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greyhavensking · 4 years

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100 Followers Celebration!

God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.

I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!

Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.

you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

“Buck, you awake?”

It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.

Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—

Tonight’s a bad night.

But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.

As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.

“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV.

Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”

“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.

“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”

Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.

Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.

“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining.

“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—

“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”

Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?”

His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light.

Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.

“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I’m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”

“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”

“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”

Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”

“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”

“What? You loved that movie!”

“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”

“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”

“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”

Hold on—

“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”

Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.

But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”

“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”

And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.

“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”

Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.

“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”

“Buck…”

“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”

“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”

Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.

“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”

Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”

“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”

“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”

It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.

In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now.

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together.

Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas.

It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.

“Love you too, Buck.”

Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation.

He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.

“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.

“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”

“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”

He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”

“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”

“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”

He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.

And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.

Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all.

#stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky fanfic #fanfic #my fic

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jenovahh · 3 years

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The Honey Pot - Ch. 22 - The Echo

You stare at Elidibus, confused, yet intrigued as his query strikes a chord within you. “The Echo?” you parrot back at him, your rush to eat breakfast before your usual spar with Zenos forgotten. “I’m afraid I haven’t. What is it?”

Elidibus maintains his easy smile, ruby eyes twinkling with the unknown. “You’ve been thinking about what I had said last time, have you not? About your paranormal abilities?”

Furrowing your brow, you stare at him, concerned. “How do you know--”

“In Gyr Abania, you had given thought to what I had said, and actively tried to use your powers.” He cuts you off, gaze boring into you as your distress grows. “Until that point you had unknowingly triggered it, reaching deep within to call forth a power you didn’t even know lay inside you.” Releasing your arm, his hand falls limply at his side. “It is amazing you have remained out of his sight this long...though I suppose for how your abilities have manifested, it would be easy to keep a low profile…”

Your face breaks up, not understanding what he’s saying. You feel as if you should cry, but you do not know if it is from sadness or fear or anger. He keeps speaking in riddles as if he knows who you are, but won’t say a word about it. “What do you know about me?” You ask, practically begging with the desperation in your tone, reaching to clasp his hand between yours. “Do you know something about me? What is the Echo?”

Elidibus glances down at his hand clutched between your own, flexing his fingers slightly. A look of pity pulls at his features as his free hand comes up and rubs against the back of your own, his skin soft to the touch and smooth like porcelain. “I suppose there is no harm…” he trails off, eyes looking off to the side for a moment before they glide back to you. “Very well. You are free to do as you wish in the evenings, correct?” He asks, to which you nod in affirmation. “Excellent. Meet me out in the gardens this evening, after you’ve eaten your supper. Then, I will explain what I can.”

Giving you a final, reassuring pat on your hand, he pries his from your hold, crossing his arms behind his back. “If you worry about either Lord Varis or young Zenos, do not worry, I have way ways.” He finishes with a small smile. Nodding, he makes a little shooing motion. “Go on, I’m sure I’ve delayed you enough. Surely your breakfast is getting colder by the second and I know Lyngsath detests microwaves.”

Nodding, you purse your lips together turning around, heading straight for the kitchens. When you take a quick glance behind you, Elidibus is still there, eyebrow raised as you shake your mind free of thoughts and head straight for your destination.

When you greet Lyngsath it is absentmindedly, giving him a silent wave as he deposits your still warm breakfast on a plate before you. Thankfully Lyngsath is understanding and doesn’t take your sudden silence personally, merely setting a warming cup of tea with two cubes of sugar next to your breakfast and going on his way, leaving you to your thoughts.

Your mind was going malms a minute trying to think of what The Echo could possibly mean; and what it meant for you. Elidibus had always seemed strangely cryptic, but now more so with his recent actions as if he was using you to prove a theory of his. Would he shine light on why you felt a strange sense of ease, a weird sense of familiarity around him? Did he know you as a child?

Did he know what happened to Minfilia?

Your silence as you stewed in your thoughts of course did not go unnoticed by Zenos, though he refrained from commenting on the matter. You could tell he desperately wanted to ask, but for reasons unknown he kept to himself. You wonder what he must think of you, his bodyguard, once so confident and sure, now looking as if they might break from the strain of their job.

If only he had known you had never signed up for any of this.

Somedays you wanted to bawl and tell him everything, especially that night he had held you as you cried. You wanted to tell him how you were just a girl looking for answers on her missing friend, joining the police in hopes of climbing the ranks to find clues. And instead, you had gotten yourself involved with possibly one of the largest crime lords in history, with no way out to tell any kind of news station or authorities without putting everyone at risk.

To top it off, your only comfort was in the arms of the son of said crime lord, who you may or may not like more than you had originally planned.

“You’ve been quiet all morning,” Zenos begins, drawing your attention from the reflective ceiling above. He had been scribbling away at some documents or whatever for a while, and it looked like he had finally had enough of the quiet. However, his phrasing put the ball in your court, said as an observation and not an outright question.

“Yeah.” You respond, sparing him a glance. He hasn’t looked away from his desk yet, and you sigh, wondering what you should say. “Just...a lot on my mind.”

“It’s unlike you to not speak it.” He responds swiftly, his pen moving with ease across the paper. “I will not pester you, but I will also not allow you to drown in your grief.” He flips the paper over into his pile of finished documents, beginning to work on the next. “You always become this way around death. You have been blessed with an innate talent for combat, but lack the heart to truly revel in battle.”

Frowning, you glare at him from your space on the couch. “I enjoy fighting.”

“Enjoying the battle is the same as truly reveling in it.” Zenos responds, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. To him, perhaps it is, for you’ve already gathered that he experiences things so much differently than you. Tempering your anger, you take a calming breath and keep a cool head.

“What do you mean by reveling in the battle? Do I seem upset when we fight?” You ask, genuinely trying to figure out what on earth he could mean.

Zenos pauses his writing to gaze at you from beneath his lashes, almost stealing your breath away. “I must answer your question with another: What do you feel when we fight?”

He gives you a moment to think on it, to analyze your feelings about your previous duels. Most mornings you’re just focused on the warm up and the comfort of routine, even back when you hated him with every fiber of your being. Deep down you couldn’t deny you looked forward to your sparring each morning, having never found anyone near your level of skill. Whether it be grappling each other until someone was flat on their back or Zenos’ practice blade at your throat, you always found yourself having fun and enjoying the match.

“I feel...happy.” You admit, the words sounding strange but no less truthful. Really, there was no other word better to describe it. Looking at him he seems almost surprised by your response, but he quickly schools his face back to one of indifference.

“But you do not feel the rush of blood? The time between the seconds?” He questions, staring at you fiercely now. There is a passion in his eyes you have only seen a few times, capturing your attention entirely. “To revel in battle, Honey, is to give yourself over completely to your desire to fight. Even in our tamest of duels, I experience a bliss that I cannot attain anywhere else. Whether it is the feel of your fist connecting with my face, the sound of my own breath as I push my body to keep up with your own, there is no greater joy than giving myself to battle.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad--”

“I wasn’t done.” He cuts off, eyes pinning you in place. He gains a far away look, as if lost in a fantasy. “I confess, I often think about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of your rage; to experience firsthand the flame of your fury as your hands wrap themselves around my throat and snap my neck. To feel my blade slice through your flesh and bone, to know the grueling pain of your hand breaking my arm--”

He releases a shuddering sigh, one that almost bordered on lewd. “Oftentimes in the early days of when I had started as my father’s hitman, I would give myself impossible odds. I had entire swathes of gang members at my disposal, but nothing could stop me from entering hideouts with nothing but myself, and my sword.” He smiles as he loses himself in his memories, eyes twinkling. “I would return home covered in blood, always scaring the house staff, but happy. Each brush with death, each time I barely escaped with my life, I felt such bliss.” His smile falls. “And then one day, nothing. I felt nothing.”

While listening intently, your concern mounted with each word, but especially at how defeated he had sounded at the end.

“Perhaps I had desensitized myself to the thrill. It was not until I had met you that I had met that same feeling once more.” He gives you a surprisingly warm smile, a feeling of affection so strong that you could not mistake it for anything else.

"It is a wonder you're still alive given how you placed yourself in danger." you comment, unsure how to really respond. What did it say about him mentally that the only way he could feel was when his life was in jeopardy? That his father cared so little for him that it didn’t matter to him that his son returned home drenched in the blood of his kills?

"I am a warrior without equal," he responds, as if it was a force of habit. However, his eyes turn ravenous upon you, the flame of desire burning within them. "Or, so I had thought."

Feeling warm beneath his gaze, you decide the ceiling is suddenly interesting again. "Well, I'm glad that at least I can calm you down from doing anything stupid." You tease, trying to turn the conversation back toward lighter spirits.

"Would that I could say the same for you, my beast."

The severity of his tone is enough to catch your attention immediately, watching as he slowly stands from his desk. He slowly strolls around it, prowling toward you with measured steps as he doesn’t let you break eye contact for even a second.

As he nears your place on the couch, you move to sit up but he’s already keeping you in place with one hand as he braces himself to hover just above your prone form on the couch. One hand rests upon the back of it, while the other rests upon the arm where your head is. Like this, his hair slips from its resting place upon his shoulders, wisps of the golden strands tickling you even through your clothes. You're painfully aware of just how large he is, his broad shoulders leading toned biceps. A muscled back leading the way to shapely glutes.

Your legs part without you realizing it but there is no hint of smugness in his gaze, only a need to possess, to claim. "Zenos?" you murmur, tongue swiping across your lips in an unconscious show of nerves, eyes gazing up at the Garlean as he crowds even closer.

"Do not go and do something stupid." He hums, eyes searching yours as if daring you to speak against him. "Your behavior as of late has been concerning. You have become driven, but dangerously so." His beautiful eyes narrow on you scrutinously. "Are you planning something?"

Swallowing thickly, you once again find it hard to lie to him. You weren't a huge liar in the first place, but his constant honesty made you feel nothing but guilty for even the whitest of lies. "What would I even have to plan?" you whisper, taking your hands to reach for his wrists, gently rubbing along them.

"Ever since I had told you my father could be responsible, you have acted strangely." He comments, shifting his hands to where they now rest on either side of your head and his legs trap your own between his. "You cannot afford to do anything to him. Not from your position."

Something in the way he emphasizes you specifically hints that he knows something you do not, a feeling you're getting quite tired of. However, he's right; there's no way you can take down Varis solely from Zenos' side. His own father has seen fit to not keep him apprised of his own machinations as of late, leaving both of you in the dark. His campaign trail would be starting soon, and you couldn't afford to waste any time looking for scraps of info while he prepared to get into a position of power.

"Even now I can see the gears in your head turning." Zenos huffs, grabbing you by the chin and fixing your focus to him. "You are planning something. Something stupid."

Face crumpling with indignation, you huff back at him. "Planning is a bit too advanced for a savage isn't it?" you sneer, knowing he can feel your pulse pounding beneath his fingers.

"Your savagery doesnt make you stupid," he chuckles, rubbing his thumb along your chin. "But your inability to quash your feelings and think rationally does."

Offended, you shove his hand from your face. "Have you ever thought your inability to feel has alienated you?"

"It's cute, the way you try and strike back at me, my beast." He laughs, the hand you swatted away reaching down for your left thigh and hitching it on his hip. "I believe I've shown myself quite capable of having feelings. The only difference between us is I am in control of mine." He shifts his right arm to brace his weight upon his forearm instead of his hand, bringing him steadily closer. "I have no need of shame, or fear." The more he speaks the more you are enraptured by him, mesmerized by his voice even as he lays your heart bare before you.

"How do you see right through me?" you ask, breath ghosting across his lips as you hitch your other leg around his hip, pulling him to you.

Unable to resist temptation, he kisses you, lips hungry yet moving slowly across your own. Your legs tighten around his hips even as he pulls away."I see only what you allow me to." He grins, flipping his hair from his face. "You've convinced yourself for so long I am some unfeeling monster," he growls as his left hand begins to untuck your blouse from your pants, "buy I have always made my feelings clear. You have been ignorant to them."

"That's not true," you insist, despite arching your back to allow him to free the fabric from your backside as well.

"Oh? Then what would you call me saving your life in that dump the night we met? Did I not feel interested?" He questions, voice like a balm over your senses, pulling you deeper and deeper into his spell. "When I had learned of your first kill, did I not feel pride?" Your arms loop around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he leans closer, burrowing his nose against your neck and breathing you in. "Do I not feel something too strong for words when you are in my arms?"

His tongue licks a sensual stripe on your skin and you moan despite him barely touching you. "You...I want to hate you. So badly." You whimper as he roughly shoves your pants down a sudden burst of impatience.

"Don't." He responds, as if it is that simple. "Merely stay by my side, and belong to me." He demands, but it comes out as a whisper, a secret that only the two of you share. Trapped beneath him you are arrested by the earnest look in his eyes, a determination that mixes with traces of desperation as if he is convinced you will abandon him. "Promise me."

Reaching up to caress his face, your heart twinges in pain, finding it hard to deny him. “I promise.” You breathe, trapped in his eyes as he once again presses his lips to your own, the kiss passionate, but charged with so much feeling it is overwhelming in its intensity. It should frighten you how far you have fallen for this man, your heart already knowing the words your lips will not speak.

So you touch him instead, letting your hands rove across his body as clothes are shed and you’re pressed face first into the leather of the couch, your skin sticking to it uncomfortably, but not so much so that you would even think about pushing him off you as he fucks you into it. The door is locked but employees are still in the building, and even the possibility of someone getting close enough to the door to hear how you wail for your boss to fuck you harder does nothing to deter this need to show him you won’t be going anywhere.

At least, not while he’s watching.

The hour is late; all of the housekeepers and maids have gone home, tending to their own families while you creep out your room and try to sneak to the backdoor. Moonlight pours in from the windows by the grand staircase, the halls eerily quiet to the point it is slightly unnerving. Hazarding a cautious glance at the winding stairwell, all seems well, praying to whatever gods will listen that both Varis and his son are asleep.

Creeping through one last hallway, you flash your badge at the backdoor, allowing you to slip out into the backyard without the security alarm giving you away. The grass is lush even beneath your slippered feet, the winter chill biting into your skin, making you huddle further into your puffy coat. Glancing over the garden, all that remains are a few choice evergreens, but the majority of plants lie dormant, waiting to bloom in the Spring. Given that the majority of plants are currently without leaves, you find that you cannot spot Elidibus immediately.

The garden is still well lit, but you find you cannot find the Emissary anywhere. Biting down on your lip, you trudge further into the garden, the sprawling grounds somehow seeming larger in the cover of night. You are drawn to the fountain in the middle, eyes gazing at the turbulent waters, losing yourself in the memory of Zenos’ arms bringing you close and pulling you from its murky waters.

“Deep in thought?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Elidibus’ voice, losing your footing as you slip on the smooth stone that makes up the fountain, bracing yourself for a chilly bath that does not come. Unclenching your eyes, you find ruby ones staring back, realizing Elidbus’ arm is looped behind your back as he saved you the trouble of having to explain why you had hypothermia in the morning.

“Well, I suppose that answers my question. I thought you would have sensed my presence.” He hums, setting you to stand up straight, his touch gentle and sure. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with him, at least physically, and the fact that it feels familiar somehow unsettles you. Visibly so.

“Careful, Honey. Eorzeans have a saying that if you make a face, it’ll get stuck that way.” He laughs to himself, ruby eyes twinkling with mirth. Staring at him, he is still dressed in one of his trademark, white suits, as if it is not nearly midnight. He looks as clean and coiffed as he does any other time, making you feel a little ridiculous for being out in the cold in your puff coat and pajamas.

“What do you mean...sense your presence? Don’t you mean ‘heard you coming?’” You frown, brushing yourself off, trying to fix your hair so you don’t feel nearly as crazy in comparison.

His eyebrows raise up into his hairline, before his lips twitch as if to grin. “Perceptive.” He finally does smile, except it feels so familiar and warm and...as if he admires you. “I’m glad to see that has not changed about you.”

Frustrated, you shove past him and march toward a nearby bench, deciding to sit down. “You keep saying that-- that you know me or something. But I’ve never met you until you came here.” Staring him down, you put on your bravest face, trying your best to be mad at him. “I want answers. Why did you call me here?”

Shrugging, Elidibus turns to face you, grin leaving his face. “Very well. I will answer you to the best of my abilities.” He begins, sliding his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed and at ease. “The Echo. I asked what you knew of it, correct?”

You nod, and he continues. “Judging by your silence, you were unable to find anything out about it, which is good. In truth, it is a wonder you have lived this long without finding trouble…” he murmurs, seeming to think on something for a moment before returning his focus to you. “But I digress. Let me present you with another question then; do you believe in magic?”

Pursing your lips, you think about your experiences as a child. Like any country, Hingashi had its share of magicians, from cheap parlor tricks to professionals who had their own shows. You knew it wasn’t really magic, that something within you said you would know magic if you really saw it.

Having your answer, you shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve always felt ‘magic’ isn’t real magic.”

Chuckling, Elidibus nears you, pulling his hands from his pockets. “An interesting answer...which will make explaining this tale, much easier.”

Waving his fingers, you watch as motes of light shine from his very hands, small and glowing like fireflies in the dark. They swirl into a galaxy, a beautiful, blue-green star appearing at the center of it all. “In a time before time, did mortals live for an age. Society was nothing the way it was now. Technology had reached a point of advancement unheard of on this star. The very sky was littered with creatures of all shapes and sizes. But most importantly...the people had the power to create.”

The lights change into spiring towers, much like the skyscrapers of Kugane, but the architecture was unlike anything you had ever seen. Robed figures walked their streets, clutching crystal-like shards to their chests, conversing, living.

“The Ancients, they were called, such terribly magnificent beings they would seem to the mortals of this age. Able to create concepts on a whim, breathe life into creatures and inventions unheard of. This was not an ability given to a select few you see, but a gift bestowed upon all in that world. Surely such power would cause strife would it not?” He pauses for a moment, his voice sounding strangely fond. “No, it was not so. The Ancients took their power to create and used it to further their society. All were equal in this world, even those on the Convocation.”

“The Convocation?” You ask, watching the lights change to match his story.

“The Convocation was a group of fourteen people, chosen to head academia for the entire star.” Elidibus explains, his voice taking on a note of sadness. A group of fourteen figures in robes stand in a circle, all of their robes black save for one in the purest white. The city shimmers brightly behind them, creating a dazzling image. “The best and brightest minds the star had to offer, gathered together to push the star into a new age.” The lights change, the hues of blues and greens changing to oranges and reds. “The best and brightest, gathered together to save the star from certain doom.”

You watch mystified at the panic; the ash and fire as the Convocation scrambles about, their faces looking lost and full of despair. “The laws of life itself were being unwritten, the Convocation at a loss of what to do. It was then that the idea of summoning a god to save them from their peril had been given, but only at the cost of civilian lives.” Elidibus’ voice is hardly above a whisper, his eyes seeming almost as transfixed on his story as you are.

“Yet there were those who stood against such an idea, calling the others cowards for placing themselves above their friends, their colleagues. Were they not all created equal? For what reason were those on the Convocation exempt from sacrifice? Could no one else ascend to their seat?” The robed figures visibly split apart, the divide in how to proceed clear. “It was with this contention that the Convocation had split in two, each summoning their own god. One, from the lifeforce of civilians, the other, with the lives of those who abhorred the very idea.”

Figures of light twinkle into existence, one tinged with a deep, dark purple, the other shining a striking white light. “The gods had warred and fought, both doing their best to fulfill the outcry of their people. But it would be the ones who sacrificed themselves who would win in the end. To save the star, the god had severed the star into bits, saving it the only way they knew how.” The blue-green planet returns, visibly fracturing, breaking to glistening shards of dust adrift in a sea of stars. “It is for this reason that most mortals do not live for more than a century, that the art of magic is lost to time…” The image vanishes, your eyes snapping up to Elidibus’. “Or so, the legends say.”

Confused, but intrigued, you hang on his every word. “What does that story have to do with the Echo?”

“The Echo is what remains of the Convocation.” He answers, coming to take a seat next to you. “Legend says that over history, that across the many shards, the spirits of the Convocation persist. They manifest in different ways...Othardian legends such as Azim and Nhaama were rumored to have the Echo, for they were of the sun and moon, gaining spectacular powers based on the respective time of day.” Shrugging, he brushes a stray hair from his face. “Or perhaps you have heard of Krile Baldesion, a scholar a few centuries ago said to have the power of clairvoyance.”

Giving you a small smile, one you could almost call boyish, he gives you with a knowing look. “Or even someone named Honey, gifted with supernatural combat skills and strength.”

Standing to your feet, you stare down at him wide eyed, shock dancing through your veins. “A-Are you saying,”

“I’m not saying anything, Honey.” He murmurs, voice carrying to you on the night wind. He stands with you, taking a solitary step toward you that has you taking one back. “It is merely a legend after all; whether you believe it or not is up to you.”

The wind blows but you do not feel its icy sting, too focused on trying to make sense of what the Emissary has told you. He wouldn’t make you come out here just to mess with you, he doesn’t seem the type, but it makes no sense. Those images; he had created those, he had used magic. The Echo, did he really think you had it? What did it mean for you?

Wanting to scream, you opt instead to let tears silently roll down your cheeks, as you feel that once again, you are way in over your head. Something bad is going on, something bad, and you landed yourself right in the middle of it. “Why did you tell me all this?”

Elidibus stands there in silence, his eyes giving off that strange glow that you know isn’t a result from the lamps that keep the grounds lit even at night. He regards you with a sudden seriousness you had never felt from him before, gaze unflinching as his lips part for his next words: “I believe even you can feel a certain...attraction between the two of us Honey.” He crosses his hands behind his back, eyes taking on a darker note. “Not in the way you feel for Zenos, oh no, but a magnetism that despite us never having met each other, it is as if we have known each other our whole lives.” Tilting his head back, his gaze could only be described as intrigued. “Perhaps, we knew each other in a past life.”

The lights on the grounds flicker, wind howling loud in your ear, the breeze numbing your legs and killing any feeling in your face. As the lights get darker, the wind louder, you finally bring your arms up to block the abrupt gales, the last thing you see being ruby eyes in the dark before the lights go out entirely. The wind stops as fast as it came, rays of light shining through your arms as you finally lower them to find yourself alone.

