palming the food into her mouth. How long had she not eaten? When she lifted the glass of water, she spared him another glance. She thought she might send the water through his nose and try to drown him but she gulped it down instead.

When all the food was gone, she looked under each plate for more, “Do you want more food?” He asked and she shook her head. That was universal enough to understand.

She seemed to stare at him for a long while until she suddenly pushed the tray to the side and began crawling towards him.

He leaned back to move away but she heard him say, “Won’t hurt, promise,” She learned quickly, to say the least. She reached out and she let him, she ran a hand down the length of his arm. She felt the red and black suit calmly.

“It’s not my real skin,” He spoke hesitantly, admiring her now that she was so close, “My skin is like yours.”

She took his wrist, placing his hand on her cheek, “My skin like yours,” she repeated. She did feel human but something special sparked underneath. He wondered what she felt when she touched him.

“Yeah,” Peter grinned, his cheeks starting to redden, “Like yours.”

Peter tried to come back every day. Even after his missions and, when he couldn’t seem to get away, he thought about her the entire time.

Though she was still hesitant sometimes, she was comfortable around Peter which he liked.

This particular day when he arrived, it was the first time in two weeks. He’d been halfway across the world for a mission and this was the earliest he could come see her. Pepper gave him a worried look when he approached, “She hasn’t been sleeping and she’s refusing food. We tried to put a sedative in her food but she knew something was off.”

When Peter entered her cell, she immediately perked up. He learned at another visit a few weeks ago that she slept under the bed and not on it. She came out of her small hiding place as he entered with a tray of food in his hand. No sedative this time. He walked over to her bed but was taken aback when she growled at him.

“You leave,” She stated, anger and sadness in her tone, “Peter, you leave.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” He set down the tray gently, “But I had a mission. I can’t see you everyday but you have to get used to that. You can’t starve yourself when I’m not here.”

She frowned, trying to process his words. Peter continued, “It makes Peter sad when you don’t eat. When you don’t sleep.” He spoke using facial expressions and gestures.

She seemed to understand that. She came forward and started to eat her soup. She held the spoon with her entire hand. After a few bites, she looked up at him, “Peter sad?”

“No,” He shook his head, “You’re doing good.” He tried to praise her, showing her a smile.

She liked this, understanding him and having his approval.

When she lifted her water glass, she gestured to Peter. She began twirling her fingers in a circle and suddenly the water rose. It formed the shape of a standing man. Though the facial features couldn’t be carved out, she said, “Peter.” The water figure began to walk in place in the air.

Peter stared in amazement and then another shape appeared, a girl with long hair who was walking beside him.

She smiled and then the water dropped back into the glass, “You’re amazing,” Peter was flabbergasted.

She gave him a look of appreciation.

Although her eyes were bright, they were soft and gentle. She was strong but so easily scared, She was precious like a baby dear, “Doe,” Peter decided.

She flashed him a confused look but he explained it by pointing to himself to say, “Peter,” She already knew that but he pointed to her next, “Doe.”

She mimicked him, pointing to herself, “Doe.”

She played with the simple name on her lips, “Do you like it?” Peter asked nervously.

She nodded her head quickly, probably sensing his hesitance, “Doe. Peter. No sad.”

He smiled at that, “Doe and Peter. Happy. We are happy.”

“Happy,” Doe repeated and, though he was sitting in a prison made for her, Peter truly felt it.

“Peter, I don’t think you know what you’re suggesting. She’s not from this version of the universe. We can’t just integrate her into society.”

“Trust me, Pepper. The sooner she becomes accustomed to the outside world, the less afraid she will be. I’ll give her the suppressants and I won’t leave her unsupervised.”

“If I agree, Fury won’t be able to know. That means, she can’t burn down any buildings or we’ll both be in deep shit.”

“He wants a weapon, right? Another Avenger? He won’t just let her be.”

Pepper sighed, “I doubt he will, Peter. I suppose it’s better than keeping her trapped here. It’ll give her a taste of freedom before Fury tries to make her a killing machine.”

His apartment was one of the first big purchases Peter made after he turned eighteen. It was closer to school and Aunt May was close enough to come over and feed him. It was quite luxurious for someone his age but Peter only really slept here. Ever since he met Doe, he spent even less time there.

He spent most of his money on tech and merchandise related to his favorite comic books rather than decorations.

Doe didn’t seem to mind and Peter thought that might just be because she liked everything. She looked over every single thing in each room just because she wanted to. She liked the collectable action figures the most though she didn’t like how Peter kept them locked away in glass containers.

Pepper had loaned him some clothes for her. He soon learned that she disliked the tightness of jeans. And shoes in general. A dress was the safest bet to avoid a tantrum and she had chosen a red sundress over Pepper’s usual black and white clothing.

When they got to Peter’s bedroom, she already knew it was his. It was the room that smelt the most like him. Ned had called it a sweet master bedroom for an even more awesome bachelor pad.

“Peter, sleep?” Peter nodded and then explained how it was called a bed. He had been doing that for almost everything in his apartment.

“Doe, sleep,” She gestured again to his bed.

“Doe has her own bed,” Peter corrected her, deciding to show her down the hallway where the guest room was. He placed a hand on the small of her back in order to guide her.

She kept trying to turn around, “Doe bed. Peter bed. We happy,” He understood her but pretended he didn't.

He opened the door to her room and was shocked by what he saw. It seemed that May had done much more than he had asked her for. It was decorated like a teenage girl’s room, soft pink and gray. Fairy lights, fluffy pillows and the works. He asked her to make it cozier, not to make it unrecognizable to the rest of his apartment.

There was even a canopy draped over the bed. Doe walked further into the room, rubbing her feet against the new, soft carpet. She climbed onto the bed, patting the spot beside her, “Peter bed. Doe bed. Happy.”

Peter sighed, “Doe, this is your room. My room is down the hall.”

She frowned and then the cycle began. Peter showed her the rest of the room, where her clothes were and the bathroom. They ate takeout together and Doe had pizza for the first time which, of course, made her “happy”.

She managed to distract him until one in the morning but it came the time when Peter had to take Doe to her room. He helped her pick out pajamas, a pink nightgown, and then pulled the comforter back as she climbed in. She even had a stuffed animal she’d quickly grown attached to, a bunny, stuck to her chest.

Even after that, as he walked to the door, a gust of wind roared past him and the door shut.

“Doe,” Peter’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Peter,” She countered, frowning.

Peter was too tired to argue anymore as he ran a tired hand through his brown locks. He switched off the lights before he crawled into the bed beside her, above the comforter. He laid his head against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.

“Peter?”

“If I’m going to stay, you have to sleep.”

She understood and Peter turned his head to look at her. She was already facing him, clutching her bunny as she closed her eyes. A successfully dismantled bomb.

Peter closed his eyes too.

Resisting her might be the hardest mission he’d ever go on.

If you enjoyed this, make sure you check out my other Peter fic! If you’d liked to be tagged when I post the next part, please leave a comment or send me an ask! (If you reblog, I’ll probably add you as well)

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