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random-yandere-fandom · 3 years

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How about yandere TC meliodas but a soulmate au where him and the s/o( Fairy and goddess hybrid who fights for stigma) both share a connection to each other, from sharing emotion, to having vision of where they may meet for the first time. This seem like a nice concept, I imagine meliodas is use to constantly feeling pain from training all the way to fighting the war only to have a s/o who is yet to meet him but is willing to send over positive emotion and feeling to make him feel better. Im sucker for this kinds of things.

Oh hell yes, I love soulmate aus! Which is why it got a bit longer than what I normally write (and took so long lol)

Yandere TC Meliodas with soulmate darling

For as long as you can remember there had been a second layer to your emotions that you couldn`t quite grasp, let alone influence. It was just barely there, almost unnoticeable. Annoyance, nonchalance and a deep-rooted but hidden pain. After learning that those belonged to your soulmate, to the being your were destined to meet and love, you were baffled. Three emotions. A few feelings. Was that all they were capable of, or was that all they could allow themselves to? You mused that they felt your surprise and pity and hoped they wouldn`t connect the dots, they didn`t seem like the kind of person to appreciate such sentiments. Nonetheless you wanted to help. If they weren`t able to and didn`t have the opportunity to experience joy, wonder, excitement and a healthy amount of sadness and grief that one felt at ending a wonderful book with no continuation than you would have to do it for them. If they were hurt you could send them comfort and if they were bored you`d jump down a cliff if you must only to open your wings at the last second to send them a dose of mixed excitement and fear and laughter.

Meliodas had known of the concept of soulmates for as long as he could remember. Since then he had always been told that he wouldn`t need them, that demons barely needed their destined partner and only to allow any connection beyond the unavoidable should they be of the same race. He knew that something was wrong with that but in the end he didn`t care enough to do anything about that. So they felt what he did and at some point he`d know where you two would meet. Great. As long as they don`t get in his way and he can do what he must it`d be fine.

He always knew that his range of sentiments were by far not the widest or the happiest but he would do. Meliodas had to. He had to be strong and cold and unfeeling. That did not seem to be the case for his soulmate, however. There were a mix of emotions constantly changing, most of them he hadn`t even experienced himself. They are a bother, he told himself and ignored it. He also ignored the twinge in his chest whenever they felt sad, ashamed or dispirited. Told himself that he was lucky that they weren`t sending feelings consciously, especially when he had to concentrate.

That changed. There was no warning, no prompting, nothing. Meliodas was about to go to sleep when they did it for the first time. They must have felt his exhaustion and either they thought he didn`t deserve to rest or wanted to spite him because the next thing he knew he felt adrenaline coursing through his veins and excitement erupting. Cursing he sat up, trying to calm his racing hearts and suppress that stuff. The emotions promptly calmed down and went into their normal, ignorable state though he could make out some guilt. For good measure he made his annoyance clear before flopping back down and closing his eyes. That didn`t stop a small and rather short lived smile from surfacing.

Was it your best idea? No. Did you think about what you were doing? No. You had felt your soulmate`s fatigue and seeing as it was the afternoon and they didn`t normally feel like that at this certain time you had assumed that they needed a bit of energy. Luckily, you had been sitting on a rather high branch and before you could think it through you had thrown yourself of from it. Upon their rejection though you had quickly stopped your little stunt and the idea that they had wanted to sleep crossed your mind. Ups. This had been the first time you had enforced an emotion and it had gone wrong. Hoping that their first impression of you could still be fixed you laid low for a bit.

The next opportunity presented itself when you had discovered a beautiful small pond in the forest. It was surrounded by rich plant live and some ducks were swimming on it, the sunshine reflected and sparkled on the water’s surface. Deciding that now would be a good opportunity you checked on their emotions. There was no apparent change from normal so it should be fine. Carefully and a lot slower this time you let your admiration seep through to them and being encouraged by the response, which was nothing, you strengthened it, letting yourself enjoy the coolness of the water as you dipped your feet in. Sitting there you shared this feeling, the contrast of the warm light and the refreshing cold, the calmness of the forest, far away from the others and the silence only being broke by the wind and birds in the sky. With all the work you had been doing and the tense atmosphere of your partner the relaxation was welcomed with open arms.

After this first successful interaction you continued, first about once a week and then once a day and soon simply whenever you felt like it. You were a bit disappointed that your soulmate never openly reacted but you had noticed that their feelings had calmed down and that was enough to keep you going. Having long ago realised that they were fighting in the same war, the suspicion and caution mixed with the occasional numbness, you assumed that they numbed their feelings in hopes of suppressing regret, you sent as much comfort as you could. It was gut wrenching whenever you noticed the impassivity but you did your best to help.

Meliodas grew used to it, over time. He even grew to like it, not that he`d ever admit it. Sensing your enforced emotions brought him joy and comfort, knowing that there was someone out there who cared. He sometimes felt guilty about not replying but what did he have to share? So he let the one sided communication continue.

You always made sure to only strengthen positive emotions or small harmless sadness, just to let them know what you were feeling. This time however you feared that you had made a mistake. You were patrolling and you were careless. It was close to enemy territory but there hadn`t been an incident here and there was this beautiful flower in full bloom and you simply had to send your amazement. Doing just that you hovered over the flower, it`s sweet smell calming your mind. The next thing you knew was a sharp pain in your side as you moved away, away from whatever had slashed you.

It was a small demon and you were quickly able to take care of it before healing your wound. Before you could investigate if there were any others you felt their worry. It was overwhelming. For the first time they openly enforced their feelings and it was intense enough that you couldn`t breathe for a moment. You noticed some anger interlaced, too, directed at what had harmed you, you noted. Quickly sending them your calmed frame of mind you searched for any other attackers and upon finding none you returned to report to one of the other goddesses.

Meliodas had been walking down a lonely hallway when you noticed the flower. Humming in acknowledgement he opened the door to his room and froze. Instead of admiration you seemed to be in pain. What had happened? Were you okay? His mind raced as he allowed himself to worry and let that worry reach you. The seconds were he felt your pain, surprise, resignation and caution were agony. After he was assured you were fine he sighed in relief.

After the second time the demon decided that he should contact you more. After his initial worry had subsided he had become anxious. Not only could you be harmed at any time, he had no way of helping you, not without knowing who or where you were. He realised he didn`t know much of you. Was there someone who liked you beside him, someone you liked? He hoped not. You were his. You two were fated to be, no matter how stupid that sounded. However he had no real way of checking, so interacting with you like this had to be enough for now. He also grew more attentive of your passive emotions, not letting a single feeling pass his attention.

It is a well known fact that before you meet your destined other, you envision the place you will first meet. You had been waiting for that day for ages, knowing that soon after you`d finally meet them, your soulmate. They had been so much more communicative and their joy caused by interactions grew day by day. So when you opened your eyes in a supposedly dream and felt closer to them than ever before you knew that your encounter was drawing near.

The first thing you noticed were your surroundings which resembled a patch of woods just on the border to demon territory. It was cold and clouds hung deep over the sky, it was eerily silent. Not the most romantic, you decided, but whatever. Taking a closer look you noticed a figure approaching from the woods, across from you and the border. It was more of a shadow than anything, you could make out the rather small height but any other details didn`t quite seem to be comprehensive or noticeable. So this was them. You smiled, though you could guess that they wouldn`t see that with how they most likely perceived you in a similar way that you could view them. No words were spoken as you stood only meters apart, time seemingly frozen as all you could do was hope that you could stay like this for longer. Neither they nor you moved, fearing that otherwise the bubble would burst and the glass would shatter and you would wake up, more lonely than ever now that you were apart again. You couldn`t speak, somehow knowing that sounds would not travel far here, but you didn`t need to do that, as all you needed was your connection and bond as soulmates. Warmth, affection and joy swirled between you both and almost felt tangible, as if all you needed to do was reach out to drown in these emotions.

When Meliodas found himself in a dream more realistic than any other he wondered what had happened. He wandered a bit before recognising the forest to be the one crossing the border that Stigma established and vehemently defended. Feeling a presence he followed the strange pull, coming across the figure hidden in shadows with wings that couldn`t have been a fairy`s or a goddess`s. Something else or something in between? He didn`t care. All that mattered was the sense of recognition. It was you. His partner. His destined other. His soulmate. His.

Only after waking up did he realise where exactly you both would meet. The verge on which enemies would meet to battle. Where blood was spilled in the constantly ongoing war. The perimeter seemed in tact though, so you at least wouldn`t meet directly on a battlefield. One thing he did know now, however. You stood on opposing sides, Demons against Stigma, darkness against light, him versus you. How cruel to put you so far away from him, Meliodas mused. But if he had to he knew who to betray and who to stay loyal to.

You spend the next days searching for the exact place you two would meet, ignoring the suspicious stares and whispers about, oh, look, the hybrid is slacking of, no wonder. You wondered how they`d react to your soulmate who was undeniably on the opposite force of the conflict. You supposed one of you would have to switch sides and if you couldn`t convince them than you would have to do so. Though with how they ended up emotionally before you interacted you hoped they would agree with you. Even if the others were against it, the higher ups respected your hard work and if that didn`t work you`d ask Elizabeth, who always seemed hesitant about the war and disliked judging others no matter who they were, for help.

Either way, you thought, being prepared wouldn`t hurt. After finally finding the place you hid a small bag full of important belongings and necessities in the trunk of the hollow tree along with a small gift you hoped your soulmate would appreciate. Following the thickening of your bond you had started to feel other and smaller sensations of them and while you were quite distressed with how often they seemed to fight, you couldn`t deny the feeling of joy when you drank a wine and instantly knew that they liked it, having had a faint taste of it. Hoping that this time you could enjoy it together you made sure the bottle was secure before heading of again.

Every time the weather was like the one in your vision, your and their hope grew and while you reached the place in no time, having memorised the way, they still hadn’t found it. Meliodas wished to fly over the forest but he had seen himself walking and knew that was the only way to get to you. So he wandered around, over and over and when he finally recognised a turn he followed the path eagerly. It took a bit to notice your presence, it being hidden seeing as anything else would be suicide so close to a hostile region. He rushed through the trees, his and yours excitement mixing and growing as you waited, peering through the woods in hopes of catching a glimpse, the first glimpse of the person you had grown to love.

The wind, his hearts and time itself stopped as he came to a halt in front of you. Your eyes were the first things he noticed, shining with a light that warmed him, overflowing with affection. You stared just as much, his black eyes turning into a beautiful shade of green as he lowered himself to the ground, his black wings disappearing from sight. You did the same, letting your feet touch the earth below you before moving one in front of the other. The grin on your face widened as he did the same and before you knew it he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hello“, you whispered. All former thoughts and ideas on your first words spoken to him seeming too far away to speak now, all you could do was great him. He was so warm, his arms protectively shielding you away from a world that was to cruel to a wonderful being like you, he decided, as he responded in the same manner. His hearts were finally beating again and were much faster now.

“My name is Meliodas“, he added, chin comfortably resting on your shoulders, eyes closed and melting into your embrace. It felt so right to finally have you. You fitted perfectly into his grasp, his eyes fluttering open and a smile tugging on his lips as he heard your name. You were finally here, with him. Meliodas knew in this moment he could never let you go. He would follow you wherever you wanted to and destroy anyone that dared and try harm you, no matter the consequences, as long as he could be with you, the one who cared and comforted him, the one that was made for him and the one he was made for, his soulmate.

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

the demon and the witch

Here’s the second chapter my first fan fiction! This is from Zoya’s POV which was so much harder to write. Hope you all enjoy it!

word counts: 4392

You’ll find it in full in AO3

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Zoya hissed while trying to strengthen the bandages on her wound, through which a small flower of blood was already blossoming through. Damn those kerghud and their blades. She checked her sides too, finding with relief she was not in much pain. At least the healers were able to take her of that; but the poison the Fabrikators found on the kerghud’s knives was slowing down the process on the deep cut on her shoulder.

You still prevailed, rumbled Juris inside of her. You took down all of them on your own. The voice was beaming with his pride.

And got thrown against a tree for good measure, she answered grimly while examining her wound. It could’ve been worse. Still, it wasn’t a good sign; the Shu were supposed to be their allies now. Why did a pack of kerghuds attack her? They really didn’t need another thing to worry about. She sighed, opening the windows and letting the cold air revive her a little. The ride back to the palace had left her sore; it took her hours and standing on a horse with a throbbing chest and blood all over her hadn’t been pleasant. She arrived after dinner only to be welcomed by a furious and shaken Genya who had tried to cover for her absence and had immediately taken her to get patched up. Not really an ideal day.

She was pondering whether to drown her sorrows either in bed or in wine when she heard some strained voices in the corridor; they sounded rushed, worried. Someone was giving orders to her guards to stand down and resign their post, sending them away. Oh, for Saints sake, not now, she thought as the door slammed open and Nikolai Lantsov stomped in her room with a weary expression, stopping in front of her. Of course he found out.

“What the hell happened Zoya?” She glanced at him, both annoyed and warmed by his uneven breath and messy look; he seemingly ran through the whole palace to get here, already in his more comfortable clothes for the night. Armour in place, her words were clipped and sarcastic.

“Did anyone never bother to teach the future King of Ravka the subtle art of knocking?”

Nikolai looked exhausted; he released a long breath he seemed to have been holding for ages while he carefully skimmed her for injuries, lingering on the bandages on her shoulder and upper arm with a worried look. She quickly put her kefta back on covering them, uncomfortable under his gaze. When he seemed to have assessed that she wasn’t going to die in the next couple of minutes, he relaxed, releasing the tension in his shoulders, shoving the worry away and regaining his usual merry attitude.

“No one thought I’d actually be the future King, you know. Maybe that’s why they skipped it.”

His tone was light, but he took a couple of steps in her direction, still checking her. She rolled her eyes, making a good show of being irritated. He was being overly dramatic. She knew that whoever told him of her little excursion would also have told him that she was safe and sound and healers already had tended to her; he had no reasons to put up these theatrics.

“I’m fine.” He huffed in response, casting his eyes heavenward too.

“You broke three ribs.”

“Two”, she corrected, “And they’ve already been healed.” He didn’t flinch, taking another step forward and gesturing to her arm.

“What about that?”

She shrugged her shoulders ignoring the stab of pain the movement provoked.

“Are you here to question me or do you actually need something?”

Nikolai grinned, leaning against the wall next to the balcony. She shifted unconsciously away from him. He was too close, only a couple of feet apart from her. And they slipped inside their usual banter too easily: everything came too easily with him. Her look wandered outside the window, averting his amused eyes still trained on her with an intensity she didn’t want to consider.

“Ah, there’s the spite. You’re really fine then.”

There was an affection in his voice that was hard on her nerves. What was he doing here? The whole point of her actions was to keep the distance; this didn’t exactly fit with the plan, the two of them alone in her chambers at this hour of the night. She collected her strength, making the decision to ignore him. His smug face was making her want to shove him out the door. The silence stretched and she waited with hope that he would just leave her be, sensing her irritation. But Nikolai was Nikolai after all, seemingly untouched by her demeanour.

“I already sent word to the Shu. We…I’ll take care of it.” She sensed him stop before adding something else, no doubt avoiding saying Ehri’s name and leaving her out of the conversation. Zoya shook her head, even more unnerved by this unwelcome caution in her regards.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re going to say it was a rogue attack. I took care of it.”

Meaning I burned them all.

“Just tell our dear princess to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Somebody else could’ve gotten really hurt.”

“But they found Zoya Nazyalensky instead. What a stroke of luck for them.”

She didn’t react to his praise, so he just kept talking, keeping an easy attitude. But she knew him well, and she could hear the strain in his voice, the turmoil he was trying to keep hidden.

“Do you care to tell me why my most valuable general decided to take a stroll in an open field and almost got herself killed?”

Fine then, so ignoring him was not the correct strategy; she resorted to her ruthlessness and his guilt.

“Most valuable.” Zoya scoffed. “Thought you’d be satisfied; you’d finally have the perfect excuse to replace me.”

She turned to him while speaking, holding a firm gaze; so she was able to see the shadow of shame and pain that swept through his eyes at her words.

As hurt as she was, their fight the other day served her right. It was bad enough to convince her that staying away from him was the sensible thing to do, and now it gave her a weapon to use to keep distancing him. Also, she really didn’t intend to linger on the topic and explore the reasons why she made what she knew had been a reckless decision. Lately, the palace was far too crowded for her liking; it had begun to feel suffocating, and not only because avoiding Nikolai was growing harder and harder by the day. The dragon inside her craved the sky; the power in her was constantly rumbling, pretending to be unleashed. She still didn’t understand it, the force of it, the craving for destruction that came with it. It was slowly changing her: each and every day her senses got stronger, her hunger got deeper. It demanded to be used; there were times she didn’t know how she kept still, moments in which the air around her crackled without her control, nights in which thunder boomed and clouds darkened the sky as her mood grew more sour. So she started taking these rides outside the city, trying to find places where she could test her abilities without risking destroying the Little Palace. In a time that seemed long lost, she would’ve liked to confide in Nikolai with this. But he wouldn’t understand now, he wouldn’t get what she feared to become if she kept searching for more. And she made a choice after Isaak’s death, the choice to give up on her foolish hopes and dreams and be a general after all. That choice included letting Nikolai go, which he was making hard to do.

They looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. A pang hit her throat, and she felt an unfamiliar prickle in her eyes. Why did she want to cry now? She searched for her anger, trying to bury the feeling of despair that was troubling her mind. She prayed for him to say something spiteful, or to turn on his heels and go. Instead, he came even closer, moving a delicate brush of his fingers over the bandages that peaked near her collarbone, sending a shiver through her. Too close. Get away.

“I’m sorry, Zoya.”

And why for all Saints on earth did he have to say her name like this? It was almost like a prayer. A soft whisper full of honesty, not even an inch of his casual arrogance or boldness. She sucked a breath in, holding her pose, arching a brow in his direction.

“Nice speech. Bet you practiced it a lot in front of the mirror.”

He waved a glowing smile at her, while she pondered wherever this good mood came from.

“I had a nice speech, you know. And yes, I also practiced it. But then you went on to put yourself in danger and I got a little distracted.”

She glanced at him. “I’m not a helpless girl whom you needed to run to and save from a monster.” I may easily be the monster myself, Nikolai. Leave. He didn’t back down.

“I didn’t say that, as a matter of fact. I said I got distracted by you being hurt.”

You’re still too close. Get away. Her feet didn’t seem to listen to her brain, which was sparring with her heart for dominance. She turned to her side, away from him.

“Get out, Nikolai.”

“I don’t think I want to.” She was going to kill him.

“I want you to go.”

“And I want to be more handsome than I already am, but some things are just too hard to get.”

Her glare would have made every man on earth shiver with fear. It was apparently useless on Nikolai.

“Enough childish games, Nikolai. Say what you have to say and then leave.”

He sighed. “Just listen to me, please? I really did have a speech. I was out of line the other day, and I didn’t mean a single word I said. I reacted in the worst possible way and I hurt you. And I’m sorry, both for doing it and for waiting too long to realize it.”

She stopped him with an irritated laugh, her eyes slitting silver. How arrogant of him.

“You didn’t hurt me. You were just being the harsh leader you may finally be growing into.”

He shook his head, ignoring the remark, determined to go on with this charade.

“It’s more than that. I should’ve said something sooner. What happened in the Fold...we never got the chance to talk. I don’t know how you are, what you’re going through.” Maybe punching him in the face was not a bad option. Alina did it after all, if she remember correctly. “I let you drift away and I regret that.”

The conversation was steering in dangerous territory. She clenched her jaw and her fists, equally intent as him to stop this.

“You’re gonna regret this if you keep talking.”

“Why?” His controlled tone slipped a bit as he threw his arm in the air, getting more nervous. “What’s wrong with talking? What’s wrong in saying that I was an idiot to behave like I did, that I need my general by my side? That I don’t like all the distance you’re putting between us?”

“There’s no us, Nikolai.” She spatted, fists still clenched, trying to keep the hold on her power already rising inside her. She sensed where this was going and desperately tried to prevent it. “You shouldn’t even be here at this hour. You are going to marry your Shu princess, and be the King Ravka needs. I am your general, as you dutifully pointed out, nothing else. Stop acting like a fool.”

Oh, how well do you lie to yourself. Are you ever gonna stop? That was not the moment for Juris to chide her and mock her, doubting her decisions. She hushed him, trying to focus. Nikolai looked struck at her words; he opened his mouth and then closed it again, seemingly deciding what to say. She narrowed her eyes, an uncomfortable suspicion creeping in her mind. Speechless Nikolai Lantsov was never a good thing.

“Maybe I’m not.” He cleared his throat at her confused look. “I’m not marrying Ehri.”

Juris roared. Zoya widened her eyes in shock: a wave of outrage flooded her thoughts, along with an unwelcome strike of hope she suffocated.

“Nikolai.” His name was said much like a threat. “What on earth are you saying?”

He held up his hands, speaking slowly, trying not to set her off and appease her wrath.

“I need you to trust me on this. I may have another solution, one that doesn’t involve forcing me and Ehri in a loveless marriage we both despise. One that still assures me the alliance.”

She was not having this. The air around them started to feel more dense, the smell of a rainstorm filling the room. Her voice grew louder, her temper brewing.

“I hope you’re joking, or you’re more of a fool that I ever thought possible. Whatever she told you, she’s tricking you. What are you thinking? Ravka is on the brink of destruction, why would you risk your country?”

“It’s not about Ravka.”

"You don’t get to choose, Nikolai. You are a ruler. You have a duty.” He let out an exasperated sound, coming even closer. There was barely the space of a breath within them. She kept going. “You are our King. I won’t let you do something so reckless.”

Now he was losing his temper too, flames burning in his eyes. He caught her wrist, his grip like steel.

“Why do you run from this? Why do you deny yourself of happiness when there’s another way?”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything! I don’t want to marry her. And I don’t want to see my country fall.”

“You think you can have it all? Then what do you want, Nikolai?”

He shot her a pleading look, his soul pouring out of his eyes. Her heart missed a beat, as she shook him away and took two steps back, finding herself with her back on the wall. No. She regretted her question in an instant.

You know what he wants. You know who he wants. Juris wasn’t backing out either.

A whisper rolled out of Nikolai’s mouth.

“Zoya…”

“Don’t.” He came towards her. They were dancing; she cast him a warning look.

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no coming back if you say it!” She was shouting now, shivering with rage and dread. “Because I will believe you if you say it and it won’t change anything!” Tears threatened to fall again, her whole body was vibrating with power. She couldn’t hold back anymore, she would’ve hurt him. And yet this stupid boy was not yelding his steps, not afraid of the woman in front of him.

“I’m not giving up on you.”

“Please, Nikolai.” A sob escaped her. Was she pleading with him now? But as much as her, he had made a decision, and he wasn’t gonna abandon his resolve. He went on, unforgiving, holding her gaze and his chin as he spoke.

"You need to hear me. And you can trust me."

"Stop." She was losing.

“It’s always been you, Zoya. You’re the only thing I want.”

The sword drew through her hearth, cracking it open.

Show this boy king what you are.

She threw her fist open unleashing the storm, tears streaming on her cheeks, and shot a speeding gust of wind in his direction. It knocked Nikolai over, trashing him on the floor; he hit the wall, the current howling and holding him in place. The window on her side shattered as lightning fell from the sky, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake. Papers were rustling around the room, a cold breeze sweeping over them; she watched in horror the destruction she brought. Abruptly, the air fell still as she drew away the power, not wanting to meet Nikolai’s eyes and the disgust she was sure to find there.

“Go away, please.”

He heard him breathing heavily, getting back up on his feet. His uncertain steps crunched on all the letters left on the floor.

"Zoya, it’s okay. I’m here."

"Shut up."

Juris wasn’t finished, too. He growled. Don’t be a coward. You should be the Queen.

“Shut up!”

The scream rose from her sore throat and she fell on her knees, hitting the pavement and catching her head between her hands. Her heart hurt. Her lungs hurt. She made a desperate attempt to fight back the pain as she grasped the last bit of sanity in her mind, huddling on herself like a child. Electricity ran through her skin and a final thunder rolled over the room. Everything stopped as the place grew silent, Zoya shaking on the floor.

“I’m not leaving.”

His voice floated to her like they were underwater; it didn’t even tremble, it was calm and firm, not the one of a terriefied man just taken on by a summoned storm. He slowly walked to her again, rubbing the back of his head a little. Did she hurt him? Shame towered over her. He lowered himself down to her; his movements were delicate, attentive, as if she was a wounded animal he needed not to scare. Another whisper came to her and she grasped at it like an anchor.

“I’m not leaving you.”

She felt his hands on hers, his touch soft as a feather as he circled her wrists and he tried to pull her back on her feet with a soft tug. He caught her elbow, steadying her; instinctively her other hand tightened around his shoulder as her vision blurred and focused back on him; she let her head lean on his chest, catching some air. They stayed like that for a while, Nikolai’s tender eyes waiting for her to get back to herself. He gently tilted her chin up to look at her, brushing some strands of hair away from her face and sighed.

“I missed you.”

The words fell on her like an avalanche. There was a fierce purity in this ordinary admission, spoken like a confession he knew she wouldn’t be able to take. There was so much more to this; it spoke of all the things they never allowed themselves to say, of all the stolen glances and forgotten truths; of how they belonged next to each other, the peace and quiet they found together, how hard it was to be apart; of the times she saved him, and the ones he saved her.

Stop fighting, General. Lower your weapons.

She was tired. Saints, she was so tired. She wanted to rest in the comfort of his arms. She felt herself beginning to surrender.

He is yours to keep. She trembled in his hands, shaken by the conviction in Juris’ voice.

Zoya looked at the boy in front of her, still gently grazing her cheek with his knuckles, at his tousled flocks, at the glowing rays of sun hidden in his eyes. She moved one hand to his stunning face, tentatively touching his lips. A shiver went through him, but he stayed perfectly still while a look of confusion and yearning flashed through him.

He has always been yours. Juris roared, sending flames scorching her chest.

Zoya of the broken heart. Be whole again. Take him.

And once again, just like she did in the Fold, Zoya let herself fall.

She pulled him to her with a hand on the back of his neck, closing the distance between them, crashing her lips onto his, releasing the hunger and the despair that plagued her. When they met, it felt like a war. It felt like a blessing. She registered her king reacting in a split second, without even a hint of hesitation: the hand that was on her arm went to hug her waist, drawing her closer than she thought possible with a desperate need, while the other one was now entangled in her hair. He was holding onto her for dear life, as if she would break if he let her go.

Kissing him was a thousand lives and a single fleeting moment, time stretching in this suspended bliss; she broke free, gasping for hair, drowning in the shock of what happened. Nikolai wasn’t a fool, and he knew her all too well; he knew it would only take her the fraction of an instant for realization to dawn over her, so he didn’t let her slip. He pulled her to him again. But that flicker of oxygen to her brain was enough for fear and remorse to clench at her soul. She pushed lightly onto his chest, and this time he got the hint, leaving her mouth and backing up just what was necessary for them both to release their breath. Good, she thought. At least one of us still has some semblance of control . If it really was up to her will, once so unbreakable, she would’ve never stopped.

“Saints, Zoya.” The words rolled out of his mouth in an ushered tone, as if speaking too loudly was bound to break the enchantment cast upon them. She mustered the courage to look at him: he was watching her in awe, the golden freckles in his eyes darkened by a sheer desire. He may have stopped kissing her, but his hands were still keeping her flushed against him, his uneven warm breathing grazing her neck, making it almost unbearable to try and form a coherent thought. Her heart was aching.

“We can’t.” Her voice was barely audible, devoid of every resolve she had hoped to still have in herself. She trained her look on the floor, the pain squeezing the air out of her lungs. What did I just do? Zoya sensed Nikolai shifting closer, brushing his lips on her lashes, her cheekbones. He rested his forehead on hers. Was he smiling? Why was this damned boy smiling? She cast her eyes up; he really was smiling, cocking his head slightly on one side.

“What?”

“You’re really stubborn, you know.” He teased her. Zoya marvelled at his confidence, at how unfazed he seemed at the fact she was basically rejecting him after shoving him against a wall and possibly giving him a concussion. Not that she felt herself being convincing: all ruthlessness seemed to have left her body. She still didn’t trust herself much to talk; each word was agonizing to get out.

“I just told you we can’t do this. Why are you smiling?”

“I know you don’t mean it.” He shrugged his shoulders, still refusing to let her go. Like the truth was as simple as that, and he had the gift of knowing. Fighting this was tiring; the moment their lips met, every carefully hidden thought, every feeling she locked away flooded out with an overwhelming strength, knocking down each and every one of her defenses.

“How come?”

“You haven’t pushed me away. And you did kiss me, just so you remember it.” Zoya’s lips curled a little before she could stop herself, rolling her eyes. Bold as only Nikolai could be in a moment like this. “Someone told me you were going to find a way to surprise me” He mumbled under his breath, lost in thoughts for a second.

“Besides”, he added. “I’m not in a rush. I’ll convince you eventually. You know my charm has no limits.”

She huffed, but didn’t find it in herself to step out of his grip. She was still falling, and he was the one to catch her. Zoya let her hands rest on his chest: she could feel his heart pounding like it was about to take flight, echoing in her mind and sending waves of soothing calm over her. His certainty was endearing.

“You’re insufferable.”

Nikolai looked perfectly at ease, beaming with confidence. He let out an amused chuckle and placed a soft kiss on her hair.

“Don’t run from me.” He turned serious, placing both his hands on the sides of her jaw, keeping their eyes locked together. “I need you with me to face all of this. We’ll find a way; I know we can. We’ll figure everything out together. And we can do this right.”

General Nazyalensky knew better than to trust fragile promises of peace. And yet the hopeful girl she’d been held onto this one like it was a long awaited shore in a storm-swept ocean. She could regret this tomorrow: for tonight, maybe she wanted to be that girl. And against every belief she had, she really did trust him like no one ever before. She found herself nodding lightly, slightly amused by his hint at doing things right. Nikolai and his idiotic sense of honour. The dragon inside her had spread his wings, roaring his power. Bolts of desire were still shooting through her, leaving her brain a mess, and she could see the feeling mirrored in Nikolai’s eyes. She didn’t know that freeing her heart from the cage it was trapped in would taste so sweet and terrifying.