Looking around, Elidibus really is gone, leaving you with more questions than answers. Frustrated and sleepy, you stumble your way back into the estate, unaware of ice blue eyes watching you from on high.

“We’re here, ma’am.”

Looking up from your phone, you lock the screen as Yuyusho pulls into the driveway of the Garlond estate. Much like home, the flowers and shrubs all lie dormant, biding their time until Spring. You’re not surprised to find that Cid is not outside waiting for you, dressed in some khaki shorts and a tacky, tropical shirt. Stepping from the car, you bid Yuyusho your goodbyes and a promise to be ready for him to pick you up in no more than two bells.

The door opens as soon as you press down upon the lever, making you silently pray that Cid doesn’t carelessly leave his doors unlocked as you step inside. Toeing your shoes off, you switch to your designated slippers, trying to not let your eyes dwell too long on a familiar large pair that sits in the cubby that has begun to collect dust. Taking a deep breath, you place your shoes in the cubby alongside them, making sure the door locks behind you and heading deeper into the house.

With as big as his house is, there’s no telling where Cid could be within it. As many times as you had been over here, you actually hadn’t had the chance to explore the sprawling grounds, usually chatting with Cid for a while in the kitchen before Estinien would surface from his hermit cave and fetch you to go train. “Cid?” you call, knowing that if he was on the other side of the estate there was no way he was hearing you. “Cid?” you call again, ambling down a random hall, hoping that you might just happen across him.

The house is quiet much like Varis’, except it doesn’t have the white noise of maids and such shuffling about, ensuring not a speck of dust lands upon his prized possessions. As you make your way deeper into the house, the rooms become less for leisure and more for business, beginning to house robots and magitek instead of plush lounge chairs and expensive cigars. One door catches your attention, clearly shut, but it doesn’t stop you from seeing if it will open.

With a simple touch of the button on the wall, the door slides open, cool air brushing over your face as the sounds of beeps and whirrs assault your ears. Before you stands a large piece of magitek of some sort, covered in a glossy, black paint, standing taller than it is wide. It looks as if it made more for battle than for peace, seeming out of place amongst the other things you’ve seen Cid create. Surely enough, it does belong to him, for the Ironworks logo is emblazoned on the side, though instead of neatly printed, it looks as if it was messily spray painted on.

“I see you’ve found Maggie.”

Spinning around, Cid stands behind you, leaning one broad shoulder on the doorframe as he gazes at the tall robot before you. “A real joy that one. Bet you wonder what I’m doing with an old war machine, huh?” He asks, pushing himself off the frame and stepping into the room, allowing the door to shut behind him. Dressed in some comfortable cotton pants and a matching t-shirt, you realize that this is the most casually dressed you have seen him. His usually brushed hair is now unkempt, his keen eyes watered down by obvious fatigue.

“She was my first piece of rebellion, that one. Wanted to prove to my father that there was more than just conquering and war and the glory of Garlemald.” He sighs, stepping past you, his eyes having never left the polished metal. “She’s made for battle. Made to withstand firing enough ammunition to bring multiple platoons to their knees.” He gently runs a hand along its leg, staring intently at the logo embellished on the side. “I had made her better, instead turning her from a war machine, into one capable of rescue.”

Pointing toward its center, you follow his line of sight to where a metal claw protrudes from the front. “With the amount of power she had, it was easy work to make her capable of moving entire tonnes of rubble to free trapped civilians. I was only twelve at the time.” Arm falling to hang limply at his side, he stares up at his trophy, a mix of bitterness and grief in his eyes. “My father hated it. Told me it would never find favor with the emperor.”

Frowning, you stand there unsure what to say, or how to comfort him. “I’m sorry.” An apology is all you can offer, wringing your hands together as he finally turns to face you.

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for.” He smiles, though it does not reach his eyes. “Come. Let’s go get us some wine to drink, hm?”

Deciding it best not to argue, you follow him out the room, silent the entire way as he makes his way to a sitting room furnished with two chairs and a fireplace he lights with nothing but a spoken command. Immediately, the room is further warmed by its crackling fire, but Cid goes the extra mile to offer you a downy blanket to help fight off the chill as the entire back wall is made of glass allowing you to see the rest of the grounds.

“I was surprised to hear you had wanted to visit.” Cid begins, grabbing two glasses from the counter and reaching for a bottle of wine. “Or rather, that you specifically had requested to visit. I had expected Varis to do something as underhanded to send you over to try and squeeze some info out of me when I am at my lowest.”

Heaving out a dry laugh, you graciously accept the glass of wine offered to you, burrowing further into cushy chair as you stare blankly into the fire. “I wouldn’t put it past him either, if it’s any consolation.” You joke, watching as he comes to take a seat in his own seat. Taking a sip of the wine, you let the flavors wash over your tongue, doing your best to seem sophisticated, but sure enough it tastes like...wine.

“In that case, I must ask, what is the reason for your visit, Honey?” He asks, taking a quick glance at your neck. “I see you are missing a certain piece of jewelry. Wearing something a bit less...conspicuous, perhaps?”

Shaking your head, you giggle, unable to mope for too long around him. “No, and if anything that really lets you know I came for myself and no one but myself. He is too busy on his campaign trail to pay me any mind.” You take a long sip, hoping it makes what you’re about to say a little bit easier. “I can’t lie that I did come over with ulterior motives but...really I also just wanted to ask how you were holding up.”

You don’t break eye contact with him, knowing the pain of loss in his eyes is reflected just as strongly in your own. Cid is the first to cave, a hand roughly dabbing away a tear that had managed to escape as he takes a long chug of his wine. “I would’ve gotten something stronger if I had known you were going to ask that.”

Genuinely worried, you watch as he finishes the rest of his glass in one go. “Cid? Are you...have you been drinking?”

Giving you a haggard glance, he has the sense to at least look guilty and ashamed before standing to his feet to lumber over to the counter, tilting the bottle lazily to allow more wine to pour forth. He nearly drains the bottle to where his glass is completely full, taking a sip to ensure none will spill over the edge as he makes his way back to his seat. Gingerly sitting, he keeps his glass upraised as he allows the chair to catch his weight, sighing deeply as he does so.

He takes another long swig, nearly draining a third of the glass before finally setting the glass on the small coffee table between you. “Maybe I should have grabbed a cigar…”

“Cid.”

He still looks ashamed, but you only display your concern, unable to judge him given how poorly you’ve been coping. “I’m...I’m hurting too.” Your voice cracks as you say it, vision warbling as tears catch on your eyelashes. Your face scrunches tight as you sniffle, a sob breaking free from your chest. “I miss him too.”

It hasn’t been long, barely even a month, and yet the pain has shown no signs of ebbing. The loss of Estinien still feels as fresh as it had when you both saw him be killed before your very eyes, your hearts struggling to accept that he really is gone.

Cid begins to tear up as well, spiraling into a sob much faster than you, hand coming up to cover his eyes as he sinks into the chair and lets it all go. The two of you cry and cry, able to share your pain with the only other person who could. With no next of kin, no friends, no coworkers, the only ones who would remember him were the two who at least ensured he didn’t die alone.

Quiet sweeps over the house as you dry your eyes, dabbing at them with your sleeve. You feel better, if only a little bit, unable to sob so openly at home without feeling like Zenos would break down your door and demand to know what's wrong. Cid dries his own eyes with a handkerchief, his breaths shaky and rough. “Gods...I think you needed that as badly as I did, huh?”

Nodding, you find while you can’t give voice to your feelings, you agree all the same.

“Thank you for that, Honey.” Cid reaches for his glass again, but decides against it, settling to thread his fingers together and get comfortable. “I loved him, you know. Like a little brother.” He mumbles, losing himself in the dancing flames. “I knew he could be more than just a thug. He had the skills to be more. And he was.” Shaking his head, he finally drags his gaze to you. “He loved you too.”

It stings just as much to hear it from Cid as it did from Estinien’s lips. “I know.” You whisper under your breath, unable to look at him, the two of you knowing just who you had chosen instead. “It’s why I want to avenge him. I...he didn’t deserve to die.”

Cid shrugs defeatedly, reaching for his glass absentmindedly and taking a small sip. “He was my bodyguard. I willingly put him in the position to put my life above his own. Was part of the job description.” He huffs out a weary laugh. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

Shaking your head, you nearly crush your glass in your hand. “No. It wasn’t you.” Lips pursed together, you debate on whether or not you should say anything. You weren’t going to get anywhere by hesitating, and hesitating is exactly what got Estinien killed in the first place. “It was...it was Varis.”

Cid’s expression turns to be deathly serious. “Honey. That’s a severe accusation.”

“Do I sound like I’m not being serious?” You snap back, placing your wine glass down. “Varis was responsible, I know he was. Who else could it be? What other enemies do you have that would be so vile as to try and have you killed?”

Cid remains quiet, as if he wants to say something but is holding himself back. “Still,”

“Like that stuff they shot me with. I was still conscious. I could still feel the cold floor, could still hear, could still see. I just couldn’t fucking move--” your mind threatens to take you back into that moment: the regret, the pain, the trauma, but you press it down, “--I couldn’t move. It felt like my very being was being restrained.”

Cid only shakes his head, groaning as he begins to slouch. “I had hoped it would never come to this…” he mumbles, staring into nothing. “That wasn’t a tranquilizer they shot you or Estinien with.” He regards you wearily, blue eyes tired and not just from lack of sleep. “It was a destabilizer.”

“Destabilizer?”

“Does exactly what it says on the tin.” Resting his head on the back of the chair, he stares blankly at the ceiling. “The point of it is to render you helpless by causing your aether, essentially your life force to become unstable; it specifically targets you at level far past molecular. It targets your very existence and Varis is a fool and a coward for using it on you just to ensure his cronies didn’t kill you off before you could kill them.”

“Wait,” you sit up fully, truly grasping what he’s saying. “You knew it was Varis who had done this?”

“Who else could it be?” he slaps his hand over his face, dragging it down roughly over his beard. “And not for the reasons you think mind you. You see Varis and I have a long history, Honey. We are connected through my father.”

If there was ever a time to back out, it would be now.

Cid continues, ignorant to your inner turmoil. “Remember how I told you my father did research for the Empire? Well, it was a half truth.” You watch as he sits up straight again and reaches for his glass, clearly needing more liquor to get through this. “For a time, he did work for the crown directly. Until Garlemald finally threw in the towel that its days of colonizing and glory had long passed, and to take on a more...approachable image. This meant that my father’s more interesting projects could not be allowed to continue.”

“He was formally let go by the Emperor, but still had one of the best gold stars on his resume that you could get as a pureblooded Garlean. He found fault in the then Emissary’s decision, and continued to do his research in private.” It’s a wonder Cid hasn’t started to slow down at all given how much wine he’s downed, already you’re starting to feel the warm buzz of it beneath your skin. “It was when Varis had gotten into his late teens he had heard of my father’s studies, and used the crown’s money to secretly fund my father’s research. As you know I had already rebelled against my father’s ideologies, beginning to forge my own path. Had I taken but a moment to try and talk some sense into my father…”

Standing to your feet, you cross over to Cid, placing a comforting hand on his own. The look he gives you is appreciative, flipping his hand over to clutch yours in his own. “You don’t have to talk about such painful memories.” You tell him, unable to deal with the regret in his voice. He had made it seem like he had made peace with his father’s death, but in truth, it seemed like it tore him apart like nothing else.

“While I appreciate your concern, I don’t mind talking about it.” He urges, giving your hand a firm squeeze. “It’s therapeutic to tell someone else; for so long I had no one else to tell. Save Estinien.” He gives you a reassuring smile, coaxing you to return to your chair. “He’d want me to keep going.”

Nodding, you return to your seat, but not before grabbing the blanket he had offered you earlier, getting snuggled up. Cid takes a deep breath, preparing himself to continue. “Varis and my father had entered a parasitic, yet mutual business relationship. Varis would show up with a check, and my father would show his latest findings.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but I must ask…” Taking a deep breath of your own, you let the question fly past your lips. “...how do you know about aether?”

Frowning, Cid looks plagued by too many sins for one to bear. “Aether is what my father researched. It is what he provided to Varis.” Groaning he leans forward, cradling his face in both hands. “My hands are as dirty as Varis’, Honey. Not from supporting the acts themselves, but for my own cowardice.” He sounds on the verge of tears, shoulders shaking as he tries to hold himself back.

“My father...he had found in his research that a certain demographic of people were immune to his studies on aether. The test subjects he had subjected to his experiments, they had all rejected anything involving aether. It would imbalance their very makeup, most times killing them.” Bitterly laughing, he runs a hand through his hair. “They were just a few gang members, right? Misfits and rejects. Unwanted children. Who would miss them?”

“But it was this way he had stumbled across the Echo.”

On the edge of your seat, you hang on his every word. “The Echo?”

“A myth made reality.” Cid explains, as if it’s nothing. “There are strange forces at work in this world, Honey. Forces that give people extraordinary, dare I say, supernatural abilities. I am a man of science, as was my father, but there was no refuting the hard evidence that a select few were birthed with something special about them.”

“It is merely a legend after all; whether you believe it or not is up to you.”

“There are people with...the Echo?” You urge Cid, desperate for him to keep going.

“There are. Well. If there are any left.”

That statement alone chills your blood to the bone.

“What...what do you,”

Cid pins you in place with a grave stare. “What I am about to tell you...promise me you will never tell another soul. Promise me, Honey.”

Nodding, you feel the weight of your own promises pile high. “Not a word.”

Satisfied, Cid clasps his hands in front of him, resting his elbows upon his thighs. He hasn’t looked away, hardly even blinked. “I’m not ignorant to Varis’ more underhanded dealings. I am sure of the things he has you do.” He pauses, having to breathe a calming breath before continuing. “Those who have the Echo are said to be descendants of some of the very first beings from a time before time. A world so far away and long ago that is beyond our comprehension. Mere shells of their former selves according to the stories, but no less amazing and awe inspiring to the average man.”

“And it is for this reason Varis had hunted them down and experimented on them.”

Your hands slowly reach up to cover your mouth as it hangs agape, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as you realize Cid is completely serious.

“I am not a good...I’m not a good man, Honey. Would that I even had an iota of your courage...the people I could have saved…” Cid does cry then, too overwhelmed by his own shame. “I was still mostly a child when I had left home, crossing over to Kugane when I was only nineteen. I had sworn off all that my father had done, not just because I despised his methods, but because I was afraid.”

Tears stream down his face in a river, catching in his beard. “When I had finally resolved to try and bring to light the atrocities my father had committed, Varis had already risen to great power with his own business...and my father…” He chokes out a sob, “--he had been killed. Murdered in cold blood by one of his own experiments, and when I had returned home to Garlemald to give him a proper burial, I thought to make things right by at least turning Varis in. But I was too late. All of his research, his labs, everything, had been reduced to ash.”

"I had nothing, nothing to prove my father or Varis' crimes. It’s haunted me for years, and will continue to do so to think of all the innocents I let disappear due to my own cowardice…" He buries his head in hands, running his hands through his hair like a madman. "I fear I am beyond saving."

Staring into the fire, the sound of screams fill your ears. "You said...Varis has been abducting people...for years?"

"Yes." Cid’s voice sounds further away. "Anyone suspected of having the Echo, stolen from their beds under the cover of night…"

"You must hide."

Minfilia's panicked voice wakes you from your sleep, her arms wrapping around you urgently as she pulls you from the bed. But a child of eleven years you have grown too big to carry, but she does as best as she is able. "Minfilia?"

Your head is pounding, the memory fading in and out of your mind.

"I can't explain, my dear." Tears stream down her youthful face, Minfilia, who has always looked so mature to your childish view but is still a child herself. "But I need you to hide. Hide and don't make a sound. Not one peep, do you understand?"

"But why, "

"Promise me!" She shrieks before quieting her voice, quickly urging you into the bathroom. Grunting she grabs the small vanity and pulls, revealing a small crawl space within the wall. "Get in."

Darkness seems to close in around you, your breath caught in your throat.

There's a chorus of male laughter, the sound of several feet shuffling into the apartment. "We heard you had a gifted kid here...figured we'd take em off your hands."

"You're looking for me?" Minfilia asks immediately, her own footfalls soft and delicate compared to what must be huge men.

"You're a bit old to be a kid, huh?" The masculine voice asks, seeming to pause. "You ain't hiding anything from us, are you girly?"

"Search the apartment you'll find I'm alone," Minfilia takes a deep breath, "I had no way of knowing you were coming."

Your head won’t stop pounding and your lungs are struggling to breathe.

"Looks like your apartment is clean, but unfortunately for you...I can't go back empty handed."

"W-Wait,"

You hear a struggle, your tears starting anew as you press yourself against the vanity.

"Let go of me!"

"Let’s go boys. Maybe the boss will be happy to have some fresh meat to test on."

With small, grubby hands you do your best to push against the small vanity, weeping silently as you continue to hear Minfilia’s struggle. She’s crying, you can hear her, you have to help--

“Honey!”

Cid has you by the shoulders, grasping you fiercely, looking nearly distraught. As he realizes he’s pulled you back to the world of the living, he hardly even relaxes. “Honey. By the Twelve, are you alright?”

Reaching up, you feel dried tears on your cheeks, the skin sticky and taut. Hands shaking, you try to let the memory continue to play, but it won’t. Trembling, as soon as you try to force it past your hands trying to free yourself from your hiding place, your head throbs, causing you too much pain to continue further. Your lungs seize up, forcing you to stop trying.

“Honey, please, tell me what’s wrong.” Cid begs, shaking you desperately.

Deciding to stop causing yourself pain, wipe away fresh tears, shoving Cid’s arms off you. He looks noticeably hurt by the gesture, clenching his jaw as he stands straight. Your lungs struggle to breathe correctly as you try to calm yourself down, running a hand through your hair as more pieces fall into place.

The Echo was real.

Minfilia..she was protecting you.

The men who had searched your apartment...she had sacrificed herself to keep you safe.

Varis had to have kidnapped her. Which means...which means…

Standing to your feet, you bring Cid into a bone crushing hug, burrowing your face into his shoulder. He stands stock still for a moment, until his arms slowly wrap around your back and he returns your hug in full force.

“Cid...thank you.”

He knows not what you thank him for, but continues to accept the hug, the two of you needing the comfort more than words can explain. You urge him to do what you cannot: to get help. He might be unable to expose Varis’ crimes, but he could at least talk to a professional about working through his grief over Estinien.

Yuyusho awaits you outside, not at all bothered by you staying thirty minutes more than originally planned. Flashing him a thankful smile, you step into the car and allow him to drive you back home.

Home, where you begin to make a plan about how you were going to expose Varis for the horrors he’s committed.

Locking yourself in your room you immediately sit at your desk, yanking open the top drawer. Lifting the false bottom you find a small SD card, the same card Zenos had nearly crushed with his foot after he destroyed your original phone. Twirling it in your hands, you pull out a burner phone you had managed to swipe from an unsuspecting lackey, popping the card inside. The phone chirps as you turn it on, flipping through the apps until you pull up one of the many pictures on the device.

If you had to guess you must be maybe five or six years old in the picture, Minfilia’s petite frame still supporting you easily. Your face is covered in what must’ve been finger paint, the biggest grin on your face as you reach your grimy hands out toward the camera. Minfilia is all smiles as well, eyes crinkled with joy on her youthful face. She looks as if she maybe in her late teens, every bit a child as you were at the time.

A child who was taken away, never to be heard from again.

Looking back on your memories as a child through the eyes of an adult, you had always found it strange that such a teenage girl was tasked with the care of a child. Your memory is too damaged to recall Minfilia mentioning her parents, if she had them at all. Your own heritage was a mystery, Minfilia being the only thing you knew of having any sort of guardian, and even if she was far too young to take care of you herself, she was the closest thing you had to a mother.

Vision blurring as you start to cry, you continue to flip through the pictures, remembering a time that feels so far away. Those tendrils of warmth you had felt as a child being in her care, remembering her kindness and guidance as she raised you to the best of her ability. During your early teens you had resented her for a while, hating her for forcing you into a life of being a foster child, bouncing from home to home just so some couple could collect their check from the government. It wasn’t until you were nearly out of high school did you vow to find the reason for her disappearance, immediately signing up to join the police force.

You sailed through your training at the top of your class, surpassing men and women alike, your combat skills making you a force to be reckoned with. With the knowledge you have now, you realize it is only due to the Echo that you climbed as quickly as you did. With supernatural reflexes, no one stood a chance.

Resentment tried once more to find its way into your heart, thinking back on Elidibus’ words that in the past those blessed with the Echo had far more extraordinary powers, making you wonder why you were saddled with something so lame in comparison. It was only thanks to the more covert nature of your talents that you had been able to fly under the radar for as long as you had, at the cost of Minfilia’s life.

The next few days are spent pouring over every database you know you can find, unable to ask Zenos for help in trying to solve this mystery. If anyone knew where old records and things were kept, it would be him, but you couldn’t afford to tip him off to the fact you were a cop.

Or worse, the Echo.

What would he think, knowing the only reason you curb stomped him in a fight was due to some quirky ability? Zenos didn’t seem the type to believe in such tales, and would probably laugh about it to his father, who would then drag you to the closest testing facility where you’d never see the light of day again.

Groaning, you slam your laptop shut, throwing yourself onto your bed face first as you scream into a pillow. You were running yourself raw, hardly getting any sleep, often searching databases and old news sites until the sun came up. No matter what you tried, all you hit were dead ends. Varis had already committed enough crimes for several lifetimes, and he obviously wouldn’t suffer for any of them to come to light, especially as he starts his campaign trail.

Flipping over, you stare at the painting brushed onto the canopy of your bed, dragging your hand down your face. Loathe as you were to say it, you had no other choice.

You had succeeded in part of your mission. It was time for a change of paths.

Every foot step seemed final as you strode down the hall, head held high, not out of confidence, but knowing that if you allowed even a moment of hesitation to slip through the cracks in your armor, you would back down and you could not afford that.

Too many people were counting on you.

Those who have been lost. Those who can be yet saved.

Cid’s sins would become your own.

Estinien’s gift of life would drive you forward.

And maybe, just maybe, you could free Zenos from his father’s clutches and live a life of normalcy.

Funnily enough, the thought seems to be the most unrealistic, but it doesn’t stop you as you lightly knock upon the grand, mahogany door, waiting for an answer.

“Enter.”

Pushing down on the handle, Varis sits at his desk, papers neatly strewn across its surface. Dressed in a sleek turtleneck with reading glasses resting upon his nose, he looks surprisingly studious. Arching a strong brow, he regards you neutrally. “An unexpected visit. What do you want?”

Taking a deep breath, you relax your stance and lower your gaze. Erecting a balance of firm, yet demure, you gaze at your boss from beneath your lashes.

“I want to become your bodyguard.”

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #ff14 #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

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fandomsilhouette · 3 years

Text

caught in a cat’s claws (tear open your flaws, now pause)

The vast expanse of the city horizon on the endless dark of the night sky blinks at her, and she blinks back, slow and sweet and vicious; oh, what she’s given to keep those lights alive, thriving, pulsing with the beat of a heart she’s long forgotten, how rotten of her, they’d say, if they noticed her today.

Happy @felinettenovember, y’all! I was really excited to write on @emzurl‘s art because it’s gorgeous and has the most interesting definitely-on-purpose blocking, but @musicfren wanted to take that prompt and honestly, he’d be better at it. So instead of fluff, have some fun lighthearted angst! You’re welcome. I know you missed it.

When her alarm goes off at 2:30 in the morning, Marinette nearly gives up altogether on her plan.

Unfortunately, Tikki is already cheering in her ear: the tiny god doesn’t care much for silly things like sleep or personal space or inside voices, and she’s dragging Marinette out of bed as quickly as she can possibly manage, headbutting repeatedly against the earrings. It does little more than give Marinette more of a headache than she already has, but she takes the hint and transforms.

There was a time when being Ladybug gave Marinette power. Strength would rush across her body like the flash of pink light, her heart would start racing, her eyes would grow brighter behind her mask.

Nowadays, the suit mostly feels sticky, the way spandex gets after hours under a sweaty spotlight, clinging uncomfortably to her body and itching in all the worst ways. She’s desperate to get it off. Instead, she swings across rooftops faster and hopes her bleary eyes don’t lead her face-first into a chimney or electrical pole.

Luckily, it’s the dead of night so there’s no one around to see her. Unluckily, it’s the dead of night so she can’t see either. Even more unluckily, she’s bright red and glowing with the residual creation magic that lingers on her skin like needle pricks, so if there is someone out this late, they are all but guaranteed to notice her.

Marinette knows better than to rely on luck by now. She’s planned for this, happy to let any lurkers follow her to a location she doesn’t care about, and wonder where she disappeared afterwards.

There’s a flash of light in an alleyway and then Marinette’s climbing up a fire escape, squirming her way through the window that her kitty leaves open on summer nights. He doesn’t know she’s here. Tikki will explain, if she has to.

Plagg is ready for her, though, awake and thrumming with destructive, chaotic energy. Marinette slips her earring off, feeling the pinch ease for the first time in years, and waits for Plagg to zip up to her face.

“C’mon, Coccinelle. We’ve got a fly to catch.”

Felix is dead asleep at his desk, and Marinette winces at the angle of his neck. She can feel Tikki glaring at her, Plagg buzzing with impatience, but she carries Felix over to his bed and tucks him in before slipping the ring off his finger.

Marinette doesn’t want to admit it, but being Lady Noire feels good. It’s freedom, it’s angry and powerful and unrestrained magic at her fingertips. There’s no expectations with breaking. There’s just strength.

Marinette enters the room with scratches on her palms and cheeks and stomach, hair mussed and eyes exhausted from squinting in the darkness, muscles aching as she climbs hand over hand up the side of a building. Lady Noire slips out of the same window and vaults halfway across the block in one easy movement, her braid sleek and streaking behind her as she flies through the air. Her eyes, slitted and green like the flask of poison she wishes she had, flit from detail to detail, every secret of the night bared to her gaze. Her ears flick, twitch, swivel before her body does to every skittering paw against cobblestone.

Marinette hasn’t wanted to admit the magnitude of what she’s about to do, not even to herself, which means Tikki, naturally, hasn’t stopped chattering about it. This is important, Marinette! her little voice scolds, what’s a little lost sleep? Don’t you want to be a good Ladybug, Marinette? Shouldn’t you work hard to deserve this?

Three months’ worth of late night parkour practice and strategizing doesn’t seem like a little, but perhaps to someone who’s lived eons, it is. Ladybug is strong, but Marinette only has muscles built up from years of lugging flour around the bakery. They’re good for showing off, not so much for scaling walls. Marinette isn’t sure she does want to be a good Ladybug, or a good anything, for that matter. She’s not sure whether earning these earrings is a prize or a punishment.

Isn’t what she’s done enough to be good? Isn’t she good enough?

If Marinette messes this up-- if the risk is poorly calculated, if she wakes anybody up-- it would be catastrophic. She worries about Felix, just recently moved out and aware only that his ring will be taken. He hasn’t been told when, or why, or how. He’s sweet. He hasn’t asked.

If he’d asked, she would’ve had to explain what she’s about to do. What she’s about to risk, what she’s about to steal. But something dark lurks in her eyes and he doesn’t look any closer than that. Doesn’t try to push past it, squint into its murky depths.

If she’s wrong about what Hawkmoth has, or how much… he won’t report her, that would involve admitting he’d stolen the artifacts in the first place, but he could have more than she knows. She would defeat her enemy and in his place bring about the rise of a new one, more ruthless and clever than ever before.

Despite her worries, getting into Gabriel Agreste’s mansion is easy.

She knew it would be. There’s absolutely no protection on this side of the manor; the budget was sunk into grandiose aesthetic choices and secrecy, and even Paris’s resident fashion icon isn’t that financially irresponsible. The window swings open and a cat burglar slips in: the heist is on.

Hawkmoth stops making appearances after that. So do Ladybug and Chat Noir. The city is sent nearly into more panic at this disappearance than at Hawkmoth’s arrival, which would have been completely ill advised if he still had either brooch.

It’s a shame no one peers into the dark, though. Lady Noire still prowls the city, claws scritching against rooftop tiles, tail and braid swinging, cutting through the air like invisible ribbons across the night sky. She’d peer back, if anyone bothered to look.

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kisskissbanggang · 4 years

Text

Prowl pt. 3

[30Min. Read/9.6K Words – Wolf!Bang Chan x Female Reader, Human!Jisung x Female Reader, – Monsters!AU, Mostly Plot, NSFW/Smut – Vampires & Werewolves, Mysteries, Suspense, Love Triangles, Jealousy, Name-Calling, Blood, Violence, Tense Situations, Bad Instincts, Power Plays, Marking, Questionable Coping]

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You awoke with a gasp, bolting upright from where you lay, almost as if you were just now finishing your collapse from the previous night. It felt like a small blessing to find that you were still on the couch in the reading nook of the bookstore. The only curiosity was that you found yourself clothed once again.

A clatter down one of the aisles startled you and you got up, warily stepping past a badly splintered bookshelf. Jisung was picking up a stack of books, presumably having tried to carry too many in the first place. It was his turn to be surprised as he whirled around to see you. You winced at the violet bruise on his cheek, and he softened as he realized you weren’t some intruder.

“You're up? Is it that time already?” He asked incredulously, more to himself than to you. “I’ve been cleaning all afternoon and I feel like I got nothing done. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, reshuffling your thoughts into place as you finished waking up, “did you get me dressed?”

“Of course,” Jisung shrugged, “I figured it'd be no fun to wake up after a night like that and find yourself still naked.”

You smiled softly at the sentiment, helping Jisung pick up the rest of his stack.

“So you fucked the wolf,” he said plainly, catching you off guard and not looking at you anymore. You fumbled your books onto the floor and all you could do was stare at them for a moment before sighing and picking them back up.

“Did he tell you that?”

Jisung laughed sarcastically with an exaggerated nod. He still wouldn't look at you. “Yeah. He told me. That’s, like, all he could tell me. Stupid worm, she’s too good for you, worthless trash, you don’t deserve those bites -- take your pick. It all sucked.”

You reached over and delicately examined the bruise on Jisung’s face, bearing through his grimace and looking him over. It took him a moment to lean into your hand, almost as if he missed you.

“And, of course,” Jisung continued, “he beat the crap out of me, so that was no fun, either. The whole encounter was growling and laughing and so much punching.”

“I’m so sorry, Jisung.” It was a terrible line, but what else could you say? You felt awful, terrible, like you did this to him. Maybe you did. You roped him into this, just like Chan did to you.

“It’s fine. He came to his senses and left when he realized you’re no good to him asleep. No kidding, he said that -- she’s no good to me asleep. What a creep.”

You shook off the uncontrollable shiver that spiked down your back at the thought, that Chan's desperation was affecting him in such a way.

“What even happened between the two of you?” Jisung asked. “Is that why you’re involved in all this?”

“No, Jisung, I promise. I had no idea he was wrapped up in this when I met him and he had no idea I worked at the library.”

“You know you can’t trust him, right?” Jisung gave you a hard stare, shelving the books in his arms and pausing with his arms crossed. You mirrored him.

“Of course. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“Good. Because that monster killed Shepherd and the last thing I need is you holding a torch for the guy.”

“Excuse me?” You shifted your weight, leaning in to Jisung’s personal space now. His eyebrows raised, part annoyed, part surprised at your intensity. He squared up.

“Which part do you want me to clarify?”

“Start from the top,” you shot back indignantly, keeping toe to toe with him.

“Fine. He killed Shepherd. I got back from the post office and the store was trashed, and the whole pack watched while that creature, that asshole--” Jisung stopped, choked up and still shaken from his recollection. You softened but stood your ground. You still didn’t want to believe him. I care about innocent people getting hurt, they don’t. The words still ricocheted in your skull and garnished every thought that passed. Chan cared if innocent people got hurt, so he couldn't have killed Shepherd. It was as simple as that.

“What did he do, Jisung?” You asked quietly, tamping down the quiver in your voice. You had to know what he believed, see if it made any sort of sense with your understanding of this whole surreal mess.

“Just what I said he did,” Jisung grumbled, still trying to navigate this cloud of grief and confusion hanging over him, “he killed Shep. I got here and the store was a wreck, and Shepherd was trying to fight off that monster. Alone. The rest of the pack was just staring at me, like I was interrupting or something. Your wolf friend was yelling something but I couldn’t even tell what through all that was going on. Next thing I knew, he pushed Shep onto that broken bookshelf over there. Stabbed. Impaled. I told you it wasn't fair, what they did to him. That asshole killed him, and they all watched before they dragged the stupid wolf away.”

Your gaze drifted from Jisung’s misty eyes to the ravaged bookshelf he’d gestured towards, the same you passed on your way into the aisle to find him. Chunks were missing now, likely in some evidence locker somewhere, matching the evidence tags that were left in their place. Your mind pulled in all directions before settling on the one that made the most sense.

“Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like,” you offered after a pregnant pause. Jisung eyes snapped towards you, narrowing in his resumed anger.

“Excuse me?” He asked carefully.

“Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like,” you repeated, getting a little more confident now, “there has to be something you missed. Chan saved my life. He wouldn't have killed Shepherd, and definitely not willingly.”

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Jisung spat with a laugh, “I thought I could trust you.”

“You can!” You threw back. “I just think there has to be more to this.”

“I don't think so,” Jisung scoffed, “it all looks pretty plain to me. But whatever, take that monster’s side. I can do this on my own. I was just fine before you came along, anyhow.”

“If you’d just listen for a second--”

“For what?!” Jisung snapped. You backed up a step as he got more heated. “So you can tell me I didn't see what I'm positive I did? Try to convince me that the scene waking me up every night didn’t really happen? Are you going to tell me this ‘Chan’ is actually some hero? I can’t believe you,” Jisung lamented miserably, “I really can’t.”

Jisung shook his head, turning his back on you as he picked up more books and roughly reshelved them. Each book made a racket as he shoved them back into place. Your fists clenched where your arms were crossed. The tug-of-war happening in your head only worsened. Finally, you turned your back as well. In fact, you walked straight out the door.

Jisung didn’t say a word as you left, stinging more than you’d liked to admit. Only problem was, once you walked out the door, you realized Jisung really was too good to you. The truck was gone. You checked around the back of the store — there really was no sign of it. Even after the brawl with Chan that morning, Jisung still got the truck back to your aunt’s. You bundled up, tucking into your coat with a sigh and beginning the trek up the main road, up towards the A-frame up in the hills. The hike would probably be no problem with so much on your mind.

Why were you suddenly so concerned with Chan being innocent or not? He was a pig, a horrid dog with a regrettably handsome face and charming personality that more than likely wanted nothing more than to play nice until you gave in and fed on him again. You could see right through him the other night in the front yard, pretending to be so sweet and so sincere that all you could see was desperation. So, then, why did your mind keep tumbling through your memories and pulling up how he looked the night you’d met, the way he’d smiled at you across the bar, the way he’d looked at you after he was able to leave you alive at the library? It felt ridiculous to think that Chan might be a cold-blooded murderer, but why? Just because he told you he’s a good guy? No, you realized, he could very well be the monster Jisung insisted he was, and you were probably a blind fool for ever denying it.

Something in the way Jisung had spat the word was eating at you. Monster. Jisung wasn’t lying to you.You didn’t doubt that he saw Shepherd die. However, whether it was by Chan’s sole doing you still couldn’t bring yourself to be sure.

The conflicting ideologies bounced around in your head as you climbed the hill to your aunt’s house, arms crossed in an attempt to shield yourself from the cold. Now you were just consumed with the look in Jisung’s eyes when you’d fed on him. What was keeping you from being a monster? Did you look just as lost as he did? Were you just as broken, reeling and coping from such recent proximity to death? Jisung’s admission of being really fucking lonely now hit a little too close to home for your liking. You’d been lonely for a while now, too. It was easy to be a recluse when almost all your friends from your previous life were day-dwellers and you were still too ashamed to reveal yourself to your family. Maybe wanting to find your way again was what was keeping you from being a monster. You’d hoped so, because the feeling was beginning to become too familiar. You’d finally found someone close to a kindred spirit for the first time in a couple years, so why were you insistent on doubting him? It was all too much. Instead of going straight inside the creaky old house, you rounded back to the patio, pulling up a seat at the fire pit. Suddenly, your aunt appeared on the back porch, wrapped in a blanket with two mugs of coffee.

“Hey!” She called out, “Did you just come out here? I thought you were still in your room when I saw the truck in the yard but I finally went to your room today and you were gone! I've been wondering where you are all day. I got up to see you! Were you out with a boy? I heard word at the diner that you've been palling around with Mr. Shepherd’s boy.” She gushed, hitting you like a fire hose and topping it off with an actual wink.

You blushed, sinking into your chair as she rushed over and pulled up a seat next to you. Now you were suddenly feeling very aware that you were wearing yesterday’s clothes. Did she know that? Your aunt was just as warm and welcoming as ever, expressing how much she missed you now that you were nocturnal. How could you see that sunrise you loved so much as a child? If only she knew how far down that sentiment stung. She asked if you thought you’d like to see a therapist. You know, because of your aversion to sleep. Her support caught you by surprise. Would she understand if you explained more? You knew you were still too scared to try, but you couldn’t help but hold onto some hope. You drifted through the conversation, oddly confronted and comforted at the same time at how she insisted on reaching out. As you finally bid her goodnight and climbed into bed, you felt restless, cramped and worried thinking of both Chan and Jisung and wondering if they were alright.

You stayed in bed when you awoke the next night. Whether it was out of spite or stress, you weren't sure, but you were done for the day and it had just started. That is, until a rumble sounded in the driveway. Your aunt could be heard opening the front door, squealing a cheerful greeting to someone.

Jisung?

You slumped out of bed and pulled on a sweater and some jeans, barely retaining the stamina to deal with this as you headed downstairs. The sound of your aunt’s gushing preceded your shock at just what you were seeing in the yard.

Jisung stood in front of a gorgeous car, an old Shelby Mustang in starkly perfect condition. Jisung was a sight as well with his hair pushed back, a simple black jacket revealing a pressed shirt and tie underneath. You were taken aback, caught off guard by how handsomely he cleaned up until he grabbed your attention.

“It's so nice to see you, too,” he placated your aunt as he gestured towards you, “but do you mind if I--?”

“If you--? Oh! Of course, you two go right on ahead,” she practically fluttered waving you both off as Jisung smiled cordially. His eyes were screaming. He reached forward, grabbing the cuff of your sleeve and pulling you off the porch and leading you back around to the fire pit again. You looked back over your shoulder, to him, and back to the car again.

“Where did you-- why are you--” you stammered as he tugged you along. You resumed your previous seat at the fire pit, this time Jisung taking your aunt's place.

“I've had a weird day. I knew Shep’s will was going to be executed, but I didn't realize it would be today.”

“You didn't?”

“No. A lawyer showed up to the house this morning and invited me to come back to his office. No one else was there. Just me.”

“So you got--?”

“Everything.” Jisung’s eyes were wild at the re-telling. You didn’t blame him. It was a lot to take. “The house, the store, his money… The car. I've never seen it before but sure enough the lawyer just had it there for me.”

“Jisung,” you soothed, finally reaching a hand forward to put on his knee, “that’s really exciting. Mr. Shepherd really cared about you.”

Jisung stared at your hand on his knee, but he didn’t move it. “There was more. A journal.”

“A journal?” You asked quizzically. He nodded furiously.

“A journal. Shepherd’s. It was on the driver's seat when I got in. It starts maybe fifty years ago, and it was awful, it--” Jisung bit the rest of his sentence down, unable to go on and his chest filled with panic. You let go of his knee, this time gently facing him towards you by the shoulders.

“Jisung,” you softly called out to him, and he looked at you, shaken but grounded again.

“It mentions a first journal,” he tried again, “but I don’t know where it could be. I tore the house apart looking for it. He mentioned bookkeeping along with it, so I checked his office maybe five times. It’s a wreck by now.”

“What about the store?”

“I wouldn't know where to begin,” Jisung shrugged helplessly.

“Take me with you,” you offered. “We’ll come up with something.”

Jisung waited on the porch while you made yourself a little more presentable, unable to escape the prying assumptions of your aunt and join you upstairs. It wasn’t like he could just tell her, ‘you’re absolutely right, I had sex with your niece and I like her a lot but maybe not like you're hoping.’ He was stuck politely nodding and awkwardly making small talk when you came running down the stairs and out the door, now with a jacket and some proper shoes on.

Jisung was quiet as he drove and you took a moment to just admire him, how natural he looked in the car and how good it was to see him despite the bruise still healing on his cheek. Before too long, though, you were distracted with how disquieted he looked.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” you gently suggested.

He thought hard about this, chewing on his lip as he considered what to say. “It’s the journal. It’s… It’s worrying. It suggests some things I was never prepared for.”

“Like what?” You asked, concern welling up inside your gut and practically weighing you down to the seat.

“Like…” He really considered it, choosing his words carefully. “Suggesting that maybe you were on to something. But I need to be sure.”

Jisung pulled the car into the alley behind the shop and got out, making a show of actually unlocking the back door. “Apparently,” he sighed sarcastically as he flipped through keys, “not keeping your doors locked is a bad habit to get into and an even harder habit to break than I thought. I'm still forgetting.”

“Small town syndrome?” You half-grinned.

“Worse. I'm learning I'm really bad with locks in general.”

You shared a laugh as he finally got the right key in the lock and let you both in. A shiver forced its way down your back: the store felt even colder than the last time you were in here for some reason, physically or not you couldn't tell. Jisung reached into his jacket and produced a small, thick, leather-bound journal and leaned against the door frame leading into the store.

“Like I said,” he sighed, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“You said the journal mentions bookkeeping along with the first volume. Do you have a safe?”

“Sure, but I don’t have the combo on me. Any other ideas until then?”

“Well,” you shrugged, already seeing where this was going, “can I see the journal?”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need to do--”

It was too late. You grabbed onto the spine of the journal and attempted to slide it out of his hands before he stopped you, his fingers tight around your wrist. “Please,” he gently pleaded, “just trust me. I'm not ready yet.”

You stared hard at Jisung before giving in to yourself and leaning in, your wrist pulling in his grip to wrestle him closer and kiss his parted lips. He stared back at you, almost like he was wondering just where you got an idea like that… Until you slipped the journal from his distracted hands. A small key fell from within the spine of the binding and clattered to the floor between you.

“Not fair,” Jisung whined, “that’s a dirty trick.”

“And it got results,” you teased sympathetically, “now what would this go to?”

“I have no idea,” he wondered, “I didn’t even realize it was in there.”

“Bookkeeping, right?” You asked, as you handed him back the journal. He nodded, looking thankful as he tucked it back into his jacket. You scanned the room, thinking of where a small key could go when your eyes landed on the roll top desk you had first noticed the other night. Jisung’s eyes followed you as you crossed the floor to the desk. The top opened just fine, revealing the contents of the desk to you in dusty but otherwise fine condition. You began tugging on drawers to see if anything was stuck. Finally, a small set of drawers wouldn't budge as you pulled and you lined up the tiny key with the petite keyhole. Jisung’s eyes widened as you produced another small journal from the drawer, just like the one you’d handed back to him. He reached for it, giving you a puzzled look as you held it back from him, pressing it to your chest.

“Jisung,” you said gently, stepping forward to take his hand, “you have to trust me, too. I want to know what's going on.”

“I know, I do, too,” he struggled, “I just don't want… I'm not ready.”

“You won't be,” you reassured him as you leaned in to kiss his brow, “but I'm here.”

Jisung nodded as you led him by the hand through the door and back onto the shop floor. You leaned against the front counter under the lamp there to gently pry open the old journal.

3 May, 1922 --

A crash came banging through the back door. You both jumped and Jisung fumbled for his keys.

“Oh fuck,” he frantically muttered, “I didn't lock the door behind us--” He pulled you away from the counter, ready to run when a voice came from the back room.

“Wait! Wait,” Chan breathed, taking in lungfuls of air as he held himself up against the door frame.