You are the dragon, Zoya. You will bide your time. And you will have it all.

She brought her hand on one of his, still wrapped around her neck, intertwining their fingers. Deep inside of her, the stone hit the bottom of the well: waiting there for her there was a quiet feeling of belonging, a home in which she could be safe. A place full of light in which she could rest. Someone to hold her. Someone who loved her. As the fall stopped, Zoya handed over the fight, easing herself in the embrace of the boy that tore down her walls and built her a fortress.

Tell him to stay. She didn’t know if it was Juris or her heart demanding it.

“Stay with me tonight.”

A breath-taking soft smile enlightened his features. Nikolai leaned towards her, whispering an oath in her ear, a secret to share in the midst of night.

"Always.”

He caught her lips and kissed her again, deeper, with more urgency, leaving whatever sense of self-restraint they were keeping to shatter in a million pieces as the silk of her kefta slided away from her shoulders, wrinkling through his darkened fingers, the demon and the witch.

And the world went on fire.

#zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #fan fiction #zoyalai #angst with a happy ending #i love them so much why #my writing #rule of wolves #king of scars

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Room Service.”

“How is he?’

“As good as he can be given the situation.”

“And how good is that?”

….

…

“Not good. No good at all.”

Ramirez, Dr. katie and krill peered in through the doorway, trying to be discreet so the figure inside might not notice their presence. He stood alone on the bridge, in the dimmed light of the late hour rimmed only by the glowing neon of the console lights.

“Someone should talk to him.” “Not me, I am defective in human emotions.” Krill announced

“I talked to him last time.” Katie said, turning to look pointedly at Ramirez.

Ramirez nodded, gathered himself up, and then stepped onto the bridge, his boots quiet on the floor as he moved across the intervening space.

Gently, he reached out a hand and placed it on the other man’s shoulder, “Adam… it's getting kind of late.”

Adam didn’t even bother to look over at him. Though the dim lighting did much to hide his gaunt appearance, it was still evident through his sunken eyes, scruffy hair, and weak old facial growth that he was not himself.

“Tell Dr. Katie and krill that they can stop spying on me and head to bed.”

Ramirez paused before continuing with some measure of guilt, “They are just worried about you, you’ve hardly slept, barely eaten and-”

“One month Ramirez, Shs been gone ONE month and only God knows what they are doing to her.” He shivered, his single, haunted green eye welling with moisture in the light of the console.

The tears did not fall.

“Somewhere out there some BASTARDS are cutting her to pieces. And I… I can’t find her Ramirez.”

He took a deep tortured breath, one arm around his chest, the other hand cupping his chin, running a thumb over the scruffy growth on his face and chin.

Ramirez kept a hand on his shoulder opened his mouth and then closed it again. What should he say what ‘could’ he say to something like this.

He turned his head looking Ramirez in the eye for the first time that night, and in the sharper light his appearance only grew worse, like a man who hadn’t gotten out of bed in a month…. Or in this case…. A man who hadn’t gone to bed in a month.

“I… I love her Ramirez…. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”

The revelation didn’t surprise Ramirez, not in the slightest.

He squeezed Adam’s shoulder, “I know…. I know.”

***

Sunny lay on the floor of her ‘cage’ listening to the sound of a circular saw. Something that had only grown more and more common in her life over the past month…. Or at latest she thought it might have been a month. Then again to her, it felt like a year.

She didn’t even bother to lift her head, and she was too weak anyway, the drugs had that effect. If they really wanted, they probably could have left her unchained: she wouldn't have been able to lift her head, much less move.

One of her captors grunted and as he did there came a sort of crunching squelching noise as he pulled the Rest of the Drev’s carapace from his deceased corpse. The body rocked and then stayed limp against the ground. The man dropped the carapace to the side with a grunt.

“What did I say about damaging the goods.”

“We are just going to grind it up anyway so don’t even give me that.” The man paused as he looked over his handiwork, wiping orange gore from his hands and onto his pants, “never had this much of it at once.”

“Yeah and now we gotta ration it so as not to lower our prices.”

The second man looked over at the remaining Drev with narrowed eyes, “Guess this means you scarabs get break for a little while, now isn’t that nic.”

Sunny shivered feeling the cold of her skin on the bare floor. Aside from that chip taken from her shoulder, they had begun their real rituals on the forearm of her lower left, slowly stripping the carapace away in small chunks the perfect size to be bottled. A good portion of her forearm was raw and sensitive to the cold in the room. It made her sick to look at, and angry, but threw as nothing she could do. She had been continually sedated for the past month, and if she wasn’t she had been enclosed inside that steel box before being gassed.

All in all, there was no avenue of escape, and if there had been, she certainly would have tried.

Darkness shrouded her vision and she spent her last moments of consciousness staring idly at the other Drev lying prone in the darkness.

***

Adam jolted upright in his chair not having realised he had fallen asleep. He wasn’t sure what had woken him at first, until the soft sounds of feet registered to him from across the room.

He turned in his seat, only to see a large huling shape approach him from the doorway. Blue light glowed over the red carapace and Adam stood. Cannon, the only other person he trusted to understand what he was feeling. Golden eyes flashed at him from the darkness blazing with as much anger as he felt.

“Something wrong Cannon.”

“I just got a call.”

He hurried forward eager to hear, “What.”

“Some old friends back on Noctopolis was offered a vile of green liquid from a buyer. He claimed it had all natural contents, and could be used for a variety of ailments and beauty regimes. The bottle alone cost over 100,000 dollars.”

Adam gritted his teeth hands clenching into fists, “Does he know where to find this “Buyer”?”

Cannan nodded his large head, “He says he knows where he is staying, but is just a lead…. And…. well I… I was planning on looking into it myself. Conventional methods aren’t working, and I’m tired of sitting around as I know you are too.”

Adam’s knuckles grew white, “Where is this lead?”

***

Toni sat in his hotel room resting on the bed and switching rather mechanically through the channels. He ha two pillows behind his back and wore nothing but a shirt and boxer shorts. He had always thought that alien TV was sort of weird, and personally didn’t like the creatures himself, but it was lucrative business, and he was willing to deal with a few bug-like creeps if it meant getting paid exorbitant amounts of money. Even taking a ten percent for each sail, and making a sail only once a month, that was 10,000 dollars a pop beside his other gigs, which made him a very, very wealthy man.

A very wealthy man who definitely could have chosen better lodgings, but somehow still liked the aesthetic of back alley seedy motels. There was just something about the distantly loud music and the couples fighting in the next room that reminded him of home, not his own home, for his childhood and been surprisingly normal, but his home back on earth in his little apparent in the understreets of New York.

He glanced over at the side table, where his last vial was sitting, glittering in the overhead light., a bright electric blue.he bet he could sell it for a markup without the boss knowing, and maybe squeeze a little more cash out of the sail without anyone being the weiser. Besides, its not like anyone was going to miss money the didn’t expect to have.

The thought made him smile.

He sighed deeply and leaned back in the pillows, closing his eyes halfway as he prepared to fade into a sort of fitful sleep.

And that is when the loud knocking came on the door.

He jolted upright cursing and sat up.

The knocking came again and he cursed violently throwing his feet over the side of the bed, “Coming!”

Feet sticking slightly against the rather tacky carpet, he walked up to the door and peered through the peep-hole. outside , he saw a man standing with a stack of towels and growled. He didn’t remember ordering more towels.

Still, he tugged the door open, “Wha-”

His voice died on his lips. The man who stood before him raised his head, scruffy unkempt and with murder in his eyes, and right behind him, outside of view of the peephole, was a massive Red drev.

“Room service.” The man said, holding up a stack of towels, and before Toni could react, the man used the towels to cushion the sound of his punch, a punch that was so powerful it sent Tony reeling backwards onto the sticky carpet.

Both man and Drev stepped into the room letting the door snap shut behind them.

It was only then that Toni noticed what the man was wearing.

A metal exoskeleton of shiny silver metal and whirring actuators.

He knew what tat was.

Iron eye armor.

He had sold one on the black market not so many months ago.

Which meant he knew what it could do.

He crawled back across te floor hands over his face, “please don’t… I y-you got the wrong guy I… I don’t-”

The man reached down with both hands and hauled him into the air as if he were a kitten. The suit he wore hissing and spitting below him like a dragon, “I think the fuck not.” His human eye rolled wildly in his head, but Teri culdnt help but notice the mechanical eye fixated upon him at that moment, the appriture zeroed in on him like a targeting system, which it might well have been. He knew Tesraki work when he saw it.

“Adam.’

The man paused and turned just in time or the two of them to see the Drev pick the blue vile up from the bedside table. In that moment of horrible silence, Teri knew what was coming next.

He heard the appriture of the mechanical snap shut zeroing in on him, and then an explosion of pain through his back and body as he was slammed into the floor.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THIS!” the man screamed

He gasped and choked even as he was slammed into the floor again.

“I SAID WHERE DID YOU GET IT!”

The big Drev was holding up the vile now, holding it up like a conviction. A sword held over his head.

The green eyed man was so mad with rage that he feared he would die before he could even answer.

But he calmed down just enough, to allow him a breather and to choke out he words.

“A….an old f-friend told me to sell… it.” He choked out his voice high and squeaking past his rapidly crushed airway.

“Where are they!” The man snarled, teeth barred little drops of spittle flying from his mouth and reflected in the seedy dim light above. His pale skin was so red with pure rage that he wouldn’t have been surprised if the man burst a blood vessel.”

He thought about the money of course.

Thought about how much he would lose if he told this man.

Thought about losing a good seller and buyer.

Thought about all the money he had in the bank right now.

And quickly determined that he had rough to buy a small moon to retire.

“Ok ok! I don’t know where he is exactly!>” The man’s face screwed up into a look of rage and he stammered slightly, “W-woah I said i don’t know ‘exactly’ but I know ‘approximately’. They tend to orbit A136 because of its hub connections with other planets and its central place within the smuggling ring.”

“What class ship do they own.”

“One of those luxury cruisers…. Big thing, fo like civilian transport or some shit, but they use it for cargo. I…. l look man I have no idea what they did to you, but I’m just the fence. I had nothing to do with the actual operation, hell I don’t even know where they get the damned stuff.” For a moment he was pretty sure that he was going to die. More sure than he had ever been about anything.

But then with a light whirring the man stop.

He was breathing hard, his face was slick with sweat and his hands trembled, but at least he seemed to have decided not to murder him.

The Drev on the other hand, still holding the bottle, looked at him with such malicious intent that his life flashed before his eyes a second time. He closed them not willing to see his death if it was coming. He didn’t need to know anything and didn’t want to see it.

And he waited

And waited

The next time he opened his eyes, the room around him was empty, the vile was gone and he was left alone with a few cracked ribs and a determination to retire from his life of crime.

Whoever those people were, he never wanted to see them again.

Besides it was as good enough a reason as any to retire early.

***

Sunny awoke to the door opening with a hiss; she was feeling a little better today, if not a bit groggy and disoriented. Her arm didn’t hurt so much, which meant the missing carapace was already healing over. Still, the cold felt strange and unwanted against her skin, and she held the arm close to her body where it was warmer, and the air didn’t seem so strange.

The voices grew louder, and she was surprised to hear a woman’s voice joining in with the man, “Lady, Bennett, I… admit we are surprised to see you here. We assure you, our supply chain is still functioning perfectly.”

The woman’s sharp voice pierced the air like a blade, cutting into Sunny’s very soul, “I did not come here to discuss the function of your supply chain. I came here to discuss the product you sold me.”

There was a pause, “Are you… dissatisfied with the outcome ma’am.”

“No, I enjoy the product, but I wish to purchase in another color. None of your buyers have anything other than this…. green color, which is nice for in the winter when I am missing the spring, but I want something more cheerful for summer. My daughters and I, that is, which means I would be willing to pay for at least three of your bottles if you have any.”

The men paused and glanced between each other, “well…. The process is not… something that someone like yourself…”

“Show me the stock, boy or you lose my business.”

The men paused and then agreed, and the slow footsteps came up the hallway.

She heard the sound as the people passed into the room and slowly lifted her head.

Her two captors, and a older, but still elegant woman stepped into the room, and despite the gruesome scene before her, she did not flinch, staring around at the captive Drev in various stages of drug induced sleep or drug induced exhaustion.

Sunny d her best not to ganer to much attention, but as soon as the woman’s eyes fell on her, she knew the fight was lost.

The elegant woman made a b-line across the room and straight to her cage, “This one, this small blue one.” I like her coloring.

She paused, “Open the cage.”

The two men did as told with no argument and sunny felt the breeze of the cage door as it swung open. The woman squatted down on her impossibly tall heels and grabbed Sunny under the chin, forcing her to look up. She tapped one of her nails against Sunny’s carapace. It made a sort of hard clattering sound, Sunny jerked her head away in the only symbol of defiance she could muster.

The woman smiled, the grin spreading impossibly wide across her face, “A very beautiful color…. My decision has been made.”

Sunny felt her heart sink down in her chest plummeting into her stomach where it was likely to remain.

The two men grabbed the chains and hauled down on them, lifting her from the cage and into a standing position.

“You may not want to watch this Ma’am.”

“I think I will be just fine.” She said, the smile never leaving hre face.”

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

Text

Pompous Gits and Slytherins - Harry Potter Series Percy Weasley Imagine

Author’s Note: Ok, so I know technically no one asked for this. But I really couldn’t get this idea out of my head AND there was a Harry Potter marathon on TV today. I’m really not responsible for my actions, honestly.

I’m open for requests! I’d love to hear anything you guys have to say :)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

The potion was turning brown.

“Pompous git,” you muttered, frantically trying to pierce a Sopophorous bean with a silver knife.

“You were supposed, 3, to already have the beans, 4, cut,” Percy Weasley insisted. He was holding the cauldron at an angle, counting out loud as he dropped wormwood essence into it. “5. Are you almost done? 6. 7.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to go slower.” You caught the bean as it tried to bounce off the cutting board.

“8. It might, actually. 9. If I get a poor grade on this, 10, I’ll--”

“You won’t have perfect NEWTs and then you’ll never become Minister of Magic.” Slamming the flat of the knife onto the bean, you crushed it, releasing a thick, green juice. “Everyone knows your plans, Percy.”

As Percy leveled the cauldron, you scraped the juice in, speeding up its slow crawl across the board.

“Everyone also makes fun of your plans,” you added as you picked up a beaker filled with water and chopped up Valerian roots. You handed it to Percy so he could measure out seven drops. Last Potions class he’d called you “heavy-handed,” so you had decided that adding drops was now his responsibility. While you would be angry if he messed it up, you couldn’t deny that you’d also feel smug.

He began pouring, the tips of his ears turning a red that rivaled his hair. “I don’t see why anyone would make fun of them.” His voice sounded far more confident than he seemed to feel.

“Because you act like you’re better than everyone. Don’t you know that’s a Slytherin thing?” You arched an eyebrow and adjusted your green tie.

Percy refused to look up as he set the beaker back down. He only scowled at the table.

You rolled your eyes, picking up the wooden spoon and beginning to stir the potion clockwise. Percy eyed your movements like a hawk. “That was a compliment,” you said.

“I don’t see how.”

You completed the tenth stir, now staring at a pale lilac mixture, and offered the spoon to Percy. He took it with his right hand and began to stir counterclockwise, quietly counting the seconds each stir took.

“There you go again, acting as though you’re better than everyone. There’s nothing wrong with being a Slytherin.”

Percy briefly peeked up from the potion, which was growing paler by the second, to shoot a pointed look at the table in front of yours. Kaden Shafiq, a Slytherin notorious for bullying anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood, was stirring his potion and sneering at the Hufflepuff girl beside him.

“He’s an anomaly,” you assured Percy.

Percy didn’t seem convinced.

You picked the silver knife back up and began cutting a Valerian root into square pieces. “Most of us don’t believe in his ideologies.” Feeling Percy’s heavy stare, you amended, “Well, some of us don’t.”

“I caught some third years making fun of Ron for being a Weasley just yesterday.”

You glanced up, but Percy was staring at the potion. His lips moved silently as he counted. You looked back down at the Valerian roots. “I take it he wasn’t being made fun of for having the red Weasley hair?”

Percy sniffed haughtily and pulled the spoon out. The potion was clear as water. “You know what they were saying.” Percy took one of the squares of Valerian root that you’d cut up and dropped it into the potion. “They were calling him a blood traitor.”

You dropped another square in. “That’s radical thinking. I don’t believe that and I don’t associate with those who do. My parents don’t even believe that, and you know how backwards old pure-bloods can be.”

Taking another square, Percy gave you a measured look, as though he was trying to see if you were lying. After a few seconds, he turned back to the cauldron and added the Valerian root, looking unsatisfied.

To be fair, that could have just been his normal face. His lips seemed to naturally form either a pout or a frown, and his eyes, hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, always seemed judgmental.

You picked up more Valerian root and let it fall into the potion. “How many squares was that?”

Horrified, Percy whipped around to face you. “You weren’t counting?” His eyes were huge, his freckled skin pale.

You laughed. “I’m teasing, that was 5.” You added another square to the clear, bubbling potion. “Care to do the last piece?”

Percy shook his head, frowning as you dropped in the last square of Valerian root. As soon as you pulled back your hand, he began stirring the potion counterclockwise. He seemed so concentrated that you found yourself wracking your brain to come up with something to distract him. To your surprise, he spoke first, his voice formal. “What are your plans for after graduation?”

The smile you had at him speaking first died on your lips once you processed his question. Buying time, you waited until Percy completed the tenth stir, then handed him the beaker of Powdered Root of Asphodel, waited for him to finish pouring, took it back, set it down, and finally said, “My plans are spreading around the school like wildfire.”

Percy took the cauldron in his right hand and started to stir with his left. “I haven’t heard.”

Your lips quirked into a small smile. “Of course you haven’t.” You toyed with the silver knife, not wanting to see his face. “I’m betrothed.”

“Betrothed?” Percy nearly dropped the spoon. His cheeks flamed, only growing redder when you helped him steady the cauldron. “You’re 17.”

“Exactly. I’m finally old enough for my parents to act on the plans they made years ago. Keep stirring, Percy.”

He reluctantly complied. “Who is it?” Every word out of his mouth seemed to offend him. He wouldn’t stop staring at you.

Steeling yourself, you said, “Some pure-blood old enough to be my father.” You looked back down at the knife, ashamed to be admitting it, ashamed to be ashamed, ashamed to be doing any of this in front of Percy Weasley, of all people. Head Boy Percy. Going to be the Minister Percy. “He doesn’t even live in this country. He’s off in America. Have you been counting the stirs?”

“Counting the...damn!” Percy quickly pulled the spoon out and set the cauldron back on the desk. He ran a hand through his hair as he peered at the potion. When he finally pulled away, his face was bright red, his hair was a mess, and his glasses were askew.

You laughed.

He frowned. “If you’re going to America, where will you work? I guess you could Apparate or use the Floo Network to get to the Ministry, but you wouldn’t even be living here--”

“My work is done. I found a husband.” Your words were so bitter you could taste them. “Slytherins are ambitious, but for the girls that only means being ambitious with your marriage options.” You chuckled, devoid of humor. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Slytherins are awful.”

“But...but...you’re...smart,” Percy said, not even gloating over you saying he was right. His compliment came out stilted and awkward, like his lips weren’t used to forming the words. “How can you not work in the Ministry?”

The conversation was becoming painful. It felt like something was wrapped around your chest and squeezing, but you refused to cry, refused to show any sign of weakness. You needed the upper hand again. “Oh, Percy, you shouldn’t compliment a girl so much. Someone might think you’re in love.”

Percy spluttered and you decided you quite liked how a blush looked painted across his cheeks. “You can’t say that! Especially not when you’re--you’re--”

“Betrothed? I think it’s the perfect time to say something like that. Merlin knows I won’t have any fun after the wedding.” You pretended to mull over that thought, even though you’d spent the past week worrying about just that. “Probably not during the wedding, either. My mother will plan the whole thing, using the groom’s money, of course, which means it will manage to be simultaneously extravagant and dull. Maybe I’ll invite those twin brothers of yours to make things more exciting. Don’t worry, you can come, too.”

Percy shook his head. His cheeks were slowly returning to their normal shade of pale. You could see his freckles again. “I’ll have to decline.” Puffing his chest slightly, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll be working in the Ministry by then.”

He was looking for your approval, so you shook your head and sarcastically said, “Of course you will.” You checked your watch, eyed the cauldron, and dropped one last piece of Valerian root into it. The potion turned a pale pink.

You expected to hear a sigh of relief from Percy at the success, but instead, he said, “I will be in the Ministry.” He scowled as he ladled the potion into a flask to hand to Professor Snape.

The bell rang. You slid your textbook into your bag and stood. “And I’ll be the Minister of Magic.”

With that, you left the classroom, hoping Percy wasn’t as hurt as he’d looked. He started it. He didn’t have to rub his future in my face after I just admitted to having no future.

Even so, you felt off for the rest of the day. You bit back with more venom at your friends, you completed classes with a frown, and you snapped every time you heard someone gossiping about you. The mix of anger and guilt and anxiety only grew as the afternoon turned into evening, and it was time for you to do your duties as a prefect.

You knew who you would find waiting for you outside your common room.

Percy Weasley stuck out like a sore thumb in the dungeons. Sometimes you’d come out and make some teasing remark about that, but tonight you only nodded at him and began to walk.

Percy matched your pace. The air between you two was uncomfortable, the silence uneasy. You were climbing a set of stairs when Percy broke it. “Well,” he said, staring straight ahead, “are you going to apologize?”

“Why should I apologize? You’re the one who had to rub it in my face.”

Percy stopped in his tracks. “You’re not in the right here.”

You stopped too, crossing your arms and staring at him, fire brewing in your chest. Your fingers itched to grab your wand and hex him, to finally make him be quiet about his grand plans for the future. “Yes, I am. You’re not.”

Percy took a step forward. “All you Slytherins do is make fun of people for having goals. You’re supposed to be ambitious. You’re supposed to understand.”

You laughed. “We’re not the only ones making fun of you. Your brothers do it more than the rest of us combined.” He shifted his weight between his feet, but before he could speak, you said, “I don’t have a problem with your goals.”

He closed his mouth, watching curiously as you continued. Was that a glimmer of hope behind his glasses?

“I have a problem with your timing. You didn’t have to bring it up then. Not after...after I told you about what I’m doing.”

Any peace that might have been building was squashed.

Percy spun on his heel and began marching away. “I was hoping it would make you realize that you don’t have to settle for that.”

You glared and stormed after him. Grabbing his robes and pulling him back, you snarled, “You think I want to do this? I’d rather snap my wand!”

His eyes locked on yours. “So do something about it! You’re ambitious! You’re capable! You’re a Slytherin!”

And just like that, you were pulling him even closer, and your lips met in a clash of wills. His hands went to your waist. You didn’t realize you were backing up until you felt the stone wall behind you. Your heart beat furiously. One of your hands went to Percy’s face, felt the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, then moved into his hair, pulling on his red curls. He kissed you harder.

Maybe that git Percy Weasley had a point.

You were a Slytherin, after all. You could figure something out.

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

Text

Season 1, Episode 7: Night School (Part Two)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: Okay, this one is a lot too. I may have gotten a bit carried away, but so much happens in this episode! And it’s my favorite!

P.S. Jackson manages to be more suspect than the alpha, Allison needs a chill pill ASAP, and Derek is wanted for murder

———————

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

Scott rushed the words out the second he laid eyes on Allison. She looked between the three of us, her gaze pausing over my underdressed state, before staring at him in bewilderment.

“Because you asked me to...” She held up her phone as proof, pointing to a text that was very much from him telling her to come here.

Scott’s eyes widened in shock and he snatched the phone out of her hands. She reeled back, surprised.

“I didn’t send this.” His voice was hard as he scrolled through their messages.

“What? What’s going on? Who sent it then?” Her eyes continued flickering between us, searching for answers.

The phone stated ringing in Scott’s hands and she took it back quickly. She glanced at the caller I.D, huffed out a breath of relief, and put it up to her ear.

“Where are you?” She immediately demanded.

Just then, Lydia and Jackson came striding through the lobby doors. They both seemed annoyed to be here, but at least Jackson didn’t look like he was actively dying anymore.

“Finally.” Lydia sighed, raising her eyebrows at us expectantly. “Can we go now?”

Before any of us could respond, there was a loud thud in the ceiling above us. The tiles started creaking as slow footsteps stomped around. We all froze. My heart instantly began racing again at the thought of the alpha so close.

“Run!” Scott yelled at the same moment it came crashing to the floor beside us.

He grabbed Allison’s hand and they took off, the rest of us not far behind. The alpha growled and barked as it chased us down the hall, which was honestly surprising. I never imagined werewolves barking.

I struggled to steady my breathing as we made our way down the hall and into the cafeteria. Scott slammed the doors before locking the deadbolts into the floor. Instantly, everyone started freaking out.

“Help me get these in front of the doors!” Scott was trying to use a table to baracade us inside.

“What was that? Scott? What was that?” Allison shrieked, tugging her hands through her hair.

“Was it in the ceiling?” Lydia added, throwing her arms up in confusion.

“Wait. Not in here.” I heard Stiles mutter, and I wasn’t sure if he was even talking to us or just himself.

“The chairs! Stack the chairs!” Scott was rushing around frantically, not even bothering to check if anyone was actually listening to him.

“Guys, can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me!” Stiles raised his voice, annoyed that he was being ignored.

Jackson, Lydia, and Allison sprang forward and started grabbing anything they could to add weight to the table. I just wrapped my arms around myself and watched, worried about the level of noise they were all making.

“Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second please? Hello!” I jumped in surprise at his unexpected shout, and turned my attention his way.

Everyone else whipped around to face him expectantly, ditching their effort at the doors.

“Okay. Nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now...what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” He gestured toward the aforementioned windows with a jerk of his arms.

I cringed, knowing he had a point. The alpha was in the school with us now, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. It had already proven its intelligence by trapping us with the dumpsters. I wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating it again.

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on here? Because I am totally freaking out and I would like to know why.” Allison’s voice shook as she tried desperately to fight back tears. She tugged at Scott’s arm and called his name when he avoided her pleading eyes.

Alright. Come on. This is when you tell her.

He pulled himself free and stalked over to a nearby table before letting his elbows rest on it and pinching the bridge of his nose. Allison threw her hands up in exasperation and her gaze moved to me in question. I gave her a one shouldered shrug, not knowing what else to do.

How the hell would we get out of this without telling them everything? A few moments of tense silence passed and I huffed in frustration. If he wasn’t going to do it, I would. I was beyond done with the secrets and the lies. I opened my mouth, about to spill the beans, when Stiles interrupted me.

“Somebody killed the janitor.” He sent me a pointed look and took a few steps toward where Allison, Lydia, and Jackson stood in a line.

I clenched my jaw and tightened the sides of his jacket around my torso. They were going to find out eventually. It would be much better if it came directly from the source.

“What?” Lydia looked terrified by that news, her emerald eyes widening in horror.

“Yeah. He’s dead.” He confirmed with a surprising lack of emotion, glancing around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. I blame his weird fascination with his dad’s line of work. He’d seen way too much even before the supernatural was involved.

I’d somehow almost forgotten that had happened, and the reminder brought the seriousness of our situation crashing back down onto me. Someone was dead because of the alpha. And now we were stuck, bound to be next any minute.

“What’s he talking about?” Allison forced out a pained laugh and looked to Scott. “Is this a joke?”

“Wha—who killed him?” Jackson spoke up for the first time, not sounding completely convinced.

“No, no, no, no.” Lydia’s eyes welled with tears as she started breathing erratically. “This was supposed to be over. The—the mountain lion...”

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson interrupted harshly. “There was no mountain lion.”

“Who was it? What does he want? What’s happening?” Allison demanded, her voice hard.

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, feeling like we were quickly losing control of this situation. Keeping them in the dark was making things so much worse right now.

“Scott!” She snapped when he didn’t respond, and he finally spun around to face us.

“I-I don’t know. I just—if we go out there, he’s gonna kill us.” His voice wavered on the lie and he barely raised his eyes from the floor.

“Kill us?” Lydia asked pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest with a pop of her hip.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Leave it to her to think she’d be exempt from a psychotic murderer.

“Who? Who is it?” Allison was nearing a complete panic attack at this point.

I was ready to end this whole thing and face the stupid consequences later, when he finally spoke up. He shook his head and pinched his eyes shut tightly with a sigh.

“It’s Derek.” He muttered, avoiding both mine and Stiles’ stunned expressions. “Derek Hale.”

What the hell was he doing? Derek is dead. And, not to meantion, pretty much the only person we know for sure isn’t the alpha. He must’ve lost his damn mind.

“Derek killed the janitor...?” Jackson narrowed his eyes at Scott skeptically.

Yeah, you’re onto something buddy. Maybe for the first time ever.

“Yes. He killed them. All of them.” He rushed the words out, still refusing to look at anyone.

My jaw clenched tightly. Why couldn’t we just tell them the truth? Would it really be that bad? They were already majorly freaked out. Might as well hit them with the supernatural shit too.

“But the mountain lion...” Lydia tried to reason.

“No. It’s been Derek the whole time. Starting with his own sister—”

“And the bus driver?” Allison was visibily calmer now that she had an answer, but her voice still shook with fear.

“And the guy at the video store. He’s in here with us, and—and if we don’t get out now...”

He finally raised his gaze to look around the room. His eyes were shining with several intense emotions including fear, anxiety, and guilt. He should feel bad. He just threw a dead man under the bus, and lied to his girlfriend in the process. It wasn’t going to end well on either account.

He let out a heavy sigh and carefully considered his next words before speaking. “He’s gonna kill us too.”

A moment of silence passed before Jackson scoffed in annoyance. “Call the cops.”

I had to agree that it seemed like the most logical choice at this point. I’m not sure what they’d be able to do, but they at least had more resources than any of us.