“What do you want?” You asked sternly, stepping in front of Jisung even as he moved to step in front of you himself.

“I -- the others -- they're coming for you.”

Jisung did step in front of you now. “Why are they doing that?”

“After the other night,” Chan panted, “we all met up, they smelled you on me, I didn't even think of it when I went to see them, and now they're looking for you and I couldn't stop--”

“‘The other night’?” Jisung asked you over his shoulder, cut off as the front door of the shop rang. Jisung winced.

“Jesus Christ, Jisung,” you groaned sharply, even as Jisung turned you around and stepped back in front of you. You both watched as Chan strode around, ahead of you, head high and confident after he finally caught his breath.

“What a good boy, Chan, leading us right here,” the man up front cloyingly greeted. The pack was here.

“Get out, Rand, I told you all you don't need her. There's tons of them out there.”

“Tons of them out there, but none right here in town. Except her,” the man pointed right at you and you felt trapped, exposed, the breath freezing in your chest. “Less work to do if we have her right here at our disposal.”

“Not her, Rand,” Chan ordered. The man poked at Chan’s chest and shoved him out of the way. Two wolves grabbed onto Chan, holding him back as he struggled. He pointed at Jisung now. You could feel him freeze where you held onto the sleeve of his jacket.

“You, boy,” Rand called over. Jisung stayed firmly in place. “Chan forgets he's not the leader. I'm the one who takes care of our dealings. My condolences for Mr. Shepherd; he was a good man, but we never got to finish negotiating. That's why we're here. Give us the girl and tell us the information we're owed, and we'll leave. We'll get out of town.”

“And if I don't?” Jisung called back down the aisle of the store. He was doing his best to sound big, as if he was confident and had any idea what was going on. Your eyes darted to the splintered bookshelf that had ended Mr. Shepherd.

“Then we'll just take her, clean out the store, and leave you to rot,” Rand chuckled. “One of these books has to have what we need. And how long before someone in this town even cares that you're gone?”

“Enough, Rand,” Chan warned, “get out or--”

“Or what?” He asked him simply, striding forward to get in Jisung’s space. He was tall, with broad shoulders on his slim frame, a scratchy beard unable to hide a thick scar on his neck. He looked down at Jisung. “I honestly am sorry for what happened to Shepherd. We don't want trouble. Give her to us and tell us--”

Rand spat out a curse as Jisung promptly spat in his face. Jisung looked back over his shoulder to you once again. “Get in the car,” he ordered. You nodded, slipping your hands into his jacket pockets to search for the keys before Jisung shoved the larger man back, only for Rand to lift him, effortlessly, and toss him against the counter. Jisung grunted as he crumpled to the ground, scrambling to grab the journal that had fallen from his jacket. He reached for it, crying out as Rand pressed a boot to his hand and picked it up. You looked behind you towards the door -- one of the pack members had circled back through the other aisles to block your way out.

“I don’t think you’re in any position to be petulant, boy,” Rand scolded as he lifted his foot off Jisung’s hand and grabbed onto the collar of his shirt. Jisung struggled as he was lifted back to his feet. Rand held up the journal with a dark grin. “This wouldn’t happen to be what I think it is, would it?”

The wolf behind you capitalized on the thick silence of the room, suddenly lurching behind you and getting ahold of your arms. You screamed, silenced by the wolf’s hand over your mouth as you struggled. The wolf dragged you closer and he and Rand traded: you were thrust into the larger man’s arms as Jisung was held back now. You shared frantic glances with Chan and Jisung as the taller man looked down on you. One of the wolves holding onto Chan was younger, maybe Jisung’s age, freckled face stricken with fear as he and Chan had a hushed argument.

“When did Shepherd bring you here, little one?”

You scrunched up your nose, wincing as he brought his face closer. He smelled like rotten veal and something you couldn’t quite place, almost like kerosene. “He didn’t bring me here,” you gruffly told him, praying you sounded more confident than you felt, “I didn’t know of him before I got here.”

“Lies,” Rand shook his head as he leaned in, breathing you in as he sneered back at Chan. “She’s lovely, Chan. We never should've left her back at the library.”

“Let her go, Rand,” Chan feebly warned again.

“Or what, runt? You’ll leave? More for us.”

Chan tried to step forward as Jisung continued to struggle, but both boys stopped when Rand pulled your head back by the hair, bending you back down over the counter. “Careful, boys. I'm feeling a bit hungry. Wouldn’t want to make it worse, would you?”

You whimpered, trying hard to pry Rand’s hand off of you before the other also gripped your throat.

“Now,” Rand lined out, his thumb rubbing circles over your throat as he looked back at Chan, “I'm doing this to teach you a lesson. We each have our property, our territory. We will all get our use out of her, but I'm the one taking her with us. She's mine now.”

It was quick, Rand’s fingers tugging the collar of your sweater down and his teeth on your shoulder, sinking in, the pain searing through your brain before his words ever did. The scream that escaped you was unnatural, purely animal as Rand bit into you, his teeth twisting to ensure the flesh was mangled. He stood up, looking pleased as Chan stood behind him, stunned and infuriated. Rand dove in for another bite, only to be interrupted as Jisung finally threw off the wolf holding him and barreled forward into you both. The hand on your throat let up just enough for you to drive a knee between yourself and the larger man, but you could hardly stand at the moment. Jisung had somehow managed to wrestle Rand onto the ground, fueled by rage that caused him to land blow after blow to his face. Blue and red flashing lights glowed through the front window -- apparently someone had heard all the commotion. A wolf reached forward, picking you up over his shoulder and trying to carry you off as you kicked and screamed the best you could. Chan took the moment to shake off the two wolves holding him back, lunging forward to get the wolf to drop you when you heard the distinct click of a knife. The two stood off, trying to figure out the best tactic when Chan charged, spooking the wolf into toppling over with you in tow. The blade drove right into your thigh as you dropped to the ground, adding a whole new level of stinging pain to what you were still reeling from. Jisung was still pummeling the older man and you watched, a ragdoll in Chan’s arms as he picked you up and herded you to the door.

“Jisung!” You yelled back, trying to wriggle out of Chan’s grip.

“Go!” Jisung yelled, dropping his guard long enough for Rand to get a hold of him again. It was as if the larger man hadn't just been battered with how effortlessly he grabbed Jisung by the hair and knocked him into the counter ledge. The sickening crack was the last thing you heard as Chan dragged you to Jisung’s car and pushed you inside. He dug into your pockets for the keys and jabbed them into the ignition, the car rumbling to life around you as he stomped on the gas.

Your vision was fuzzy as you got a look at Chan in the passing streetlights. You wondered when he had gotten attacked, how he came to be covered in so much blood -- before you realized it was your own. The leather of the bench seat was cold where you lay, your head up against the door. Chan was still breathing hard, and he took his sleeve to wipe some errant blood that had ended up on his chin.

“How are you doing?” He asked, eyes fixed on the road.

“Just fucking dying,” you laughed meanly, and you realized you were wheezing. “I can't believe you got me into this.”

“Look,” Chan sighed frustratedly, “I did my best to warn you.”

“I don't need to hear it,” you hoarsely shot back, “just get me somewhere where I can lie down and maybe get some rest.”

“That's what I'm doing,” Chan grumbled. “I know you're mad at me, but can you try to be tolerant of my existence long enough for me to make sure you're okay?”

“Whatever,” you huffed. Chan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing as you grabbed his handkerchief out of your pocket and pressed it to your shoulder.

“I'm just glad you're safe,” he remarked, still not quite looking at you. He bounced his left knee as he chewed on his lip.

“Are you alright?”

You wished you didn't care.

“I'm fine; it's stupid. It's just this full moon coming up.”

You looked up, out the window over your head. The moon was hanging heavy in the sky, almost threatening in how full it was. You looked back at Chan. He agitatedly wiped at your blood on his skin again, even with only a ghost of it remaining.

“I deserve to know what's happening,” you said, looking down your nose at him. Chan sighed.

“I can't tell you what we stole from Shepherd,” he began, “because we didn't steal anything from him. That night at the shop, we brought him the books he told us to take from the university.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Then what happened? How does a job like that turn into flat-out murder?”

“Shepherd's fucking crazy,” Chan shook his head. “Rand has been running jobs like this for years, but getting all these books for Shepherd has been insane. But it always seemed worth it. I totally got it, and I was always able to hold my cover, but that night… We gave him the last books. And he told us what we needed to get next.”

“What was it, Chan…” You asked, unsure if you wanted to hear the answer. The whole thing sounded ludicrous.

“Vampires. He wanted us to bring him vampires. One each for anyone who wanted a cut. Young, healthy, live vampires. And Shepherd mentioned plenty living back at the university and… I guess Rand noticed me remembering you.”

Your hands clenched. You couldn't believe what Chan was trying to pull on you. Whether you were feeling sick from losing so much blood or hearing this information, you couldn’t tell. The whole thing was so ridiculous. But, you figured, there was no sense in not humoring him. “What happened, Chan?”

“I… I tried to stop it,” he explained, his voice shaky now, “I tried to tell Rand this is wrong and I tried to tell Shepherd we weren't interested. The old man pulled a fucking gun on me. Who knows what was loaded in there. He said we were in too deep to back out now, and--”

“You killed him.”

“... I killed him.”

You paused, taking in the sight of Chan driving Jisung’s car before you realized you were parked now. Chan had pulled back around to the parking lot of an old motel on the side of the road, long forgotten for being too far from the town proper for tourists. As it existed now, the building had persisted long after being consumed by opportunistic graffiti artists and vandals. You tried to shake off your dizziness.

“Where are we?” You asked quietly.

“Somewhere safe,” he replied, “where me and one of the others have been hiding out off and on. He’s new, newer than I am. He’s taken this life so much harder than even I did… So I shouldn’t be surprised he ratted out where I was to Rand the other night.”

“He sold you out?”

“Felix is scared. He was turned and his family threw him out. He just wants to do what he can to survive. I can’t fault him for that.”

“Chan,” you murmured, “I'm so tired.”

“I know, princess,” he sighed, “let’s get you inside.” You glared at him for the pet name, but nonetheless you didn’t fight him as he opened the door and pulled you out and into his arms. He carried you through the decrepit lobby, down the rear staircase and winding through the cold concrete hall until he reached the boiler room, barely lit by a few camping lanterns. Here, a couple makeshift beds were fashioned from mattresses dragged from upstairs, shoved up against the pipes that lined the room. He gently set your limp body down on the edge of the mattress, his eyes wandering over your bloodied form. He tugged off your coat and dropped it to the floor, the material thunking on the cold concrete from the journal concealed in the pocket. Next, he peeled off your soaked sweater, your thin tank top underneath only marginally dryer from the wound on your shoulder. His straying eyes lingered at the bite, his fingers twitching where they reached for the button of your jeans.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked.

“You were stabbed, idiot,” he sighed as he shook himself out of it, “I need to look at it.”

“It’s fine, you dumb fucking dog--” you ranted, cut off into a hail of curses as Chan raised an eyebrow and stuck his thumb against the wound. You grumbled as you slapped his other hand away from your jeans and unbuttoned them yourself. He untied your boots and set them on the floor before he pulled this layer off of you as well, the denim sticking to the congealing blood and making you grimace. He paused at your exposed thigh, the wound shining. You saw the rise and fall of his shoulders shake as he took in the sight, the smell of you under him. Your foot jabbed into his chest.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” you warned.

“I’m sorry,” he lamented, “I really am.”

“Tell me what you were trying to get from Shepherd,” you prodded, trying to get back on track, “tell me what the vampires are for.” You had to know. Your feelings rested on the precipice of hatred and you had to know. Your head was reeling still. Chan stared hard at you, almost silently preparing you or himself, or perhaps both.

“... A cure for this. Something to turn us human,” he murmured. You stared, aghast, a fire igniting into blazes in your gut. You watched as Chan unwittingly tried to distract you. “I figured it out, by the way -- what else you smell like. What I couldn’t place. It’s a fox. You smell like a fox that hung around my grandmother's garden when I was growing up.”

Your hard gaze softened at his charming sincerity, but that blaze in your belly only grew. Still, your voice was soft, almost sweet. “Chan,” you quietly pleaded, “I’m so tired.”

Chan was snapped out of his aimless, distressed staring as he regarded you. He quickly nodded and got his arms around you to lift you into a better position in his bed. His warm scent of veal and mahogany lit you up, danced around your senses like an old friend, but it only served to pull you further down. You were upset. You were furious. You were weak and famished.

“What the fuc--!” Chan sharply cursed, frozen as you sank your teeth into his neck. He tried to pull back away from you, only for you to yank him down, between your legs and pushing you back down against the mattress. He almost cried out again, only to be interrupted by you withdrawing your teeth and piercing him once more. You realized you were moaning. The blood washing down your tongue and throat instantly gave you a head rush.

“I was so hungry,” you groaned against his throat, “after everything you put me through tonight, I'm starving.”

He shoved off of you, landing on his ass on the concrete and scrambling back as you felt confident enough to stand again. He slapped a hand down to his leaking neck. “I can help you,” he quickly offered, “we can do that, but you just need to calm down first--”

“No, Chan,” you shook your head, taking your time closing in on him as he continued to back up, “I can’t. I can’t believe you’d try to pull this on me and try to get me to believe this crock of shit.”

“What part sounds like shit?!”

“The part where you just happen to be a good guy for killing an old man. A cure? For lycanthropy? You might have had a chance before that.”

“It’s true,” he sputtered defensively, but you could see his eyes in the dim lanterns illuminating the room: fully blown out, eager to fulfill either of your bloodlusts.

“How could a vampire cure you?” You asked flatly, not caring for any answer but just enjoying watching him squirm.

“He didn’t tell us!”

“Because you killed him? You’re a monster, Chan,” you seethed as you stood over him.

“No, I'm not,” he feebly shook his head. You simply nodded.

“Yes, you are. You’re a fucking monster, and nothing can change that. I didn’t choose to be like this, just like I didn’t choose to get dragged into this. My life has been taken from me twice now, and you’re responsible for this one.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” Chan begged, “tell me what to do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do,” you said, curious as to where this grin on your face came from. You were positively incensed, but you were burning. You were excited. “But I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I’m going to fucking tear you apart.”

Chan finally tried to scramble to his feet, only to be halted and trip on the chilled concrete as you stepped onto one of his loose shoelaces. The strength coursing through you confounded you as you drew close, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and shoving him back onto the mattress.

“What are you going to do?” He asked timidly, and that boy from the bar all those nights ago was gone. Staring up at you was a trapped animal, eyes wide and shaking. The only difference was the electric hunger lying behind this thin veil of fear. He gulped as you climbed onto the bed and sank onto his lap, his Adam's apple bobbing and catching in his throat.

“Oh, Chan,” you sighed as you melted against him, “I'm going to eat you alive.”

Chan froze, one hand clutching the sheets and the other gripping your waist as your teeth pierced his neck again. He cried out, in ecstasy and pain, his legs stiffening under you as his whole body clenched.

“Look where your animal instincts got me, you stupid dog,” you laughed meanly. He watched, engrossed as he was confronted again by your thin tank top, soaked with the blood leaking from Rand’s bite. Just with what you'd drank from Chan so far, you had already begun to heal. Now you would just be left with a nasty scar from the older wolf. You grabbed Chan’s hand and made him feel it, his fingers touching the healing bumps and scars. He winced. “See, you dumb mutt? You let another wolf try to claim me.”

“I would've never--”

“Too late, Channie,” you condescended as you leaned back down and dragged your teeth over his skin, “he said I was going to be his. What would that mean in your world? Would he eat me? Fuck me? Breed me?”

You let out another hysterical laugh as Chan growled, nearly roaring before you bit into him again. His rage instantly snuffed out into pleasure as he mindlessly rutted his hips up against you.

“I would've never let that happen,” Chan panted between guttural moans, “he'd have to kill me before I let that happen.”

“But it almost did happen, you stupid runt.”

Chan did let out a roar now, catching you off guard as he rolled on top of you. “Never call me that again, you awful leech,” he gritted before his own teeth trailed just below your existing mark, to just under your collarbone. He hesitated. You did as well, feeling this bizarrely tender moment of the animal in Chan wanting so desperately to share how he felt about you. Instead of his teeth, though, it was just his lips, gently pressing to your skin. “He can’t take you from me,” he breathed against you, “no one can. You're mine.”

Despite the reignited fury in your chest, it was your turn to moan as Chan’s hips still furiously ground against your dampening panties. You shoved him onto his back once again, clambering back onto his hips and whipping his belt out from his jeans before looping the leather around his scrambling wrists, fighting to push you back off.

“What makes you say that?” You spat as you tied his wrists to one of the pipes behind his makeshift bed, “What makes you think you just get to claim me like that?”

You cut off one of Chan’s likely cheeky remarks as you unbuttoned his flannel shirt under his jacket, getting a good look at his sculpted chest before your own teeth grazed over his collarbones. “I knew it from that night at the bar, and you were such a fucking bitch,” he laughed under his breath, “you tried to just feed on me before--” His breath caught in his throat as an actual whimper as your teeth dragged along his collarbones. “And when I said goodbye to you in the library, I knew you were mine. No one else's, not Rand’s, not that stupid worm you're hanging out with--”

“But didn't you see, Chan?” You cruelly teased him, your grinding only working his jeans lower on his hips now that his belt was gone. He tugged at his impromptu restraints. “Didn't you see him hold me down and take a bite out of me in front of everyone?”

“I did,” he whined, eyes screwed shut through his moans, “and I wanted to kill him. I wanted to kill him right then and there.”

“Are you sure you're not a monster?” You smirked. “That worm’s name is Jisung by the way, and I like him.”

Chan pulled uselessly at his wrists, blood pooling under his neck and into his hair on the sheets. He smelled perfect, almost unreal, and it felt like you were trapped under ice, like you were at the mercy of whatever was compelling you at the moment. You easily popped the button of Chan’s jeans and yanked his zipper down, a whimpered cry escaping him as you got his warm length in your hand.

“I don't care if you like him,” Chan gritted out, an errant drip of sweat falling from his brow, “you know you're mine.”

“Are you sure? Because he doesn't call me a stupid leech when he fucks me.”

Chan thrashed underneath you, only resulting in thrusting up into your tight grip. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“No, darling,” you condescended, “who knew I'd enjoy someone being gentle with me?”

“Stop pushing me there!” Chan begged, crying out again as you leaned in to bite him once more. He was right; you were endlessly provoking him, but it was terrific. You reached between your legs, moving your panties aside just enough for Chan’s cock to nudge up against you. He watched, hopelessly enraptured as you moaned at the feeling.

“Where am I pushing you?” You asked. “Jealousy? Are you jealous thinking of Jisung fucking me?”

“Yes,” Chan pathetically whined as he uselessly tried to thrust up into you.

“Are you jealous thinking of Rand claiming me?”

“Yes,” Chan moaned desperately, whimpering as you barely sank lower on his leaking cock.

“Why are you jealous?” You cruelly provoked.

“Because you're mine,” he groaned. “You’re mine, I can feel it when I look at you. I feel it in my fucking skin.”

“Good boy,” you grinned darkly as you rolled your hips down onto his, taking his length deep inside you and immediately riding him into the sheets. Chan cried out, looking pale from the blood that had drained from the multiple marks you’d made on his neck.

More, begged a little voice in you, lying somewhere behind your conscience and reasoning.

You obliged, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling his head to the side as you bit into him again.

“What if I told you I feel safe with Jisung? I don’t have to worry about him trying to eat me or getting mixed up in bullshit like this.”

“You feel safe with Jisung because he’s weak,” Chan insisted, his breath coming out in tortured gasps, “he can’t protect you like I can. Come on, please let me fuck you. I missed you.”

“Be patient and be grateful, you dumb dog. And Jisung doesn’t have to protect me,” you shook your head, “because this is the most trouble he’s ever been in. And you’re a part of that trouble.”

“I just need to get you away from Rand,” he groaned as he rolled his hips up against yours.

“That isn’t the problem, Chan,” you admonished as you bucked your hips back down on his. It was difficult, focusing past the little voice in your mind and the blissful ecstasy coursing through you as you fucked Chan, his blood and his cock in you making you feel effervescent. Your orgasm lay somewhere with that small voice, waiting. “You think I'm afraid of some big, bad, wolf?” You laughed cruelly at Chan fighting wildly against his restraints underneath you.

More, the small voice within you whispered, he can take it.

Your hips slowed on his and he looked up at you, eyes wide and uncertain.

“You really do feel that way,” you marveled quietly as you melted down against his bare chest. “You really want me even after all this.” You nuzzled the ravaged skin of his neck before slowly, gently kissing his lips. Chan was silent, almost reverent as your kiss lingered.

“I want you,” he nodded earnestly, almost drunk, tipping his chin up to press his lips to yours again. “You’re mine.”

“Does that make you mine then?” You asked him as you began working your tight heat up and down his dripping length. Despite the little voice goading you to move on, you were actually curious for his answer.

He nodded sincerely. “Yes, I'm all yours.”

“Since when?” You asked, watching his little shivers at each moan that escaped you.

“Since I knew you were mine,” he groaned, now only holding onto his restraints instead of pulling. His words made your head spin, but you couldn’t tell if it was the sentimentality or the absurdity or the sincerity of it that was doing it for you. It could’ve been all three. All you knew was that you didn’t want it. Not now. Not when you needed to focus on getting out of town now. The little voice in your mind coughed up again.

Do it, it urged, teach him a lesson.

You bounced harder on Chan’s cock, savoring the way he fit up inside you and lusting over each moan for you he gave. Having him unravel for you fueled you in no way you predicted, this animal completely at your mercy and yours for the taking. He whimpered and whined and groaned for you, hissing under his breath as you dragged your nails down his defined chest and abdomen. He looked so pretty for being so drained, hardly enough blood in him to flush his cheeks and so breathless every hushed curse was hoarse. Meanwhile, you felt more alive than you had in years. Your orgasm was coming in hot and you relished the sensation. Chan watched you expectantly as you kissed him again, your lips trailing down to his neck and ultimately his clavicles. His eyes closed, now pliantly letting you drag your teeth over his skin. This was the longest they’d ever been extended.

“The only problem with all this,” you whispered, fighting through your pre-orgasm haze, “is I don’t belong to anyone.”

Chan’s eyes shot open as you sank your teeth into his chest, crunching and twisting as Rand had done to you. It had the desired effect, shocking Chan into the perfect orgasm to push your own. He screamed as you did, his knuckles white where he gripped the belt tying him to the pipes lining the room. His orgasm flowed hot into you and you were almost lost in the fog still clouding your mind before you realized how much blood was spilling from the wound. You instantly sobered, suddenly aware of what you'd done. Your fingers reached for him but stopped, wavering moments away. A cough hacked from Chan’s chest, small flecks of blood dotting his lips from when he must've bitten into his cheek.

“Oh god, Chan--” you breathed, horrified at the sight of him.

Fine, the little voice fought back, he's a wolf. He'll be fine. Tomorrow should be a full moon and he'll be good as new.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” He asked, a drunk roused from his sleep.

He looked as good as dead. Chan gasped for breath as you slid off his lap, hair matted to his forehead with sweat and any color he had left gone. You stared, wondering just where the hell you got an idea like that from.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, unsure of what to do.

“Me? I'm fine, just fucking dying.” Chan smirked tiredly at you and you thrust your hands in his pockets for the keys and stumbled off the bed, still unbelieving of what you just did. Rand hadn't drained you of most of your blood before ripping into you. Now Chan’s breath was shallow in his chest as your hands desperately searched for your clothes. “Starting to think I'm not the only monster here,” Chan mused.

“What're you talking about?”

“I didn’t tell you about the fox you smell like, because it wasn't like any of the ones I caught or hunted with my granddad growing up.”

You warily stood after loosely pulling on your boots, backing up to the door of the boiler room.

“You smell like a special fox,” he continued, still struggling to catch his breath, “that would come poking around the garden looking for food. Until one day, it killed my grandmother's favorite hen. And she was livid. She charges out of the kitchen with a shotgun, and she blasts the stupid thing and she buries it.” Chan laughed, almost as if you were just sharing stories over beers and not watching him bleeding all over the bed.

“My granddad threw a fucking fit,” Chan chuckled grimly, “because burying it will only bring more trouble. And it does. But she insists it’s good for the soil, and it’ll serve as some lesson to the others. For weeks my grandmother is blasting away vermin and knocking pots and pans together to get foxes and wolves and bears away from her garden, until one night my granddad drags me out of bed and makes me hold a lantern as he unburies this fox and throws it out to the treeline.”

You could swear you could see your breath, you or the room were so frozen.

“That’s what you smell like, princess,” Chan smirked, “this dead thing that belonged in the ground, but not where it was buried. Just bringing more trouble. Cardamom, lilies, and trouble. And look at me... Face it, you’re a monster. That’s why you’re mine.”

Enough. You shook out your jacket and threw it on, running down the hall as Chan laughed behind you. You ran up the stairs and through the lobby, and you ran as you burst through the front door, gasping as you were faced with the freckled boy from the pack. He stared back at you.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, and ran to the car, jumping in and revving the engine. The car barreled back towards town, but you were so dizzy you weren't even convinced you were driving. Chan wasn’t going to make it, and you ran. There was no way he’d survive the night, and you had abandoned him. Why did you care? You didn't care. You still hated him. Even if you were his. Even if that was bullshit. But he didn't deserve to die like this.

The car pulled into the alley behind the shop and you tried to open the door before you found it locked. You flipped through the keys and wrenched open the door, stumbling in.

“Jisung!” You yelled, running into the store. Jisung popped up from the couch, gladly accepting you as you ran into his arms.

“Oh my god,” he breathed as he held you tight, “I'm so glad you’re okay, you’re -- what happened to you?”

You stepped back, following his gaze down. You were covered in more blood than when you left.

“Did Chan do this to you?” He immediately started in as he shook his head in disbelief. His bandaged fingers started examining you, wavering at the healed bite you’d suffered earlier that night. “I can’t fucking believe it. What did he do to you? I had my doubts when he was taking you, I wanted to stop it--”

“Jisung.”

“What?” He looked up, bewildered at the tears welling in your eyes.

“He didn’t do anything… I did.” You fell back into Jisung’s arms and he put his confusion aside to comfort you the best he could. He guided you down to the couch and sat with you beside him. The tears stinging your cheeks felt so similar to the tears you shed the night you were first turned. He held you close, and you got a good look at the stitches on his brow, a nice addition to the black eye that still never finished healing.

“Oh, Jisung,” you sighed as you looked at it.

“It’s fine,” he shook his head, “the wolves scattered after the cops showed. The cops haven't believed me until now, so when the medics came I told them it was just an attempted smash-and-grab.”

“At least we have the journals,” you attempted to lighten up. Tomorrow was a full moon. Chan would be fine.

“Not quite,” Jisung admitted.

“What?”

“I don't remember anything that happened between telling you to run, and the cops questioning me. I searched the store when I got a chance. The first journal is gone. But at least we still have the one from the desk.”

You dug into your jacket pockets, freezing when you all you felt were Jisung’s keys.

“Jesus,” you breathed, “it’s fucking gone.”

“Holy shit!” Jisung exclaimed, making you jump. “Where the fuck do we go from here? How do we protect you if the last people we want to are there ones who have the answers?!”

“Jisung!” You shouted back, getting his attention back as you grabbed his hands. “I have to get out of town. If I can go in the direction of an answer, that's better than nothing. I need you to tell me anything from the journal.”

Jisung stared hard at you, nursing at his bottom lip before he ultimately nodded. “I… The journal mentions a girl. She worked for Shepherd for a few summers until she graduated from the university… She worked in the research department as well.”

The confusion that sprouted from information like that only sat in your gut, with no momentum. “Just a girl?”

“A vampire. But by the end of the diary she's fucking dead.”

“Jisung, tell me her name--”

“Why?”

“Because if her name is Lia, she's still alive.” You got up, dusting yourself off as Jisung stared wondrously up at you. “I’m a mess, so if I can crash at your place before I get out of town--”

“Why aren’t I coming with you?”

“Why do you want to?”

Jisung sighed, looking around at the bookshop, destroyed numerous times by now. “There’s nothing for me here. Not right now. There’s some closure if I go with you. Let me come with you.”

“Are you sure, Jisung?”

“I am,” he nodded, taking the keys from your hand with a small smile, “I'm all yours.”

[To be continued.]

#skzsmutnet #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #bang chan breakdown

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reddogf13 · 3 years

Text

Crossing fates web ch 4

Pennywise x Beverly

summery: Beverly's life had drastically changed since childhood. claws, sharp teeth, the urge to devour human meat. a aggressive clan of vampires trying to claim her forcing her to flee from LA back to Derry for a save haven. where something else has awakened to the sensation that a female deadlight had arrived. a web of coincidences from their pasts have the two questioning fate.

status: In progress

rated: M - fowl language and gore

previous chap: Crossing fates web ch 3

next chap: Crossing fates web ch 5

_____________________________________

~ch:4 Pacing~

“i can get you someone else if you didn't like the one I brought.”

“what?!” she snapped. “what do you mean?!”

gesturing to the partially eaten body. “you were starving and I made it easy for you by bringing a meal.”

her aggression spiked at the plot he made. “you brought him here to mess with me so that I would eat him?!”

In submission to her, he avoided staring and laxed his tall stature. “yes, but its not like he'll be missed. He has quite a record against girls. Not a huge loss to Derry.”

“ugh, I don't care! You set this up! This wouldn't have happened!”

“you're not human any more!” he snapped. “you have to eat them to survive now! You're much bigger then them, we are far greater then them! We are gods here and They're all pathetic meat walking around ripe for harvesting!” the two bearing teeth against one another. “why are you holding back? Take what you want and eat them all-” unable to finish when Beverly furiously lashed out.

Dust flying as they roared and slashed at one another. Beverly having the upper hand despite his strength being greater. He still did not want to harm her and took the harsh end of the fight. Torn up and bleeding from her claws repeatedly slashing into him. Forcing him to flee as she would surely kill him if he dared to stick it out for any longer. Leaving Beverly to stand alone as the victor with only a couple slashes and mostly scuffs from thrashing around each other. Catching her breath before looking down at her self. Looking a horrible mess of blood mixed with dirt and other ground gunk.

Turning to the river she cleaned herself enough to not grab attention on her way home. Quickly getting clean and into fresh clothes, steaming mad over what he did. What a way for her day to be ruined. Rushing back to school for her next set of classes before returning by nightfall. Exhausted she worked through what little homework she had before trying to head for bed. Laying in bed stirring up negative thoughts of what IT had said. “you have to eat them to survive now!”

sure she may have already known this, but some part of her was desperate to cling onto the idea this would pass. Maybe sticking around regular foods could still work somehow. If she held off on eating someone long enough maybe her body would accept something else. Then there was that stupid burning ache annoying her. A tension that demanded to be released somehow, but she couldn't just do that.

“fuck, whats wrong with me?” sitting up to rub her face. Her bed feeling so uncomfortable with even a dreadful feeling of being unsafe. That old myth of vampires being unable to enter without permission showing to be untrue. However her last place was a public dorm and this place an apartment. Neither were exactly a one person living space. She wanted a space that was more surrounded then the open bedroom. Cursing that she abandoned a hammock she had in her last place. That somehow worked in making her feel better, but now she had to make due with something else. Ordering another hammock would take weeks to arrive.

The one small enough space she had was the bathroom, but that didn't feel sanitary or safe enough if IT was prowling in her sink again. Thinking it over there was the fabric closet. “that could be too small.” thinking it over. “may as well check.” rising up to look into the space packed with huge fabric rolls. Taking a while to haul them away to free the small closet. Grabbing her mattress to drag and fold up somehow into the closet in a tight U shape. The space, despite being horribly cramped for most, was turning out quite nicely for Beverly. “i need more blankets to pad out the mattress corners. A bunch of pillows to pad the wall and the door.”

questioning what was open or not she rushed out to a home furniture store on a mission to return with a mountain of bedding. Going unnoticed was Pennywise watching from afar as he saw her go out into the night. Wanting to check in on her to make sure he didn't cause too much harm in their fight earlier.

“what is she doing? Hunting?” he wondered, then saw her entering a store. Coming out a while later with all sorts of bedding. “making a nest? Her heat must be picking up. Its going far faster then other females cycles. Her humancy must be affecting it. Should I move in quicker? How short is her cycle and when could the next one be? Would she even have a next one, is this my only small window to create young with her?” anxiety eating at him to pick up the pace in courting, even though rushing would be the worst thing to do.

“she didn't like the last meal I brought. I didn't present it well enough. She got injured because of my stupid selection. Should have known it wouldn't be good to present such hostile food in her condition.” he reasoned with himself. “i need to get her another meal, something not as threatening.” following Beverly back home to admire her from afar as she unpacked her massive amounts of bedding from the car.

She took hours to carefully set up her new bed space. Layering blankets and pillows back and forth. Burying herself underneath it all to finally feel settled enough for bed. Checking over her alarm clock moved not too far for the time. Disappointed she had only a few hours before it was time to rise. “guess its better then nothing.” sighing as she curled up to sleep. Managing some rest for the first time since fleeing LA. The alarm clock awaking her to feel the start of the dreaded day.

“ugh!” she groaned as the ache had turned 5 times worse. Heading straight for a cold shower that hardly did anything. Debating whether she should stay home today or not. Deciding to go anyway and slog through it. Easier said then done when she was getting huge amounts of male attention. Men left and right asking her for dates or some of her time. Complimenting her lovely “perfume” that had increased along with the ache. Saying no all the time annoyed her to be even more stressed. Something her new friends in class noticed.

A few girls she talked to during the masquerade she enjoyed the company of. None of them were snooty toward Beverly when joining their already established friend group. Fun, happy and understanding of how hard each other worked in class. A group Beverly was happy to be a part of that wouldn't turn to drinking late every night as there only way for fun.

During a pause in class a few of the girls sitting nearby began to talk with Beverly. “you look stressed, you doing okay?”

tapping her foot and clicking her pen heavily. “fine.”

“been working late?” “yeah and sleeps been hard.”

“we were planning to go to a restaurants anniversary party hosted at the place. We can get you a ticket too if you want to come. We know you like to keep up on work, but seems like you really need it honestly.”

“oh, thanks, but I don't think I can. So much to do, you know?”

“come on Beverly, you need a break.” another girl spoke up. “sit, relax, have some nice food and maybe dance to some nice fancy music. You have guys falling at your feet, could ask them for a date. There will also be a ton of guys there if you don't like anyone on campus.”

“mmm.” she hummed in consideration. Finding a guy there seemed really nice to her. All these other ones surrounding her were increasingly annoying. Speaking more excitedly. “yeah, that actually sounds nice. I'll come.” smiling at all the girls happy at the news, giving her the time for when the short night event would start.

Beverly made it home to prepare for her night out with the girls. Dressing nicely in an outfit she made of a lovely silver color with hints of black and mixed greys. Driving over to the club to meet at the entrance where they all grabbed there entry tickets to head inside. Sitting at a table to have a lovely meal and slow music before the bar and dance floor fully opened for the party to really begin. While her friends went to dance Beverly stuck it out at the corner of the bar with a hardly sipped drink. Swarmed by many guys trying to get a dance with her. Only to be turned down and shooed off.

There was always something that she didn't like about them. Too desperate, too drunk, stumbling over themselves too much, or reeking of chemicals that she recognized from her hunting of drug dealers. She was aching to take one, but none of them seemed worth it enough. She stuffed a napkin into her still full glass for it to be poured out when the bartender passed by again. standing to go get some fresh air outside on the restaurants fenced off out door area.

Taking in deep breaths of the cold night air in an attempt to settle the annoying ache. Ready to rip her hair out over it she didn't notice another guy approaching. “hey, why you out here and not inside by the dance floor? Not liking the party?”

“not that, I've been stressed is all.” collecting herself to not seem too bothered by being talked to. Looking at him her interest perked at the sight of the tall man. Dark slicked back hair, tall with wide shoulders and dressed in a neatly pressed tux.

“ah, you from the nearby college? Been thinking of enrolling, recently moved here.”

“yeah, recently got there too. Pretty good school for being in such a small town.”

“oh, interesting, why'd you move here? Names Tom Rogan by the way.” holding his hand out for a handshake.

Beverly glared at the offered hand. For no reason in particular she snubbed her nose at it. Crossing her arms in a show of refusal to accept it. “reasons, my names Beverly marsh.”

her reaction catching the man off guard, his smile breaking momentarily to a frown. Strangely appearing somewhat confused as well, as if her reaction was unexpected. “nice to meet you. … want to come back inside where we can talk someplace warm? You'll catch a cold out here.”

“no, I came out here for fresh air.” what little interest she had for him being lost to annoyance. The air about him giving off aggression since she ignored his hand. Another layer she couldn't quite decipher being a superiority complex, or a false face to hide whats really him. Either way she smelled the falseness on him and wanted him to go away.

“why, are you sick? Want me to get you-” putting a hand on her shoulder almost having him lose it.

“FUCK OFF!” Beverly snapped. Calming down immediately when she realized she was about to maul this man who hardly did anything. Her extended claws put away before anyone could see them. She didn't say anything else to him, running off from the party. “goddammit!” scolding herself for blowing up like that and almost killing someone in a crowd. Driving back home to be alone with herself.

Pennywise had been watching the failed courting in great interest. Snickering at the vampires failed attempts to charm her. She saw through his smugness right away. All vampires carried themselves like lords and kings, but had the spine of a jellyfish when confronted by anything.

“no competition around, what a shame.” Pennywise snickered to himself. Confident he was the only choice he planned how to renovate his nest and how to approach Beverly tomorrow. He had to see her for another conversation along with a presentable meal far better then the last. And he knew exactly what to get.

Hours had passed and Beverly was trying her best to sleep. Especially now that the wave of urging heat had died for its final hour today. It would return, but not for a few days. Laying there in her pile of blankets and pillows she worried about what had happened. She almost killed someone innocent out in the open. The idea going over and over in her mind. She could cover one small death in the night. But one where everybody could see the killing. What if she did go through with it and went on a devouring binge. What if she attacked anybody near by and went on some massacre? She couldn't let that happen, she had to find some way to control this losing battle.

Thinking back to earlier in the day when Pennywise spoke with her. He certainly knew something she didn't, what had happened to her. Why the drastic changes since she left Derry in her younger years. “did he do this as a punishment?” she questioned. “doesn't make sense.”

going over his words. “we are far greater then them!”

“we? I cant be like him. I am not like him! I don't eat children and never will!” her thoughts dipping down to “but what if.” will she forever have the choice? She had to find out and only he could give those answers.

“ugh!” she spoke to herself in disgust. “i wish I could strangle him! Maybe I will tomorrow morning after getting some answers.” rising up from her laying position to fetch some medicine for her building headache. Returning to bed for a difficult sleep into the early morning.

Rising up to drink a hot cup of coffee to the blue morning before anyone else would wake. Not sure exactly how there interaction would go or even where. Dreading the idea of seeing him down in his lair at that hoard pile. Taking her time before finally stepping out into the world to go find him. Instead of heading straight for his lair she followed the warmth in the core of her chest. Surely that would bring her to him faster then assuming where he is or waiting around for him to arrive.

“where is that clown bastard?” she thought after a bit of walking to arrive at a large park. The warmth settling enough that he must be somewhere nearby. Scanning across the park it didn't take too long to spot that strange silver suit lurking in the bushes lining the park. “what is he-” realizing that he was far too close to a children's play ground for comfort and that was child was chasing a particularly rolling away ball. Stopping and going to egg the kid slowly over to where that child eater was hiding in a brush.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she bolted over before the kid could reach the shrub. Tackling and clawing into the clown who hadn't seen her coming. His lure broken and the child unknowingly escaping with his ball in hand. Clawing and shredding into the clown until he fled the scene. She huffed at his fleeing form disappearing into a near by drain pipe. A surge of energy filling her body at successfully winning in a fight over the current space. This was her park now and he would know it too.

“ugh, I was suppose to talk with him. Guess its not like I cant find him another time.” shaking her head.

Pennywise had fled after having been so surprised by Beverly pouncing him. “shes being so incredibly territorial, yet it seems her heat has ended. That powerful scent has left her. How much of her will be deadlights and how much of her has stayed human?” grumbling as he looked over his fresh wounds slowly healing. “i cant keep letting her do this. I'll keep losing territory in Derry until she try's to eat me or fully chase me off. I cant let that happen despite not wanting her harmed, I'll have to hold my ground the next time.” continuing on his path through the drainage system to his wagon to do a bit of wound care. “the only thing that could placate her is gifts. She still deeply needs a good meal in her starving condition.” planning how best to give his next gift.

Time passed with Beverly relaxing at her apartment for most the day. Hopping in the shower to feel more refreshed before leaving. Standing in the hot shower the scent of fresh pine wood and black brewed coffee over powered the freshly poured shampoo in her hand. He was here inside her apartment and that greatly pissed her off. Rushing to wash off and get redressed to confront him. Storming out of the bathroom to race around her place in search of the annoying clown. Finding him to be missing, but his scent leading to the fridge. She stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at the fridge in imagining what he had put inside. Should she open it? Well she had to eventually.

Yanking the door open to find a webbed basket decorated with smaller sun flowers. filled with various pastries she could tell, immediately from their smell, that were filled with meat. The mini crescent meat pies had her mouth filling with drool. “no! I cant eat them! I don't even know who or what they're made from!” thinking about them being possible pies made from children. Yet her stomach painfully growled until she gave in. devouring the whole pie basket before she realized. She groaned in annoyance to herself, and the clown. “I'll find that clown, he'll probably be hunting tonight somewhere.” tossing the threaded basket into the trash. Heading out the door to night classes where she met back up with her friends.

“hey Beverly, what happened at the party? You seemed to have just left.” one asked.

Beverly trying to seem cheerful. “yeah, I got sick and had to go home.” hiding her guilt at almost eating someone there. “Was a really fun party up until then, I really needed the break.”

another of her friends mentioning. “you do look a lot less stressed. Get a good nights sleep to?”

“a little more then usual. I can only hope it improves from here on.”

all going quiet as the teacher started up the nights class. Beverly having trouble focusing as she planned to confront Pennywise again. Pondering what she would ask him first if she managed to keep him quiet enough. Last thing she wanted was to hear him going on and on about “being better” like their last talk. Calming her nerves at the thought by doodling dresses in her note book. Helping the time fly by a bit faster.

With the sun disappearing from the large window view of the classroom. The class came to a close, freeing Beverly to go out on her mission. Walking through the halls to pass through the empty gym that was just before the parking lot. Stopping just past the door into the night air when the tugging directed her to something near. Rushing to find where the clown was she accidentally ran into someone else after turning a corner.

“oh, sorry!” the two apologized simultaneously. Beverly taking in the view of the man, recognizing him as the one from the party who she almost killed.

“oh, hey.” she greeted awkwardly.

“hey.” he greeted back. “haven't seen you around much. You only taking night classes? I just joined and that's my schedule.”

“ah, not fully. Just every now and again for one class.” wanting to keep her conversation short to find the clown somewhere nearby.

While the clown was already looking for her. He wanted to check in and see how she was doing after eating his gift. Hoping she'd be doing a lot better. Shocked to find that idiot vampire courting her again. Didn't he get it the last time that she wanted nothing to do with him. “I'll make sure he gets that hes not welcome here.” the clown snarled to himself. Wasting no time in pouncing on the intruder. Mauling and clawing into him thrashing around into a brawl. Beverly wasn't expecting the sudden fight before her. Rushing away to be clear of the incident to not get involved, expecting this to be something the clown set up like last time.

When the weak vampire male fled, Pennywise stood smugly victorious. Thrilled having just done a wonderful fighting display in front of a female. One who ran off shortly after it begun and he had to go find her again. Following her lingering scent back into the large gym where she was hiding under the large bleachers. Beverly caught onto his approach soon after he approached the large benches. He took his approach slowly, not wanting to scare her or start another fight with how aggressive she was already acting.

“we haven't had much a chance to talk.” he started. Receiving only a glare from Beverly he continued. “I apologize for the lacking meal I delivered earlier. Did you like the other gift?” he stepped closer.