“No.” Stiles said immediately, shaking his head for good measure.

“What do you mean, no?” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I mean no. What, do you wanna hear it in Spanish? No.” Stiles threw his hands down to his sides in frustration. “Look, Derek killed three people. We don’t know what he’s armed with.”

For some reason, his willingness to go along with Scott’s lie really bothered me. He was by far the most loyal person I’d ever met, so it wasn’t surprising, but it still didn’t sit well with me. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the truth with them, and that made me nervous.

“Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department. Call him!” Jackson raised his voice, his anger spiking at Stiles’ apparent hesitation to do anything helpful.

He had a point. I knew the last thing Stiles wanted to do was involve his dad in any of this stuff, but there came a time when we needed adults to step in. I’d say this was one of those moments.

“I’m calling.” Lydia pulled out her phone and began pacing away from their bickering.

“No! Lydia. Would you just hold on a second?” Stiles moved toward her, one arm outstretched, until Jackson stepped between them and shoved him away harshly.

“Hey!” Scott rushed to Stiles side, who just narrowed his eyes angrily.

Oh, God. The last thing we needed right now was a fight. They shouldn’t even be arguing about this, either. I didn’t care what it was, we just needed to do something—anything—to try and get out of here safely.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to—but...” Lydia lowered her phone from her ear slowly in disbelief. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Confusion seeped through my voice as I stepped toward her. Why would they do that?

Her eyes snapped up to mine, her bottom lip quivering. “She said they got a tip saying that there would be prank calls about the high school. She said if I called again, she’d trace the call and have me arrested.”

“Okay, so call again!” Allison cried from behind her, growing frantic again.

“No, they won’t trace a cell.” Stiles mumbled. “They’ll send a car to your house before anyone comes here.”

Once again, I was surprised at his level of knowledge about police procedures. Just how much had his dad let him in on?

“What the—what is this? Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?” A stray tear escaped Allison’s eyes as they jumped around the room, hoping anyone could answer her questions.

They were all valid, and I felt terrible that she was so freaked out. Although, I had a feeling that knowing a werewolf was actually the one chasing us wouldn’t help to put her mind at ease. I wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Scott asked upon noticing that all the attention was on him.

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia rushed the words out quickly, her eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t know.” Scott muttered through clenched teeth.

I wasn’t sure why they thought he’d have all the answers. I mean, he did have some kind of connection to the alpha, but they didn’t know that. To them, he should be as clueless as the rest of us.

“Was he the one that called the police?” Allison threw her hands up in exasperation as she desperately tried to piece any of this together.

“I don’t know!” Scott snapped, the sudden anger in his face immediately disappearing as he saw the way Allison recoiled from him.

Okay, this conversation was going nowhere, and fast. I grabbed ahold of Scott’s elbow and dragged him across the room as Lydia wrapped a comforting arm around Allison. Tensions were incredibly high right now, and everyone needed to chill the fuck out and stop fighting if we wanted to survive this.

“Okay, first of all.” I whispered with a raise of my eyebrows as Stiles quickly joined us. “Throwing Derek under the bus? Nice one.”

“I-I didn’t know what to say. I had to say something!” He tugged a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his breathing. “And if he’s dead, it doesn’t matter, right? Except if he’s not. Oh, God. I totally just bit her head off.”

He tried to sneak a glance at Allison over my shoulder but stopped when Stiles clasped a hand on his bicep. “And she’ll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand right now. Like how do we get out of here alive?”

“But we are alive.” I cut in, voicing something that had been bothering me this whole time. “It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s...cornering us or something.”

“So, what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?” I glowered at Stiles for suggesting that ridiculous theory and he shrugged.

“No!” Scott whispered harshly. “Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Against who?” I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us could’ve somehow wronged the thing this badly.

“Okay, assheads!” I jumped as Jackson suddenly yelled and strode toward us with a scowl. “New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?”

God, what was his problem with Sheriff Stilinski? He’d made so many comments about him recently. At this point, it was getting weird. Everyone looked to be in agreement, though, which wasn’t good for Stiles.

“He’s right.” Scott said, surprising both of us. “Tell him the truth if you have to. Just...call him.”

“I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.” He insisted harshly with a twitch of his eyes.

“At this point, the alternative is that we get eaten alive.” I hissed, annoyed with all of this back and forth. We just needed to do something.

“Alright, give me the phone—” Jackson lunged forward, ready to call the sheriff himself.

I let out a yelp as Stiles reared back before landing a punch square on his jaw. Allison immediately rushed to his side as he fell to the floor, clutching his face. Scott put a hand on Stiles’ chest to hold him back, but he looked pretty satisfied with the damage he’d done.

I didn’t miss the way Jackson smirked to himself, seemingly getting exactly what he wanted. I realized at that moment that he’d been trying to provoke Stiles to this breaking point the whole night, and he’d finally succeeded. But why?

I’d never seen Stiles so much as kill a bug, let alone punch someone in the face. His dad was a really sore subject, apparently. He huffed out an irritated breath and begrudgingly yanked his phone from his pocket. Our gazes locked as the call went to his dad’s voicemail, his honey eyes shining with fear as he left a hasty message.

We all jumped as the cafeteria doors started rattling violently. Allison and Lydia ran over to where we stood, hiding behind Scott and Jackson. My eyes grew wide as I watched the large bolts bending in the floor from the force the alpha was using to try and get in.

“The kitchen.” Stiles pocketed his phone and strode over to my side. “The door in the kitchen leads to the stairwell.”

“Which only goes up.” I reminded him, my attention still locked on the doors. They wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer.

“Up is better than here.”

With that, we all took off running again. We stumbled up the stairs and into a random unlocked classroom, falling silent as we waited to see if the alpha had followed. Allison stood with her back against the wall just beside the door, Lydia and Jackson huddled close in front of her. Me and the guys stood on the other side of the doorway.

I tried to steady my breathing as I watched the hallway closely through the small window in the door. Scott leaned toward it, trying to listen for footsteps, until Stiles fisted his jacket and jerked him back. A shadow moved across the glass, everyone visibly relaxing once it was gone.

“Jackson.” Scott whispered. “How many can you fit in your car?”

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone’s lap.” He breathed, bracing his hands against the table behind him.

“Five?” Allison snapped incredulously. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn't matter.” I shook my head solemnly. “There’s no way we’re getting out without drawing attention.”

Now that we were on the second floor, our chances of escape had dwindled to almost none. There were no exits up here. We couldn't jump from any windows without getting seriously hurt. There really weren't many options.

“What about this?” Scott suddenly jogged toward a door in the corner of the room, and we all followed. “This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds.”

“That’s a deadbolt.” Stiles snarked and pointed to the spot that held the door firmly locked.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude. Scott was only trying to help. Now was not the time for his signature sarcasm.

“The janitor has a key.” Scott looked hopeful at the realization.

“You mean his body has it.” I corrected, my stomach twisting painfully at the memory that someone had died right in front of us tonight.

So much had happened since then. I hadn't even begun to process it.

“I can get it. I can find him by scent, from the blood.” He leaned toward us as his voice dropped on the last sentence.

“Well, gee. That sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else ya got?” Stiles quipped.

I had to agree. While using the fire escape was probably our only hope at this point, going out there with the alpha was not a smart move. According to Derek, Scott is the one it wants. What’s to say it wouldn't just kill or take him on sight?

“I’m getting the key.” He insisted, his face tightening with determination.

He pushed past us, heading straight for the door, until Allison stepped in his way. “Are you serious?” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and she looked up at him desperately.

“It’s the best plan.” He tried to reassure her, but she just shook her head in disbelief.

I mean, it was a dumb plan. But Scott could handle himself. He’s a werewolf. Someone had to do something already. I was about to go out there myself if we didn’t get a move on.

“You can’t go out there unarmed.” She tried to reason with him, but his mind was already made up.

He looked around before pulling out a flimsy pointer finger on a stick. I tried my best to hold in a snort at the thought of him defending himself with that. Everyone just stared at him, and he shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing.”

“There’s gotta be something else.” Stiles said hopefully.

It was obvious that he didn’t want Scott going out there, either. I wouldn't say I was thrilled about it, but I knew that someone was going to have to make a sacrifice to get us out. He was the most obvious choice, plus he was willing. Who were we to stop him?

“There is.” Lydia glanced toward a cabinet filled with chemicals in various sized beakers behind me. I hadn't even realized we were in one of the chemistry labs. “In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.”

“Well, we don't have a key for that either.” I pointed out, turning around to inspect it. It didn’t exactly solve our problem.

Jackson rolled his eyes with a huff and reluctantly stepped toward the glass case. With a scowl, he used his elbow to easily smash it to pieces.

Well, there’s one way to do it.

————————

It had been nearly ten minutes, and there were no signs of Scott or the alpha. The five of us had barely spoken, simultaneously processing this insane situation and being too afraid to make any noise. The air between us was thick with tension.

Allison had gone into full freak out mode when Scott left. She’d tearfully begged him not to leave, but he obviously didn’t listen. I understood her fear for his safety, but she had to know that it was our only hope. I had every bit of confidence in him. He would be able to get us out of this.

Suddenly, an earthshattering growl echoed through the school. The floors beneath our feet shook with the sheer volume of it. Lydia winced and covered her ears as if the sound pained her. I glanced at Stiles, silently asking whether Scott could make that kind of sound. I’d heard him howl earlier, and it had been impressive, but it was nowhere near whatever the hell that was.

I staggered back a step as Jackson unexpectedly fell onto his knees in front of me with a groan. He scratched at the back of his neck and began breathing heavily. Lydia and I grabbed each of his arms and hauled him back onto his feet as he continued wincing and moaning. He shoved us away, and I stumbled over my own feet.

“Don’t. I’m fine.” He turned to face us, still rubbing at the spot where I knew Derek’s claws had dug into his skin not long ago. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

“That didn’t even look remotely okay.” I huffed, concerned.

I mean, what the hell was that?

“Hey, what’s on the back of your neck?” Stiles peered over Jackson’s shoulder and stretched an arm out toward him.

He swatted it away and avoided all of our eyes. There was no way that was normal. Why would he react that way to the alpha’s growl? It didn’t make any sense.

“Well? It’s been there for days and you won’t tell me what happened.” Lydia crossed her arms skeptically. Clearly, it had been bothering her.

“As if you actually care.” He barked harshly, and she looked away, tears glistening in her eyes.

I was just about to lay into him for how not cool talking to her like that was, when police sirens sounded from outside. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward the windows, before looking down to confirm that help was actually here.

For the first time tonight, I felt myself relax. We were going to be okay.

————————

I pulled the sides of Stiles’ jacket tighter around myself, shivering against the frigid night air. My eyes were locked on him and Scott as they talked to the Sheriff. He was called away, and they continued whispering nervously. I would’ve preferred to be right there, listening, but Stiles said he’d drive me home. So here I stood, leaning against his Jeep. Waiting. Freezing to death.

I let my eyes follow them as they walked over toward an ambulance that Scott’s boss was sitting inside of. I had to admit, his mysterious disappearance—and subsequent revival—was insanely suspicious. I wasn't entirely convinced that he was the alpha, but he wasn't exactly in the clear, either.

After briefly talking to him, Scott and Stiles went their separate ways. Scott joined Allison, who had already told Lydia and I that she was going to break up with him. She was doubting pretty much everything about him after tonight, and I couldn't really blame her. He was keeping a huge part of himself secret, and it was pretty obvious at this point. I didn’t envy him having to figure a way out of that one.

“You could've gotten in.” I jumped at the sound of Stiles’ voice next to me, but forced myself to relax as he popped open the passenger door for me.

I climbed inside, buckling my seatbelt just as he slid into the seat beside me. My house was only a few minutes away, and I already felt my anxiety rising at the thought of sleeping there by myself after everything that had just happened. Mom was working the night shift again.

My fingers began trembling in my lap as the weight of tonight’s events came crashing down onto my shoulders.

I felt Stiles’ eyes on me, but kept my head down. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. It wasn't technically a lie. I was still breathing, and that counted for something. “I’m just not really looking forward to being home alone tonight.”

I felt heat crawl up my neck as I continued to avoid his curious gaze. I don't know what had compelled me to admit that. There was no reason for me to share that with him. I’d be fine.

I finally looked at him as the car jerked to the left so quickly I nearly fell out of my seat.

“What are you doing?” I balanced myself on the dashboard as we made a full 180 degree turn.

“You’re staying over.” He’d said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I gaped at him, shocked that he would even suggest it. The last time we did that... “Stiles—”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted hastily, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “My dad won’t care.”

“Stiles...” I let myself trail off that time, not sure what I wanted to say.

I didn’t want to be alone, and the last time we slept in the same bed, I’d had the best night of sleep since moving. It wasn't a bad idea per se, but...I don't even know. It was Stiles. And he made me nervous.

“Look. It’s really for my benefit. I mean, that was terrifying.” He let out a sigh, trying to make that sound believable.

“Nice try.” I scoffed, shifting back in my seat now that we were driving straight again. “You’re so not afraid of anything.”

He glanced at me briefly. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s true?” I finally looked at him again, studying the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. I took a moment to admire the view I had of his profile. The yellow lighting of the street lamps outside beautifully highlighted the freckles that dotted his skin, and pulled out the natural orangey tint of his eyes.

“You’ve had all this supernatural stuff thrown on you, and you’ve just accepted it like it’s no big deal. You’re always jumping at the chance to help, even though you’re human, and you’re usually the one who figures things out first. None of that strikes me as someone who’s easily scared.”

He looked at me with a small smile, his eyes trailing over my face appreciatively, and I felt my own lips tugging upward in return.

About ten minutes later, I was following him into his bedroom. It was much cleaner than I expected. It was small, nothing more than a bed with a plaid comforter—of course—a couple of bedside tables with a small lamp, and a desk. He shut the door behind us, and we stood there for a moment awkwardly.

I wasn't sure if I should sit on his bed or the plush chair in front of the desk. He was still by the entrance, one hand on the doorknob while the other rubbed at the back of his head. I made my choice and walked over to the bed.

I plopped down, tucking one of my legs beneath myself while the other dangled off the edge of his mattress. I let my toes brush against the cool hardwood floors as I watched him consider his options.

After some hesitation, he moved to join me on the bed. He sat about a foot away, and I was simultaneously disappointed and grateful for that little bit of distance between us. He played with his fingers in his lap and avoided my eyes.

“We could’ve died tonight.” I breathed, mostly wanting to break the silence but also just beginning to process everything.

He looked up at me tenderly and reached a tentative hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But we didn’t.”

“Don’t you find that weird?” My skin erupted with heat as he let the tips of his fingers linger on my neck. “I mean, the alpha had so many opportunities to kill us and it just...didn’t. It was almost like it was playing with us or something.”

I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he studied me for a moment. He parted his lips, and it looked like he was going to say something before thinking better of it. “We should get some sleep.”

“Or...we could do something else.” I rushed the words out before I could let any doubt creep in. His gaze quickly flickered to my mouth as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously.

“Something else?” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes moved back to mine.

“It’s just...” I swallowed, trying to gain the courage to say what had been swirling around in the back of my mind all night. “Our first kiss was at school. While being chased by a psychotic werewolf...”

“Yeah.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. “That’s not really how I imagined it.”

I blinked a few times, only just then noticing that we’d been moving closer together this whole time. “We could try again?”

There were only a few inches separating us now. Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered as he leaned forward and connected our lips gently. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth against mine, and I couldn’t help but arch into him as my eyes slid shut. The kiss was timid, just a bunch of barely there caresses as we slowly got more comfortable with each other.

We both pulled away fractionally, our noses still barely touching. I let out a shuddering breath as my anxiety slowly melted away. This was really happening.

“Was that better?” He murmured against me, his warm breath fanning my skin.

“Much.” My hands found the sides of his face and I pulled him back to me, locking our lips together again.

My mouth parted against his as one of his arms snuck around my back to bring me into his chest. His hands trembled against me and I felt my lips tug upward into a small smile, reassured that he was nervous too. I let my fingers trail toward the back of his head and tugged him impossibly closer.

A soft gasp escaped me as one of his hands squeezed at my hip before dragging me on top of him. With my legs on either side of his, I suddenly realized how quickly this was moving and pulled away. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see Stiles pout with a hum of disapproval. He leaned forward to capture my lips again, but froze at the sound of his door being thrown open.

“Oh, dear God. Son, really?”

I scrambled off of him as my eyes landed on his father. He was still wearing his uniform, so he must’ve just gotten back. I smoothed down my clothes and crossed my legs, trying to make myself look more presentable.

“Um. It’s not—uh...what it looks like?” I cringed at that sorry attempt at defusing the situation, and cleared my throat.

“Mr. Stilinski.” I greeted, hoping the twitch of my lips looked more like a smile than a pained grimace.

His eyes narrowed at me before moving to Stiles, who was stiff as a board beside me. “Call me Sheriff. And get to bed.”

With that, he was gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared. I let out a sigh, deflating with exhaustion. I had been through way too much for one day. We shared a quick glance before Stiles turned off the lights.

We crawled beneath his comforter and followed his dad—I mean, the Sheriff’s—advice. Once again, I quickly fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Episode 7, Part One Episode 8

105 notes · View notes

twiistedgalaxies · 3 years

Text

Genesis: Chapter 11: The Search

How two brothers can take two opposite paths. How a man can be made into a monster and how the other must pay the ultimate price to save everything he knows and loves.

Or, alternatively:

The origins of All for One and One for All.

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

“Where were you?” Tomura asked stiffly, knees drawn into his chest and back resting against the metallic back-bars of the bed. He held onto his own legs like a life-line. His steel gaze was on Hisashi, but he knew his eyes were distant. Relentless agony over several days does that to a person.

“I got you your medicine,” Hisashi said awkwardly, depositing the crinkly prescription bag at the foot of the bed.

Tomura was unimpressed, “Where’d you get the money?”

His brother blinked, “I had some stashed away in case of an emergency, with how ill you’ve been I figured now would be the best time to use it,” he scratched the back of his neck in a pale imitation of nervousness, “it took a while to get your prescription filled, sorry.”

A bitter taste flooded Tomura’s mouth. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t stupid, he knew his brother was probably lying to him. Before the incident with Bruce, he would have overlooked it, overjoyed that he’d get some relief from his own body. But after seeing the preeteen’s whimpering, curled form, he knew it had to stop before someone else got hurt. Hisashi looked like a mess, far more than he should have for a simple trip to CVS. His curly white hair stuck up in odd places, soot clung to his left cheek, and a nasty looking cut was crusting on his forehead. Even worse, one of his jacket sleeves was completely missing.

“What happened?” Tomura asked, yawn drawn out of him, chronic illness wearing him thin. It was a lucky thing that most of the kids and staff were preoccupied with class, otherwise he wouldn’t have been the sole witness to his older brother crawling through the church window like a home invader.

“I got mugged,” Hisashi said smoothly, “With how hard it is to get medicine these days, someone probably saw me leaving the pharmacy. I fended them off of course, but they got a few lucky hits in.”

Tomura had seen his sibling fight before. No one ever got in lucky hits. “Why do you keep lying to me?”

The teen had the audacity to look puzzled, tilting his head to the side like a kicked puppy - a strange look on someone so tall and gangly, “I’m not lying to you ‘mura, do you really not trust me? After all I’ve done for you?”

He was too tired and sick for this shit. Tomura laid on his side and pulled the thin, cotton blanket over his head. Footsteps echoed through the room as Hisashi migrated to his own bed and rummaged through his things. He knew he should be grateful, but not knowing what his brother was up to, the terrible things that could be happening under the teen’s veneer of protectiveness, made him ill. At these thoughts, Tomura felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He pulled the blanket tighter around his body.

Hisashi sighed, “At least take the medicine I got for you. I hate seeing you like this.”

“Fine,” Tomura grumbled, poking his head out from under the covers.

“So you can be reasonable!” Hisashi tried to tease as he measured out his brother’s dose. Tomura scowled, feeling his nose scrunch up as if he smelled something rotten.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Hisashi huffed, “I even got you your favorite drink, see?” The teen held out a strawberry Ramune soda. Tomura perked up at that, but quickly reigned himself in. He was still angry at his brother.

The bed creaked as Hisashi sat down at Tomura’s side and passed him the medicine and soda bottle. The preteen stared at the beverage for a moment, before trying, and failing, to open it. Damn EDS, this wasn’t worth another dislocation. Hisashi must have noticed his struggling, because he quickly snatched the bottle from his hands and easily popped the marble inwards. The teen handed him back the drink and ruffled his hair.

Tomura popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed it with one gulp of his soda, wincing at the carbonation but still savoring the sweet taste. “I didn’t know they had these at CVS,” he said.

“I was surprised to see them too, I guess the pharmacy has gotten a lot more cultured,” Hisashi replied with a quirk of his lips.

They fell into an uneasy silence, Tomura gazed into his bubbly pink drink, not wanting to look at his older brother. His left hand wandered to one of the many raw patches that had bloomed on his skin over the past week. What on Earth had his brother gotten himself involved in?

“Are you mad at me?” Hisashi asked, Tomura didn’t need to look up to see the frown coloring his voice. Yes. He was angry, angry that his brother couldn’t trust him enough to tell him what was going on, angry that he was always kept in the dark, sheltered from what was going happening until it leaped up and punched him in the face. The anger was a simmering, burbling thing, caged in the space between his ribs and diaphragm. His grip on the Ramune tightened, knuckles white.

Tomura swallowed, “Go get changed, you look homeless.”

-@~*^*~@-

The rest of the day was spent with Tomura staring up at the ceiling, and reading the few comics he owned for the dozenth time. He was bored. Hearing Hisashi get berated by the matron for sneaking out didn’t really count for entertainment. Even though he was irritated at his older brother’s deceit, he still didn’t want him to suffer. Belatedly, he realized that because Hisashi had been given intensive cleaning duty for the next week, his brother would spend his own birthday cleaning out the kitchen’s drip pans.

Tomura turned onto his side. The medication helped. A lot. He was still in pain, obviously, and whenever he sat up too quickly he was overwhelmed with dizziness, but it was better than hurting so much he couldn’t think. Or a violent cacophony of color sparking under his eyelids when he was hit with another wave of anguish. Yay chronic pain. The church bells rang, signalling the end of the school day and causing Tomura to wince at the loud noise. It didn’t take long for his peers to flood into the room. His bed creaked as two people sat at his side. He fluttered open his eyelids.

“Hey,” he croaked, greeting two of his friends. He noticed the tense look on their faces and felt his eyebrows knit together. Something was wrong, “Where’s Emrik?”

Finn and Jonah exchanged glances. Finn turned a dull gray-blue, “We don’t know, he’s been missing all day. We tried to ask Mr. Stewart where he was but couldn’t get any answers.”

Jonah harshly gripped Tomura’s bunched up bed sheets, “The matron said he got adopted, but that’s crap. No one wants to adopt us.”

Tomura swallowed, he could see why. Mutants weren’t exactly popular right now. He was surprised that they were even able to talk to Mr. Stewart, he usually avoided the defective like a plague. “I could try to help look for him,” he suggested.

Finn raised an eyebrow, turning yellow with surprise, “Absolutely not, especially with how sick you’ve been the past several days.”

“I’m feeling better today!” Tomura protested, “Hisashi got me some medicine and I can probably at least walk. I have my braces.”

His friends looked at eachother again, having a silent conversation. He really wished they’d stop doing that. “Fine,” Jonah conceded, “But we’re staying with you. If you get hurt your brother is going to kill us.”

Finn shuddered, “Definitely would kill us.”

“When’s the last time you guys saw him?” Tomura asked.

The duo seemed to mull it over for a second, “When we were playing Sorry! last night,” Jonah answered, “I remember whooping his ass at the game.” Tomura felt a pang of jealousy at being excluded but shoved it down, now was not the time.

“I think I saw him when we were heading to bed, he seemed to fall asleep with the rest of us,” Finn said, hand on his chin, eyes pointed upwards.

“So he must have disappeared this morning or last night,” Tomura finished for them, “Hisashi was out late last night, I’ll have to ask him if he saw anything.”

“What was he doing, by the way?” Finn asked, “The matron was ripping him a new one at lunch, I think the people all the way down in Mexico could hear her.”

Tomura rolled his eyes, “Apparently he was out getting me my medicine and got mugged.” Jonah shot him a disbelieving look. In a silent reply he shrugged, making a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. Tomura sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, biting the inside of his cheek as his body screamed in protest, “Just let me get dressed and get my joint braces on and we can head out.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jonah replied, “just try not to die on your way to the bathroom. I’ll pin the blame on Finn of course, but-”

“Hey!” Finn yelped, indignant, before lightly smacking his friend on the shoulder. This escalated into playful roughhousing as Tomura got up.

-@~*^*~@-

The trio spent the rest of the afternoon combing the once-church grounds, only resting when they had dinner, and immediately setting out to search again. The sun was setting when Tomura was looking up into the bell tower’s scaffolding, which was cast into a beautiful orange glow.

“This is a terrible idea,” Finn said, nervously hugging his arms to his chest.They were on the second floor, which housed the staff. It was normally barred to the orphans, and almost every room was locked. Tomura was surprised they were able to get up the stairs in the first place.

“Shut up Finn,” snarked Jonah.

“What if the matron catches us? Or worse-”

Tomura scanned the scaffolding, he felt a smile on his face, “I think I know how to get up there.”

“You mean how I’ll get there,” Jonah replied.

Tomura ignored him and moved a potted plant off of a table that had been pushed against the wall. He reached up for the first part of the scaffolding, testing to see if it would hold his weight. It probably would. Probably.

“We don’t even know if he’s up there!” Finn protested, face pinched with worry.

“Well,” Tomura started, “I don’t think he’s up there either, but maybe going up somewhere high will help us see something we wouldn’t from the ground. I saw it in a comic book once.”

Jonah rolled his eyes, “Just try not to hit the bells, we don’t need all of LA coming down on our heads,” he paused, “Besides, I want to go up after you.”

“You’re both being stupid,” Finn hissed, reddening as he did so, “What if you fall?”

Tomura shrugged, “It’s not that high up.” Finn looked like he wanted to scream.

He began to climb up the bleach-white scaffolding, pausing whenever it gave a dangerous creak. A grunt slipped out of his mouth when he leaned on his arm wrong, sending pain shooting through his body. It nearly caused him to slip, but luckily he was able to regain his balance. Finally, after what felt like ages, he reached the top and propped himself up on the opening, legs dangling out over the slanted roof.

“Wow,” Tomura breathed. It was beautiful. The rolling, golden hills of Los Angeles gleamed with the light of dusk. Distant car lights filled the main roads, making them look like gleaming candy canes. The various graffitied factories that filled their little industrial district bellowed black fog from their smokestacks that wrapped and joined together in the sky. The golden hour cast everything in shades of pinks, yellow, and red, and he found himself unable to take it all in, even though their neighborhood was far from photogenic.

So absorbed was he in the view that he nearly fell off of the ledge when Jonah called up to him, “Do you see anything up there ‘mura?”

Oh, right. He was supposed to be looking for clues. His dark eyes scanned the area around the orphanage grounds. Tomura frowned. “I don’t see anything weird!” he called.

“Well then let me-”

“Actually,” He said, cutting Jonah off, “I think I see a cleaning company van parked on the side of the road, you think Matron Abra is finally cleaning this place up? I’ve started naming the cockroaches that live in our room.”

“Ew,” Finn blanched.

“That doesn’t help us find Emrik,” Jonah huffed, “Now climb down from there, I want to see.”

Tomura made his way down, feeling his stomach drop when he saw just how far up he climbed. Oops. No wonder Finn was so worried. His feet landed on the carpeted floor with a soft thud. Wordlessly, Jonah began to climb up the scaffolding, taking a slightly different route than he did.

“What was it like up there?” Finn asked, his voice a low whisper.

“It was nice,” Tomura replied, “Are you sure you don’t want to go up there next?”

Finn shook his head, “I’ll leave the climbing to you guys, I’ve never liked heights.”

“Yeah, I don’t see anything,” Jonah called down to them, “I thought you were just blind but I guess this is a dead end.”

“Where do you think Emrik could have gone?” Tomura whispered to Finn.

“I don’t know,” the boy replied, “Maybe he really did get adopted.”

Jonah climbed down to the floor besides them, “No idea, but if he did get adopted I doubt they were doing it for good reasons. Maybe it was the man the Matron has us see sometimes?”

Tomura tilted his head, giving the reptilian a quizzical look, “What man?”

Finn blinked with surprise, “You guys don’t see him too? Must be a mutant thing.”

Jonah gave him the side eye, “Anyways, whenever we’ve been acting up too much the matron has us see some man in a lab coat for a check up and to run some weird tests. It’s nothing really crazy, just uncomfortable.-”

The boys froze as the stairs creaked behind them. Jonah quietly swore.

“Run?” Finn whispered.

“Run.” Jonah agreed.

The trio fled down the hall and shoved themselves into a dark janitor’s closet. It smelled terrible, like excrement mingled with barely used cleaner. Jonah and Finn quietly bickered and Tomura shushed them as footsteps tapped down the hallway towards the preteens. Panic seized his throat as he remembered the potted plant abandoned on the hall floor. A click of porcelain on wood.

“Well that’s odd,” he heard the matron murmur. “Is anyone there?” she called.

Tomura tightly gripped one of his friends’ hands. They were clammy with sweat. The floorboards creaked as she paced up and down the hall, doors clicking and groaning as she looked in various rooms. Silently, he prayed that she wouldn’t check the closet, that she would just pass them by. She stopped in front of the door, heeled shoes casting shadows through the sliver of light underneath it. His heart dropped in his stomach as the doorbell slowly turned. This is it, he thought, this is the moment we’re completely screwed.

The church bells rang, signalling curfew. The matron walked away from the janitor’s closet and went down the stairs, probably to corral the other orphans. Tomura let out a sigh of relief.

“I told you so,” Finn muttered, though it came out as more of a whimper. Jonah thwacked him upside the head, causing him to squeak with surprise.

A/N:

Unfortunately, it looks like Tumblr’s new post editor (that’s currently in Beta) might have a character limit added to text posts. Hopefully that’s not carried over onto the final release, but if it is chapters posted on here will just be AO3 links. Until then, I’ll just do what I’ve been doing! I almost didn't put a chapter out today, but I managed to get everything finished in the knick of time, thankfully. I might (?) take a week long break because school is burning me out, but it depends on how I'm feeling. Zoom University is exhausting, lmao. As always, feedback is appreciated!

AO3

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samanthaxreed · 3 years

Text

SOLO THREAD

Locale: Sam’s apartment / Oceanside Cemetery

Mentioned: @fireinhislungs, @gracetaylorwilliams, @jessexmarino, @naomixjones

Dinner with her father went off with only a few conversational lulls, far less awkward than anticipated and yet not completely fluid. Like two people rowing a canoe at different speeds, both attempting to turn it in the same direction without being fully in sync. It would come with time Sam supposed and as she began cleaning dishes, bright hues caught sight of her father throwing a cursory examination of the window latches before shifting attention to the folded sweater on her couch. “Are you holding that for somebody?”

It took everything in her not to snort. “Real subtle... It doesn’t belong to some secret lover if that’s what you’re getting at.”

His chagrin at being caught was palpable enough to soften Sam’s raised brow, almost lingering on the edge of amused before he continued. “I worry about you living in this place alone, Samantha. No roommate, no boyfriend, or... girlfriend?” The blonde visibly winced then, hands resuming the task at hand to avoid discussing something so personal with a person she truly didn’t know well at all. Her father, still a near stranger. “Look, take it from me that too much alone time drives you a little nuts and it’s probably safer in numbers around here.”

The audacity to gently lecture as if his brand of advice mattered in the grand scheme when he never deemed it necessary until now. A measured swallow and breath came before she pivoted features to address him in a way that wouldn’t entirely nuke their still rather tepid relationship. The pair lingered a hair away from disaster and the only indication she managed to give was a firm warning. “Dad, I know what you’re trying to say, but I can take care of myself. I’m doing just fine and you’re forgetting that I literally lived here at one point.” With him and her mother, ironically enough. Apparently Oceanside had been worth settling in during her formative years, but once she could choose for herself it no longer suited the narrative.

“You always did have your mother’s stubbornness.” That, at least, managed to ring true and she might have been able to ignore that comment with a scoff or quick humor picked up from his side, but her father always prodded the right button. “I’m trying to keep you safe, okay?” Definitely a hothead like her abrasive mother because the knife she’d been wiping down tightened within Sam’s slender grasp. Hell of a time to start giving a shit, but she digressed. “Because Oceanside isn’t how you remember it and ignoring that fact’s gonna get you hurt if you don’t pay attention... I understand if it brings you comfort being here, but it’s not the same.”

The sharp utensil she had been cleaning finally clattered against metal as it hit the base of her sink, dropped in frustration because it wasn’t his business. None of it. He surrendered that right when the ink dried on her custody papers; parental claim relinquished unequivocally. “I’m not blind. I can fucking see that it’s worse and I’m not walking around the city with rose colored glasses.” Quite the opposite, suffocating every blossom of nostalgia before it could spring out of the dirt... Or ash, depending upon how one looked at it. “The whole me getting poisoned thing shot that down right out of the gate, but I’m not just–– I’m not giving up on this and lots of people I care about live here.” She swallowed against the vulnerability, choking it down like a bad tequila shot. “Which means there’s something worth sticking around for, so if you’re trying to talk me out of it then go ahead and call up Fletcher. Let him tell you how well that worked out the last time somebody tried.”

“Take it easy,” he cautioned with infuriating ease against her rising temper. “I’m only trying to look out for your best interest. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t forgive myself.” The chuckle she gave in response lacked both humor and warmth, practically bewildered at his entire savior complex... And bitter, so unfathomably jaded at this ill conceived timing. Too little, too late. “Yeah, well, you’ve been asleep on the job for twenty-eight years so it’s convenient that you woke up to do it now.”

That must have cut deep because her father maneuvered out of the kitchen doorway, hands raised defensively as if she were still holding the knife. It sort of felt like that, but her tongue became the barb instead. Stabbing repeatedly when he hardly deserved it, angered more at unseen and unresolved forces. “I know I wasn’t always as involved as I could have been, but I did raise you––”

“You didn’t raise me, you avoided me because it was easier to spend time at the casino than come home to the life you picked out. And before you start accusing me of favoritism, Mom didn’t do shit either. You want to talk about romanticizing the past? Take a look in the fucking mirror.” Fists clenched against her side were blanched white at the knuckles, three decades of resentment spilling out in verbal blows that Sam knew she couldn’t take back. Nor did she want to, not tonight. “The Williams raised me. And when they were gone, I raised myself and I did a damn good job at it.”

Some part of her would regret this moment later when his features came to mind, the shame and clear heartbreak written across them undeniable. “I didn’t realize that’s how you felt.” They had backed up fully into her living room, or perhaps she simply cornered her father with truthful criticisms when he’d only wanted to help. So much for repairing their relationship. “Yeah, well... I ruined your lives so I guess it’s only fitting that you ruined mine.” Arms crossed protectively over her middle, both avoiding one another’s gaze out of mutual hurt and then she heard the door unlock.

“I wish you hadn’t come back here, Samantha.”

While sounding bad on the surface, she knew full well it was meant as a last olive branch and proof that he loved her despite the vitriol, but Sam’s throat had tightened too far to respond. He slipped out into the evening air and despite how she wished to move, or scream, or burst into a thousand shards to match her internal schism, both feet remained firmly planted for several minutes.

Then she darted across to her purse, snatching it up along with the sweater draped along the back of her sofa. No phone, she didn’t need to talk anymore. At least no one listed in there.

–––––

One bottle of some cheap rosé from the grocery store later and she was back on the road, navigating some vaguely familiar route down the coast. GPS wound up becoming necessary at some point much to her embarrassment, but twelve years away wasn’t nothing and darkness made fools of everyone. Her car pulled into the cemetery parking lot and for a minute she simply sat with the engine idled, replaying pieces of their conversation in her mind. Not just with her father, but Fletcher, Grace, Jesse, Naomi... People who existed in her former life that now began slotting into this new, convoluted one.

The gate’s lock was either open already or rusted by the sea air, but it hardly mattered because Sam entered without much barrier. Weaving through headstones, she discovered that the path to her destination sprouted from memory which was altered by nighttime shadows and the fickle mistress of time. After getting turned around once, she eventually made it and settled into a small plot of grass, unscrewing the lid of her bottle and toasting in mock cheers to her company.

In Loving Memory of Brooke Williams

The sight alone was enough to tighten something imperceptible within her chest, washed away by the peachy drink and a half-hearted joke. “Sorry for sitting on you, but that should be nothing new. Kick me off if you hate it.” Talking to a ghost as if the long deceased girl were able to hear felt stupid on about three hundred levels, but Sam hadn’t been granted the privilege of catching up for so long. And after arguing with her parent, she just needed her best friend and other half.

“I think that maybe... everything in my life is temporary now,” she admitted to the silence. “And sometimes I can even convince myself that I’m okay with it. Never attaching myself to anybody or anything.” Mostly through her own design, sabotaging any concept of permanence before it, too, could be ripped away without warning. A self preservation measure concocted when she was far too young; no kid should delve so far into their own fear that they only knew how to run. “Except here. I feel like I keep circling back to this place and these people... And you. Always you.” For someone who only an hour previous claimed to raise herself, she truly did an immaculate job at creating an adult who wound up successful, capable, and so unbearably alone.

Maybe she should have called Fletcher instead, the thought interjected itself and became quickly dismissed. Hadn’t enough trouble been thrust upon his shoulders? And Grace’s? Stripped of their entire family in the course of a single night, tossed into a system which spat them back out, and molded to fit a world that clearly didn’t give a shit. The last thing either one needed was a reminder walking back through their door, but she had with such unfathomable selfishness. Perhaps guilt brewed in the pit of her stomach over how she treated her father tonight or that continuous fear of making the wrong move, but uncertainty brought the rim to parted lips once more.

“I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore, B.” It was easier to draw honesty from her bones out here, less like pulling water from a stone with only a bottle and the faint ocean breeze answering back. Rather than eerie or unsettling, the dim light provided a quiet comfort of remaining unseen in the midst of such raw admittance. “I don’t think I belong in this city like I used to, but I’m scared––” There was that thickness in the far reaches of her throat again. “I’m afraid that if I don’t belong in Oceanside then I don’t really belong anywhere. So what the hell do I do?”

She had belonged once, in a flickering memory of happiness that remained pure despite life’s valiant attempts to extinguish it. Friendship bracelets with her name misspelled on accident. Brooke telling Fletcher he could only join their pillow fort if he killed the spider inside. Grace’s laughter from beneath the hood of an old car as she threw a grease laden rag at Mr. Williams. They were supposed to grow old together, buy houses on the same street, live out impossibly normal lives. So beautifully mundane in their cookie cutter regularity. Even after the worst overtook them, she had been naïve enough to believe in some echo of that future; a broken shell, but enough to keep her head above water.

In that alternate time, Grace taught her to drive manual and took Sam to get her license, the pair bonding in a way that she only dreamed of as a child who idolized the eldest Williams beyond words. She would have thanked the brunette for being the only stable adult in her life and the only one worth counting on. In that alternate timeline, she got Fletcher trashed on his twenty-first birthday and sat on the bathroom floor with him all night in apology. She would have told him the truth at some point, even if he didn’t reciprocate. So many what if’s that were robbed before they even began and now she grasped at smoke, unable to hold it between desperate fingers. Why couldn’t she just let things go like a well adjusted person? Why did she leave claw marks etched into every memory?

More wine, but this time it tasted distinctly of saltwater as the wind brushed over damp cheeks.

#this is too many words #tw death #tw alcohol #tw murder #tw neglect #( x. self para )

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part 11; epilogue)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

It’s finally done!!!!!!!!!!!

Word count: 11,867

TW: Survivor guilt, victim blaming

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

Epilogue

“Do you ever see something you can’t explain? I’m not talking about some strange lights in the sky or Jesus’s face on a tortilla. I’m talking about something that’s not supposed to happen. Like in reality.”

Mulaney tilted his head at the retired coach across the table from him. She was dressed maturely and her hair was neatly combed, leaving no evidence of any trauma retained from the massacre she lived through. Her eyes were calculating and narrowed like a defensive lioness’ as she studied the detective and then his partner for the third time during that interview. She was as sharp-tongued as Katherine Howard before she was switched to a different investigator.

“Like a miracle?” Mulaney asked.

Catalina de Aragon shook her head. “Something else.” She said. She fell silent for a moment, gears in her head visibly turning, then spoke up again, “Do you think you can’t explain what happened on prom night is because what happened wasn’t natural?”

Mulaney raised his eyebrows, which seemed to offend Catalina. She leaned forward against the table and set her jaw.

“Two weeks ago, I saw a steel desk move across the floor without anyone touching it.” She told him. “Five inches. I measured. Joan Seymour was in the room when it happened.”

“Two hundred and thirty-four people died, and you’re trying to sell me on some Weekly World News headlines?” Mulaney said.

Anger flashed in Catalina’s eyes and, for a moment, she looked like she wanted to leap across the table and jam her thumbs into Mulaney’s eyes.

“I don’t need you to tell me how many people died,” She growled. “Half of them were kids I saw every day.”

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Miss Aragon. I am.” Mulaney said. “But--what exactly are you implying here?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just giving you the facts. I might as well tell you it was poltergeists.”

“But you don’t believe that?”

“No.”

“You think it was Joan Seymour?”

“Yes. I do.”

Mulaney studied her, looking her up and down, but the ex-coach didn’t appear to be lying. She believed what she said, despite how absurd it was.

“What exactly did you see on prom night?” He asked.

“I was hanging from an air vent pissing my pants, trying not to get electrocuted.” Catalina spat bluntly. “I didn’t see anything.”

------

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

------

Aragon saw Katherine Howard on the way out of the police department. They were both leaving their interrogations at the same time and stopped like deer in headlights to gawk at each other for a long moment. Then, Katherine ducked her head, almost in an apologetic, truce-like gesture and walked to her car.

It was always strange to see students outside of school, but it was even stranger now that Aragon had quit.

Holbein understood when Aragon emailed him saying she was going to resign, although she doesn’t think it was entirely for the reasons he assumed. The decision wasn’t so much for her own mental health, even though it has taken quite a beating since the Black Prom, but more on the “this is what’s right” and “I can’t go on in this profession” aspect.

Hundreds of children died under her watch. She was only able to get out thirteen. She felt like she failed as a teacher.

Most of them deserved to die, she knew they did, but the fact that so many lives were lost with her there acting as their chaperone, guardian, protector ate away at her mind.

She would rather kill herself than ever teach again.

Aragon walked to her car and just sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, for several minutes. She looked up at the sky, which was grey and rumbling like a fire breathing dragon. It would rain soon. Even Mother Nature herself was trying to wash away the tragedy.

Aragon still remembered the first time she saw Joan Seymour.

At the beginning of the year, two years ago, it had just been another name among many on her class rosters. Several of her teacher friends told her good luck when she told them about how she got the “strange little religious girl” in her class, and she thought she really needed it. At the time, she hadn’t actually ever met Joan or even seen her for that matter, but from the rumors she heard, the girl brought trouble wherever she went. She thought that year was going to be a hellfest of religious warbling and being told she was a sinner. And then the first day came and she was calling attendance, and heard the tiniest voice say “here” when she came to the final name on the list.

Joan Seymour was like a starved lamb in a pack of wolves- prey that was being left around to be messed with by her peers. She was everything Aragon wasn’t expecting and so much more. She could see so much light in her, beneath all the walls she had put up around herself, so much room to be loved.

Aragon wondered what happened to that light.

She remembered when the maternal instincts hidden inside of her first flared up. It was November of her first year with Joan Seymour. The gym class was a mix between all grade levels, with Year 10’s like Joan and Year 12’s like Anne Boleyn and Year 11’s like Bessie Blount, and--

And there was a scream.

Now, Catalina de Aragon had heard screaming before. In Year 13 of high school, she vividly remembers watching a school rugby game and one of the players from the other team, she believed they were the Pumas if her memory was correct, broke his arm so savagely it almost looked like it was on backwards. He had dropped to the ground in a blur of black and maroon, bellowing in agony, and at the time Aragon had thought that it was the worst sound she would ever hear in her entire life.

And then she heard the ricochet of a cry rattle from the girl’s locker room, so loud that she could hear it from outside in the gym, and the first place spot for “Worst Noise She’s Ever Heard” was quickly snatched away from the football player.

He had screamed. But not like this.

This scream was piercing, bloodcurdling, and memory-haunting, and it only got worse when Aragon charged into the locker room, leaving a gaggle of wide-eyed students already dressed out behind in startled shock.

Opening the door and passing through the doorway was like coming out of water in the midst of a war- the scream suddenly became ten times louder and much more ear-splitting. She actually had to clamp her hands over her ears and stop her forward stride to shudder in pain at the intensity of the noise that made her feel like she was going deaf. What could very possibly be 140 to 150 decibels of volume jammed its way directly into her eardrums, stabbing over and over and over again until a ringing was sent jangling through her skull like the aftermath of an explosion.

To be in the same room as such an outburst of agony, so close to the cause of deafening distress, was so much more bone-chilling than listening to it from stadium bleachers.

Aragon staggered forward, pulling her hands away from her ears and crossing the corridor threshold into the open space of lockers. There, her current class was huddled in a group of abstract horror around one row, eyes so wide they were nearly popping out of sockets and shaking in abject pant-pissing fear. Aragon wasn’t quite sure who looked more terrified: them, Caroline Casey holding a can of pepper spray, or Joan Seymour frenzying around with her hands over her face, screeching.

“WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?” Aragon roared over the commotion, and everyone except Joan whirled around to face her with ogling bug eyes. They apparently hadn’t heard her come in over the noise. Joan keened again, a loud, drawn-out sound like the cry of a crow being gutted alive.

“Sh-she--” One girl tried to say, but the words got stuck in her throat when she glanced back at Joan writhing, slamming into the lockers, and scratching desperately at her face.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” Aragon demanded.

“I--got startled.” Caroline choked out.

“Is that PEPPER SPRAY?!” Aragon shouted.

Caroline looked down at the canister in her hand as if it were an active bomb and suddenly appeared very sick. She doesn’t answer- she can’t. She’s shocked into silence.

“WHY do you even HAVE IT at SCHOOL?!” Aragon bellowed. Her eyes are wide now, too, as she put the pieces together.

“I’m sorry!” Helen said.

Joan wailed tumultuously. She dropped to the ground, screaming helplessly at the ceiling and squirming like she was trying to wriggle out of her own skin. Her hands are still fervently clawing at her eyes as if she were trying to scoop them out of their sockets, and there’s spots of red mixed in with the translucent sheen of pepper spray spattered across her pale face. Aragon quickly pushed Caroline aside, practically throwing the other girls out of the way to get to the panicking student rolling on the floor.

“Joan! Joan!” Aragon called over the screaming. Joan doesn’t appear to hear her- she just continued to caterwaul and claw like a burning black cat. “Johanna Seymour!” Not even that got through to her, and if it did, it only made her even more distressed. “Joan!!”

Aragon finally grabbed the girl by the wrists and yanked her hands away. Without the spindly fingers itching incessantly, she could see her reddened face, gashed skin, and eyes filled with blood.

“Oh my god,” Someone from behind, Susanne Young, maybe, muttered.

“IT HURTS!!” Joan’s screams have finally morphed into words, and Aragon isn’t sure which was worse because the screams may have been nightmare-inducing, but the words were like a punch to the stomach with a spiked iron gauntlet. They come out hoarse and high pitched, vowels stretched out in whines and keens of pain, and Aragon’s heart clenched tightly in her chest when they reach her ears. “IT HURTS!! IT BURNS!!!!”

Joan writhed beneath Aragon, flailing her arms in the grip that holds them. Her moon silver eyes are upturned in their puckered sockets, saturating in blood, and the whites weren’t even white anymore, rather an awful crimson color with throbbing scarlet veins lacing through them like smoldering snakes. The shredded, bloody eyelids soon slam shut and remain shut, swelling so badly that Joan was temporarily blinded, and that makes her panic even harder.

“It burns! It burns! IT BURNS!!!” Joan screeched. Her voice became garbled after her final cry and she dissolved into body-breaking coughs that manage to rock Aragon’s own frame from where she’s crouched over her.

“What do we do?!” Another girl, Silvia Lewis, yawped. She flinched backwards in fright into the arm-locked duo of Katy Yu and Eliza Carroll when Aragon whipped her head around to her, dark brown eyes flashing like jagged ebony stalactites in flickering firelight.

“NOW you care?” Aragon snarled, loading her voice with as much venom as possible. “Now you care about her? When she’s been fucking pepper sprayed?”

All the girls flinch this time. It’s obvious that they’ve never been cussed at by a teacher before, and it gives Aragon just a tiny swell of pleasure. But then Joan sobbed audibly again and it’s replaced with seething rage.

“It- it was an accident!” Amy Harding tried to defend. “R-really! Caroline didn’t know!”

“Oh really?” Aragon said. “I’m sure spraying a kid with fucking pepper spray, which shouldn’t even be brought to school, by the way, is really easy to do om accident!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anne Boleyn clench her jaw and she rounded on her. “Do you have something you want to say, Boleyn?”

Anne opened her mouth as if to snark, took one look at Joan’s bloody, burned face, and realized this was not something her father could fix with his lawyer status. Even if she told him that Joan had snapped at her, he would have to agree that being pepper sprayed for it was much, much worse. She grit her teeth and looked away.

“It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” Joan wept. Aragon looked back down at her and felt a sharp stab of guilt when she realized how much time she had wasted scolding the other girls when she should have been treating Joan.

“It’s okay, Joan,” She told her softly, smoothing down the barbs and thorns in her voice until it’s more like warm honey or silken velvet. “It’s okay… You’re going to be okay.”

Joan’s lolling head froze in its process of sweeping back and forth across the scuffed locker room tile. Her brow twitched and her eyelids flutter like she was trying to open them but can’t, and only bloody tears are able to squeeze their way out of the scrunched up sockets. She ‘looked’ in the direction of Aragon’s voice, lips quivering.

“M-Miss Aragon?” She whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, it’s me, Joan. It’s just me.” Aragon moved to hold both wrists in one hand and used the other to brush Joan’s cheek tenderly--which was instantly the wrong thing to do because she grazed over a spatter of pepper spray and tiny burning teeth latched onto her fingers and began eating away at her flesh. She bit back a hiss of discomfort to avoid stressing out Joan even more. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“It hurts,” Joan sobbed. Her eyes screwed shut even tighter, like she thought that it may help block out the pain. “I-it hurts, Miss Aragon. M-make it stop!”

“I will, Joan, don’t worry,” Aragon assured her. “Just take deep breaths for me. Can you do that? Deep breaths, sweetheart.” She swiveled her head around to the group of quavering onlookers. Caroline backed up behind Lidia Peterson and Penny Spencer when her glaring eyes skim by, still white-knuckling the canister of pepper spray. “Bessie.”

Bessie Blount jolted, but raised her head in an obedient, listening way.

“Make yourself useful and get a bottle of water and a rag from the showers. Wet it.” Aragon ordered.

Bessie nodded, but didn’t dare speak up. She scurried off, clipping her shoulder on one of the lockers and tottering sideways for a moment before regaining her balance and continuing with her task. Aragon can hear her tinker with the padlock of her locker in another row, open the door, pull something out, and then hurry into the bathroom area without fully closing the door. She stopped listening after hearing the running water of a sink to glower at the rest of the girls.

“Get to class.” She said coldly.

The girls exchanged glances. They seem surprised that they hadn’t been struck dead or something (although Aragon really, REALLY wanted to do so). Then, they disperse without another warning, with Caroline hightailing it out the door first. Bessie returned shortly after with a folded, pulpy paper towel that drips water on the floor and a water bottle. She looked down at Joan as she passed them over and Aragon saw that she was genuinely concerned.

“Is she...going to be okay?” She asked.

Aragon was conflicted- she wanted to say yes to make them all feel better, but she really didn’t know. Joan had rubbed her eyes viciously enough to smear the pepper spray further into her sockets and the open cuts she carved into her skin was probably exposed to any lingering residue, too, which would only deepen her anguish. But she didn’t want to say no either because that would just induce panic, so instead she just said, “I’ll take care of her.”

Bessie seemed to catch her avoidance of the question by the pinch at her brow and frown on her lips, but she just nodded instead of pointing it out, much to Aragon’s relief.

“Okay,” She said. She cast one more glance at Joan, who appeared to be trying to figure out where she was, then turned around, gathered her belongings, and walked out.

“Okay, Joan,” Aragon looked down at her student. “I’m going to pour some water over your eyes, okay? Just keep breathing for me. You’re doing so good.”

Joan whimpered. She jolted when the contents of the water bottle were poured over her face, crying out in shock and pain, and a light bulb overhead shattered in millions of burgeoning pieces. Aragon jumped and looked up at it, then back down at Joan, who was now panting and wheezing heavily.

“H-hurts to b-b--reathe,” She uttered.

“Oh, Joan…” Aragon murmured. She carefully wiped away the pepper spray residue on Joan’s face with the paper towel, finding that the girl’s skin was suddenly very cold. Her breathing wasn’t normal anymore. She can feel her heartbeat thump heavily beneath her flesh; it’s too fast for even someone in the midst of a panic attack.

Something was sizzling in Joan Seymour’s skin, and it wasn’t just the pepper spray.

There’s a clamor from the front of the locker room- Aragon’s next period class started to bustle inside to change out before their minimal time limit was up. Aragon jumped up, causing Joan to whimper in distress at the loss of her presence, and stormed to the entrance corridor. The girls inside stopped, easily picking up that she was on edge, and took a small step back in near-perfect synchronization.

“You don’t have to change out today.” Aragon said hurriedly. “Or do anything. Just sit in the gym and do whatever. As long as you don’t kill each other or set something on fire, I really don’t care what you do.”

The girls blink and exchange looks.

“Everything okay?” One asked.

“Fine.” Aragon said, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back. Her posture nearly faltered and crumbled when she heard Joan whimper again. “Go on. Out!”

The girls obeyed, quickly exiting in a flurry of binders and backpacks. Once they’re all gone, Aragon hurried back to Joan, who was trying to get up. She yelped and flinched so badly she knocked herself back over when Aragon touched her shoulder, and another light in the first aisle of lockers popped and fizzed out.

“It’s just me, Joan.” Aragon said. “It’s Miss Aragon.”

“Miss Aragon,” Joan repeated to herself in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“That’s right,” Aragon nodded, although she knew Joan couldn’t see it. “Joan, I’m going to help you stand up and we’re going to walk over to the showers, okay? The water bottle isn’t working as well as I had hoped. Running water will help flush out your eyes better.” She gently touched Joan’s face and she ‘looked’ up at her. “It’ll make it hurt less.”

Joan nodded. She grit her teeth as she’s helped to her feet, staggering, but staying upright. A jewel of blood welled up from a scratch dividing her left eyebrow in two and lazily made its way down her face. She twitched when it tickled her skin and she reached up to swipe it away, but Aragon snatched her hand before she could make contact. Joan jumped and instantly tried to jerk away.

“Don’t touch your face.” Aragon scolded lightly. “It’ll only make the burning worse.”

Joan swallowed thickly, but didn’t say anything. She just nodded silently and obeyed.

The short walk to the bathroom and shower area was much clumsier than it should have been, with Joan stumbling over her ankles and hitting every outcrop of lockers, even with Aragon guiding her. Lack of sight was numbing her senses and making it hard to listen. Aragon didn’t ever get mad at her, though; blindness, even temporary blindness, would make her a complete nervous, bumbling wreck, too.

“M-Miss Aragon?” Joan croaked as Aragon cranked the nozzle to a middle-row shower. She turned her head in the direction of the sound of spraying water.

“Yes?” Aragon gently touched her shoulder to let her know she was there. “I’m right here, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” Joan whispered.

Aragon’s heart sunk into her stomach. Oh, Joan, please please don’t--

“I-I didn’t mean to.”

A wave of guilt slammed into Aragon, alongside a rumbling riptide of pure rage that roiled through her insides like a storm at sea. She clenched her teeth until she thought they may shatter and wished that she had exacted punishment on all those girls, especially Caroline, instead of sending them to their next class to deal with them later.

“I’m sorry,” Joan said again, this time much more choked up. Her skin was frigid cold. “M-Miss Aragon?” She reached up a blind hand and lightly touched Aragon’s, which she must have forgotten was on her shoulder. She grabbed it in a way that sent shockwaves of desperation up Aragon’s arm. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, Joan.” Aragon said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Okay,” Joan said, but Aragon knew she didn’t believe it. She lowered her voice and rasped out, “It really, really hurts…”

“Come on,” Aragon lowered Joan to her knees and tilted her into the warm rain of water shooting from the showerhead. She lifted her chin so the spray would directly hit her face. “There we go... Good girl.”

Joan took a deep breath, spitting out water. Streams ran red when they touched her numerous cuts and the blood oozing from her tightly shut eyes turned into puffing clouds of crimson along her cheeks, but at least everything was getting flushed out.

Aragon risked getting wet when she reached over and began to rub soothing circles against Joan’s back. She swore the girl arched her spine into her touch, exhaling a soft sigh of relief--or maybe contentment. She wasn’t quite sure, but at least it wasn’t a sad or angry sigh, although Joan had every reason to be sad and/or angry.

“It felt like a hot knife.”

Joan’s rough, husky voice jarred Aragon out of her thoughts. Silence had descended upon the two of them for about five minutes, the only sound being the hiss of the overhead faucet and the low creak of pipes. Aragon blinked a haze of black spots out of her vision; her hand was still on Joan’s back, no longer rubbing, but the fingers were still grazing up and down tenderly, with the thumb gliding in soothing strokes.

“Or a fire poker. Like the ones you use for fireplaces.”

“What?” Aragon said.

Joan craned her neck to look at her, and her eyes were open. They were reddish-blue-silver jewels in a nest full of restless red snakes. Trails of water cascading over her face cause the dozens of cuts around the sockets to glow in hues of neon pink and burning scarlet. She tilted her head at Aragon.

“When I got sprayed,” She specified. “And you know what I thought when it happened?”

“What?” Aragon said again, this time with dread pooled in the pit of her stomach like a dark oil spill.

“‘Thank God,’” Joan said. A small, weak smile twitched at the corner of her lips and she looked down at her hands, where bits of her flesh still clung beneath her nails. “I wasn’t angry. Or upset. It did hurt, though. Really badly. But after everything--after everything I’ve been through--” Her arms dropped limply to her sides and she turned her head back to Aragon. “It felt good to not have to see.”

Aragon was silent. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror.

How could a child think like that? How could they be treated so poorly that they have to think like that?

“I’ve never been blinded before,” Joan went on, musing her words like she didn’t realize how traumatic they were. She lifted a hand and gently touched one eye, as if she were reminding herself that it was still there. “It was--scary. Really scary. I’m--used to darkness, but--that was different. It wasn’t black, but really, really bright. So bright my head started to hurt--still hurts--and there were these flashes of color and it all mixed together into this big mess. But still-” She shifted on her knees, sloshing water around her. “I thought that not seeing anymore would make things better. Somehow. Maybe then I would be pathetic enough for people to leave me alone.” Her eyes gleam; Joan is crying. “But it wouldn’t end up being like that, would it? I’m never granted such mercy.” She flicked the water around her bitterly, then had to scrunch her eyes shut again when the pain registered again.

“Were you--” Joan cocked her head in the direction of Aragon’s head to let her know that she was listening. Aragon’s hand on her back clenched a fistful of soggy pale yellow sweater. “Are you happy?”

“Now?”

“Ever.”

Joan ‘looked’ up at the ceiling like she was deep in thought, and Aragon already had her answer.

Fury bubbled in Aragon’s stomach, while pity and grief squeezed her heart to the point of nearly bursting apart. It wasn’t fair. It was so unfair for a child to have to live like this.