“stop with the shitty gifts or whatever they really are!” she snapped. “what did you do to me?! Is this all some mocking curse after what I did to you all those years ago?!” her words stabbing into the clowns chest.

“they are gifts and no, this is no punishment. I don't wish to harm you, quite the opposite.” getting only further angry glares of suspicion from her. “... i can bring you to something much better-” reaching to take her hand. Having her aggression spike at the personal intrusion. Slashing into him to shove him to the ground. Hooking her claws into him so he couldn't run from her again. He took the brunt of it to stay submissive in the tackle down to the floor. Waiting just long enough for her to calm down before starting up the fight again, back onto their feet.

Shoving him back with a snarl. “what's wrong with me?!” she roared. “what did you do to me, what did you say earlier about the dead lights?!”

“you have deadlights, like me.”

“how, when did I get them?!”

“when I showed you my lights years ago. Its never happened before, but you took some from me. Your body was maturing and the lights latched on. They grew with you for all these years, now your just like one of my kind.” his explanation freezing up her heart in her chest. “you are a rare female in our dying species. I would be stupid to not take you for a mate.”

her frozen heart reigniting at what he mentioned. “what?! Take you as a mate?! How dare you!” readying herself for another fight. “get out of here and don't you dare come near me again!”

“why not-” he couldn't finish before she moved to harm him if he stayed any longer.

“i will never be your mate! Ever!” she roared, slashing into him just as he moved to run. Letting him get away after leaving a few marks.

The clown returned down to his dark dreary water tunnels. Void of all feeling after such a huge rejection. Did he have to accept now that his chances with her were dead? Was it all because of there past or for a more recent mistake? Was his first failed dance the cause? It couldn't be all over, he had to keep trying. She wasn't disappearing anytime soon and neither was he. Even if it would take another billion years he'd keep courting.

Elsewhere the injured vampire had been happily watching the rejection. “hmm, looks like he’s out of this fight. She'll be much easier to grab without him. I just have to sneak in between while she's in heat and she'll be all mine. A little distraction, and something to weaken him. If I get rid of him before then, then this whole territory would be mine. She'd have no where to hide when he’s gone.”

_____________________________________

i swear i am still writing. DX my original story's have just been soaking up most my time. while my fanfics have gotten a more - a sentence at a time - pacing.

#it 2017 #pennywise #beverly marsh #pennywise x beverly marsh

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themangoyogurt · 4 years

Text

Misguided Youth: The First Misunderstanding

Chapter 1

Kylo Ren didn’t necessarily enjoy being an asshole. It just kind of happened that way. Somewhere along the line between puberty and getting his heart broken for the first time, the man evolved into an enigma of darkness and reticence. Somehow he had shucked off the nerdiness and slipped on armor in the form of bad decisions and anger management problems. Looking at this hulking form of a man, you’d never guess his obsession with space or that his hobbies included calligraphy.

Although Hux, his best friend from childhood, sure as hell did his best to remind Kylo of the fact daily.

The biggest joke of all was that Kylo had somehow turned his teenage angst and emo persona into a career. It was pretty straightforward - he just wanted attention. His father was a pilot, and his mother was a senator. Both of his parents were headstrong and stubborn - meaning that neither really had an interest in being a parent. His childhood was a blur of being passed from nanny to nanny. Once, his parents were so busy with their own lives, they actually shipped him off to the Pacific Northwest to live with his reclusive uncle.

So Kylo lashed out. It was a slippery slope that began with wearing dark clothes and piling on the metal hardware. He even gathered his friends Hux and Phasma and started a stupid band where he could croon about abandonment and loneliness. To be honest, they were just kids messing around. Even as he began to collect piercings and tattoos, his parents still didn’t do much. They weren’t exactly present enough to notice their only child spiraling out of control.

Somehow his teenage pet project took off though, and Kylo Ren found himself being signed to a record label alongside his friends. His music resonated with his generation, and next thing he knew Kylo Ren was a college drop out touring the country.

Still, his parents couldn’t be bothered to come to a show.

And so, he continued to act out. It was so fucked really. The more he smoked, drank, and pushed back - the more his fans loved him. Every bar fight, every tabloid photo of his tongue down some model’s throat, every time he flipped off the press - record sales would increase. Finally, he relented to his reputation. If the world wanted him to be an asshole, then he’d be the biggest one of them all. If he couldn’t soothe his aching soul with light and love, he’d find a balm in the form of quick fucks and alcohol.

Which was how he found himself prowling some random bar on a Wednesday night. It was the same routine: if he couldn’t find a good lay, then at least he could get blackout drunk and forget the night. Holding his second or third or fourth (who the fuck cared) glass of bourbon, a sparkling beacon of sweetness caught his eye.

There you were. Pristine and calm, and so fucking good. Perched alone at the bar, your hands were neatly folded over your crossed legs. A stiff peter-pan collar poked out of your pale blue cable knit sweater. A pleated skirt donned your legs, and your feet were covered by a pair of penny loafers. Kylo almost choked on his drink. It was like watching a wet dream straight out of the fifties.

Kylo slowly licked his lips and imagined all of the different ways he could defile you. He’d definitely keep the skirt on while he fucked you into the mattress. He smirked at the clean ponytail - not a single hair out of place. That was definitely staying as well. Better leverage to warp around his hand as he tugged on your hair.

Girls like you were his favorite. Easy pickings as he so eloquently liked to say. There was a reason why the bad boy/good girl trope existed. Women were so eager to fix him. To save him from himself. To make him change for the better - as if he were a fucking conquest. Kylo learned early on that girlfriends would just leave when they realized that he wasn’t some home improvement project they could work on in their leisure time. He was an actual person with actual problems.

They’d usually selfishly move on, leaving behind more damage than there was before their arrival. So Kylo decided to forgo the chore of being in relationships. Instead, he’d allow the illusion that he could be your bad boy for a few hours. Long enough to get his dick wet before he left in the middle of the night.

He thought of it as win-win anyways. He got his rocks off. You got to fulfill some sort of fantasy - really sticking it to your parents for forcing you to take SAT classes every weekend. Nothing said “fuck you” like fucking the boy they’d never approve of.

Downing the bronze liquid in his glass, he harshly set the cup down before cracking his neck a few times. You were still silently sitting alone - not even glancing at a phone. Kylo imagined that you weren’t accustomed to being out on a weeknight. You were probably nervous. The shy type who needed a man like him to shake things up a bit.

He ambled over to your side and slid a forearm across the bar to box you in. His form towered over your smaller one as he smirked down at your placid features returning his gaze with a surprised look.

Jesus, you weren’t even wearing makeup. What an angel.

His deep voice drawled, “Hello, princess. I’m Kylo, and I’m going to buy you a gin and tonic.”

Your owlish eyes blinked back a few times in silence. Kylo licked his lips again. He definitely had you now. Your features were so compliant. So soft. So easy. He could already imagine how he’d probably be the first guy you’d ever allow to go down on you. How he would...

His indecent thoughts were suddenly interrupted as you doubled over in laughter. Hinged at the waist, you had thrown both hands on your knees and bent over to guffaw into the space between your thighs.

What the fuck?

You sat back up and wiped a tear from the corner of your eye. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Seriously? You’re going to buy me a gin and tonic? Just like that? And then what? And who drinks gin and tonics anymore? What, are you like eighty?”

Kylo felt his face redden in agitation as you continued to laugh at his expense. His fists clenched and he felt his spine stiffen in embarrassment. Suddenly, another woman appeared by your side. You clutched her arm and continued to shriek, “Oh my God, Jyn. This asshole over here thinks he’s some sort of dark knight trying to whisk away an innocent dove.”

Your brown haired accomplice gave Kylo a withering glare before grabbing onto your arm to tug you away towards a booth pressed against the back wall. Even as you were dragged away, you turned over your shoulder to cry out, “Oh mister knight! Please show me the dark side, won’t you? Show me how to be a bad girl.” You continued to howl in amusement while Jyn wrangled you into a seat.

Kylo stood rooted in shock. Nobody had ever talked to him like that. All six foot two of him screamed “danger”. Yet here you were, dressed like you worked at a fucking soda fountain while hurling insults at the rock star. Kylo felt offended - it didn’t even seem like you recognized him.

This was his supposed angel?

Meanwhile, Jyn shoved a bottle of water in front of your face. “Seriously? I leave you alone for fifteen minutes, and somehow you managed to still get blitzed.”

You pushed the water away in indignation. “Who said I was blitzed? Was it Finn? That fucking snitch!”

Jyn rolled her eyes and pushed the water back towards your hands. She unscrewed the cap and sighed, “Dude, Finn isn’t even here. Honestly, you hold your composure pretty well when you’re just sitting around. It’s when you open your mouth that I can tell you’re drunk.”

“How?”

The brunette laughed and pulled you in for a hug. “I say this with so much love, but you turn into a total bitch when you’re tipsy.” You huffed into her hair and relented with a swig from the water bottle.

“Oh, here. Thanks for letting me borrow your phone.” Jyn squeezed your shoulder before placing the device on the table. You waved off her gratitude, and the woman continued, “Why are you dressed like a cast member in Grease, anyways?”

You moaned and threw your face into your palms. You were in the last year of getting your MBA. One day you would be a fearless female CEO of some publicly traded company. You’d slink out of your penthouse, get chauffeured around to your job, and change lives dammit.

But that was someday, and right now you were a broke grad student trying to make ends meet before resorting to hawking your organs on Canal Street. Jyn gave you a look of pity as you bemoaned your existence. “I look like Sandy Olsson because I actually do work at a soda fountain now.” Jyn burst into a fit of giggles as you pulled at your face in exasperation.

“It’s one of those stupid hipster joints in Brooklyn where they’re still trying to profit off of nostalgia. So yeah. That’s my part time job.” You moved to kick your friend off her seat as she started to tear up at the image. Just before you could successfully push the woman off, a man cleared his throat.

Kylo was looming over the table, still angry from your confrontation. Somehow watching you laugh it up with your friend only pissed him off even more. He glared down at you and seethed, “What’s your fucking problem?”

Before Jyn could grab the back of your sweater, you leapt up from your seat and squared right up. “You want to know what my fucking problem is? My ‘fucking problem’ is entitled douchebags such as yourself thinking that you can just prowl up to any woman and we’ll drop our panties for you. You’re not good looking enough to act like an asshole.”

Kylo reeled back, completely disarmed and offended. “Well I’m so sorry for misreading your desperate fake good girl look.”

His chest was heaving now, barely grazing your own as it rose and fell with each labored breath. You knew you were about to become annoying, but it was too late to stop. You begin to press a finger into his chest over and over again, punctuating your words with each push.

“Let me tell you something about looks, mister. At least I’m not the old geezer dressed like he’s still holding onto the wonder years of his misguided youth.”

“Misguided youth? Do you know who the fuck I am?”

Kylo was positively seething at this point. Who gave you the right to talk to him like that? Some stupid nobody dressed like a fucking cartoon trying to school him on his wardrobe. Jyn desperately tried to calm you down, but her words were drowned out as you raised the volume of your voice.

“No, I don’t dickwad. And I sure as hell wouldn’t want to. I don’t want people thinking that I associate with grandpas who still wear eyeliner!”

“Grandpa? I’m fucking twenty-seven!” Kylo practically roared as he flung his phone into the wall. You looked at him in shock as the device ricocheted off the wall and slid back towards him across the table. Kylo Ren had participated in his fair share of bar fights, but very few people could actually get underneath his skin. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting his opponent to be sporting a bowtie in her hair.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” A posh British accent suddenly interrupted the feud. A red-haired man appeared next to Kylo, and pushed him away from your shaking fist. He quickly snatched up Kylo’s phone, and apologized on behalf of his friend. Jyn took the cue and quickly moved you behind her as well. The moment was over, and you heard Kylo call the man “General” before the two disappeared through a crowd that had formed.

Still shaking, you sank down into the booth and closed you eyes. You really needed to get your shit together.

#ao3 #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #misguided youth

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

The Haunt of Redemption (5)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

gif belongs to @endiness

Chapter 5: The Past Has A New Face | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 | Previous: Chapter 4 | Next: Chapter 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

A part of you wanted to calm down and subtly scan the area for enemies; the other wanted to just keep running until you find your way back to the ship.

The cacophony of animal sounds continued to sing through the woods. Your hearing hoped for rather than searching for any manmade sound—a twig snap, rustling of plants or leaves, anything. You moved on when there was nothing.

You attempted to reach Cere again, but there was nothing.

“Aw mother of fuc—!” you hissed, but were quickly cut off by the sound of the leaves crunching against the forest floor.

You sharply turned around, lightsaber ignited for nothing, but you continued to listen for it.

Come on, [y/n], forward. You coaxed yourself in your mind.

In the distance, the sound of an explosion echoed and reached the forest where you stand now. You haven’t exactly prepared your heart and mind for the worst yet. In truth, you never prepared yourself for something like this to happen so soon.

The first thought that came into your mind was the Yewa Docking Bay.

“Lora… Kaleen…” you gasped.

Eventually, you found the main path again and followed it.

Yes! You thought. You’re so close now.

The fragment of hope that you held came and went when one of the TIE Fighters fired a shot in the forest—its blast was coming to the general direction of your obstacle course, presumably trying to flush you out of the woods and into a clearing. The shot was somehow close to your current location, dust blanketed the path ahead as well as the path where you came from.

“We can’t be trapped here, BD, we gotta go!”

The ominous snarl of a lightsaber caught you frozen in your tracks. The source was unseen but you can feel it close to you. Taking cover from behind the rock, your thumb searched for your saber’s switch as you prepared for a surprise attack.

You stifled your coughs, careful to not give yourself away to any potential enemies, as you fanned out of the haze that enveloped you.

Stalking the forest floor with a great deal of caution, you held your lightsaber defensively in front of you—the way you held it made you look like a scared Padawan learner in a basic defense stance. Your heightened sense of space caused you to turn around and find a dark silhouette standing in the other side of the wall of dust. You stood your ground, gripping your lightsaber well and positioning yourself in a stance.

When the smoke finally cleared, the figure revealed itself but only for a short second—you didn’t even get to catch a glimpse of whoever it was. The figure disappeared with the haze. Confused, your eyes frantically searched for the figure among the trees.

You feel someone standing so close behind you, their lips could be felt within a mere inch from your ear.

“[y/n]…”

A twirled attack was easily deflected. As soon as your eyes registered the sight of the person in front of you, a whirlwind of emotions flooded you. Never have you ever felt so unsure what to feel that you wish it’s was just as easy as picking one emotion out as you please.

“Hello there, [y/n],”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Your breath shuddered as you attempted to suck in air, your eyes widened even with your sights narrowed at the person you thought you knew all this time. You were focused in examining his entire person—he was far beyond the Cal you last saw in Koboth, you barely recognize him with the dark gradient in his and his stubble.

Your heart skipped a beat.

On a tremendous level, you hate to admit that you find him appealing.

Well, fuck me sideways. The expression of your own voice in your head was a combination of frustrated, smitten, and growing hysteria.

Cal completely understood your predicament right now. He could sense your resolve fluctuate, the confusion and shock factored to it. He smirked at the discovery, there was a glint in his green eyes full of intent.

While in a convergence of blades, you afforded to take a good look at how much he’s changed before he pulls away for the next attack. You caught yourself before you fumbled to the floor, you cannot allow him to get the upper hand.

The last time you traded strikes was seven months ago, you wonder just how good he’s gotten all this time… and you were about to get a firsthand demonstration.

Based on his movements, he never strayed from the lightsaber form he’s been originally using ever since; there were hints of new attack patterns and techniques that you’ve never seen before. You wagered that they’re something that he picked up from his training.

“I see you’re still sharp. Impressive,” he purred.

You shifted your weight on your deflect and pushed him out so you could step away from him to regain your bearings. However, you’re not as sharp as he thought you were. The sudden reunion affected your emotions, then subsequently your movements in the duel; it was a struggle for you to conceal it from him, eluding him was a challenge in and of itself. If he managed to touch even a fiber of your clothes, his Psychometry will trigger and he’ll exploit whatever he’s harvested against you.

The shrubs, the trees, and the rocks became your allies all at once; aiding you in eluding this fearsome, youthful Inquisitor. There are some parts of the obstacle course that you may use to your advantage—such as the large, fallen logs whose bottom gaps are sizable enough for one to slide under, all the while concealing you as you make your escape or hideaway.

Cal followed suit, this was no different from the various environments he’s faced in his past campaigns. By the time he got to the other side of the log, you were nowhere to be found—little did he know that you were hiding among the tall grass, prowling closer as he stalked through the path.

“You didn’t really kill those people back in Magyon, you were manipulated!” your disembodied voice rang in the trees.

He looked around, searching for you while you continued to banter.

“Oh, is that what you tell yourself at night, when you go to sleep? Is it because you don’t want to face the reality now?”

Like a predator, you come springing out, lightsaber at the ready, but this is an Inquisitor you’re facing right now. You’ll have to up your game a bit more. A rush of energy flowed across every vein in your body, granting a burst of power and strength when trading strikes with Cal. You went with a flourishing attack until his deflection brought both of you leaning sideward to the ground; still improvising and maximizing the environment, you quickly pulled away and then skidded your boot hard against the earth—particles of the soil pricked Cal’s eyes and caused him to break from his form.

Just when you thought you had the chance to finally deal damage at him while he’s open, you stood corrected as he blocked you at the last minute while half-blind.

“Fighting dirty, aren’t we?” Cal hissed, you expected him to be vexed, but there was a mischievous purring in his voice.

“Just a style I peppered in!” you snapped back.

Cal patted off the dust that caught in his eyes. You afforded him the dignity of recomposing himself before you could attack again. You wonder if he felt that you couldn’t bring himself to strike him down—meaning, actually fatally wounding him with your saber.

He may not have vocally expressed that he was mad, but you saw it in the way his attack patterns shifted and evolved. The blows got heavier and the strikes were stronger; he even zoomed around the battlefield the same way Trilla and the Ninth Sister evaded your attacks back then! He refused to let the distance close between you. It was getting difficult to dodge him, but more so in getting close to him just to swing at him.

“Huh, I thought you’d see that coming,” he sniggered, expecting you to be able to catch up with him even though he’s zooming from point to point.

You were slowly getting nauseous as you spun in place, anticipating him and from where he’s going to attack you. Your defense was slowly breaking as he tires you out, but he saw that you’re refusing with all your willpower.

Stay still, goddamnit! You hissed in your mind, desperate but mostly annoyed with this new trick. Personally, you hated this when you faced either the Second or Ninth Sister.

“For how long will that endurance of yours last?” Cal jeered, his figure disappearing and then appearing here and there.

“As long as it takes until I knock you down!” you barked.

“You were always the achiever between the two of us,” he stopped his teleporting, he splits his saber and throws both of them to you.

That was a more extreme throw-attack compared to any of the Inquisitors you’ve faced. Luckily, one saber is enough to deflect both—credit is due to your dexterity. When one of the sabers returned to Cal’s hand, the second found its way to the connector and a quick twist sealed them together.

Your next move was your undoing. Coming at a running attack, he takes the chance while you’re still off guard—he extends his hand to you and suddenly you couldn’t move your entire body.

You are literally frozen—saber hand pulled back, seemingly ready for an overhead attack. You try to pull away but you just keep bouncing back into place.

WHAT?!

“How did you—?”

“You’re not the only one mastered the Force-Halt,” he snickered, quite proud of himself to break the news to you.

Short, panicked breaths escaped your lungs; you tried to move even just a finger but you could only do so much as twitch and that’s that. Cal approaches you while you remain as steady as a statue. A steely glower intently fixates on you. The closer he gets, the more out of control your heartbeat became.

Was it fear?

Were you actually stimulated by this?

Cal brings his hand to you. The first thing that came into your mind that he’s going to use one of his abilities on you. Your entire person shifted left and right, as if trying to scamper free from this hold, but to no avail. He ignored your helpless escape attempt.

He ran a gloved finger across your cheek. His touch was something you longed for, but this felt different—it was from someone you knew, but it still felt strange. He withdrew his finger, motioned his hand to turn and your entire body rotated in the same direction as his hand. You didn’t realize that you’ve already reached the first half of the course—where it’s close by the ship and in view of the town below.

“No…!” you sobbed when you saw towers of smoke waft from the settlement.

Standing behind you, Cal sweeps your hair to the back of your shoulder, exposing your neck, he brought his lips close to your ear; you could’ve sworn you felt the hairs of his stubble prickle on your cheek, the warmth of his breath blowing at the crook of your shoulder, hence the hairs on your nape stood.

“You know, I could make this all go away,”

He didn’t expect an answer and continued on.

“After they’re done with that quaint, little town, we’ll find the Mantis next and we’ll take the Holocron from Magyon.”

“You wouldn’t!”

In your mind, you still focused on breaking free, you pondered if his Force-Halt was exactly the same as yours that he simply copied or if he’s managed to improve it to overpower yours.

“You don’t believe me? They all follow under my directive. If you come with me, everyone—especially those in the Mantis—shall be spared for sure, and perhaps those who aren’t dead yet in the village,”

“And if I don’t?” you hissed and he smirked in reaction.

He slightly bends over so his face is level with yours, the gap between his lips and your face is just as thin as a thread when he turned his face to you as he spoke. His eyes trailed up and down, studying the contours of your face, the beads of sweat that riddled your temples, and the way your eyes struggle to avert from his gaze.

“You and I will watch the whole town burn and capture the crew, they’ll be charged with sedition by the time they’re caught. Either way, I’ll still get the Holocron one way or another,”

“Oh, so you’re making me choose who dies and who lives like how the Grand Inquisitor pitched it to you? How generous. Not exactly a win-win for either party, though,” you snapped.

He smirked at your rebuttal, he wasn’t—in the slightest bit—offended. In truth, he missed your sarcasm. Oftentimes, he imagined what life would be like if you were in the fortress at Koboth, either as an Inquisitor initiate or just a plain captive.

“I see your snark aged well,”

You scoffed a prideful chuckle, “You aged well.”

“So, [y/n], what is it going to be, darling?”