Joan had tipped her head down and apparently stopped thinking by the time Aragon was finished stewing in anger and conflict. And that’s when Aragon realized that Joan didn’t look even a little angry or conflicted. Or upset or sorrowful or anguished or vengeful.

She just looked tired.

Not just tried, though- Jaded.

“How are your eyes?” Aragon asked.

Joan gently touched one. “They still burn. Badly. But not as bad as before.”

“Yeah, they’re probably going to hurt for awhile.” Aragon frowned. She cupped Joan’s cheeks, which felt so hollow and sunken beneath her fingers, and she cradled her head. “Can you open your eyes, honey? So I can see them?”

Joan struggled, but managed to pry open her eyelids and keep them open for Aragon to inspect. They were bloodshot and definitely looked like they were hurting, but at least they weren’t bleeding anymore. Aragon gently stroked her thumb across her cheekbone.

“Maybe I’m not happy,” Joan blurted.

The memory cut out abruptly, any other voices of remnant fading away, and Aragon finally accepted that Joan was right. She wasn’t happy, and Aragon began to worry if she ever really was in her entire life.

Aragon leaned back in her seat and rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She sniffled, but willed herself not to cry. She just--

She tried so hard to help that poor child. She didn’t want to believe that Joan was really as broken as she seemed, that she still had a chance of recovering, but she finally came to terms that not everyone can be saved. Joan was too far gone for Aragon to pull her out of the blackhole she was stuck in. But maybe if she had just tried a little harder, if she checked on her more often, if she did something sooner-- Maybe things wouldn’t be the way they were now.

Maybe Joan would still be here.

But it didn’t matter anymore. Joan, several of her teacher friends, and hundreds of her students were dead, and nothing was going to bring them back.

Aragon sighed and finally buckled her seatbelt and got to driving. She had to get to her house to start packing. She was going back home to Spain, to her family, and find a job there. Perhaps the memories of the Black Prom will be less crushing when she was so far away from the site of the massacre, but she doubted it. Trauma never died.

------

Water.

Water was what the air in and around this part of the city smelled like the most.

It was in the deep, earthen musk of the damp soil that lay beneath the lush, dew-soaked grass.

It was in the marshy fumes, sometimes sulfurous, sometimes sickly-sweet, of the patches of hidden swamp that lay in wait for unsuspecting feet.

It was in the carpets of fallen leaves that hid hollows between the tree roots, where pools could collect and play host to all things that crawled or squirmed through the wet.

It was in the very forest itself, coating wet leaves and bleeding from the dark, pulpy wood of the gnarled, old trees.

There was nothing dry about this place.

Fog, ghostly-grey and creeping on silent feet, drifted in low wisps over the crumbled and cold earth, painting the normally-stark outlines of the trees so pale that they faded into the sky rather than stood boldly against it. The mist had dissipated somewhat since anyone had last passed through this particular stretch of rarely-visited meadow, but not by much. Hours, though, or perhaps a day before, it had been as oppressive and thick as cold clam chowder.

Now it was slowly thinning out, listlessly lacking the eerie, almost lifelike malevolence with which it had pressed in upon the very soul before. There was a certain…uncertainty about the way it was hovering now, no longer pouring into every little hollow and alcove like milk over cereal. It was just there.

There, in a sort of in-between way. Lingering.

All was still, and--save for the rhythmic pitter-patter of falling rain--all was silent as well.

Except for herself, of course.

It was movement in the stillness that preceded the first disruption of the tranquility of the forest; the silk-thin web of drifting mist that hung in the air like lace slowly began to slide forward, rolling away from her feet like a translucent white carpet, perhaps in front of some ghostly noble attending an afterlife celebration in their name. Right from the Black Prom, her movement through this strange, still world, which her life had become, had felt alien and out of place, but it had never felt that way more than right now.

With each footstep, a narrow patch of soggy grass pressed down and sent a miniature pool of moisture bubbling up around the edges of her boots and in through invisible gaps in the leather, oozing into her already-saturated socks and settling in icy little pools in the dips where her toes went, setting the blisters on the skin alight with fresh pain. If her feet hadn’t already been numb from the wet and cold, she might have cared more. But everything from her toes to her feet and the soaked leather that clung stiffly to them was in no shape to feel anything but the dull warning sting of oncoming pins and needles.

Besides, Bessie had other things on her mind right now.

Like how it was said that the school was being shut down for an undetermined amount of time to repair what had been charred.

Like how she heard that Miss Aragon had quit and wouldn’t be teaching ever again.

Like how lifting her feet from the indents they made in the muddy undergrowth kept on getting harder and harder to do. Her legs felt heavier with each step and the little grassy pools made squelchy noises of protest, sucking hungrily at her feet each time they left the earth. Behind her in the grass, there was a long trail of tiny shoe-shaped lakes, like murky little grey-green cousins of the ones she would see when she would take trips out to the bay.

Like what had happened just three weeks before.

There was a clank-CLONK and a gentle patter as droplets of condensation came raining down from where they’d collected on the bars of the cemetery gate. There was no real latch, so she just pushed it open. There had been one once, but it had rusted away under the perpetual wet.

…Or maybe it hadn’t.

The gate’s movement ground to a halt after a mere few inches, hindered by tufts of almost-oily grass which had been allowed to grow out of control around the edges of the compound for what had probably been years. They snagged on the metal almost as though they were alive, gripping its frame with the sort of desperation one normally only saw from a particularly needy child clinging to its mother’s arm while she was on her way to work.

A half-hearted hiss of frustration escaped her as the gate’s creaking cut off. She clenched sore and swollen fingers around the wet bars, feeling flakes of rust and ancient, now-colorless paint crumble away and stick to her fingertips, which the condensation in the air had turned pruny and pale pink, like anemic raisins. When further shoving only yielded that rubbery, elastic sound that wet wild grass sometimes got, she let out a puff of air and gave up for the moment, leaning in to rest her forehead against the cool metal as she slouched, peering through the bars at the army of tombstones lined up within. She was so close to relief and salvation and maybe even a little bit of closure, and a damn hunk of metal was standing in her way.

Bessie tried one more time, desperation straining through her pulls, but she gave up when the flowers in her hands were nearly crumpled in her attempt. She would have to go around through the front, much to her dismay.

Nothing was worse than visiting a cemetery on a rainy, gloomy day. That was why she had been trying to get in through a backdoor in the first place; she didn’t want to pound her abysmally low mental health further into the ground by being seen by people when she entered, even though it was a perfectly normal thing to do. A lot of people were going to the cemetery lately, anyway. But never had she thought she would be one of the mourners.

The gatekeeper looked almost suspicious when she shambled up to the wide gothic front gate, and she didn’t really blame him. She didn’t have an umbrella, she was whiteknuckling a handful of flowers like her life depended on it, and her shoes were covered in so much mud that it looked like she had just been dredged out of a mudslide. But, then again, most people who visit a cemetery in the rain must all take on such an appearance in some way, so he shook off the expression on his face and asked for the plot number of the grave being visited. Bessie told him, he checked to make sure she was telling the truth and not just trying to get in to grave rob or something, and then opened the gate. Bessie thanked him and stepped inside the cemetery.

And, like that, all the strength was drained out of her body. It was the same sensation she felt when she was crawling through the air vents to escape the school, a coagulated sense of shell-shock that was like having the flu. After the night of the Black Prom, small physical tasks that she would have normally have found easy took everything out of her, like how taking a simple step forward was right now.

Though it’s steadily getting better, or so she likes to tell herself, the ordeal has scarred her. In a close community like this, there’s no escaping it. The tragedy hit all of Oxford hard. A lot of the kids who died were well-liked in the city, it didn’t matter if they picked on some poor religious outcast. They still--died.

God...

Bessie will never survive it if she can’t find a way to put the Black Prom deaths in the past where they belong. It would be devastating if she sank any further into the pit this disaster has left behind. It’s not like she was embraced by the student body of Kingston High as much as Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard in the first place, but she, like the other thirteen survivors (counting Miss Aragon) had gone from being someone who was just there like everyone else, living a day-to-day life to a full-blown pariah. Nobody said recovering from being one of just a few survivors of a large massacre would be easy, but at this point she’s just hoping that it’s even possible.

Strange, how she can live her entire life in one place and take it for granted just to have it turn on her so completely. The shops, the woods, the school, the park, her house, Main Street--these places that she grew up in haven’t changed on the outside, but now they all just feel so empty when they’re missing two hundred and thirty-four teenage bodies mulling around them.

The loss is visceral, as if something vital was ripped out of her body when they died and the wound was still fresh. If she’s feeling this way, it must be unimaginable for the families.

Bessie began to walk down the stone pavement that was clean of any weeds that may grow in between the rocks, leaving muddy footprints in her wake. There were only a few people in the cemetery, all with fitting black umbrellas, as if the dark color was a mandatory dress code for grave-visiting. Most of them didn’t look up at her as she passed by, but one glanced over and seemed to recognize her as one of the survivors of the Black Prom. The woman’s nose wrinkled and she snapped her head back down, blinking back a furious wave of tears.

Bessie had never thought she would be a survivor of a massacre, but she definitely never expected the contrasting reactions to such from other people. Most are sympathetic and are gentle with her, as if they may think the slightest thing would shatter her into pieces, while others are insanely curious and want to know everything they can, usually reigniting poorly put down trauma in the process. And then there’s those who just hated her guts. Because they were jealous. Jealous that she got out alive and not their son or daughter, sister or brother, best friend or boyfriend or girlfriend. They didn’t think it was fair, and it definitely wasn’t fair to Bessie to be treated this way. But, in a way, she felt the same way they felt, wondering why she of all people had to live and not somebody much more important.

Her knees felt weak by the time she almost reached her destination and she thought she may black out before she even got there, but then she noticed something that made her sober up instantly from her daze.

The Seymour tombstone.

It was upright, like most of the tombstones in the cemetery, stretched out to fit two names, and was a plain grey color. There was a black cross etched at the top and had no flowers surrounding the base, unlike all the other graves.

HERE LIES

JANE R. SEYMOUR

1972-2020

JOHANNA M. SEYMOUR

2005-2020

MAY GOD SAVE THEIR WICKED SOULS

That was what was written upon the granite. It seemed even the creator of the stone knew about the Seymour family’s damnation.

Someone was standing in front of the tombstone. Bessie blinked her eyes rapidly, as if she thought she were seeing a ghost, then slowly walked up beside the person.

A long silence descended upon the two of them, neither speaking or acknowledging the other’s presence. Glancing over, Bessie could see tassels of short reddish-brown-blonde hair around the black umbrella they were holding over their head at an angle.

“Did you know her?” The stranger asked. Their voice, tinged with what Bessie believed was a Danish accent, cut through the mist and fog and rain, taking Bessie by surprise.

“Yeah.” Bessie replied. “We went to school together.”

The stranger nodded slowly, not looking at Bessie. Their gaze was fixed on the tombstone with intense curiosity.

“Did you?”

They shook their head. “Not personally. By word of mouth.” They said. “Kind of hard to not know Oxford’s resident psycho.” They chuckled harshly.

Bessie grimaced. A tidal wave of guilt came crashing down on her when Joan was referred to in such a way. It reminded her of all that she had done to the girl and all that she had said. And for what? Clout? Attention from the popular kids? An excuse not to hate herself because as long as she puts someone else down then she won’t be the most pathetic piece of garbage in the school? A reason to forget, even if it was just for a few hours at a time, that she was her mother’s unwanted aborted afterbirth gratuitously carved out of an abyss of awful red placenta, shaped into a human being with too bleached hair and too much of a passion to be accepted and too many feelings?

No reason could justify what she’s done.

What did it cost to be kind?

“Yeah,” Bessie muttered, and her tongue felt like it was made of lead. She had to get to her destination now.

But first--she snapped off one of the flowers in her bouquet and placed it on Joan Seymour’s side of the grave. Curious hazel eyes followed her momentarily as she staggered away.

She walked and walked, slower and slower as she got closer to her destination: she doesn’t want to be there alone, she doesn’t want to accept that it happened, and that there was no one waking her up and telling her that it’s all a nightmare. But she’s there and, for a moment, her breath gets caught in her throat, a bundle of emotions that are finally finding their strength to come up and be heard.

She doesn’t want to be there.

But then, finally, she was.

It was a kerbed headstone, upright with a bed of marble stretching out for flowers and other offerings to the dead, which was already loaded with various flowers and a few small trinkets. The tomb was ebony black and embedded with tiny flecks of silver quartz that looked like sparkling stars in a clear night sky. Carved out in gold lettering, the bearer of the tomb was written out:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF

ANNA VON CLEVES

SEPTEMBER 22, 2002

MAY 28th, 2020

A wonderful Daughter, Sister, and Friend

It was hard to divide up her grief, when Bessie had so many people to mourn--her peers, her teachers, her friends most of all, even Joan in a way.

But losing Anna, though...most days, that was the worst of all.

“Hey, Anna,” She said, and her voice broke almost instantly. The tears came fast, pricking like hot needles in her eyes and cascading down over her cheeks before she could even try to blink them away. “I brought you some things.”

She brandished the red flowers to the tombstone, as if Anna were actually perched on top of it, smiling at her and looking excited over the gift.

“They’re gladioluses.” Bessie told the tomb. “They--they symbolize strength.” She swallowed thickly, biting back the lump welling up in her throat. “They reminded me of you.”

She tentatively set the flowers on the rim of the black marble bed. Her fingers fumbled together for a moment, then began pulling something else out.

“I also brought you this,” She said. “I know--I know you always liked it. You would always touch it because it was soft when you would come over, so I--I thought you would want it.”

She set a tan dog stuffed animal with big floppy ears on the front of the marble bed. She realized her hands were shaking when she pulled her arms back and swallowed hard again.

“I--” The words caught in her throat. She scratched at her neck with one finger, trying to muster up the will to speak. “I was thinking--about dyeing my hair red. In memory of you. I hope you don’t think that’s weird.” She paused, took a breath, then went on, forcing out a giggle alongside her sentence, “I’m probably gonna look really silly though.” And then, much quieter, wringing her hands together, “I wish you were here to do it with me.”

Silence fell upon the girl and the grave. The stuffed dog’s fur was starting to grow damp and dark from the drizzling mist. Bessie kept her eyes closed for a long moment, praying to a god she didn’t even really believe in. Her hands were clasped tight and she brought them to her stomach, imagining what it would be like to find absolution in a blade. She would plunge and drag and drag and drag until there was nothing left of her but shredded flesh and blood, but that would not be enough, not for her. It would not give her her friend back. It would not give her the shouts and the laughs and the boisterous cries at all hours of the morning and night. That was not what Anna would have done if it had been Bessie that had been stabbed and burned in that gym instead.

But she wasn't as strong as Anna.

Bessie didn’t really realize exactly how loud she was crying until her shaking breath hitched so high it sounded like a squeak. She blinked through the haze of tears and scrubbed her eyes with her sleeve, but the merciless flow did not stop.

A little brown bird landed on a grave nearby and fluffed out its wet wings. A grazing deer on the other side of the tall black fence was munching contently on some wild flowers, not at all concerned about or aware of the grief going on just a few yards away. Some type of bug was buzzing in the grass somewhere from behind. The person at the Seymour tombstone finally turned and walked out of the cemetery.

Looking around at this all, Bessie was shocked by how the world kept running and running while hers had stopped its run not so long ago.

The summer leaves are dancing around her, whisked from the towering oak trees by the foggy gales and sent into a whirling axis in the sky. A humidly warm, but also bone-chillingly cold breeze was trying to offer a comfort that seemed to be invisible and impalpable. There can’t be comfort. There can’t be reassurance. The pain is still too loud, the wound is still too raw: her heart and her soul aren’t ready to accept that there was a reason for what has happened; her mind was still trying to distinguish between reality and fantasy, between the soothing effect of a false illusion and the harsh truth of a world deprived by its most beautiful voice.

“Why?” She wondered but there was only pattering raindrops and whisking nature replying to her, and that lack of words is an absence that stings more than she can accept.

“Why?”

She had wondered for too long but still nothing has come up and maybe it will never be answered because sometimes life is like that, a storm in the middle of a summer day and its lingering residue following her for weeks and months. Maybe one day she’ll stop asking herself that but, for now, it’s just all she can think about, over and over again.

It doesn’t make sense.

Nothing makes sense and it has been like that since she saw the sight, just a few flashes of images on a stage, blood and a pipe and a collapsing body, that had stumbled down her life and shattered it. She can still see them behind her eyes, she can still feel the way her own heart had stopped beating as a black void started to envelop her. She still felt like she’s down there, trapped in a nightmare that no one knows how to stop or break.

It doesn’t make sense.

There was regret in her body language. There was a baggage full of words that should have been said and things that she should have done. Maybe, if she had done them, nothing would have ever happened. Or, maybe if she hadn’t done anything at all in the first place.

Bessie wished she could go back in time. She wished there was a way for her to erase all those tiny mistakes she’s made, all those times she wanted to reach out but, instead, turned her head away because it still hurt. Her friendship, her best friend was--is still--the most important thing in her life and, yet, she let it slip away in fear of what the world would have said if she had confessed how she truly felt. Her image was everything and, yet, what is left now? There’s no image to defend, there’s nothing left because Anna’s death has destroyed everything.

So she wishes. She wonders and wishes that there was a way for her to save just a few lives.

Their lives.

Her life.

There are still tears in her eyes. She wanted to believe it’s because of the weather and the wind but it’s just a useless alibi. She lets them fall, not ashamed anymore because there was no one around to watch her. But she felt like a hypocrite, she felt like she didn't have the right to cry that loss because she could have done so much to prevent Anna’s absence.

To prevent her death.

She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many times people keep telling her that she’s done nothing to cause the incident. She knew it’s the truth, no matter how many people try to explain how, sometimes, she can’t save everyone. That bad things just happen to good people.

“I’m sorry.”

She knew it’s too late.

She knew that it’s useless because Anna’s not there to hear that word.

Maybe she’s listening, like Miss Aragon had said to her during Anna’s funeral. Maybe she’s been watching her down from heaven, because that’s where she is now, along with all her other friends who perished in the fires, those tortured souls hidden behind a smile and an endless laugh. She remembered it. She remembered how Maria’s sweet voice always went directly to her heart and pulled strings that never hurt. She remembered how Maggie’s laugh made her feel better, especially those days when the world was so set on destroying her balance and sanity. She remembered how Anna’s face would light up when she walked into Mr. Stephens’s class every morning, bright eyes that shone like daily stars. But, most of all, she was addicted to Anna’s voice, Anna’s laugh, Anna’s smile and eyes. She craved Anna’s everything in ways that were so deep and powerful that, after a while, she stopped asking herself what magic they held. So she turned to Anna, she made Anna laugh over and over again because she was selfish, she was in pain and only that laugh, that smile, that voice, those eyes could save her from the deepest and darkest waves.

Regrets don’t leave Bessie, not even now that she’s standing in front of the consequences of her ignorance.

It’s her fault.

She kept telling herself it as if this admission of truth could absolve her sin. It’s her fault because she promised but it was always so easy to forget about it: there wasn’t ever the need to- she had always been the one that needed help the most in the friend group it seemed. She had always been the one fate had chosen to deal bad cards: her family, her relationships, those idiotic statements and those stupid decisions.

But then there was Anna. Anna’s comforting words, gentle touch, light hearted jokes to make her smile--the way they would just…be there and make things better in ways that were difficult to explain to the world that had never seen her in private.

Why didn’t Bessie do the same for her? Or for any of her friends?

Why didn’t Bessie come out and defend Maria when all those voices wanted a piece of her soul? Why didn’t Bessie come out and be there for Maggie, not only when those cracks in her voice were so out for everyone to hear and judge? Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that those voices weren’t true?

Why didn’t Bessie let Anna know that she was the purest soul she’s ever met?

“I’m sorry.”

Bessie was sorry. She could have done more. She could have told them more. She could have told her.

She should have known better.

Bessie should have known better, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to face the truth. She didn’t want to realize that her superhero might be needing a hero herself and she was too afraid or too busy to be up to the task.

She depended on Anna and now she’s lost.

Alone.

Bessie heard a whimper and realized it’s herself. She hiccuped and struggled to breathe for a moment. With visibly shaking hands, she fished her phone out of her pocket and unlocked it. The lock screen was her and Anna at a dog shelter they had been helping out at seven months ago.

She opened up her messaging app, smearing water across the screen in the process, and found Anna’s contact. The name was, “Anna Banana”.

Bessie: I know it’s too late, but...I just wanted to tell you that I love you.

Bessie: Don’t worry about replying.

------

George wasn’t as sad as everyone thought he was. And he understood why he should be and why they assumed such, Anne was his big sister, but Anne had also done awful things that even he couldn’t feel sorry for her bloody fate.

On the night of the Black Prom, after the horrid blood dump, he and Jane escaped by going after Anne and Cathy with Anna. After losing sight of his sister and her girlfriend, Anna said she was going to go back inside to get Joan, and that was the last time he ever saw his friend. Anna’s death messed him up more than Anne’s did.

Mother fell to the floor, screaming and crying, when the officer arrived to tell the family the news. Father became very pale white and stopped breathing for a moment. When Mary was called at college, she was silent for a long time and then stammered when she spoke. George just wore a solemn expression on his face and shook his head. He was the first to see the body, since his parents weren’t up to it, and he sighed at the mutilation in the ambulance, then told the officers what his sister had done.

The funeral was difficult. Anne had to be sewn back together, but it still didn’t look like her in the casket. The corpse seemed more like a pasty wax replica of the sister he thought he knew.

His mind has been running wild since then. So many thoughts whirled through his head. He wondered if he could have prevented what had happened, although he was doubtful. It wasn’t his fault, no matter what his brain tried to tell him. He didn’t kill the pigs, he didn’t fill the buckets, he didn’t pull the string.

It wasn’t his fault.

But still. Emotions have risen into a fever pitch. The dreary, grey weather definitely didn’t help, either. He had to get out of the house, away from Anne’s lingering presence in his home life, so he drove out to the closest beach he could access, parked on the bay, and just watched the storm for hours.

The beach reminded him of better times. Back when things weren’t as messed up as they were. Back when Anne hadn’t been such a monster.

One of his fondest memories was of when he was eleven, Anne was twelve, and Mary was thirteen. They were playing at a sparkling beach while their parents watched from underneath a rainbow umbrella, and he specifically remembered Mary meticulously digging a hole on the shoreline.

“OI!!” His oldest sister had roared from inside the giant crater. “Get you big galumphing feet out of here!”

The offender, George, peered down at her from where he was perched precariously on the edge. “I don’t even know what that word means!” he had said. “But I’ll show you what galumphing REALLY looks like!”

Anne’s head popped out from the hole at the same time as George had jumped into it. The three of them fell into a tangled tizzy, grunting and gibbering and giggling loudly like sparring puppies in a playpen. They had begun to wrestle, getting absolutely covered in wet sand.

George smiled fondly at the memory. Those were the good days. It’s a shame, he thinks, how much things have changed since then.

He sighed and turned on the windshield wipers, then leaned back into his seat, thinking.

Joan was dead, too, apparently, and that was another person he was more distraught over than his own sister. That poor girl. He really liked her and was looking forward to hanging out with her more often. Too bad it’ll never ever happen.

After that, he couldn’t get Joan out of his head, so he tried to find some closure by visiting her grave.

There was a single flower upon the mound of dirt, and George didn’t think the man standing before the tomb was the one who put it there.

“Oh-- Sorry.” George said, backing away when the man looked at him. “I was just--”

The man looked him up and down, then made a motion with his head, signaling for George to come beside him. George did.

The man was huge, with tufts of blonde hair and a big bristly beard. He wasn’t using an umbrella, but didn’t really look like he cared that he was getting wet. He studied the tombstone intently.

“You know them?” He asked in a deep, gruff voice.

“I knew Joan.” George answered honestly. “We hung out at prom together. I like to think that we were friends, even in the short amount of time we knew each other.” He shifted, bowing his head. “I hope she knew that.”

The man nodded with a rumbling humming noise.

“Did you know them?” George asked.

The man looked at George, and his eyes were a startlingly bright blue.

“In a way,” He said.

------

The smell of the ocean is salty, wet, and overpowering. After everything that had happened in the past three weeks, Katherine was convinced that this was what freedom smelled like.

After Mulaney couldn’t get anything “useful” out of her, she was switched to a new detective, Victoria Green, who was at least willing to listen to reason and rationalized her story much more than her male counterpart did. But still, all the questions and constant repetition was hellish and definitely not the birthday gift she was wishing for when she recently turned nineteen. Not that it would be easy to celebrate with such matters on her hands.

Katherine stepped out of her car fully, breathing in the fresh ocean air. Seagulls were squawking loudly from a distance, and the splashing of the waves alongside the gentle rocking of the ferry created a soothing lull that sedated the stress in her mind.

She weaved around other cars waiting to arrive at mainland Europe and walked onto the deck. Distant city lights were mere winking twinkles in the distance, and the ocean seemed like an endless roiling black abyss of tranquility. The sky was spread wide open and ran free from horizon to horizon.

After everything, it was nice to get away from it all, even for just a few hours. Even if it was just one ferry ride and a single short drive around, then back to interrogation the next day. It loosened so much tension in her body that had seemed to have her snared in a vicious bear trap.

Only a few people were on the deck, most deciding to stay in their cars, sheltered from the misty weather. There was a woman smoking on a bench, a kid gazing out at the ocean, two young children haphazardly jumping up and down to try and see any dolphins by the guard rail, and a man taking a few pictures of the city in the distance. Katherine walked over to the railing to look at the water and took in another deep breath to ease her lungs.

“It’s so beautiful,” Murmured the person to Katherine’s left. They were staring up at the sky with a wistful expression, starlight shimmering against their deep, rich brown eyes.

“It is.” Katherine agreed, nodding.

“Have you ever been on a ferry before? Because I haven’t.” The person asked, initiating small talk of sorts. It was refreshing for Katherine, so much better than the interrogation questions from the detectives and the concerned statements her family are always giving her now.

“A few times,” Katherine answered. “When my family would take trips, we would usually just ride the ferry or take the Eurotunnel because it’s cheaper than flying.” She chuckled lightly.

“If I may--” Said the person, “Where did you go? Like, on your trips?”

“France, Germany, Poland, Belarus, Norway, even Iceland! Of course, we had to fly there, though. Don’t think a ferry would go that far.” She actually managed a real laugh, despite the comment not being that funny.

“Wow,” The person said, looking starstruck. They swept their brown-red bangs out of their eyes, adjusting circular gold glasses on their freckled nose. “That sounds like so much fun.”

“It was,” Katherine smiled at the memories.

She looked back at the ocean stretched all around her. The water below was roiling, waves crashing and clapping loudly against the ferry. Something in the sea seemed agitated, Katherine could feel it. Like even nature itself knew something terrible had happened.

“It wasn’t your fault,” She whispered.

That was something Katherine kept telling herself over and over again, and she knew it was true, no matter how scared she was, no matter what any news station said. She just had to remember that, even if nobody else did.

“It wasn’t all your fault.” She said again, this time a little louder. The ocean noises and the boat blocked out most noises from listening ears, not that anyone seemed to care what she was saying.

Joan looked at her, peering out through silver eyes that were muted by dark brown contacts, but didn’t say anything. She turned her head forward again, touching and fixing her fake glasses in a nervous tick of sorts. Anxiety was written all over her face.

“I’m sorry you can’t stay in England,” Katherine said for what felt like the hundredth time. Joan told her she didn’t have to apologize the first time, but she was still so sorry. Being smuggled out of the one place she knew--it must have been so scary for Joan. And Katherine being the mastermind behind the scheme didn’t give her much peace of mind. “It’s just--” She went on, “People thinking you’re dead is sort of contingent on nobody seeing you alive.”

Katherine took it as a miracle that Joan was even alive. After the girl had gone limp in her arms, she thought all was lost, that it was over, but then the bleeding abruptly stopped and Joan’s heartbeat continued to flutter, weak, but there. Katherine then wasted no time getting her into her car and driving her to her house. Her oldest sister was a vet, so she snatched her pair of keys to the local animal hospital and broke in for the necessary supplies.

In her car, she cleaned, disinfected, stapled, and sutured Joan’s wounds with no anesthesia to the best of her ability. It was a messy and uncomfortable process for the both of them, with Katherine being confined to the cramped space of her vehicle for the amature sewing treatment and Joan getting sharp things put into her skin without any drugs to make her numb. Katherine had debated using some, but didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally killing Joan with dog sedatives when she was already barely clinging to life.

After Joan was treated, Katherine housed her in an old storage garage her family rarely ever went to, filling it with blankets and lanterns, food and water, fans and extra pairs of clothes. She knew it must have been scary and awful and painful lonely for Joan, but she had nowhere else to hide her until she got a plan, so that was where the girl stayed for three weeks. Katherine visited every day, always checking up on her little stowaway when she got the time, but it soon became apparent that neither could live like this. So that’s when Katherine created the plan to get Joan out of England.

“Where will I go?” Joan asked in a tiny voice. There was fear in her eyes; she didn’t want to be alone anymore, but they had no choice.

“I don’t know.” Katherine admitted, biting her lip. “Somewhere where they don’t know you.”

Joan nodded sadly and looked back down at the water. Katherine knew she wasn’t going to last long on her own.

“I can take you as far as Paris,” Katherine said. “But then I have to come back.” She wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

“Thank you,” Joan whispered.

Katherine quirked a tiny smile. “Come on,” She said. “Rest in the car. You’re going to need energy.”

Joan nodded and they both walked back to the car. Joan fell asleep rather quickly, leaning her head against the window and drifting off, but it wasn’t long before she suddenly jerked awake with a gasp, sweating and breathing heavily.

“Are you okay?” Katherine asked worriedly, glancing away from the road they were back to driving on.

Joan turned her head very slowly, fearfully, as if she were expecting someone else, something horrifying, to be sitting in the driver’s seat. She swallowed thickly.

“Do you need me to pull over?”

“No,” Joan whispered, her voice sounding strangled. “Sorry.” She rubbed her face with a sluggish hand, then ripped off the red-brown wig she was having to wear. Locks of white-blonde hair instantly came tumbling free down her back and shoulders.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Katherine offered.

Joan actually choked a tight laugh. “It’s dumb,” She said. “I just--had dream. About Miss Aragon.”

Katherine looked at her curiously. “Really?”

“Mhm,” Joan nodded. “We were--we were close.” She wrung her hands together like a nervous baby pangolin trying to muster up the courage to ask for food at a friend’s house. “But--in the dream she--she said that she loved me like her very own daughter.” She finally managed to say, the words wobbling out of her mouth like someone shaking them out of a bottle. “She said...she said that she was gonna--she was gonna adopt me.”

Katherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her chest suddenly felt as tight as a noose. The kind of pain that happened when you swallowed too much water at once, and it stretched and gouged all the way down through your chest like a burrowing worm.

She closed her hand tighter around the steering wheel because there was nothing else she could think of to do--like maybe if she squeezed that semi-pliable ring of rubber and cloth as hard as she could, some of the tightness and pain would bleed out of her chest. It was the only way she could bear to keep watching the young girl in the passenger’s seat beside her.

At long last, a few tears dribbled down from Joan’s contact-covered eyes and over her cheeks (which had been growing redder and redder with the effort of holding them back). She had lost the battle with her mouth, allowing the tenuous trembling to become a yank at the corners, pulling her lips into a long, fishlike downwards curve. Her voice was beginning to skip like a broken record.

“She was g--she was g-gonna adopt me…”

Katherine felt her own eyes burn and she turned to the windshield, which the rain had blurred into a muted grey painting.

Beside her, Joan spluttered and hiccuped and coughed, her chest hitching as she tried valiantly to keep speaking. But the oncoming sobs chopped her words up like vegetables under an inexperienced hand's paring knife.

“So... S-so she t-t-took me home with h-her and m-m-made me feel so s-s-special. She l-l-let me d-do things my Mama never allowed. But n-now Miss Aragon was my Mama and I was happy. For o-one in my miserable life, I was happy!”

Katherine’s hand raised upwards to cover her mouth with more force than was necessary, sending creeping threads of pain up the bridge of her nose. Her eyes had shut tight for a moment--she realized that the rain was not what was blurring her view out the windshield.

Joan was crying openly now, her face crinkled, puffy and red, glistening with tears. Her fingers were clenched tightly on either side of her, white-knuckled. There were tracks in the velvet from where her fingernails had scraped into fists. The gasping had trailed off, but in exchange, it had taken with it any semblance of composure.

“I was happy, Katherine.”

Katherine bluntly jabbed her thumb into the lid of her tender eye and her own tears erupted at last--they had just been waiting for an excuse to fall.

Joan, too, was spluttering even harder, fighting with every last bit of strength to keep from succumbing to the deep, chest-born sobs that were welling up and shaking her tiny body.

“She said she loved me. ME. N-not one of the other kids, she loved me. S-she was the o-only one who did. S-she... She was gonna adopt me…”

Katherine sniffled, swiftly wiping her eyes. Joan watched her with a deeply saddened expression, then looked out at the road ahead.

“And then--everything went wrong. Miss Aragon was dead and her blood was all over me and it was my fault.”

“She’s alive, Joan.” Katherine said, surprised at how steady her voice was. “I promise. She’s okay.”

“I know, but--” Joan shook her head, whimpering softly. The PTSD from the events of the prom set in fast for her, not that Katherine was really surprised. “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thank you.” Joan said again. “For letting me tell you that. It--it felt good. To get it out.”

Katherine smiled slightly. “I’m glad.” She reached over and gently took Joan’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Joan nodded.

“We can pick up some more clothes for you,” Katherine said, trying to switch to a more stable topic. “So you won’t have to wear the same thing all the time.”

“Clothes are good. Will I have a map?”

“I have one in the glove compartment.”

“But don’t you need it?”

“No, don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll be okay without it.”

“...I’ll make a map for myself.”

“Heh, all right. We can get some paper and pens, too.”

“Walkie-talkies. We should have those, too!”

“I’m. not sure about that.”

“Don't you want to stay in touch?”

“Of course.”

“So are you gonna buy walkie-talkies?”

“...Maybe.”

And they both laughed. For some reason, it made things feel better. Just for a little while. Even if the walkie-talkies were just a false sense of hope, because Katherine feared she wouldn’t see Joan Seymour ever again after tonight.

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yanara126-writing · 4 years

Text

The First Rays of Dawn - Canopus (2/3)

Both gods and kith are fickle creatures, even when they try.

Or: Waidwen and Eothas' first hours together.

Read here or on Ao3

Have fun! Comments always welcome! :)

When Waidwen woke, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been out in the first place. There was no slow progress of waking up or even a sudden start. One second he wasn’t aware, the next he was, and found himself laying face first in the dirt. He blinked confusedly and carefully flexed his fingers and then his feet, and when he found everything still where it belonged, started to get up.

Only to immediately keel over again, when the world split into so many layers and dimensions that he didn’t know which way was up or down anymore. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, pressing his hands into his face for good measure. Everything was pulling at him from all sides and every cell in his body screamed for it stop, whatever it was. Even with his eyes closed, he couldn’t escape it. He could feel every living thing around him tear at his very essence, every worm, every insect, even the half dead plants seemed to claw at him.

When something else entered his awareness, it was a relief, until he noticed where it came from. The strange thrum of energy that had hesitantly brushed along his senses was situated somewhere within himself, on a plane of existence he hadn’t even been consciously aware of until then.

Waidwen did the only thing he could in that moment. He screamed.

The entity started flickering wildly, causing Waidwen to panic even more. Suddenly the presence flinched further into his perception and flooding him with emotions that weren’t his. He choked on them, blindly flailing about, until his senses were enveloped in a strange warmth, that forcibly pushed away his terror. He was left gasping and weirdly empty, not afraid anymore, but feeling like he should be. The emptiness however left him open to those other feelings. Concern and alarm blanketed his own thoughts, pushing him to answer.

“What... the fuck... is that?” he choked out, the world still spinning around him with the force of hundreds of small lives and he desperately clawed the ground in search any kind of stability.

That is my perception of the world. I shared it with you. An all encompassing voice rang through Waidwen’s head, causing another quickly suppressed spike of fear, which in turn made Waidwen cringe at the uncomfortable hollowness. It felt like he forgot something he desperately needed to remember, only a hundred times worse.

“Yeah well... stop! And get your hands out of my head!” he growled through the pain, the lack of fear leaving space for a desperate anger, that was strangely left untouched. A small part of him, that sounded suspiciously like his father, told him, he probably shouldn’t be talking to a god like that, but at this point Waidwen couldn’t give a damn anymore about what he should and shouldn’t do.

I do not want you to be afraid. That answer made Waidwen’s blood boil even more and he completely forgot who he was talking to.

How dare he! How dare he think that would be his choice!

“That’s not your decision to make!” The energy in his head tightened and for a second Waidwen thought he’d gone too far. But then the weight lifted and the presence retreated back to the limits of his consciousness. Briefly the panic seeped back in, but with his wishes acquiesced Waidwen found himself calmer than before.

As the being receded so did the tug on his essence and the world slowly righted itself. Taking a deep breath, Waidwen blinked and for once took comfort from the feeling of dirt under his cheek. When he was sure everything was normal again, he carefully got up to his knees.

Waidwen winced as a light, but stabbing pain shot through his knees and sat down to pluck out the gravel. He took another breath and let the situation sink in. He’d really met Eothas. More than met. Not quite ready to face his own feelings on the matter, he decided to deal with the obvious first.

“Are you still there?”

I am. The voice was quieter than before, not as oppressive. Like the speaker was standing in front of him, instead of sitting on him and screaming in his face. It also had a strange quality to it. Was that... shame?

Waidwen shook his head. No, surely that wasn’t it. He licked over lips and swallowed, stalling for time while he tried to call back the courage he vaguely remembered having before.

“Okay then... First rule if we do this: No getting into my head uninvited.” The silence that followed tore on Waidwen’s nerves, even if it was only a few seconds long.

I am sorry. The apology caught Waidwen by surprise, it’s sincerity even more so. It left him floundering for an answer, as he wasn’t used to granting someone else forgiveness. That realization caused him more guilt than any other misdeed he’d ever regretted. He supposed the god of redemption was as good a place as any to start trying.

“Well, as long as we’re clear on that.” The presence flared up lightly and warmly, in what Waidwen could only assume was agreement. The foreign feeling still unnerved him, but the god kept his promise and remained as far to the edge of his consciousness as he could.

Uncomfortable with the silence and after having cleaned his bloodied knees as much as he could out in the field, Waidwen climbed to his feet and took a look around. He picked up his sickle and winced, when he saw the upturned basket. So much for that batch.

Apparently he’d been the lying in the field the whole night, as the dawn was already breaking, painting the horizon a soft red. Everything was glazed with a golden glow so vibrant even the withered vorlas seemed alive. If he hadn’t just reassured himself that his sight was his own again, he’d have thought it another one of Eothas’s effects. How it was, he could only question if the dawn had always been this beautiful and he’d just been too busy sulking to see it.

When he turned his back to the light this time, it was it wasn’t bitterness, but determination that filled him.

#Pillars of Eternity #Eothas #Waidwen #fanfiction #writing #dawn #miscommunication #divine powers can't be good for your health #they're both doing their best #(2/3)#drama #the first rays of dawn

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kassandra-lorelei · 4 years

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Hey! I don't know if you still do these but would you be able to write an n/cc fic where instead of proposing in The Producers, Niles tells CC the play was for her ? Thank you and I love your writing!!

I absolutely still do these, Anon - I have no idea how long you have been waiting now and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long! I have quite a backlog to get through, with full-time work and general adult life (as well as some executive dysfunction), but this one is all ready to go. I really hope you enjoy it, and I will get on the next one on the list as soon as possible (it may happen quicker, considering we’re on lockdown for at least another two weeks, but we shall see how these things go) ❤️

@missbabcocks1 @holomoriarty

“You finally pulled off something bigger than your shorts!”

The zinger, alongside the accompanying gleeful laughter – asexpected as this package would normally have been – utterly blindsided Niles,given that Miss Babcock had only just told him how impressed she was. Impressed.She’d actually used the word “impressed”, to talk about this entire play thathe’d produced! The play that now this entire room full of people werecelebrating, at an afterparty he’d never before imagined could exist.

It had been like music, hearing the words from her lips, rubyred and curved into a smile that looked far softer and friendlier than normal…

He should have known she was setting him up. Why wouldn’tshe be? Since when did they ever do anything that wouldn’t somehow lead to the (atleast) momentary downfall of the other? It was all they ever did.

And his only hope of salvation at that moment was to thinkup a snappy retort that he could fire back at the back of her golden head,where she’d crushingly turned away.

But even though words and phrases and colourful insults of allshades and hues danced through his head, urging him to continue the wargames, everysingle one of them died the moment he attempted to let them fall onto histongue.

It was useless. The entire idea of having her as his enemy hadno meaning to it.

What was the actual point, in letting it go on? In allowingthe cycle that ran a far-too-thin line between hurt and fun to just…run theirlives? Would it go on forever, him never admitting how he felt and neverhearing what she really felt, either, whatever that was? As terrifying as itwas to think that they might be nothing otherwise, this all currently felt likea twisted Purgatory; one where the stranded soul could experience both Heavenand Hell in equal, random measure.

There was only one thing he could do. Only one, if he wantedto take a shot at reaching paradise.

Even if he fell on the way, at least he would have tried.

And, after a moment in which he had gathered his courage andhad dumped a few phrases from his mind that would either scare her (“Marry me”;who wanted to immediately be asked that?) or come across as peculiar (“I pulledthem off for you”; what was that even supposed to mean?!), he finally knew whathe had to say.

“And it was all done for you.”

He wondered, for a moment, if she hadn’t heard him. If hewas about to have another moment like he’d had in the kitchen, where he hadbeen able to swiftly back out the second he’d realised it had been a bad idea.

But she turned, eyes wider than before and lips slightlyparted, as though she were holding herself back from simply letting her jawdrop.

“What did you just say?”

Her tone told him she wasn’t asking because she hadn’theard. She was asking precisely because she had heard. She’d heard, and shecouldn’t believe any of it.

Niles, meanwhile, was rooted to the spot and hastily tellingevery panicked thought in his mind that he wasn’t about to turn and run away.

There was no point in backing out now. No chance to, either.

He pulled another breath into his lungs, making it deep. Hehad a feeling that it could be one of his last, anyway, so he might as wellmake it a good one.

“I…I said that this show was…made for you,” he explained,finding it a gargantuan effort simply to not swallow his own tongue in theprocess. “I produced it for you. As a…as a token…of my affection…”

He trailed off as Miss Babcock took a step in his direction.But it wasn’t a ‘happy’ step, or even a surprised one (though she’d have everyright to be surprised, if she was feeling it underneath the apparent anger); itwas more the sort of march forward one might expect of an army captain whohad just heard a war prisoner speaking out of turn. The sort of step that commanded,while ordering an explanation the person most likely would no longer know howto give.

And it made Niles suddenly very aware of the fact that he’djust told this to her in a room full of other people, both friends andstrangers, all of whom had already been to see a show that evening. As thebutler wasn’t keen on the idea of them seeing another one, he directed his gazeall around them, indicating the fact that they weren’t alone and any sort ofscene made would have witnesses.

“Should we perhaps…go somewhere else to talk? I know thatthis must be-“

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Miss Babcock hadalready gotten close enough to reach out and grab his wrist, dragging him outof the room.

“You’re damn right we’re going somewhere else to talk!”

……………………………………………………………………………………….

The journey she took him on through the building seemed to goon forever, neither one of them speaking a word until Miss Babcock finallysettled on a small room which appeared to be used to store props and a few racksof costumes. Again, it wasn’t exactly the stunning Hollywood setting hiswildest fantasies conjured up in the dead of night, but this was reality.

He’d be a fool to really think they’d go to some privateterrace overlooking the city, where all the feelings would come out as themusic rose to a great crescendo, whereupon they’d immediately fall into eachothers’ arms.

He was, in truth, lucky that she hadn’t simply laughed athim before walking away, back at the party.

On the other hand, the look on her face as she closed thedoor behind them, standing between him and the only available exit, made himthink that there were still far more fortunate people out there than he was.

“Alright, Butler Boy, you’d better start going against yourbetter drinks-pouring instincts and spill!”

On any other day, and in any other place at any other time, Nilesmight have considered turning that demand into a zinger. But as thingscurrently stood, he couldn’t even work up the nerve to think of one, let alonesay it out loud.

All he had was what he had worked up all this courage totell her.

With no idea of where to begin, if he was honest. There wasso much that he wanted – had – to get out, that it all wanted to come rushingout at once! But that wouldn’t work; it would just get all jumbled up andconfuse Miss Babcock at best, or make her angrier than she already was, atworst.

Maybe it was best if she decided what he started with? Thatway he could focus on one thing at once…

“Where would you like me to start?”

The question came out much meeker and softer than he’dwanted it to be, and that want quickly transferred to the idea of kickinghimself. He didn’t exactly sound like James Bond, this way. More like the guywho never made it through basic spy training because he cried whenever the timecame for interrogation practice.

If he could just be calm and rational about it all, it mightnot be so difficult.

Not that the producer made it easy, simply by being there infront of him. This was different from his many awkward-but-at-least-practicedattempts at telling her, done in front of the mirror at the mansion. He didn’thave anybody glaring at him, for a start.

Further emphasising the point, Miss Babcock also folded herarms, “I don’t know, maybe on that word you used – you know the one; affection.”

Niles silently held his breath before even trying torespond.

“What about it?”

“Where the hell did it come from, perhaps?! Just to startoff with,” she shouted in return, sounding equal parts bewildered and enraged. “Andthen maybe why you thought you could just say it like that?!”

“I didn’t think I could just say it like that!” he foundhimself arguing in return, sadness and fear giving way to his chest starting tocave in. “I…I had to get it out before I lost my nerve.”

““Lost your nerve”?” Miss Babcock echoed, scoffing at thesame time. She then folded her arms. “That makes it sound like this wasn’t somesort of practical joke on your part!”

Niles’ jaw dropped of its own accord, words tumbling outbefore he could stop to think rationally, “Why on Earth would you believe thatit was a practical joke…?!”

“Isn’t everything else you do to me a prank, or a practicaljoke of some kind?!” the producer snapped. “Why would this be any different?”

The butler let his mouth close again. His mind was warringover whether he could scarcely believe what he’d heard, or if he was justshocked and upset because he knew that she was right. He supposed it was amixture of both, along with the realisation that that really was what was goingon – if they both thought it, separately, without any input from the other, howcould it not be true?

There had barely been an interaction between them whichhadn’t started with some sort of practical joke, from one side or the other. Andhe had started it all. In his foolish – and perhaps insane – attempts to benoticed by someone who would otherwise never have much of a reason to even lookat him for more than a few seconds, he had started their rivalry.

Miss Babcock had simply retaliated; given back as good asshe’d gotten.

She must’ve mistaken his horrified silence for an admissionof guilt in the present moment because she continued. Only this time, shesounded…almost resigned. As if she believed the whole evening had been leadingup to this very second, and she was upset that she hadn’t seen or understoodthat fact before now.

Niles didn’t know why that would be the case. It was justhow she appeared.

The producer leaned on the nearest prop crate, arms stillfolded and now looking at him with more than a mild degree of expectation, aswell as annoyance.

“So come on and own up; what was the punchline in this latestand greatest trick of yours? Or did I spoil the whole thing, by not letting usbe in a room full of people who could hear it?”

The butler silently swallowed before he answered. This wastruly it; there was no going back from this moment on.

“There is no punchline.”

Miss Babcock scoffed again, rolling her eyes.

“Oh come on, Niles, of course there’s a punchline!” shecried out in disbelief. “That’s like saying that there’s no-”

“There is no punchline, Miss Babcock!” Niles was moreforceful in his insistence, this time. It was as though something in him hadsnapped, at last – as though it had gotten weary or sick of backing down, ornever even speaking up in the first place. “It wasn’t a joke. I produced thatplay for you, as a token of my affection.”

“What the hell do you mean, “affection”?!” she shouted back.

That was more than enough to open the floodgates.

Scratch that, actually; opening the floodgates might implythat they could be closed again and something could still be held back. Thiswas more like someone had taken a giant wrecking ball to the wall of the dam.

“How can I put that word any more simply than you alreadyhave it?! Affection! Caring! Fondness! I am in love with you, you stupidwitch!”

For an instant – a point suspended in time which might’vebeen minutes, or just mere seconds – Miss Babcock looked amazed. Her eyes wentwide with shock, but no horror, and she appeared struck by the notion that hehad opened up beyond all measure. She actually looked quite a bit like she hadin each of Niles’ fantasies, just before the point where she would quietly ask“Really?”, before he’d say yes and they’d embrace in whatever fanciful or over-the-toplocation he’d picked for his mind’s outing that particular evening.

But, as he’d noted when they’d gone in, this was real life,taking place in an unimportant prop closet that didn’t even have so much as awindow to let in light, let alone provide Oscar-worthy cinematography and mise-en-scène.

And the instant ended as quickly as it had begun, when theproducer seemed to shake herself out of it and spring right back into anger.

“Oh, baloney! Since when have you ever displayed one iota ofinterest in me that could’ve come across as being in love?!”

Whatever had snapped in the butler before, could only havesnapped partially. He knew this because he felt the rest of it go and his ownanger – built up over years of frustration, pain and sorrow – flared to life.

“Whenever would you have let me?! Would an ordinary servantwho barely uttered a word and whom you would only see when they brought you teaor took your coat ever have stood a chance?” he took a step forward, letting gocompletely as the feelings took over. He jabbed the air in between them,pointing at her accusingly. “Be completely honest with both me and yourself,just this once, and tell me; would you have even seen me as a person if Ihadn’t gone further?”

There would almost have been another silence, had he notsworn he could hear the resounding slap to Miss Babcock’s face that his wordshad just produced. Even if she was trying to hold it together, he could tellthat the hit had landed – he saw a light dim in her eyes, that he had never,ever seen get even slightly dull before. Even in their worst moments, thosesapphires had never been anything less than bright, whether they were sparklingwith delight or burning with fire.

The guilt started in his throat and burrowed downwards,hollowing him out into the pit of his stomach. It was more than enough to makehim duck his head away in shame.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he bit the insideof his lip, every awful feeling word churning up his insides. “Just as Ishouldn’t have said or done a lot of things. I felt as though I had no choice;I could either stay an active part of your day-to-day life, albeit one that stuckin your craw, or I could just…blend into the furniture, like all the otherservants your family has ever known.”

He found himself leaning on his own crate and stared a holeinto the floor, the weight of everything coming crashing down on him, from thenotion of his own worthlessness in life to the knowledge that he’d been a foolto even try and attempt this.

“I suppose this play was just yet another desperate butfailed attempt at being more.”

“Desperate and failed”, indeed. The two words summed him upperfectly. He was nothing more than a stupid butler, who’d done too much damagein a place where he just simply wasn’t wanted. And even if he had had a chance,how good would those chances have been against someone else’s? That slimpossibility that she might look in his direction was nothing, compared to whatwould happen if some rich, handsome, charming fellow passed her way.

He couldn’t even begin to hold a candle to what she couldget. Or what she deserved. The chance was nothing, and so was he.

There wasn’t anything else to it, then. He had to leave – he’dapologise for even bringing this entire business up, promise to never let it affecthis work or hers (there would be no more pranks, to start with) and then hewould go. As he had no way of obtaining a new job, he would simply stay out ofher way at the mansion, as best he could. The entire afterparty was over forhim, too, so he had no qualms about leaving it. He wasn’t in much of acelebratory mood.

He was about to start with the first part by getting up fromhis temporary perch, when Miss Babcock’s voice cut through the still, slightlystale air.

“You’re right.”

He knew he was; that was why he felt so terrible. But hecouldn’t help being curious about which bit in particular she wanted to bringup and discuss.

“…About which part?”

He never expected the answer he got.

“All of it. All the stuff to do with me, anyway,” she mumbled,before shifting in chosen seat to apparently get more comfortable. “Ever sinceI was a little girl, my family always taught me how to act around servants.“They’re there to give you what you need, you don’t have to thank them!”, “It’stheir job to look after us, we don’t mix with them for pleasure!”, “Stoptalking to them so much, they’re not your friends!”…but I couldn’t help talkingto you. As much as you’ve always been a pain in my ass, I’ve never been able tohelp stopping whatever the hell I’m doing and talking to you. Paying attentionto you. My mother would probably say it was you “stepping out of line” that haddone it, but you know what?”

Niles had been slowly looking up even as she’d spoken, but itwas obvious that she had his full attention by the time she got to thatquestion. The pit in his stomach seemed to have – at least temporarily – filleditself. He didn’t dare call it hope, even if that was what it was.

He had to wait, and find out what Miss Babcock said nextfirst.

Her words came out like she felt liberated.

“I…I don’t really think I care. All those times that we’vehad – the fun ones, especially, like your friend’s wedding, or the BroadwayGuild Awards…they didn’t feel bad or wrong. My mother would’ve called themthat, but they weren’t. I liked doing those things with you, and I don’t feelembarrassed about them, even though God knows just saying it out loud iskilling me, right now…!”

It was her turn to look away, towards the floor. Even in thelower light of the storage room, Niles thought he could see a tinge of pink inher cheeks.

The not-hope feeling in his stomach faltered betweenstrengthening and shattering. Was she really blushing? She couldn’t be, couldshe? C.C. Babcock, Ice Queen of New York City and the Bitch of Broadway, wouldnever dream of blushing! Especially not over all the times she’d spent withhim!

But…if that wasn’t the case, then what else could she bedoing?

Did he have to test the waters and find out? Some might saythey were shark infested…

But how could he leave it all where it was, either? He’dcome so far, with so much courage plucked up that if it had been feathers froma bird, it would’ve been bald and ready to be stuffed for Thanksgiving by now.

He’d done all of this – nearly bankrupted their boss, gottenone of his closest friends into trouble with her husband and somehow pulled offa spectacular Broadway show – simply to tell her how he felt. Could he reallylive with himself if he let it all go to waste, because of a moment’shesitation at the last second?

Niles honestly didn’t think that he could.

So, he did what he might have imagined unthinkable, at onepoint in their relationship. He got up from where he was sat and walked overto sit down on the crate next to her. She looked at him the entire way over,and she didn’t stop even when he was sat down, barely half a foot of space betweenthem.

“I enjoyed those days, too, very much,” he said. “I’vealways wanted more of them…”

“Yeah. Me too,” she replied quietly, biting theinside of her lip as though deciding whether or not to say anything else. Then,she made up her mind. “To be honest, those times have been some of the bestI’ve ever had. Better than anything I could ever even dream of with…”

Her eyes dropped back to the floor again, clearly even moreembarrassed than only a few seconds ago, when she’d told him that she’d likedspending time with him.

It didn’t take a genius to work out which name would’vefilled the trailed-off silence.

Mr. Sheffield. She was talking about Mr. Sheffield…!

And…and she was saying that all the times they’d spenttogether – the nights out, the dancing, drinking, having fun – all meant moreto her than…than anything she’d ever imagined in her head!

He, the real-life butler Niles, had somehow managed to beatout the idealised version of Maxwell Sheffield. The one person he never thoughthe’d ever be able to compete with, in looks, or charm, or money, and yet he hadcome out on top. And not even some fantasy version, where he could hope to holda candle to their employer – just…regular old him!

It all sounded like a complete and utter dream come true;the kind that was normally heartbreaking in reality because you knew it neverwould, and yet here he was, living it out!

He even thought that he could feel the not-hope changing itsname.

“You…you really do mean that?” he asked, in awe as much ashe was in disbelief.

Miss Babcock looked at him briefly from the corner of her eye,then nodded, “Guess I finally figured I’ve been getting my priorities allscrewed up. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s ever happened.”

The butler frowned, his previous worries now turning to thefact that she was beating herself up over what she’d felt was right before.Hearing what her life had been like, when she was young and was being strongly influencedby her mother, somehow it all made sense that she would look for a rich man. Anyrich man, as long as he could prove his wealth and his connections. Mr. Sheffield had simply been the perfect candidate for a long checklist that theproducer had been given to carry around her whole life, whether she cared aboutwhat was on the list or not.

She’d probably convinced herself that she did care, simplyto make it easier. Not that it had turned out easier, but that was anothermatter entirely.

He let his hand slide along the prop crate, so it was closerto hers, “There’s no reason for you to be harsh with yourself over this.”

Miss Babcock sighed, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to make me feel better about it, Niles. I’mthe one who got it all wrong,” she said, shame permeating her tone. “Worst partis, I wouldn’t have even thought about it, if it weren’t for…all that stuffthat happened, back at Hanukkah…”

Niles winced minutely even at the mere thought of thatnight. The hours had stretched out for him in a way he’d never imaginedpossible, and the terror of it possibly turning into the worst night of hislife had hung over him like a curse. It was a curse that hadn’t been brokenuntil their nearly-lost loved ones had all piled in through the door, cold,hungry and exhausted, but mercifully alive.

Between the two of them, there had been a sort of unspokentruce that night. But even in a time when they probably could have spokenfreely, they had almost deliberately held back. They probably thought they wereprotecting themselves – protecting the game they had going on.

Now wasn’t the time for holding back, though. And the gamewasn’t worth protecting in that sense anymore, anyway.

“What did you think, that night?” he asked quietly.

“I was…scared. Well, more like terrified, actually,” sheadmitted, sounding like the words had been aching to come out of her mouth eversince she’d had the feeling. “I thought I was going to freeze to death in theback of that car. I gave it my best shot to act like everything was just fine –that everything was normal and okay. But the moment Maxwell and the Little One gottalking about what would happen if the car wasn’t found, it made me think.Hard. And don’t you dare say that’s a dangerous occupation for me.”

Niles shook his head, “I wasn’t going to.”

Miss Babcock looked uncomfortable for a moment, shufflingand shifting on the spot.

“Sorry; force of habit, I guess,” she said, beforecontinuing her explanation. “It…it made me think, and it made me realise that Iwasn’t thinking about…anybody in the car.”

Again, that was another blatant reference to their employer,quickly followed by her turning her eyes up and truly meeting his gaze for thefirst time in this conversation.

“But I was thinking about what I could be losing.”

It was obvious what she meant, even without her actuallysaying it. The words needed to tell him were probably too monumental, toosignificant and weighted with meaning in her mind to get out right then andthere. She needed time to process them, and he realised now that he understoodthat. He’d had far too long to mull over his own thoughts and feelings, but herswere only just starting to dawn in her conscious mind.

He wasn’t going to overwhelm her any more than she alreadyhad been by saying more than he needed to. He’d use her language – theirlanguage, perhaps? – and take it slowly.

“That was how I felt, that night. It accidentally slippedout, while we were on the phone to the police, looking for you all,” he toldher. “I covered my tracks, of course, but there was no coming back from it forme.”

He thought he heard the producer make a noise in the back ofher throat, but she gave no other reply. Instead, silence overtook the littleroom again.

Before it could drag on too long, the butler spoke up again,the last of his thoughts coming together in a way that made coherent sense, foronce.

“Maybe this play – for me, in some ways – wasn’t just about stayingnoticed. It took it further than that. Perhaps…perhaps I was worried about whatI could lose, too,” he said. “We’ve been going at this a long time, withoutreally talking or trying anything else. I knew that eventually, it would haveto end. You would find someone, like Chandler or…or Colin. Only they’d be evenbetter, this time, and all my chances, however slight, would’ve been used up. Andwe’ve already lost enough before now…”

His confession made him wonder if he’d tipped the scales toofar in the opposite direction, and he shut himself up as he waited for herreply.

Not for the first time that night, what he heard in returnwasn’t what he’d expected.

“We haven’t lost anything tonight.”

That made him look directly at her, “We haven’t…?”