The sound of the greater waterfall crashing nearly muted the explosions of the cannons’ impact to the buildings in the settlement and the thousands of voices screaming in pain until they vanished into silence. You focused on the waterfall—it was a crazy idea, but it was your only choice. You could feel his influence ebbing, you’re surprised to find that it was shorter than you expected; you took the opportunity right away—once you’ve broken free, you jabbed him on the abdomen with your elbow, catching him off-guard and then bolting it towards the edge. You looked back over your shoulder one last time.

“GET READY FOR A DROP, BD!!!” you howled as you dropped to the water.

Cal recomposed himself, ran to the edge and peered over at the river. The thick spray of mist fogged his view of the water itself, practically cloaking you as the craziest, improvised escape plan ever hatched has been executed. There was no visible sign of you in the water from Cal’s point of view. Stormtroopers come running through the forest eager to report.

“Sir, they’re gone!”

“What do you mean gone?”

“The Jedi’s ship! We lost it when it took off!”

Frustrated, he resorted to having the town garrisoned first. After that, Cal made it absolutely clear that he’ll find you no matter how far in the galaxy you’ve gotten. The Stormtroopers led him out of the forest and escorted him to the town where he prepared his business.

The impact was sharp, you let the wild current of the river carry you downstream, your head popped into the surface every once in a while to get some air—before the rapids knock your head back under the water. It wasn’t long until you’ve reached calmer waters. You swam up to the surface and finally got a chance to catch your breath.

“Cere? Come in, Cere!”

“[y/n]?! Where are you? Imps sieged the town and—!”

Relief washed over you—aside from the cold water—when you heard Cere’s voice loud and clear. You swam to a shoreline downstream to continue your conversation.

“Listen to me, it’s Cal! It was all Cal,”

“You don’t mean…?”

“I’ll explain everything in the ship. I’m in the river after the bigger waterfall, are you near?”

“Kid, wear anything darker and we might mistake you for a boulder in the water!” Greez cut in just to get his joke at you across.

Greez’s jokes always boosted the beacon of hope that Cere’s voice personifies. The engine hum of the Mantis became louder and louder, you could feel its thrusters blowing at the water and trees around, but you couldn’t see it.

“Merrin, of course!” You exclaimed, recalling that she can cloak the ship.

Emerald glitters flickered as the Mantis gradually materialized on sight. Merrin and Cere appeared on the end of the entry ramp and kicked down a ladder at the edge.

“Hurry, [y/n]! I’m not supposed to reveal ourselves!”

You swam close to the suspended ladder and climbed as the ship slowly maneuvered to face forward and then disappeared into thin air again thanks to Merrin’s magic. The invisible Mantis darted through the skies, heading off-planet before the enemy discovers that they’ve been eluded. Your knees felt wobbly from the altitude and so dragged yourself to the seat in the cockpit to really catch your breath.

“You mind telling us now what just happened back there?”

“I’ll explain in a sec,” you raised a weak hand at them, gasping for breath as the adrenaline was too much for you to handle.

Despite being physically exhausted, your fingers worked their magic whenever they touch the buttons on the dashboard; you were optimizing the speed thrusters for your getaway—and you perfectly knew that Greez doesn’t like it when you get closer to the middle part of the dashboard.

He slapped your hand going for the button that will activate the top speed of the Mantis’s throttle.

“Whoa, whoa, hey! What the heck are you doing, kid!?”

“What, you don’t plan on getting away? An Inquisitor’s fleet just terrorized the town!”

Greez, Cere, and Merrin exchanged glances as you prepped the Mantis for the trip. You punched it and the captain had no choice but to accelerate and get the hell out of the planet before the Imperials find their missing ship.

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sethrine-writes · 4 years

Text

Devil-sitter May Cry, Ch. 4

Pairing: Dante x F!Reader, Vergil x F!Reader (Undecided)

Words: 1844

Warning: Cuteness, Defensive/protective Nero, Demon attack

Story Summary: Low on cash and desperate for a job, you reply to a flyer for a babysitting position. Little did you know that the opportunity to watch over two special boys would bring your life so much mayhem and adventure…and, perhaps, a chance at a family of your own.

A/N: First day continues, and with some unexpected excitement at the end!

------

Chapter 4 - First Day Surprises

The rest of the morning went by rather smoothly.

After cleaning up breakfast, you made your way upstairs and found the boys' shared bedroom where a fully dressed V was helping a flailing Nero fix his inside-out shirt. V was laughing the whole time and telling his cousin to be still as he attempted to pull the shirt over his head, of which somehow had gotten stuck in a way only an unsupervised child could manage.

As soon as Nero's head breached the opening, he sucked in an exaggerated breath as if he had been suffocating the whole time and fell over dramatically, forcing V into another fit of giggles that also had him on the floor.

The following games the boys played using their imaginations had very similar effects, with Nero playing eager dramatics that would lead V into either laughter or equally as dramatic monologues. There were pirates and space stations, a dragon on the moon, six-eyed skeletons belonging to a race of demons who went extinct "a bajillion years ago" trying to become cowboy outlaws, and so on.

The imagination of a child was endless, it seemed, and their playing made for quite the entertaining morning.

Lunch was an easy fix of pb&j sandwiches and a side of grapes. Much to your relief, V ate rather well, nearly finishing his half-sandwich and all but three grapes, of which Nero was happy to finish off for him.

When asked, yet again, if you were going to eat, too, you had to assure a very concerned looking V that you had something in your bag that you would eat later. Granted, it was just a protein bar, and after your quick and meager breakfast that morning, it definitely wouldn't be enough to fully curb your hunger. It felt impolite to partake in whatever they had in the fridge, however, so it would have to do.

Playtime resumed outside with chalk drawings for all of an hour before you began to notice V's sluggishness, despite his best efforts to keep up with Nero's near ceaseless energy. You suggested some quiet time in the main room -living room, or maybe it was considered an office?- and had no trouble getting V to climb up next to you on the worn leather sofa with a pillow.

Two minutes of stillness, and V was out like a light.

Keeping Nero entertained while his cousin napped was surprisingly easy, though you had a feeling this was a normal enough routine that he knew how to play quietly on his own so as not to disturb his cousin. Giving him a snack and asking him all sorts of imaginative questions while he nibbled on more grapes and cheese crackers occupied the next half hour.

When V joined you both in the kitchen with bleary eyes and the cutest little pout, you offered him a snack, as well, though all he was interested in was a small cup of juice.

Nero was more than eager to get back to their play, though with a little prompting from you, he was a bit more patient and waited for V to wake up fully. It didn't take too long for him to perk back up and ease into their make-believe world yet again, and you were subjected once more to their antics for a while longer.

At one point, the phone on the desk began to ring. You shushed the boys down just a bit as you answered with the business' name, just as Dante had instructed you to, and jotted down some details that seemed important from the possible client on the other end. When you finished, you turned back around to find a peculiar sight.

"A cat?"

The boys were both cooing at and petting a sleek black cat that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, its tail swaying in an inviting way as it sashayed back and forth between them. There had been no mention of a pet, no signs of treats or toys or a litter box of any sort - no signs of a cat in the shop at all, and yet, there it was.

Your mind immediately wandered to V and his allergies, suddenly concerned that he would have a flair-up. Vergil hadn't mentioned any allergies to animals, but it was still something you were wary of.

"Where did this little guy come from?" you questioned lightly as you came closer, though mindful in not scaring off the feline, lest it was hard to catch.

"She's a girl," Nero corrected quickly with a little glare and a miffed tone.

"Be nice, she didn't know," V scolded with a gentle tone, earning a puffy-cheeked pout from his cousin.

"Thank you for telling me," you told Nero, anyway, before turning your attention back to V as you crouched down. "I didn't know you guys had a cat. I haven't seen her around all day, and your dads didn't mention her at all."

"Shadow's special," V semi-whispered behind his cupped hand as if guarding his words like a secret.

"She likes to go off and play other places," Nero supplied, reaching for the cat's tail and giving a gentle tug that had Shadow swishing the sleek appendage about just a tad faster, not aggravated, just acknowledging.

"But she always comes back to us," V affirmed, immediately cooing at Shadow as she rubbed her head against his arm. "Papa says he found her one day on a mission, and they have a bond, now."

"Oh, that's very sweet," you crooned, smiling as you continued to watch the boys pet over the cat.

You paid especially close attention to V and his breathing, though even after a solid five minutes within constant contact of the feline, he seemed to be doing just fine. It gave you some relief, especially knowing that even Nero would have said something if V were to have had some sort of ill reaction. If you had learned one thing already, it was that Nero was highly protective of V in any and all aspects.

"Miss, I'm thirsty," V spoke up suddenly, those vibrant green eyes of his looking to you imploringly. "Can I have some water, please?"

You smiled and asked if Nero wanted something, too, before standing and making your way into the kitchen. The fridge didn't have one of those ice makers in it, though you remembered there being a filtered pitcher of water on the top shelf beside the milk, of which you made full use of.

Returning from the kitchen, your smile fell instantly as a look of absolute horror settled across your features and seeped into your very being. The cup of water slipped right through your fingers, clattering to the floor and garnering the attention of the creature that was hovering over Nero's prone form, its teeth bared.

"D-Don't move," you spoke out firmly to the boys, trying to will your voice from shaking as your mind caught up to the unexpected turn of events.

Were the boys hurt? How did that thing get in?

The large creature, almost resembling that of a black panther, must have taken your talking as invitation to continue whatever it was doing beforehand, a low rumble of a growl coming from its throat as it turned back to a struggling Nero.

“Hey! Hey, hey, hey, no!” you shouted, taking a few hurried steps closer in panic.

A hefty growl left the creature as it finally turned its full attention to you, the noise vibrating the air and causing your stomach to drop. It stepped away from Nero as it began to prowl its way toward you with purpose, fur shifting and lighting up with flashes of red runes within the pitch blackness as it advanced.

A demon, then?

Your instincts were telling you to get out of there, that you were in immediate, and rather obvious, danger. You were also highly aware of the two little boys whose lives were infinitely more important, and despite the fear that had your knees damn near collapsing in on themselves as you slowly backed up, you had to at least try and lead the creature away with the hope that the boys’ fathers would be home soon to save them, should you perish.

"That's it, come pick on me, you big, sharp furball," you muttered beneath your breath, eyes darting to the boys for a quick second.

Nero was sitting up, thankfully, looking rather confused but otherwise unmarred, and V was-

"V, no, stay back!" you shouted while throwing your hand up, stopping the boy from advancing any closer, those bright green eyes of his big and concerned.

Everything happened so fast, after that.

There was growling, a short, clipped roar, a scream leaving your lips as the creature leapt towards you. You met the floor rather hard, though it was to be expected when a demonic feline was two seconds away from tearing out your jugular.

Your eyes closed tightly, hands and fingers tangled in impossibly dark fur out of instinct to protect yourself. The creature loomed closer, a large paw pressing into your shoulder, hot breaths washing over your cheek as it leaned in-

And gave a warm, rough pass of its tongue over your cheek.

The sound that left your lips was most decidedly a whimper, though your body was still in the fight-or-flight mode when another lick was given to your face, the pass much longer and even going into your hair.

The panic slowly ebbed into confused wonder as a low rumbling sound started up from the creature, not a growl, but more akin to a purr that was so deep it nearly vibrated your bones.

And then the demon made itself comfortable and laid upon you, forcing a rush of air from your lungs you hadn't realized you were holding. You struggled to gasp a breath in at the sheer heft of the creature doing its very best at crushing your lungs as well as all your other body parts, absentmindedly letting out a very confused, very distressed noise at yet another turn of events you hadn’t seen coming.

What in the actual hell was going on?

"-dow! Shadow, that was very rude!"

At the sound of V’s angry little voice, you opened your eyes, blinking several times as you hesitantly looked up.

Several pairs of eyes were looking down at you, and it took a moment for you to register that Nero and V both were being held by their respective fathers. They must have just gotten home, perhaps right as the creature attacked you.

"Looks like you met the cat," Dante spoke suddenly, grin wide on his face.

Vergil's eyes cut to his brother with a glare, much more heated than the one V was giving to the demon feline that had made you its bed. Nero was pouting again, looking more put-upon than he had earlier, and Dante was every bit amused at your predicament.

You met the cat...

Wait.

Wait!

The cat was the demon the whole time?!

------

Tag List: @v-vic, @astridstark13

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmc nero #dmc v #dmc au #kid nero #kid v #babysitter au #reader #reader-insert #female reader

59 notes · View notes

limited-practice · 4 years

Text

Decepticon Hubcap

I’ll write this out as a proper fic at some point, but here's a Braindump of initial thoughts about Hubcap thinking about defecting to the Decepticons.

He’s got little love left for the Autobots now. They either forget he exists, are content to see him suffer when he tries to do the right thing, straight up want to kill him, or go out of their way to do favours for the person who tried to kill him. He’s so tired of them. He’s so tired of so much. He’s tired and sad and enraged and is burning silently and it’s all going to be too much to contain one day.

Imagine him as a weapon that no-one sees coming. Imagine him with a purple badge integrated into his dark yellow chest. A symbol that’s integrated, not stamped on. Imagine him with a somewhat jaded and uncertain but refreshingly confident look upon his face as he excels at what he does.

Over 1000 words on how Hubcap could begin his slide into the Decepticon camp are below the cut.

The correct timeline sets Sins of the Wreckers post war, but for this AU let’s pretend the war is still raging and everyone's still alive.

Let’s also pretend that Hubcap survived Impactor’s shot and his long fall into darkness. Let’s pretend his self-repair protocols finally activated after his life support systems had worked themselves into near exhaustion to keep him alive and finally stablised him. Let’s pretend he spent two months immobile on the ground and in the dark, and another eight months dragging himself back online one component at a time.

Eight months. On the ground. In the dark and alone and in pain.

Again.

His eyes are the last things to flicker back online.

He closes them again immediately. There is nothing and no-one he wants to see. He has nothing and he has no-one. No-one came to look for him. No-one did anything. If he stays where he is then the world will continue working and everyone will continue living and things will go on as normal.

Normal.

This is his normal now.

He cracks his eyes back open.

They glow a dark and tainted blue. They’re a colour that by all rights should not exist but they do. They do.

By all rights he should not exist.

But he does.

He should have died twice over now but he hasn’t. Despite the Autobots’ best efforts to kill him, he’s defied them. He survives. He continues to survive.

And isn’t that something.

He crawls and stumbles and sobs his way back out into the world.

He should return to a steady job as an intelligence analyst or a communications officer.

He should return to a safe job that he could do with his scarred eyes closed.

He should go back to the Autobots and help them. He should tell them the truth of what he did and what the others did to him. That would be the right thing to do. He’ll accept a lengthy prison sentence willingly, because that would be fair. It’s what he deserves.

But the others would never think like that.

They’d never sacrifice themselves like that.

But they will sacrifice others.

They’ll continue to sacrifice little robots in dark spaces where no-one can see them die because that’s the easy thing to do. That’s the safe thing to do and is the right thing to do.

…

He goes back to them.

He’s not sure what else to do. Something internal has shifted in a fundamental way, but he doesn’t know how to put it back in place.

He’s not sure he wants to.

He accepts everyone’s exclamations of exaggerated delight upon seeing him alive and well with a hollow smile and a modest dip of the head. He speaks fewer coherent sentences than usual. He nods and agrees that yes, he’s very glad he’s back and no, he didn’t see who shot him up on the walkway. It was dark and he was busy talking with Prowl and-

Prowl.

His smile dissolves.

He hasn’t seen Prowl since the walkway. He hasn’t received a message or been accosted at night or been dragged off to prison. He’s not sure why Prowl isn’t punishing him.

But.

But maybe this is his punishment.

The waiting. The waiting and the acute anticipation that something is about to drop and he’s going to fall again.

It’s horrible.

No-one notices his suffering.

No-one cares.

No-one’s ever cared.

His (fake) friends and (pretend) colleagues indulge him with fewer and fewer minutes of their company as the days drag into weeks and the weeks seep into months.

He is raging.

He is scared and raging and so absolutely sick of being scared that he’s reaching his saturation level quickly.

He burns silently and fills up and up and up and up and

He tips over the limit of his capacity for mental torment at 2.47pm one afternoon.

He trips the building’s alarm frequencies without meaning to, and they scream and scream and scream out loud for him.

A cacophony of sounds blare and overlap with each other and some people wince and cover their ears and some sigh and look around and some run and some duck for cover and some yell and point and scream and some draw weapons and everyone reacts and the alarms scream and scream and scream.

He sits behind his desk not moving. He sits with eyes closed and with a damp face and with one clenched fist and he stays silent and immobile in the whirling center of it all.

No-one cares.

They never have.

The next day he comes into work as usual.

There’s a big commotion going on. A Decepticon was caught trying to take advantage of the malfunctioning electronic defences and had tried to break into their facility.

This Decepticon must be stupid or desperate or both to try and infiltrate this building when it’s fully staffed.

He finds that he cares about this.

He hears that the Con has been taken to a secure room in the basement.

He hears things on a frequency that hasn’t been discovered yet.

He hears more things on frequencies he helped re-name as impenetrable.

He hears someone call his name.

His spark pulses and he ignores them.

He ignores their calls for the rest of the day.

And it’s not because he’s scared.

Near the end of the day someone is sent in to tell him that the Decepticon they caught has been asking for him. They are visibly unnerved.

He already knew this.

It’s such a lot of effort to pretend to be even mildly surprised, but he does it. He’s good at pretending to be who others feel comfortable with him being.

His colleague hesitates. The Con won’t give us anything until they’ve met with you, they say. All the Con says is that they want to meet with you, so. Will you come down? We can guarantee your safety.

He laughs loudly. His laugh is hollow and off balance and lasts longer than any normal laugh has any right to. He takes an uncomfortable degree of satisfaction from the look on his colleague’s face.

Tell them to wait, he says.

His colleague’s eyes widen. But-

You heard me.

His voice escapes in a mechanical hiss.

We’re not going anywhere.

He closes his eyes and offlines his hearing and takes up the thread of the mystery frequency again.

His spark pulses harder and hotter than it has for a very long time.

Someone knows who he is. Someone considers him important. Someone thinks he’s worth seeking out. Someone thinks he’s worth paying the price of undergoing the Autobots’ ‘interrogation’ procedures.

He should see them immediately, and put an end to whatever is going on down there.

But.

But they’re not dead. They’re surviving.

He’s survived so much worse, and whatever they're going through can’t possibly be compared to what he’s endured and so that means they can wait. They’ll be fine and they can wait, and it’s a viscous glob of something sweet and poisonous that slides through his lines when he reminds himself that it isn’t him this time.

He should jump to attention. He should work hard and fast to please those in charge and prove himself and do the Right Thing.

But the problem is he’s done these things before. They’re the only things he’s ever done, and look where they’ve taken him.

Look at what they’ve made him become.

So he’ll wait.

It’s nice to be wanted, and he deserves to bask in it for a little while longer.

He’ll wait, and then he’ll see his new Decepticon friend. Because they must be a friend to him. They’ve noticed him and asked for him specifically. They’re enduring who knows what at the hands of the noble Autobots and they’re asking for him and only him.

He should put them out of their misery. He should rush down and put an end to it.

He should do so many things.

The ghost frequency curls around his circuits and whispers to him. It strokes him and sinks into him and he allows it to become absorbed.

And then he vents it.

He expels it and destroys it.

He will never be taken advantage of ever again.

He’s had to wait so long for so little, so it’s only fair that others take their turn waiting as well, right?

Right.

He’ll wait a little while longer.

And then he’ll speak with the Decepticon and see what they have to say.

He hopes it’s something interesting.

He hopes it’s something promising.

He’s tired of waiting for something positive to happen to him, so now he’s going to have to take it for himself.

He’s been left with no choice. Not really.

Not in any ways that count.

He’ll take something for himself and give back to those who deserve it.

And if he has to amend his personality to achieve this, then so be it.

And if he has to adapt to working with others he’s been led to believe he shouldn’t interact with to achieve this, then so be it.

He doesn’t like who he’s ended up as, so maybe it’s time for a change.

Change is in everyone’s nature, and it’s time he helped his evolve.

It’s time that he upgraded.

He stares ahead and thinks. And as he does so, he works at the corner of his red Autobot badge with the flat of his thumb. It’s always sat loosely on his frame. Always. He’s never liked how loosely it’s sat on his chest, and he’s never liked the material it’s made out of. So maybe it’s time for a new sigil.

Maybe it’s time for a new him.

It’s time for a new him and a new future for those like him who deserve it.

It’s time to talk with the Decepticons.

It’s time to listen to what they have to say.

#hubcap #transformers #decepticons #autobots #I imagine all of this a lot #Con Hubcap is different yet similar to SG Hubcap #all three versions are Good #I'll take them all #further parts to come later #eventually in a fic but maybe first just in a format like this #braindump of thoughts that were initially in bullet points but tumblr ate them so there's just words #first draft #sometimes you just have to get your thoughts out #decepticon hubcap

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jinmukangwrites · 5 years

Text

Hunger

Despite the title’s similarity to Feast, by no means is this one crack >;)

If this one feels like it ends a bit quickly it’s because if I didn’t end it where it was it would have kept going, so sorry about that. Hope you all like it though!

WARNINGS; Normal Jin things, angst, over reading into canon, manipulation, mind control.

Summary: There’s a demon, and she’s been hungry for a very long time. Patiently waiting for the perfect moment to pounce upon her prey.

-o-o-o-o-

A year. It's almost been a year since the last time she's seen that boy. Well, she's seen him plenty of times as he walks through the small neighborhood, across a rickety bridge, and into his home. Yes, yes she's seen him plenty of times, but it's been a year since he's seen her.

And she's starving.

The last time she's seen him, he was desperately trying to trade his stamina for strength, rambling about a sword and being too weak to hold it, and the energy passing through her sealed powers was oh so very delicious. She didn't think that he'd never come back, that he would be content with his strength after pulling that cursed sword and regaining his stamina with each soul stone he gathered on his travels there after. She's been forgotten, she's been made un-useful. Cast away, thrown aside like an old sword pulled off the corpse of a lowly Bokoblin.

She's so, so hungry.