“I don’t think so,” she turned herself – her entire bodythis time – so that she was facing him more directly, her leg leaning on theedge of the crate. “I, uh…I actually think it might be nice, to try somethingnew. To stop getting hung up on stuff that isn’t right, and going around incircles because of it. If we try to move forward, maybe we’ll reach a point wherewe both end up winning.”

Niles didn’t know if time had slowed so much that it feltlike his heart had stopped, or whether it had just exploded in a sort of silentfirework that burst in the feeling equivalents of bright reds and pinks, turningto vibrant greens and yellows, before sparkling away in glitters of gold.

His not moving (which came from shock and awe, nothing else)clearly sent off the wrong signal to Miss Babcock, because she cleared herthroat, looking awkward and embarrassed.

“If you still want to, obviously.”

That was when his hand finally dared to hold hers, whichsent her gaze straight back to his.

The butler’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I neverstopped wanting to.”

He didn’t know if he had leaned in first, or whether she wasalready there when his lips met hers. He didn’t particularly care, either. Allthat mattered was the feeling of her in his arms, which made their way aroundher lower back, as hers pulled him in for the kiss to deepen. He felt her arms wraparound his neck, and she moaned into his mouth as she let his tongue start toexplore, hers leaving him groaning as she started her own discoveries.

But it was only a start. They had to pull away for air far soonerthan either would have liked, but they stayed with their arms around oneanother, and it wasn’t long before Niles felt ready to go back in for anotherkiss.

Miss Babcock stopped him, however, teasingly placing afinger on his lips.

“We’re gonna have to get back in there sooner or later,Scrub Brush,” she said, her voice low and her eyes dark. “After-afterpartieshave to wait.”

Niles tried not to deflate too much; he knew she was right,after all. They had a whole room full of people who would have noticed thatthey hadn’t come back in by now. And even if most of them weren’t concerned forone reason or another, he could very easily imagine Fran coming back there tolook for them (read: to find out if her plan had worked just as she’d wanted).And the things he had in mind were the last thing he ever wanted her to see.

But he couldn’t help taking a particularly interested note atthe idea of the producer saying their “after-afterparty” simply had to wait. Forhow long? Did she want to test the waters more before they made the leap? He’dwait for as long as she wanted, obviously, but he also wanted to ensure thatthey were completely on the same page.

They’d been reading the same information in such different waysfor too long, now.

He kissed her fingertip, before pulling away to speak.

“For anything in particular?” he asked, taking her hand andkissing the palm.

“To see how the rest of the night goes,” she answered,getting up and pulling him to his feet playfully as she did. “If it turns out asgood as the play was, you might want to stick around.”

Niles’ eyebrow quirked, and he gave her a lopsided grin.

“And if it’s duller than dishwater?”

Miss Babcock started to grin in return, and she looped herarm in his to lead him out before she gave any sort of reply.

“Then we already know there’s an empty storage closet backhere, don’t we?”

#anon asks #the nanny #niles and cc #niles the butler #cc babcock #otp: butler bitch #otp: always been bitter together

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: None Word count: 4419 Chapter: 2/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 2

“But why do I need to be in charge of it?” In spite of the usual efforts to sound more mature than his actual age, at the moment Hikaku treads dangerously close to a childish whine. Izuna is far from impressed.

“We need someone there to make sure people actually stay on task,” he says. “And we all know there’s no one better at killing a buzz than you. It’s a work site, people are gonna get rowdy, idiots are gonna want to show off. You’re basically acting as supervisor to make sure that no one gets out of hand or uses any chakra outside of strict working necessity.”

Scratching at the back of his head, Hikaku steps aside to let a man pass between them and then falls in to step beside Izuna again. His face takes on a dour expression for several minutes as they walk. By the time he orders his thoughts for whatever he wants to say they’ve already passed by several shops and turned down another street.

“I’m not exactly…the strongest guy around,” he says at last. The words sound as though they pain him to admit. Pride is a terrible affliction to them all.

“That’s fine. No one’s asking you to actually fight people. If they step out of line you tell them where to shove it. And if they try to start something you don’t think you can win then dodge like hell and report them. You know I’m always willing to crack a head for you if you need it.” Izuna grins as he claps his cousin on the back, shamelessly enjoying the bleak grimace he gets in return.

When the other falls in to a sulk Izuna lets him, too cheerful to be put off his own good mood. Plans to build the wall are progressing a lot faster than anyone expected after the council of elders had somehow all managed to agree on a single proposal in the first meeting. As a celebration of the workers going out to survey the initial measurements Izuna had invited Madara out for lunch. Unfortunately his brother is an absolute stick in the mud and had opted to stay home with some paperwork he apparently needed to get done so when Izuna passed Hikaku on his way in to the shopping district he cheerfully invited his cousin instead.

And even more cheerfully dropped the news that he is nominating Hikaku as one of the foremen for this upcoming worksite. Their lunch out has been a petty man’s delight as he enjoyed both the food and the look of exhausted irritation staring back at him.

“Come on, if we cut through here I think it leads out near the tailor’s and I need to put in an order for a new cloak.” With how the streets twist here and there Izuna is actually fairly proud of himself for remembering that. He pulls at his cousin’s shoulder until Hikaku follows along behind him with a tortured sigh.

“I thought we were going home now?”

“Oh stop whining or I’ll sit on you until you admit that you’re secretly an old man in an adolescent body.”

Even without looking he can practically hear the other pouting. “I’m nineteen!”

Izuna intends to shoot back with some quip about making his point for him. He’s interrupted before he can by the sudden appearance of two stocky figures in front of them, blocking the path in an unmistakably deliberate manner. One arm swings out instinctively to stop Hikaku and encourage the younger man behind him. His cousin might not be exactly weak but he is also enough of a level-headed realistic to step behind the stronger fighter without complaint.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” Izuna asks in a calm voice.

“Already done enough, haven’t you?” one of the men drawls. His accent is distinctly northern where the villages have all intermarried enough that none of the people living there can be said to carry even as few as three bloodlines.

“If I’ve already helped then I’m sure you wouldn’t mind stepping aside for us to pass.” Humor is, perhaps, not the best way to respond in this situation but unfortunately his mouth always works a little faster than his brain. Sometimes the words just sort of fall out of their own.

“Think you’re funny?”

Clearly these strangers do not appreciate his humor.

“Yeah I sort of think I am.” Izuna grins even as he curses himself for a trouble-seeking fool.

“Right.” One of the men turns his head to spit before cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been waiting years to get you alone. Then some people came ‘round our little hamlet talking about peace and a village where we can all be happy and sunshine together and I thought to myself ‘well now, isn’t that just an opportunity?’ And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

“My sister never took another step after you left her for dead. Now she spends every day with this look on her face like she wishes you would have just finished the job.”

A wash of sad understanding turns over in Izuna’s belly. Not guilt because he’s sure he had a reason for whatever he did, he’s never been the type for unnecessary slaughter, but the aftermath of their duties as shinobi is never pleasant to think about. One of the first lessons he’d ever been taught was how to put it all out of his mind lest it drive him to madness thinking about the things he’s done. It doesn’t take a genius to understand the sort of revenge this man is after; obviously he’s never been able to put what happened to his sister out of mind.

For perhaps a sliver of an instant Izuna considers trying to talk his way out of this but even as the idea enters his mind he cast it aside. The anger staring back at him is not the sort of anger that can be talked aside. Unfortunate, that. There goes his good mood.

“Hikaku,” he murmurs quietly, “I want you to stay out of this.”

“But-!”

“Just watch the street and make sure no one else gets involved, alright?” Keeping both eyes on the man already reaching for a poorly sharpened kunai, he waits until his cousin assents with a low grunt. Then he nods and put his trust in the other to keep out of the way.

Eyes narrowed, body language more aggressive by the moment, the stranger doing all the talking gives a harsh snort. “You must be proud of the pain you’ve caused. I’ve always enjoyed taking the pride out of men who don’t deserve it. Hurting you the way you hurt her is going to be fun, I’ll make sure to mark this day on my calendar and celebrate it every damn year.”

Izuna is already imagining the lecture Madara will give him later on setting an example for others, how they are supposed to be the pinnacles of peaceful behavior towards their new allies. He spares a moment to scowl mentally for the one who has seen most of his violence over the years. What use is having a stalker if Tobirama mysteriously disappears the only time it might be useful to have him around?

Of course, the moment he finishes that thought the two men move towards him and then every body present freezes as another appears between them. Exasperation and relief flood Izuna’s veins in equal measures. Tobirama says nothing in either greeting or explanation, merely stands like a statue with his back to the one he’s spent most of his life trying to kill. Leaning to the side puts Izuna at just the right angle to see his rival’s face and wonders at the look of sheer ice in those deep red eyes, narrowed in to a cold glare that would have frozen the blood of bigger men than the ones he has turned it on now. Nice as it is of him to give these idiots pause in whatever stupidity they had been about to commit it’s still baffling for Izuna to find himself standing behind a wall of pale flesh like some damsel that needs rescuing.

And all in utter silence.

Now faced with twice the skill as they had been a moment before, the would-be attackers seem to rethink their options, eyes darting between Tobirama’s immovable stance and Izuna’s raised eyebrows. The one who has so far done all the talking keeps his eyes forward when he cranes his neck to whisper behind himself. Wariness has already filled the second man, frustration clear on his face even as he shakes his head with obvious regret.

“Let us have five minutes with him,” the first one says finally, attempting to bargain with Tobirama. “Rumor says you follow him around like a shadow; obviously you don’t trust him. You wouldn’t shed any tears if something happened, yeah? No one has to know you were even here.”

They wait but Tobirama makes no move to reply, only continues staring the pair of them down. It’s difficult to decide whether his ability to remain so completely still is more impressive or eerie but Izuna supposes it doesn’t matter much when it is clearly serving its purpose. All confidence drains away to leave both of the strange men looking increasingly nervous as the minutes ticked by. Eventually the one in front grunts and scuffs one foot against the dusty ground.

“Whatever. Pair of goody-two-shoes softies now that you’ve got a pretty little treaty to hide behind and all. Just you wait, Uchiha. There won’t always be a Senju bodyguard around to protect you.” With a sharp gesture he motions for his companion to follow and backs away slowly until he can lose himself in the crowds just beyond the alley.

“Hn, won’t I?” Izuna murmurs unhappily under his breath.

Although he’s sure the words do not carry across the space between them, Tobirama turns and meets his eyes with the anger in his face draining away to leave him blank once more. For some reason the sight of him is unutterably irritating.

“Thanks oh so much for the help but you know I could have taken those two with both eyes closed, right? I don’t you to rescue me.” Snorting quietly as he hears his cousin splutter behind him, Izuna shakes his head. “Seriously, is this what you were following me around for? I don’t know if you were hoping for a life debt or something but no way am I declaring some bullshit like that when I could have taken care of this on my own.”

“Izuna!” Hikaku whines and pulls at his sleeve but he shakes the man off without looking.

“Go on then. Was that what you wanted? For the love of chakra just say something!”

Tobirama tilts his head slowly to one side. “Your brother was looking for you,” is all he says, leaving them to wonder if he intends that as a convenient excuse for his presence or this is a paltry attempt at moving the focus away from himself. It’s a lie either way. His brother knows exactly where he is.

With no further words Tobirama turns and walks away in a plain declaration that he considers this nonexistent conversation over. Not even when Izuna hollers after him loud enough to attract attention from both ends of the alley does he look back, leaping up on to the rooftops where, even more annoyingly, his chakra doesn’t go farther than a couple of roads away. Considering how close he tends to stay lately it’s sort of a miracle he goes even that far.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I murdered him in his sleep?” Izuna grumbles.

“Yes,” Hikaku answers in a flat voice. “Many people. Not the least of whom would be his own sibling.”

“Just a little bit?”

“No.”

It proves difficult but he manages to resist the urge to cross his arms. “Ugh, fine. Come on. I can stop by the tailor’s another day, let’s just head back home. Madara’s gonna love this.”

One glance is all it takes to see that Hikaku understands his sarcasm. At least the familiarity of rolling eyes lifts his spirits a bit. He is still frowning as they turn for home, however, working though everything that’s just happened in the span of about five minutes. For all that he hadn’t believed in peace himself for many years, apparently he’s allowed himself to grow complacent in just a few short months of it. Getting jumped is surprising enough already considering how few people would dare to challenge his reputation but having someone go to all the trouble of joining their settlement just to challenge him specifically is a dedication to hatred beyond even his own ability to carry grudges. Then to have Tobirama of all people step in like some volunteer policeman? He feels almost tempted to check himself for signs of whiplash.

Hikaku stays with him until they are well within the boundaries of the Uchiha compound, probably worrying that he might wander off and get up to no good. Which, he can admit, sounds fairly relaxing at the moment. Nothing helps him let off a bit off steam more than pulling a good prank or two on his fellow clan members. Unfortunately he’s had to rein himself in a lot more often to make a good image for anyone watching the Uchiha a little too closely, putting their best foot forward until the gathered clans are all on more solid footing with each other. It’s a shame, really. Behaving is boring.

Left alone only a few streets away from his home, Izuna spends the last few minutes’ walk trying to figure out how to describe what has just transpired without making it sound like some weird over exaggeration. He wanders up their walkway with an absent thought that it looks like the grass seeds they planted are finally sprouting, green shoots rising from bare dirt to stand proud with no help from the mokuton they still deny needing, and scowls to know that it is now perhaps a little late in the season. They will die before they have a chance to live. Perhaps to take advantage of the help Hashirama offers will be necessary after all next year. Madara looks up as Izuna enters their home and matches his frown as though by instinct.

“What’s your problem?” he demands.

“Grass is finally growing,” Izuna mumbles as he kicks off his shoes. “And I got jumped in an alley. Sort of.”

Madara's paperwork drifts slowly down to his lap, eyes narrowing behind the reading glasses he so shamefully hides away from most people, fingers already tapping random patterns against his thigh with rapid thought.

“You look remarkably unruffled for someone who just got jumped.”

“Didn’t exactly turn in to a fight. Almost, there were two of them and one was saying something about me hurting his sister, but we got interrupted.”

“By?” his brother prompts him when he doesn’t go on.

Shuffling in to the room, Izuna flops down in the closest armchair and rolls his eyes. “Who do you think? My biggest fan showed up and just stood there like a ghostly statue, stared the two idiots down until I guess they decided they didn’t want to fight me and him at the same time.”

He feels almost flattered to see Madara set his paperwork entirely aside. As the years go by his brother has grown to be more and more of a workaholic, always needing to be productive and taking less time to simply relax, almost as though he were trying to fill some kind of hole in himself. Izuna wonders sometimes if the man is lonely but he never asks. Romance is generally one of the topics they try not to talk about beyond warning each other to go sleep somewhere else for a night on rare occasions.

“Just like that?” Madara asks eventually. “He showed up out of nowhere to just…stand there?”

“Pretty much. It was weird. When I tried to tell him I had the situation handled all he said was that you were looking for me and then he disappeared like he does except he didn’t go far. Do you think he even realizes that I’m a trained fucking shinobi and I can track chakra like everyone else if I put some effort in to it?”

Several minutes pass without answer but he knows his sibling well enough to know that Madara is only mulling the situation over in his head. Much to the contrary of what most people think, he does have the ability to think before he speaks; it’s just that he loses that ability when his emotions are high and that tends to happen a little too easily. Especially around the two Senju brothers. Both of their one-time enemies have their own way of evoking emotion fairly easily from those around them.

“I can’t say I know what’s in his mind but from what you’ve told me I don’t think he cares whether you know he’s there or not.” Madara hums as though considering his own statement.

“That’s just weird,” Izuna grumbles. “This whole thing is weird. People are actually starting to talk about it, do you realize that? And some of the rumors going around are wild! I’m pretty sure the man isn’t following me around because he’s secretly in love with me.”

“You never know,” Madara points out with the careful thought on his face morphing in to sly teasing.

“Oh don’t even suggest it,” Izuna shoots back, nose wrinkling with distaste.

It isn’t that Tobirama is particularly unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually; he’s been unfairly attractive since the rest of them were all gangly teenagers hating him a little more for having never suffered the indignation of a pimple at the end of his nose. Rather it’s the idea of trying to make a relationship work with someone he would constantly be comparing himself to that balks him. Being competitive is simply in his nature and Izuna is self-aware enough to admit that being so close in power to his partner would leave him feeling childishly not good enough.

His eyes close as he realizes that now he is worrying about this ridiculous possibility he hadn’t even given credence to until he was teased about it. Madara, the bastard, snickers at him from across the room.

“Maybe I can shake him if I volunteer to take a few missions,” Izuna muses aloud. “He’s really not harming me in any way but it’d be nice to not feel eyes following me around all the time. That plays havoc with all the years I spent training myself to be hyper aware of anyone watching me. I keep thinking he’s about to attack.”

“Afraid you’ll lose?” His brother pretends to nod in sage agreement, to which he lifts his middle finger.

“Don’t project your own insecurities on to me, old man.”

The wave of profanity that crashes over him in response flows in one ear and out the other as Izuna tunes it all out with the ease of practice. He is already trying to remember the mission list that got posted this morning and whether there had been anything on it which might keep him away for a few days just to relax, to breathe without having to wonder if red eyes might be watching his every movement.

Getting out of the village will be good for him anyway. It will be interesting to see how the climates have changed in the area with the forming of Konoha and all the other lands following their example. When the only thing he needed to call himself was an Uchiha there had been certain cities and towns that welcomed him with the relief of knowing he would protect them if need be while others had watched him pass through their lands from behind closed blinds, reporting every movement to the other clans they were allied with. Now that he carries with him the weight of Konohagakure on his shoulders he wonders how those same eyes will watch him. Friendly, the ally of his allies? Or will suspicion and prejudice linger as they all pretend that it doesn’t here in the village itself?

It feels strange to hope that lingering prejudice is the only reason Tobirama keeps following him around but Izuna finds his thoughts wandering back to the rumors of a strange romantic obsession and shudders, pushing the idea away as quickly as it returns to him. Some time away will hopefully clear his mind and allow him to come back to this odd situation with fresh eyes. Maybe then he will be able to see past the things he is afraid of finding to spot the real reason.

Like any good plan, however, it is subject to unexpected changes. Namely the innocent smile on Hashirama's face the next morning as he stands in the man’s office and stares with abject horror.

“You want me to what?”

“Accompany Tobirama on his mission! It’s a simple delivery but our intelligence says that Iwa shinobi have been spotted in the area and they’ve been doing everything they can to sabotage our efforts in reaching out to new allies.” His eyes turn soft in the way that says he is slipping away in to dreamy thoughts. “Normally I would send Touka with him, they’ve always worked well together, but then something Maddy said made me realize that it would be really good to make a show of unity, you know?”

“Unity.” Izuna parrots the word faintly, hardly able to believe his ears. He is going to kill his brother for this.

With an oblivious nod Hashirama goes on. “Yes! The biggest concern we see from the clans we’re reaching out to is their doubt that this peace is real. What better way to convince them of our sincerity than to see you and Tobi working together?”

“That’s very sound logic,” he has to admit. “Terrible, awful, and disgustingly sound logic.”

“Isn’t it? When I told Tobi my idea all he did was stare at me without saying anything. I would have thought he’d be proud of me for coming up with such a clever idea.”

Doing his best to ignore the most powerful man in the nation pouting at him like a child asking for sympathy, Izuna draws in a deep breath and lets it back out slowly. Of course his old rival had only stared. The man is probably leaping for maniacal joy on the inside to be handed such a perfect excuse to continue stalking him from even closer than usual. So much for getting some time away.

“Looks like I don’t have much of a choice but to accept,” Izuna mumbles more to himself than to Hashirama. After making a point to seek out a mission for himself it will only make him look like a dissenter if he refuses to work this one simply because of who he’s been asked to work with.

“Excellent! Right, I have a copy of the mission details here if you’d like to take the scroll and look it over. You’ll be leaving in two days so don’t worry about rushing, there’s plenty of time to get things together or find someone to cover your work. I know Tobi hates to come home and find his paperwork has piled up.”

“Does he now?”

The other man beams at his rhetorical question, clearly mistaking it for interest, and continues to blather on long past the point when Izuna stops listening. Now that he’s been enjoying the benefits of it for months he will be the last person to declare this peace a mistake but Izuna will freely and eagerly state for anyone who asks that he regrets the effects it seems to be having on Tobirama. Or more accurately he regrets that it has given the man chances such as the one he finds himself falling in to now.

Quietly planning revenge on his own brother for having any part in saddling him with this doom, Izuna allows Hashirama's voice to wash over him like a constant stream as he unrolls the scroll to peruse its contents. The mission itself doesn’t seem too complicated, typical first contact stuff, a good show of cooperation and goodwill before they saunter on home again. It’s ironically just the sort of thing he’s been hoping for. Of course, he’s been hoping to go alone or perhaps to drag Hikaku along with him. Now he is to be saddled with an extra shadow to follow along behind.

A little piece of home to come with him, he thinks wryly.

“Much as I appreciate your stellar conversation”-Izuna interrupts the flow of words without guilt the moment he is finished reading-“I do believe I should go set my paperwork in order now rather than leaving it until the last minute. Whoever takes up my duties while I’m gone won’t appreciate a messy filing system.”

“Yeah, Tobi’s always on my back to be less messy. I won’t keep you then!”

Izuna nods and turns away. He makes it all the way to the door and twists the handle when his attention is called back to see Hashirama’s face take on a hesitant, almost pensive expression.

“Thank you for accepting this mission. I know the two of you aren’t close the way Maddy and I are but I think…this will be good for him.” He says nothing more than that, no explanation for such cryptic words, and once again Izuna finds himself wondering whether this man knows what sort of behavior his sibling gets up to at every opportunity.

Rather than ask he simply nods and turns back to the door again. Tobirama tends to stay farther away whenever he keeps within the boundaries of the Uchiha compound. If he is to be denied the space he’s been trying to create for himself then Izuna very much intends to spend as much time as possible on his own before several days of having to walk side by side with his own unexplained stalker. Maybe – and it’s a big maybe – he might be able to force some sort of clue out of the man while they’re alone in the wilderness for days on end.

A man can dream, even if he dreams of nothing more than an answer to his questions.

#rae writes #izuna #tobirama #hikaku #madara #hashirama #fanfiction

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

The one who’s royally fucked - Chapter 6 “A Kingdom of Misery” (END)

Once upon a time.. there was a vibecheck..

Tags: it is a bad ending, I mean.. what do you expect. Also, consider every trigger warning I gave - especially the archive warnings because you HAVE BEEN warned

The room was filled with bantering, if not rather quiet.

Remy and Emile were holding hands, curiously eyeing the happenings before them as Patty carefully brushed over tainted skin and faint lines of violet glows that sprung from Virgil’s body.

She let her eyes slip shut and gradually felt the warmth ooze into her hands as she traced her touch over the seemingly lifeless body that was her sibling’s beloved partner and her own best friend.

It had been more than a day ever since Virgil had passed out and while Logan had worked enough magic with Patty and their biology skills, the abused body was laying still and seemed unmoved after all. Nothing good nor bad could really stir from him.

For the time being, Remus had been literally chained to Virgil.

When awake, he was able to give Remus freedom. However, being a ghost, he was invisible to others and rather powerless without more than enough will to move some objects and maybe annoy people a little. But with Virgil’s power connecting to him, he was able to be more than a ghost yet still less alive and enabled as a living being in the world of life and breath.

So, for now, he was holding onto the little life and light that was still burning in his master.

It was not just that he was literally bound to him and that all his steps depended on his survival and his whims.

Remus liked the snarky man and enjoyed messing with him and getting real shit back without malice because one of them had hard feelings and at least they had stayed honest at all times unlike Roman. But Roman was a whole different story and he knew that.

Probably, without even knowing him, the others knew as well.

That much just was obvious.

Patty was moving her healing glow over Virgil again. Every so often, she would come in and check up on him, try to heal his wounds and energise him by exchanging power with him but it seemed to be to no avail.

Logan would always try to induce some things into his beloved.

Ever since Roman had been defeated and thrown into jail (that bastard had the timing to just not get the swing in time before Virgil fainted so Remus has basically disappeared into another dimension of physical visibility to the others right when he had been ready to strike the other with his hammer), the group had moved into the castle and they had taken on the rule for the moment.

The royal couple still seemed to be lost despite all guards having been sent out to find them or any clue that could lead up to them and just reach the King and Queen.

According to law, they were in legitimate line of ruling but Roman had taken over in their absence and nobody really had had the power to deny his deeds and wished. Especially not after he had murdered his own brother in apparently cold rage.

Nobody would ever turn against a royal. The commoners knew better than to do so and the servants had suffered enough punishment to very much not start a riot no matter their dissatisfaction.

And on top of that, everyone knew someone who or did personally know at least one case of royals going insane and you did not want to get on their bad side. You wanted to wait and sit still until you could flee or take them down in a moment of weakness.

And that is what they had all been doing.

Waiting.

Just waiting and nothing more.

And when their moment has come, they had not dared to seize it but instead stayed loyal to the first best person to fit a crown and throne.

And really, you could say that one size fit them all.

But back at the issue, even with yet another set of healing, Virgil remained still and would not budge even a single bit.

The others could not see him but Remus did see them after all.

He saw them come to Virgil during days and nights. Talking to him, stroking his face. Healing him, reporting things and just begging him to wake up or get better - just please get well.

It was annoying and disgusting to see. It gave him a heat that was not anger and it was not lust either. It was a heat he wanted to push off and have it go away after all because it made something rise in him that he had never felt before, something he would never really care for.

Patty stayed composed mostly but she seemed supported and close to tearing up a lot.

But Logan?

Logan was about the worst.

The leader of the group seemed stoic but their face had grown from apprehensive to distraught at nearly all times and there was a certain piece missing in this usual appearance. They did not just look out of place, but looked like they had rushed into everything and was neither prepared nor calm enough to even take another breath without a break.

They would spend whole nights with Virgil, sleepless or passed out from exhaustion.

They would cry and talk and try to find things to heal him. They would study and sometimes just be quiet and whisper how much they loved and missed him and that they regretted their deed and what they had decided together.

Remus was not sure what exactly they had meant but he would guess it was either about taking Virgil into the group and taking it so far to get not just a lot of people murdered on the way but also get him hurt. So hurt, he may not even survive, he may not wake up and be able to live life more than just waste his breath as he drifted further away from his friends and closer into Remus’ realm.

Virgil would always dance between the life and death, the living and the dead creatures. He would probably never stop crossing lines and doing his graceful steps on them - each measured and perfectly coordinated to play with the balance but never quite tilt it - or his feral sprints. Sometimes, you just had to fuck over boundaries.

But if he did not wake up soon, this might be a thing he would have to try doing from the side of the deceased and Remus was not sure whether it worked that way.

He was actually pretty sure that it was not.

Logan had said something about Virgil’s chances sinking with every moment longer it took him longer to get his usual life together and just be and live and enjoy himself.

Remus surely was not always around and he was not in the position to communicate with anyone other than people with Virgil’s magical ability but he knew that this was bad .. Not that he could tell them. He had no idea how to get this moving, how to make a change without being really able to influence the world with Virgil lacking the ability to enforce their connection and allow Remus to have an effect.

Patty gave Logan another of these helpless looks.

She was usually so full of enthusiasm and energy.

Remus had been surprised at so much positive energy floating around one person’s moods so much that she would just counter all the bad and misery with little quirks and jokes. She was always there for others and constantly looked out for them, even wiping another’s cheek when her own eyes were drowning in the hot saltiness of her own frustration.

The leader shook their head and stormed out of the room.

It was a common occurrence but it never ceased to make Patty tear up in guilt and have Remy suck in a breath.

Whether he wanted to protest or not, he kept quiet and he would just keep it to Emile and Patty with clenched teeth and helplessly angry hands.

The others left right after. It was slow and sad. Their movements mimicking the march of a grieving bunch that attended the funeral of a beloved one who was too far gone to ridicule the fashion crimes of people walking around in so much black without irony in it.

Virgil would certainly complain about that.

Heck, he would too! All-black was so tasteless if not in well put-together variations of some sort of clue.

Once the room was empty, the silence among the little riot seemed to fade into a more intense elation rather than a funeral mood.

Remus sat down, letting his ghost butt rest on the bed as he fell through Virgil.

He could not even touch him in this state, not really. He had tried before and now there was just nothing and he felt so odd and weird about this. Usually, he would always be able to touch Virgil even when the other restricted his powers to not let Remus touch others.

Despite having been a ghost when they had met for the first time, the Duke had always had the power to create things like he had been before.

With Virgil, he had been connected to the present so he would be able to just dip in and let his creativity be shared with the world and let the planet tremble from his actions.

The ghost glanced over the unmoving body.

It was still quite the sight to have Virgil there with closed eyes. Even asleep he had always seemed to struggle in fights, ready to claw your throat out if you dared closing in too much. And this was coming from Remus, a ghost who could and would and actually did try these thing, so he absolutely knew what he was talking about.

It felt so wrong, it felt as if all deities, people could and would believe in or ever did and will come up with for worshiping purposes, just pissed all over the world and broke the contract of keeping order in the universe.

Everything was broken and chaotic but the world outside was so normal, so threateningly normal. It was basically an insult to see everything go on, the tides still work, the winds blowing and the earth trembling as the temperatures fell further and the trees turned red and purple and silver as winter approached.

Yes! Even the stupid seasons were still in order and came according to their turn and took over their duties of fulfilling their jobs and changing the worlds in the regular rhythm of their five seasons.

It was wrong.

It was not fair!

No order and law should be in place with Virgil falling and suffering while the liquid rain solidified enough to make little flakes of silver travel down the way and land on the floor to decorate the world in the pale silverish glimmer of cold.

No order should be in the world when Virgil was not fighting anymore but also still struggling as he seemed peaceful on the outside.

Remus leaned over him.

He knew he was being overly dramatic right now, thirsting after a touch just out of reach, a person he would never be able to warm and a closeness he would fly right through even if he actually was a materialised person.

There was no reason, no logic or any way in which he could ever get a sweet taste of Logan’s place, he would never see Virgil’s cool eyes light up with joy and spark in mischief for him because he was just a noisy ghost who promised him to help bringing down the tyranny of his brother.

Why, Virgil had asked but Remus would just shrug and always say that it was for fun.

The ghost whisperer probably noticed the resemblance of their faces and bodies as soon as Roman had been in front of him and started being a terrible, delusional piece of shit.

Roman’s mind, at some point, must have been put into a pot with stew and mixed through enough to just be all over the place and blended in with all the trash that was now his thoughts. Otherwise, there would just be no explanation for him to be such a twisted little malice.

He reached out and let his fingers ghost over Virgil’s face.

It was bullshit but he could imagine the warmth he was longing for just tickling his finger tips and teasing into his body with little tingles and soft sparkles that reminded him of fire magic and artistic light work.

But he knew better, he knew so much better and the joyous smile that deceitfully stole itself onto his mouth just dropped as he realised how he had gotten too absorbed in the sonnet of false hope that were his thoughts. His fingers fell through the skin and he felt an odd, blocking sensation within him as his hand nearly disappeared in Virgil’s head.

Usually, he did these things to mess around, to play a little with how much people would freak out about these things. After all, he could drive into someone’s body or charge at them without actually interacting with them on a physical level that could leave them to collisions.

Remus was left wondering about how Virgil’s nose would scrunch up at his silly shenanigans while the younger one was panicking about trivial things such as whether this mushroom was poisoned. It was a common mushroom and he had left it without supervision for a second. When surrounded by friends!

“You are dumb, Virgil. Very very silly.”

The ghost smiled and looked over at the sleeping beauty before him, the dying undead who jumped off the tip of Death’s blade in fear just because dying seemed too stressful and implied a workload that made the man too anxious to function.

It sounded ridiculous but really, Remus had seen Virgil merely making it because the idea of dying got him into the incredible survival mode of somehow getting out alive just because he could and had to and his fucking stubbornness was all that would get him through the night.

Virgil truly was the epitome of a miracle if not the personification of spite.

“You are even too stubborn to wake up, emo, are you not?”

His lips twisted downwards and his eyes cast down to the slowly moving chest. The tiny heart in it was still trembling enough to shake the whole body it was inhabiting. This was just about how weak he was, even after Logan and the others made sure to use all the spells and magical knowledge they could muster up just to nourish the other.

Over injections and similar methods, they have literally exhausted all the practices Remus has ever heard of and even freshly learned ones due to their odd yet somewhat effective ideas.

He was sure cures for several ills have been found during these attempts. But none of those were the unfair damage that was taking down Virgil.

Speaking of which, he seemed less bony but he was still too small and fragile for a person of his age. Which was .. basically an adult, in human years, was he not?

The dead prince let his fingers retreat and he trailed them down to his chin, the perfectly sculptured downward hill simply reminding him of how strange the other was.

He had all these thoughts and problems that Remus never had ever since he had been adopted by the royal family when they thought they could not have a legitimate heir to the throne.

After all, he was just a fill in but then there was his half brother who was not a denied-then-accepted bastard excuse of a social reject.

Remus sighed.

Tears were marking his cheeks with blackish colour as he filled himself with the poisonous emotions of memories with Virgil by his side - or rather him by the side of Virgil in his annoying yet absolutely helpful glory of screaming ‘’juicy butthole’’ while taking down a particularly snarky enemy. The squashy sound that would come with it usually made him laugh in mania.

The black dropped down and down from his cheeks, tainting his greenish appearance that represented the colour of his vibes.

Coal-coloured rivers fled from his body and sank down like the foolish ash rain of his dying macabre jokes whenever he tried to just be extra enough for a little bit of attention.

Virgil had not even been like this. Neither had the rest of his group after they had found out about him.

“It’s not fair!”

His words were choked down by his own sobs. The ghost who shimmered like transparent algae was trembling.

Virgil was his only friend, the only reason he did have friends ever in his life. No people judging him to be a proper person and dressed well.

Remus curled up and sighed as he rested next to Virgil, their faces nearly touching.

The patient was facing the ceiling, hence not ‘looking’ back at him. It still felt so close, so intimate and Remus could hear his own existence tremble before the divination of actions and thoughts he was entitled to.

Things even he should not be thinking or joking about.

Remus felt himself being absorbed in the tears that pearled over his cheeks and stained the sheets under him. Precious black deepened the fabric beneath his body.

The world around him seemed to blur away with the liquid veil that covered his sight and messed with his vision enough to make him doubt reality.

It might very much be that he was losing his manifestation more and more at the moment and would fully glide through all matter if he did not focus on existing in the here and now. He wanted to stay in the living world with the others, he really did but he did not know how to fight the urge of throwing it all away.

Seeing his little master like this just.. hurt.

It hurt on a level different than being stabbed. When he focused on that pain, he could summon the memory and relive his own death again, feel the splitting of his flesh and the piercing sensation burst through his rib cage and destroy the integrity of his chest.

It was another thing for him

The pain was within him, deeply buried in his whole existence and it was weaved into every fiber of his being. The little net of his cells was glowing with pain and throbbing due to the unbelievable variable of him continuing to be when others may not.

Remus curled into himself.

‘’Emo’’, he sniffed softly as his insides seemed to stir.

It hurt so much…

He was but a ghost but he felt obliged to let go of all the things within him but he was no living being anymore yet he still denied death. He was forced into making it through, bearing all the pain he could not project onto something or someone.

There was no escape, no coping. All his anguish was instilled in him.

The ghost reached out for Virgil, his fingers curling around his chin again.

‘’You tickle me’’, he mumbled.

And he did. The punk did, his little master always did! And he was the only one.

He tickled his insides and stirred up all the things he ignored with his silly comments and sexual innuendos he would bring up just to shut out all problems and issues in his head and instead get back on track with disgusting facts and various imaginations that nobody wanted to participate in.

Royals were supposed to smile and drown in gluttony and sin.

His grip slipped and his hand dropped from Virgil’s face to his unconscious chest.

It was only moving with the regular breath in and out that came and went when the lungs decided to.

But it was also very much moved by the sudden coughs that came from the small man’s chest.

Remus jerked up into a sitting position, suddenly stricken by the power of a lightning bolt when he saw the chest contracting and the little body shaking under the warming blanket that was drawn over the little magical being.

Was he dying? Was he coughing? Was that bad???

He should get Logan, he should get Patty or someone, just someone but they could not see him so he would just have to make noise, big big bad noise so they would understand that something was happening and that the little guy needed a lot of help and maybe was choking.

Shit, did he do that?

“Of course people choke! Virgil is not dead, silly!”

Remus pulled himself up and was more than ready to simply bodyslam himself into the next shelf and wreck total havoc within just a mere moment because if that was all it needed to get the attention to the little bean, then he would do that.

Before he could, however, his eyes caught sight of the golden that had shimmered under Virgil’s eyelids for too long and finally went back to streaming into the world and brightening the day.

His body quickly started feeling warm again, a flame raising in him and his ghost form quickly materialised enough to be visible to the whole of the living world.

The Duke blinked and stared back as the snarling yet soft golden treasure wired into his soul and seemed to hug him without a single motion. His whole heart was wrapped up in the imaginary embrace of seeing the other move to retreat into his little ball of softness as he pulled the blankets around him with weak paws at the soft fabric around him.

‘’Emo!! You are alive’’, he cheered loudly as he threw himself onto the other and gained a yelp in return as the other scrambled to stay on his butt and curled up against the wall as he tried to remain in his seated position.

‘’You are alive! I thought you would join me in being a cute little ghost and stop looking so ridiculously dead under these funny sheets!! I mean- you kind of gave me vibes to wrap you up like a mummy and maybe suck your toes but I forgot I don’t really exist anymore, so-’’

The master sighed and carefully pushed at the other’s chest with tired attempts at moving his arms fully in the first place.

‘’The fuck’’, he whispered with a broken voice. His sentence was twisted like mosaic but just as beautiful yet nearly impossible to make out its origin.

Good thing Remus was a master of the odd and quickly retreated to pet Virgil’s hair and gently soothe him.

‘’Let me get Logan. You need to swallow some stuff to get your voice buttered up and I only have my cock to offer’’, he proposed eventually and carefully patted his head again before he swept out of the room and came back just a felt heartbeat later with Logan trailing right behind him, nearly running through Remus as the ghost quickly flew around to settle at the other side of the bed while Logan quickly rushed to where Remus had previously settled to stare the patient into life.

‘’Nerd, your joyfriend needs some oiling so he can sing again when you make him happy’’, he commented with his voice scratching the chalkboard in excitement. Why did Remus have such a cranky voice? It was about as smooth as swallowing a shot of white vinegar.

Virgil did not do much more but groan and stick his tongue out at Remus but when Logan sat down by his side, he sighed and simply let himself be immersed in the warmth of Logan and the strong hold of their arms that he could have only dreamed of in his last waking moments.

Basically, he fell unconscious in Logan’s arms and woke up with the other being around again. Once again, his body was in the direct presence of Remus and Logan at the same time.

Funny.

The dizzy man carefully dipped his arms against the blanket and helplessly nudged the heavy cloth as he could not even move it enough to get it off. It was too heavy, too much.

Why was he so weak… He had not felt that heavy before..

‘’mm.. l-lo..’’, he mumbled softly before he started coughing just a bit again and Logan silenced him with a little smooch to his forehead.

There were serenades of feelings under Logan’s tongue, sparks of compliments and praises to all powers they believed and did not believe to exists just to show the immense gratitude they felt for Virgil finally being awake and looking back up at them.

They wanted to, they wanted to speak to him so bad, tell the truth of their feelings and unleash the beast of feelings they had for their right-hand man.

It was no secret they were close, dating.

Logan just felt they did not let their partner know enough about their mentality towards the other being not just alive but also willingly by their side when they were stoic and blunt more often than not.

But the hopes and sparks vanished.

With a door opened and icy air falling through them, the light and warmth was blown away and Logan realised that their love’s life had been long gone and all that had him seem alive was the magic of his existence transcending from here to .. to nowhere.

Just barely out of reach.

For once, being split was not so much fun. It was no fun at all and did not give him any kind of advantage or secret trick that would help them out.

This had not been planned.

Their attempts at giving Virgil a meaningful kiss to his forehead ended up being nothing but an idiot pursing their lips at the air while nearly pushing their head into the headboard with full force and enthusiasm.

There was nothing but the essence of Virgil floating around them in icy spills running down their spines as if to mimic the soothing touch of their beloved that would travel down their back and pull them closer until they were so close, their hearts were excitedly jumping at one another and kissing through their chests connecting.

The punk was there, in full glory, in all his body even with the clothes he would usually wear when together with the others.

His patched up jacket with large stitches and messy patterns of plaid purple covering the basic, black jacket that was thin and worn out so much, it frequently displayed more and more spaces of fabric that rubbed away so much, it was see-through a lot. Hence the many many patches. There was more patch than jacket by now.

Virgil felt the other fall through him and both pulled apart, shivering and crossing their arms over their chests in order to touch something that was more like them, more like the kind of being and the world they belonged to.

The second in command looked back at them and blinked, his heart... empty. There was no feeling, no nothing. It was cold like his whole existence and it was merely wavering around in this world, unfinished and unprepared for life and death all-together.

“What..”, Logan asked.

Their words were light and intangible. The questions were far away from his intentions, the answers he could and should take and the huge abyss between these dimensions of warming dreams with heart and soul and the contrast of the harsh reality punching them all in their guts when they were already on the ground and wincing in obvious pain.

A silence stretched between them. Long and thick like an empty road that painted the difference of the two worlds they were in.

They were right before one another, they were so close yet so distant.

Virgil was void of feelings of any physical body. Except for the discomfort and the icy feeling running through his insides like ice water running through him like the river of defrosted glacier water.

All he felt was the mental pain of being wretched away from the one he loved when they were right in front of him.

Logan before him, Remus basically next to him.

“I think Virgil’s fate finally settled on a secure answer.”

Well, that comment, as much as it seemed insensitive to others, was something Remus ripped from his throat as he tried to sound over the breaking and falling hopes he used to have in his own heart.

He wanted to be happy Virgil was with him now, was close to him and in his world and realm but not once before in their time spent together had they encountered the issue of non-interaction with one another since Virgil had been in the perfect place to be with the living and dead all along.

Now he was stuck, stuck here with him and whether he wanted to love it or not, he could not, would not. For all it had done to him was take his long-term beloved away from him and leave him without the support he had wished for in his whole life.

Virgil shot the other a glance, helpless and lost. Short of breath as he was about to drown in the raging sea and never make it back up to live for another breath of sweet oxygen or a glance through the salty veil of the sea to the beauty around him and the assembled orchestra of water crashing and thunder flashing around him.

“I ...I can still be with you”, he insisted and took a deep breath, “ I love you, Logan! We can stay together. I am still here - it must be my power!”

Maybe he was high on being a damn ghost. Maybe he lost more than their weight of a physical vessel but also his fucking mind. All he knew was how his chest was unusually free - breath a matter of everyone but him.

Logan was reaching out for him, love and welcomes on their lips -

“I can be with you Logan!”, he sounded

Virgil’s voice dissolved into the empty echo of nothing as finally, his self was soaked up and Logan’s unbelieving eyes stared into nothing but a bed. Empty with Virgil’s abandoned corpse in it.

New tears were spilling as Remus witnessed the two lovers break down, fully torn apart by now.

He could not make it work.

None of them could, neither alone nor together.

Virgil’s body was Logan’s shoulder to cry on as they mourned the loss of their datemate, their soulmate.

Remus could hear heart-wretching cries from the two as he allowed himself to relish in the masochism of watching two people he adored fall and die and inevitably suffer because and in place of the other.

He seated himself between them, seeing that they were, as always, so close and so divided.

Roman really did rule a whole kingdom. And poisoned the foundation is was supposed to regrow on.

Salty tears did not make an ingredient in the conditions of nurturing life - or allowing it in the first place.

With Roman’s deeds and Virgil’s corpse, all hope of Logan taking over had been diminished.

Sometimes, there was no good and bad. And where there was no good nor bad, there could be nothing but endings that fell into the category of neither.

It was just a kingdom of misery that was life.

‘*** A/N: (post-reading note: to make it clear: Virgil was born in a body assigned as female but met Dee who magically fixed that because Dee is magic. Roman is abolutely out of his mind and twisted in jealousy. After he had killed his half brother, his insanity dropped into destruction of all life. His dad was the king, his mother was a servant. When The Queen did not produce children herself, they settled on adopting Remus and declaring him a chosen child of royalty (he did have creative powers! He can create things, even as ghost) but then the King heard of Roman and acknowledged him as child.Remus IS older so he was the prince but Roman wanted to be more important, more than a bastard. He did not kill his parents but nobody can find them.Virgil is beyond living and the dead, as he always had been. He is in a special ever after because he doe not belong with ghosts like Remus. Him coughing was his last breath, basically. When he got up and Remus hugged him, it was Virgil slowly merging from the mortal world into the world of the dead so Remus saw him pass his realm for a bit.Virgil can still see Logan and Remus but they cant interact.)

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they-call-me-hades · 4 years

Text

{Cinderella AU} Night and Day

CHAPTER SIX

Kit glared out the window of the carriage that brought him closer to the beautiful palace that was continuing to come closer and closer into view. Kit should be ecstatic, he was going to see an actual prince, a man who had been so kind towards him that made him hope that maybe there was hope for Nobles since the only ones he’d known were his stepfather and brothers.

Kit however knew he would be much happier though if the situation wasn’t going to be complete crap and he wasn’t sitting across from Drake. Today was supposed to be the day he met his prince charming and Crowley had gotten to finally after so long reunite with the prince who he had thought forgotten him. Instead it was all just betrayal, and this was going to be the worst day of Kit’s life since his mother died.

24 HOURS PREVIOUSLY….

Gabriel had brought kit into the parlor and had shut the doors; a tea set had been set out and Kit remembered Honey preparing it earlier meant for Gabriel and Vlad. “I’m sure you’re realizing that we’ve been presented with an amazing opportunity with this.” Gabriel said in his hand was the invitation that Crowley had previously had, Gabriel had managed to swipe it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the princess yesterday when it happened?” Gabriel asked him Kit shifted uncomfortably in his seat feeling Gabriel’s eyes bore into him with anger and Kit almost worried that Gabriel would strike him, but he didn’t.

“Well first off, I didn’t know she was the princess, they weren’t dressed like they were. The princess’s horse had gotten away and thrown her father and I helped out. They invited me to join them for a picnic and I did.” Kit said his voice getting smaller the more he felt Gabriel’s anger radiate off of him. But Gabriel somehow managed to sit in his chair and force himself to relax as he took a sip of his tea there was a long pause between the two of them and Kit could tell Gabriel was deep in thought, scheming to himself.

“So…. can I go tomorrow?” Kit asked slowly when he got his courage back or just couldn’t bare the silence between them anymore. Gabriel looked at him and smiled “Oh of course, it would be rude to say no to a royal.” Gabriel said and Kit managed to smile a bit relieved but that smile only lasted until “But you’ll be taking Drake with you.”

Now Kit frowned at him practically glaring as Gabriel who now had a clever smile on his face “I want you to introduce Drake to the Prince, he’s looking for a suitor after all right?”

Kit was stunned and glared at him

“Crowley got invited- “ “The invitation only has your name on it.” Gabriel said holding up the slip of paper again “Last time he was at the palace he humiliated not only himself but out family as well, the prince got kicked off the line for the throne because of him what kind of a scandal will it cause for us and them if he does it again?”

Kit fumed Crowley had been waiting for this for so long, to finally find the opportunity to see his prince again.

“If Crowley doesn’t go then I don’t go,” Kit said standing up angrily he couldn’t betray Crowley by bringing that monster, that horrible bastard who treated all of them like dirt.

Gabriel was calm this time, much to calm for Kit’s liking “Fine.” Gabriel said his violet eyes gazing up at Kit “Then tell Crowley to pack his things and be out by sundown.”

Kit paused for a moment as he processed this “Wh-what?!” “He assaulted Drake don’t you know? That kind of a record I’d be surprised if he could get another job anywhere in town again.” Gabriel said with false disappointment as he poured himself another cup and Kit felt his stomach drop into his feet at the thought, Crowley and Honey had been the only things keeping him together since his mother had passed. They made this place tolerable and they’d done so much for him

“But- “

“But I’d be willing to reconsider if you take him and Crowley stays here.” Gabriel said Kit shook in rage how could he do this? This was blackmail! After a few moments Kit slumped back into his chair defeated he couldn’t let them do that to Crowley, Crowley and honey were everything to him.

PRESENT

After that Gabriel had gone over the plan, Kit was to try and sell Drake as the best type of person to be a husband for either Aziraphale or Hades something for them to get into the royal family, he wasn’t to tell anyone of their conversation and if Gabriel got the slightest hint that Kit went against his word Crowley and Honey were both going to be out on the streets (apparently he wanted to include Honey for good measure.) and Kit felt utterly trapped. He’d felt even worse when Drake had told Crowley the next morning that he was going and Crowley was staying, how hurt and betrayed Crowley had looked as the carriage pulled away.

As if making it worse when the carriage pulled up Aziraphale was waiting for them, looking as excited as he could be with a bouquet of beautiful roses in his arms and then the disappointed look when Drake pushed his way out instead of Crowley. Kit offered a smile to the prince, both he and Drake bowed to the prince

“I thought Crowley was accompanying you?” Aziraphale asked Kit wanted to make an excuse but Drake was faster in his quip

“His wife didn’t like the idea, wanted him to spend the day off with her so we hope you don’t mind if I came instead?” Drake asked Aziraphale was stunned, his face fell, and you could almost swear the roses in his arms even drooped in disappointment as he looked away and Kit glared at Drake the prince excused himself and started off

“You’re a cruel bastard you know that?” Kit asked him glaring as Drake chuckled

“What? Have to take out the competition somehow” Drake asked as a servant lead them inside the parlor was waiting and gloriously decorated like nothing either of them had ever seen. Both of them took a seat and even though kit had been excited at first, he now just wished for this day to be over, how the actual hell was he supposed to sell Drake to Hades? Vlad he would have understood but Drake?!

Kit didn’t have time to ponder a plan before the princess came barreling in and hugged him tight around the legs “You made it!!” she said excitedly but her smile didn’t last long before she spied Drake and her smile immediately vanished, she pouted and looked up at Kit with a look of tiny betrayal and Kit could only shrug “Crowley was….otherwise occupied.” Kit explained to her apologetically Felicity let out a huff and looked at Drake still frowning as she curtsied like Adhira had taught her to do Drake did a little bow as well and then Hades came in himself with Adhira in close tow, Kit felt a lump in his throat as he saw the prince looking much more his royal title as he entered and Kit just smiled

“Well this is perhaps something you could have mentioned the other day don’t you think?” Kit asked as he took a bow Hades chuckled a bit and shook his head “You don’t have to do that; you saved my daughter as far as I’m concerned, we’re over formalities.” Hades said offering a hand to shake Kit smiled and took his hand but was quickly brought to Drake’s awareness again as he cleared his throat and offered his own hand

“You’ll have to forgive my stepbrother your highness he has a habit of getting distracted, I’m Drake Jeffords.” Drake introduced himself Hades eyed the other for a moment and just kind of gave him a rather unamused stare for a moment until Drake retracted his hand that he had offered and put them in his pockets Hades looked at Kit and raised a brow

“My brother was so excited he mentioned you were bringing the gardener?” Hades asked and again Kit felt twinge with guilt as he thought about poor Crowley back at home thinking how Kit had betrayed him and trying to wrap his head around why he would for some reason rather take Drake than him.

“Yes, well he had other things to attend too.” Drake said rolling his eyes and letting the slightest hint of annoyance into his voice. They sat down to tea not long afterwards, Aziraphale had chosen not to join them and it probably was for the better as things were…. well rather awkward. Adhira walked Felicity through the steps of pouring tea and all the proper things but it seemed like every time Hades tried to say a word to Kit, Drake butted his head in and interrupted with some long and exaggerated story about himself that had everyone yawning or rolling their eyes.

Felicity pouted the entire time; it wasn’t supposed to be this hard! Kit was supposed to come in, her and her dad were supposed to flirt like they were the other day, Uncle zira was supposed to meet his long lost love who the heck was this doofus and why was he ruining all of her plans? Hadn’t he known that she’d been working on this for a whole two days now? That was a long time for a kid!

Felicity tried to think of a way to fix this, Felicity looked around the table at the way her father kept glancing at the clock and how Kit kept looking like he wanted someone to shoot him and Adhira- Actually Adhira had her attention rapt on Doof-I mean Drake. She actually seemed to be paying attention (How Felicity had no idea, the way this guy kept going on about how his maid had missed a stitch once and it had totally ruined an outfit for hunting was positively mind numbing) but Adhira actually looked interested.

Felicity sparked with a new idea to save her plans and smiled before she looked at Adhira

“Lady Adhira, shouldn’t we give everyone a tour of the palace?” Felicity cut in ignoring the dirty look that Drake gave her for interrupting his hunting story (this guy probably couldn’t catch a mouse with a brick of cheese) Adhira seemed to beam at this idea

“That’s a lovely idea princess, if they’re going to stay our friends they should probably know how to get around without our help.” Adhira stood and soon everyone was following her on a tour through the halls as Adhira rambled on about history of architecture and paintings, they were wandering for a while and still everyone looked bored until Felicity grabbed Kit by the sleeve and stopped walking pulling him back. Kit gave her a puzzled look for a moment until she pressed a finger to her lips and pointed at the group that hadn’t yet noticed them. Until Hades realized and stopped as well, Felicity kept her fingers to her lips before she practically dragged Kit down another hallway, Hades glanced back over his shoulder at Adhira and drake before hurrying after them, his mischievous little daughter was up to her lovely little tricks again.

Felicity lead them down all kinds of winding hallways until she deemed them safe and stopped before she frowned at Kit

“What made you bring that doofus?” she asked him Kit couldn’t help but finally burst into giggles at how mad she looked, Hades quickly following suit as he caught up and overheard the conversation shaking his head a little bit

“I told you the invitation was for you and the Gardener not that guy.” Felicity said Hades smiled a little as he came closer “My stepfather made me bring him, it’s a long story.” Kit said with a sigh as he shook his head Hades scooped up his little princess and shook his head

“You know you get more mischievous by the day?” He asked her she only answered with a big smile that had him laughing at her a bit “Well then, lets go have some real fun, then shall we?” He asked they went down to the kitchens and swiped some snacks from the staff, Kit had to duck and weave his way through the bodies of people Hades had it down to some sort of elegant dance seeming to know exactly who was going to be where and how to avoid them and properly swipe snacks from them the entire time. Felicity as well for that matter of course it seemed easier for her because of how small she was. When they made it out to the garden Aziraphale was still there looking rather glum himself and Kit felt more than a little bad about the whole thing. Felicity hurried over to him “Uncle Zira I need your help,” Felicity told him before she started whispering Aziraphale seemed reluctant, but he looked up at Hades and kit and sighed standing

“Alright, then but if he lays one hand on my books, I can’t promise I’ll stay a prince for much longer.” Aziraphale said before he started off Felicity looked at them “We’ll be back later.” She promised before hurrying after him leaving the two alone in the gardens Hades shook his head and looked at Kit, the sunlight reflecting beautifully in his curls and Hades couldn’t help but smile a little and was distracted for a moment as Kit turned to look at him

“Do you have the funniest feeling we’ve been set up?” Kit asked him to snap Hades from his thoughts of how lovely the man was, and he chuckled

“I’m afraid so,” Hades said shaking his head be offered Kit one of the cookies he’d swiped and Kit accepted it munching it happily as the two began to stroll through the gardens, they were much larger than the one that Kit had around the house, there were more flowers than he’d ever hoped to have seen of different types and names that he’d never even heard of and thankfully Hades didn’t mind telling him about them all. The Venus flytraps from rain forests, hibiscus flowers that were from tropical islands far away, but by far his favorite had been the Juliet roses. Such pale peachy petals and unique shapes it made him flush when Hades plucked one out of the ground and gave it to him

“If you plant it in your garden it’ll grow, your gardener should know how to help with that right?” Hades asked Kit smiled and accepted it with a nod tucking it in through one of the buttonholes on his coat. “So, Drake is your stepbrother?” Hades asked curious trying to keep conversation going so they didn’t fall into awkward silence. Kit made a face, but he nodded

“Yes, I have two, Drake is the eldest and then Vlad is next and I’m the youngest. Your father probably remembers my stepfather Gabriel from when he meets with all the lords in the area.” Kit said Hades racked his brains and soon remembered a stubborn and pig-headed man with violet eyes and scowled

“He’s your father?” “Stepfather, and yes, unfortunately.” Kit admitted to him Hades frowned a little bit it was clear that Kit wasn’t a big fan of his family but he didn’t say more on the subject seeing that it bothered him

“Well surely your mother wouldn’t stay with him if she knew how you felt then?” Hades asked and the pained look on Kit’s face read it all, Hades looked at his feet wondering how he could be standing on his feet yet some how have them both in his mouth at the same time.

“You’re fine, I was young when it happened.” Kit explained to him hoping to make the situation less awkward though he didn’t usually talk about it in such a way. “I was about eleven, mother had been married to Gabriel for about a year and he took over after that.”

He didn’t want to go into the details of everything else that had come with her death, the canning of the servants, moving to the basement to keep the stoves burning at night his life sounded like some kind of disaster and he wasn’t going to complain about it though. There were people far worse off than he was plus if Gabriel found out he’d told the prince then it was probably his butt on the line, Crowley and Honey couldn’t protect him from everything after all.

“SO how come you didn’t tell me you were the prince the day we met?” Kit asked him curiously as they continued to stroll leisurely through the gardens turning corners and such, Hades chuckled a bit and looked anywhere but at Kit now

“Well when people realize who you are, they want things from you.” Hades explained to him Kit frowned at him momentarily offended but Hades continued on with what he meant

“Take your stepbrother for instance, he figured out who I was because of Aziraphale and Felicity, came along and has been trying to sell himself like a cow on the auction block so that when my suitors ball comes up he’s got a foot in ahead of the game and is three steps closer to the throne than everyone else.” Hades explained to him the best he could as he stood on the edge of one of the flower beds Kit chuckled a little

“Told him not to be so obvious, but if that’s what you were worried about how come you aren’t worried now?” Kit asked him glancing up at him, Hades looked down at Kit and just gave a little half smile as he did

“Because if you wanted something you’d have asked for it by now, even without knowing me if you were the kind of person who thought about what you wanted over what you needed you would have asked for money the day that you rescued Felicity knowing who she was or not. Hell you would have asked the moment you found out if that were the case but you didn’t and you haven’t so you’re not.” Hades told him the two just smiled at each other for a moment before hades lost his footing on a loose edge and toppled into one of the beds of flowers, Kit immediately burst into fits of laughter as Hades sat up now covered in mud with blades of tall grass in his hair. Hades gave a playful glare at him

“oh you think that’s funny then?” he asked picking up a handful of mud and flinging it at Kit like a child splattering it over the others face and wiping the smile off of it for a moment as Hades laughed in return

“That’s a good look for you, you know.” Hades teased as he stood up and took off through the beds, oh this wasn’t going to stand.

“What you think because you’re a prince I won’t fight back?” Kit asked scooping up a handful of mud like a child and quickly chasing after him

“Well that’s typically how it goes.” Hades told him ducking to avoid the flying much that threatened to beam him in the head before returning fire the game was on now! Mud flew and splattered the trees of the garden getting everywhere all over their clothes. The laughter that rang out was infectious between the two as they snuck through the trees and bushes hiding from each other and attacking the moment they could. Kit crept through the brush spying Hades trying to hide, he moved silently through the brush until he pounced tackling the prince to the ground and pinning him with a mud pie in one hand

“Admit defeat or-“

“Or what?” Kit and Hades looked up seeing a stern looking man practically glaring down at them with the audience of Drake, Aziraphale (who had his face in his hands), Adhira and Felicity who stood behind her uncle giggling

Hades could only give a nervous smile

“Hello Father, you’re uh home early.”

#cinderella au #Do not reblog #unless you're anna

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