And her plan was working so well too. The child listened to her gentle promptings to bring the hero to her. She told him of her ability to trade energy and even though she could see suspicion in his eyes, it was poorly masking his consideration and excitement. Her tempting powers dug their claws into the back of his head and she knew he would be back.

She didn't think it would be just once. He was supposed to keep coming back, he was supposed to come to her a full power and grovel at her feet and then she'd win. Hylia's damned followers, all of their painstakingly crafted talismans and sealing spells would become undone and the stone encasing her would finally peel away.

But it didn't end up that way. Why?! How could she have failed?!

A year. A year passes and his energy finally fades away from Hyrule. Her king, Demise, finally defeated; now she has nothing to sustain her. Soon, soon she'll lose feeling, lose the ability to speak to humans, to tempt. Soon, she'll simply be able to stare, and watch the gentle waters in front of her, sealed away to never prowl the earth like the demoness she used to be. She needs to eat.

She's so, so very hungry. Famished.

Because if she fades, if she starves, then she'll be able to do nothing but hope that when her king rises again that he'll remember her, that he'll remember how much she's done for him, how much life she's taken for him and gifted to his greatness and that he'll come for her. But she understands how pointless hope is. There are other spirits in the world, some older than the Kingdom of Hyrule itself, sealed away in swords, in stone, or rotting away… nothing but dust dissolving beneath the surface, forever laid in an eternal slumber with no hope of seeing the stars again. She can feel those spirits, they're all strong, and even she must admit some are stronger than herself, she's a newborn to them even though she's seen ten thousand rotations of the stars, but they've all failed, and they were all forgotten by their king.

She's failed. Those blasted monks managed to seal her away, and she has been longing for the touch of her king ever since.

There's footsteps and she can feel a familiar presence approaching. She can't quite tell who it is or how strong they are, but the smell of the soul approaching is one she'll never forget. She got a taste of it ten thousand years ago, she got to indulge herself in it just a year ago.

The soul of the hero.

If she had a working nose, she would smell, and if she could smell, she would smell that intoxicating scent all around her, but for now she can only sense it, only feel it's presence get closer and closer with each footstep.

He's coming. The boy is finally coming. She won't give him a chance to resist, she will tear into his soul and claim his life for her own the moment he gets close enough for her to do so. No deals. No silky lies. She has no time. No time to makes sure he stays sane when she takes over.

No time to make sure she stays sane.

But, when the presence arrives, she's taken aback.

Children. It's children. Confusion, anger, fear, it all swirls around her because //how long has it been? Has it truly been just a year? In her imprisonment, she's lost track of time on many occasions, but nothing confused her like this. Has the hero died and been reborn in the space of time where she had thought it was just a year?

Intrigued, she studies the children before her. Or… child. The other looks young, but she can sense something older about him. He's not a child, just very, very short. Fascinating. They're moving together, and in her weakened state she cannot tell which one possesses the soul of the hero.

"Didn't Wild say we shouldn't come here?" The short one asks, the question doesn't match his tone of voice, as if he knows perfectly well what the answer is to that question, he's just asking to make sure his companion and he are on the same page of breaking rules.

She wonders who "Wild" is.

"I don't know why," the child says, grinning comically wide, "it's cool down here. Woah-"

The child catches eyes on her and he gapes. She has to force herself to not try to reach out to him, so that he won't feel her presence until she's ready for him to. For now, she just needs to figure out which one of these newcomers apparently bear the spirit she craves to devour most.

"Kay, that's a little weird," the short one says, giving the black statue a raised eyebrow. The child rolls their eyes and goes to walk towards her. She carefully let's her senses roam between them, determined to find which one smells oh so very good.

"More like super cool."

The child maybe… he has the classic messy blond hair, the short yet muscular statue, the innocent eyes. However, that may prove difficult for her. Children are much harder to corrupt.

So, maybe the short one? It is easy to tell just by looking at his face that he has a strong moral code, the sword on his hip is worn with pride, and even though his clothes are of a variety of colors, the color of the forest is still present, something that every hero has worn at some point in time.

Imagine her surprise when hero of the spirit sticks around both of them even though they're now separate.

How very interesting.

The child is in front of her, studying her as much as she's studying him even though he does not know it yet. He's so close to her, so close that if she reaches out just enough… she might be able to taste.

But she can't.

The child is too pure, as children often are. She can see it, his spirit has suffered much, but never enough to leave holes for something else to crawl in. If she had time, she could wear him down slowly, like she had tried to do with the other hero, widdle him down bit by bit until she's had her touch in every inch of his body, so she could easily, easily—

But she can't. She doesn't have enough time and she’s so hungry.

The small one approaches now, giving her a distrustful glance and she instantly knows this one would be difficult as well, in their own way. She can practically see his brain working, gears shifting, going through every possibility and option again and again and again until he knows for a surety of what will happen next. It would take some convincing, some white lies, some flawless acting, but in time she can see herself indulging herself in his very essence.

But again. Time.

"We should leave," the small one says, and she instantly knows that he had a good head on his shoulders, if the narrowed look he's giving her is anything to do by. Clearly, he has experience with things that do not look as they seem.

The child gives the other a protestant look, and it's that moment that she realizes that if she doesn't make her move now, she may never eat again. She might as well grab what she can before she's left to rot, to join the millions of others servants of the great King of Thieves in dust.

She prepares her powers, and she's about to reach out and take what she can… but she's stopped when something absolutely… intoxicating overwhelms every single one of her senses.

"There you two are!" Calls a new voice, but she can hardly pay attention to the words because not only does this one also possess the soul of the hero, but there's darkness practically oozing from him, so much so that she sees the holes in his spirit before she sees him.

He's had shadows in him. So many. And it sends shivers down her being at the thought of occupying where they used to reside. She wouldn't even need to tempt him, he wouldn't have a choice… all he needs to do is get a little closer.

"How'd you find us?!" The child demands, looking like a fox caught in a cucco coop.

The newcomer rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wild made the mistake of telling you two to not go somewhere."

The child clicks his tongue, giving the newcomer a sideways annoyed look. "C'mon, you have to be at least a little curious."

"I… trust Wild's judgment. If he says we shouldn't be here, then we shouldn't-"

He takes another step forward and she sinks her teeth in before he can even finish his sentence.

It's delicious. The pain. The anger. The guilt. It's pure fear and desperation that drives him, keeps him going and she forgets to hold back, forgets to go slow, and the stupid boy stumbles and black embodies them both, though, she relishes in it. He screams… but she's the only one around to hear it.

-o-o-o-o-

Wild grunts as he carefully lifts the mound of blankets off from a high shelf in his little storage room. Sky is right behind him, spotting him with hands up and a worried face like he's afraid that Wild will trip over the chest and chair he carefully balanced on top of each other to actually reach the shelf.

Oh ye of little faith.

He carefully jumps off of his makeshift step stool and hefts the pile of blankets in his arms for a better grip. Sky looks beyond relieved that Wild didn't trip and kill himself and grins at him. Wild grins back too. They're both excited.

It's not the first time they've ended up at Wild's home, it's just the first time where they've actually been giving time to just… relax for a few days. Zelda is in Kakariko and she heard news that he and the rest of the heroes are back in their Hyrule, so she sent the fastest messenger bird she had, telling him that if he doesn't wait for her in Hatino, she'll beat him up. It's all in good fun, she's been getting more confident with her teasing the more comfortable they get in their relationship… whatever that was. Neither of them are quite sure yet. They're definitely friends, but the title of "best friend" "boyfriend" and "the only person in the world who understands me" is a bit harder to figure out or at least admit out loud to each other.

Not that Wild minds. He just enjoys her company, and she promises that she enjoys his. He supposes that if anything more happens in their relationship, something like... kissing or whatever… he'd take it as it came. For now he's not focused on that and she isn't either, and he's okay with that.

For now, he's just excited to see her.

So, as she takes the journey towards Hateno, she instructed the heroes to wait at Wild's house and stay there until she can meet up with them. With how safe the roads have been lately and the horses Kakariko had started to raise, the journey shouldn't even take two days. A day and a half maybe.

Depends.

Whatever the case, Wild needs to make sure there is enough room in his home for eight more sleeping bodies, soon to be nine once Zelda arrives. Her escort will go to the tavern or just camp in his backyard so he at least doesn't have to worry about them. For now, all he needs to worry about is Warrior who's been insisting on being the one to sleep in the upstairs bed. Wild's pretty sure he's joking, that he knows that Zelda will definitely get the bed once she arrives. Twilight has been firm in his stance that Wild should get his own bed until then, but Wild would rather Hyrule who's still recovering from a sprained ankle that he gained just a few hours previously.

Anyway. Hence the blankets.

"Got them?" Sky asks, and Wild nods, "need help?"

"Nope," Wild replies, carefully turning around and stepping over a toppled over box. Okay, maybe Sky did have reason to worry, he did fail on his first attempt. "Let's just get these inside. Open the door for me?"

Sky nods and reaches towards the shack door and pushes it open. Wild's about to head out, but then Sky gasps and runs out of the doorway. Wild grunts as the door swings closed and knocks into him, knocking the blankets out of his hands and hitting both his elbows rather viciously. He stumbles backwards and trips over a box and ends up sprawled on his back with a pile of blankets laying on top of him.

What.

It's not like Sky to pull pranks like that. Wind would. Legend maybe. But Sky? Sky would have held open the door because he's the most polite person in the world. If he let go of the door like that, he must be secretly evil… or he saw something wrong.

Wild throws off the blankets from on top of him and scrambles to his feet, ignoring the slight smarting his elbows are doing now. He runs to the door and swings it open himself, and all thought rushes out of his mind when he sees Sky taking the weight of a person as Wind collapses into his butt, gasping, and Four worriedly starts talking.

The person is halfway conscious, having to lean fully onto Sky to keep upright, and they're Twilight.

He sprints out and ends up besides Sky in an instant, taking one of Twilight's arms to lesson the load of another person. "What happened?" He demands, trying not to look at the way Twilight's eyes are screwed shut and his mouth pulled into a grimace.

"That's what I've been saying!" Four snarls, he's panting, knees shaking, both Wind and Four must have worked together to drag Twilight over here. "I don't know! He just passed out and-"

"What's this?" Another voice joins in. Wild turns his neck and he sees Time standing in the doorway with Warrior leaning over his shoulder, both looking shocked and worried.

Four throws his hands up into the air and groans.

-o-o-o-o-

Wild cooks when he's nervous or when he doesn't know what to do. It's been hard to do that while on the move, mostly with Twilight being a jerk and not letting him hunt game if they have fish and vegetables already available, but now that very person is lying upstairs in his bed in a mess of his blankets, working hard to fight off a fever and Wild's kicked out of his own bedroom to give Warrior and Time room to work, so now Wild's stuck in his kitchen and he has lots of ingredients. By nightfall, there will be lots to eat.

He starts with water, then flour. He's working without thinking, forcing himself not to think as he adds milk, stirs, more flour, stirs, eggs (careful careful careful, Link. Eggs are hard to get…) , goat butter, stir, stir, stir, turning his brain off as he sets ingredients and bowls aside and works on something else, mashing berries, chopping nuts, turning the meat over and adding a little Hyrule Herb as seasoning, letting his mind become white noise like the sizzling of the strips of boar.

And he succeeds.

Or, he thinks he does until he turns and finds a finger caught in the first joint into his frosting.

Hyrule gives him a wide eyed look before he quickly brings his finger out and sticks it in his mouth. If Wild wasn't out of his mind with worry, he'd smack Hyrule over the head with his whisk. Instead, he just glares and returns the sizzling meat.

"What'cha making?" Hyrule asks, limping over to where Wild is leaning against the counter.

"You should be sitting," Wild grinds out and Hyrule grins.

"Nah, I hardly even feel it."

"You're going to make it worse."

Hyrule sighs, probably realizing that there's no getting Wild out of his sour mood, but instead of returning back to the dining table to keep his foot lifted, he just turns, reaches behind him, and hefts himself into the counter, knocking over a thankfully empty cup.

"Can I help?" Hyrule asks and Wild has to take a deep breath. Usually, he and Hyrule get along like two peas in a pod. Both have a lot in common, personality and story wise. But he can't right now, he just wants to cook and forget about everything for a minute, and Hyrule… Hyrule is getting on his nerves.

"Time says you're no longer aloud to cook."

Hyrule shrugs. "You liked the soup."

"Until I was throwing up the next morning," Wild snaps back.

"Hey? How do you know that was my soup? It could have been-"

"Can you just leave me alone?!" Wild snarls a bit more harshly than he meant to. Hyrule looks shocked, eyes wide and mouth slightly opened. "I'm..." he tries again, softer, because it's not Hyrule who he's angry at, "I just need to be alone. For a minute."

He turns back to his meat and cooks in silence for some time, when he turns back, Hyrule is nowhere to be seen and Legend is giving him a narrowed you're an ass look from the dining table. Wild sighs and returns to his cooking.

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight's fever breaks the next morning and Wild is close to hurtling himself over the banister and sprinting up to him. Instead, Time is standing in the way and explaining that Twilight needs quiet and is very tired. Warrior is still up there, assisting Twilight to eat the soup Wild had made a few hours previously. The only food he's made that's gotten eaten. The rest is all sitting in various storage containers. Wild's considering bringing some out to the town, he has enough to feed every person there. He really needs to get out of the habit of stress cooking.

At least the house smells good now. With nine boys, it was reeking with body odor within the hour they all stepped foot inside.

"Can I just say hi?" Wild asks and Time gives him a pitying glance.

The elder opens his mouth to say something, but it's cut off by a crash upstairs… followed by a pain filled grunt from Warrior and the soup splashing off the banister and spilling onto the floor downstairs. Time and Wild are running upstairs instantly.

And what they see shock them both in their tracks.

Warrior is pressed against the wall, writhing and grasping desperately to the hand around his throat. Black smoke seems to radiate from that hand for a second and Warrior's struggling is getting weaker and weaker with every heartbeat they spend watching.

Wild's frozen in shock, but thankfully Time reacts, running forward and ramming into Twilight who doesn't look tired or feverish at all. He looks… looks livid… but in a psychotic way he also looks so, so happy.

Twilight hardly even reacts when Time body slams into him, but he at least let's go of Warrior. Warrior slides boneless towards the ground, looking pale and sick to his stomach.

Twilight looks at Time and smirks, swinging his arm out and hitting the older in the chest and Wild flinches when the sound of ribs snapping fills the air as Time stumbles back and into the railings. There's yelling from downstairs, but Wild doesn't worry about that, because Twilight is now looking at him.

Wild had a pretty good fight or flight response. He's usually prone to doing one or the other in the correct situations, but any adrenaline running into him seems to be replaced by fear and keeping him frozen in place.

What's going on?!

A question he can hardly even think of an answer to before Twilight begins to approach. The thought that this isn’t Twilight fills his head, Twilight would never do this, but it's not like it matters in that second, what matters is that Twilight is walking towards him and he's just standing there.

He broke Times ribs with a simple sweep of an arm. If Wild continues to stand there, he could end up worse.

And then Legend came from nowhere. It seems that no one wants to actually use any weapons on their comrade turned… turned, but Legend has brought a shield and he doesn't seem to have any qualms about ramming that into Twilight's face.

Twilight again doesn't react all that much, the force of the blow knocks his head back and he stumbles, but all he does is simply glare at Legend when he's recovered in a matter of seconds. It's almost like the shield made no more of an impact that if it were a pillow.

"Get to the old man," Legend says, glaring right back at Twilight, his eyes shifting to the moaning Warrior on the other side of the small room.

That knocks Wild into gear. He can hear other footsteps running up the stairs, so Legend won't be alone against whatever is attacking them for very long. He turns and gets to the banister where Time is heavily leaning on the railings, one hand knuckle white on the wood, the other hovering above his side like he wants to clutch it but is deciding that right now he better not.

"That's not Twilight," Wild says, instantly, without thinking, and the moment he says it out loud he knows it's true. He grabs Time under his shoulder of the side that's not injured but Time grunts anyway, his brows pulled together so tightly from pain and concentration. "It's not him," Wild repeats and Time nods.

And they can't go more into it, because now Four and Sky are up in the bedroom standing in front of Twilight with unsure eyes and defensive stances. Legend is now over slapping Warrior's cheek. It's a standoff. Twilight grins.

Wild has to get Time out of there. It's too crowded in his small bedroom, but Twilight is looking straight at him, and he knows the second he moves Twilight will too.

"I've been waiting for this, hero," Twilight says… it sounds like him but Wild repeats over and over in his head that this can't be him. He doesn't have time to reply or even push him and Time out of the way before Twilight bulls into them

He hits hard and Wild's helplessly knocked backwards, Time in tow. The fall's a blur, but the snapping of the wooden railing and the impact of the one story fall on his back isn't. He heard and felt that clear as day just as all the air is knocked out of his lungs as he hits the floor of the bottom level hard.

Wild ignores it and decides that at the moment, standing back up is more important than sucking in air, and it seems he makes the right decision because right as he gets himself and Time to their feet, the thing pretending to be Twilight lands violently right where Wild's head used to be.

"Wild!"

Wind screams his name and Wild pushes Time to the side as Twilight makes a violent swing at them. Thankfully, if it could be called that, Twilight seems more interested in maiming Wild than anyone else. Wild stumbles backwards, gasping, and his back bumps into the wall of his dining room. Without thinking, he brings his hand over to the wall and grabs Daybreaker just in time to block a blow.

That blow still makes his knees wobble and arms ache even with the strength of Urbosa's shield.

He plants his feet and shoves against Twilight with all his strength and Twilight is knocked back a few stumbling steps. Wild takes that time to grab the Scimitar of the Seven and he gets in a defensive stance, finally breathing somewhat normal.

Twilight just watches him for a moment. Behind him, Legend has Warrior slung around his shoulders and Sky has Time. The rest are standing with weapons out, looking confused and unsure, Wild knows it's difficult to point a sword at someone you mistook as a friend.

"You're not him," Wild grinds out, "you're a traitor. A Yiga."

Twilight laughs. "The Yiga?" He says, sounding almost offended. "Those idiot's talk big, but they're nothing compared to me."

The he charges again. Wild ducks the swiping blow and rolls out of the way and gets back to his feet only to see that that was what this creature wanted him to do. Twilight's hand tugs the Lightscale Trident from the wall. Wild swallows nervously, he has a shield but his weapon is short range. Twilight has a larger range of attack now.

The Trident goes to skewer him and he blocks the weapon with a grunt, his arms shaking with effort. He jumps to the side and holds up his shield, deciding that he must treat this as any other battle no matter how the enemy wears the face of a friend.

The skuffle is brief, with both opponents as strong and capable at battle as they are, it's only a matter of time before one sees the perfect opportunity. Wild's just glad that the others haven't tried to jump in, they know that Wild fights best when he has room to work. They'll come in when he needs them.

Wild notices the enemy drop his guard slightly on his side and Wild jumps to the side the moment the Trident comes out again. The world slows down and Wild grins and he fluiries forward to make his move. Whatever this monster is, Wild is going to make it regret pretending to be his friend, and after Wild will force Twilight's real location out of its mouth.

All those plans fly out the window when the demon grins sharply, seemingly unaffected by the slowing of time and Wild barely even has time to think oh shit before an elbow is being slammed into his nose.

There's a snapping noise and his nose explodes in pain. The world speeds up suddenly and Wild can do nothing but fall roughly onto his back, gasping, his shield arm falling and the weapon dropping from his hand, suddenly feeling drained and weak. He blinks and Twilight is raising the Trident and Wild knows that even if he works up the energy to raise his shield to block it, he won't be able to do it in time.

He squeezes his eyes shut, turning away, not wanting to watch as his best friend stabs him through, but suddenly there's a snapping noise and a grunt, no pain comes.

Wild blinks his eyes open and Twilight is standing there, half a Trident in his hands and the top half clattering on the floor. Time stands there, panting, his unbreakable sword raised halfway, in front of Wild like a bear protecting its cub.

The creature looks down at the broken weapon, shrugs, and drops it. Wild can't help but flinch at the noise. He's kept it in the exact condition he got it… all of them. In fact, this battle is the first time any of these weapons have been used in one hundred years. When Wild got them he immediately put them in his home even though he could get them fixed if he broke them.

He didn't want to break them.

"A minor inconvenience," Twilight says, "delaying the inevitable."

Time's eyes widen slightly as the demon surge's forward, grabbing him by the throat. Wild screams in outrage as Time instantly seems to lose all strength in his body. Wild tries to scramble up, but he's so, so tired and he can't and-

A flash of golden light. It's bright. Brighter than the sun, and any person would mistake it for the light at the end of the tunnel of life, but Wild knows better, he knows better. He's seen this light twice before in his life.

This demon is so fucked.

For the first time since this whole thing started the creature screams, and it doesn't use Twilight's voice. It howls, high pitched and angry and drops Time, scrambling backwards, covering its eyes and hissing.

Zelda doesn't care. She just takes another step forward, her eyes furious and deturnined, her hand raised in front of her, the golden light pulsing from her. She's relentless, pounding her cleansing magic over and over onto the demon until it's legs give out on it. It doesn't have any choice but to surrender, Zelda has single handedly held Calamity Ganon at bay for a hundred years. What hope does a meager demon have against her?

Black smoke rises from the demon, tearing apart like strips of cloth until there's nothing left, until Twilight's body shudders, trips, eyes rolling to the back of its head.

The pulsing stops, and next thing Wild knows gentle hands are against his cheeks, telling him to focus, but he can only smile lopsidedly at his heroine as unconsciousness embraces him in it's persistent arms.

-o-o-o-o-

"I'm sorry about your trident," Twilight says and Wild looks up from the basket of apples in his hands. Twilight's sitting on a firewood log, a blanket stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders despite the evening sun. Zelda's orders. If it were up to Twilight, he'd already be running around with the house chores. Instead, he's sent to "bed rest". Twilight fought that tooth and nail when he woke up, saying he doesn't feel all bad, and Time and Warrior are the real ones who need bed rest.

Since then, Twilight has been just as stubborn as Zelda's blanket on his shoulder, following Wild everywhere he went though he's not aloud to help with the actual chores.

"It's not your fault," Wild says for the twentieth time in twenty four hours.

Because it's not Twilight's fault. It's Wild's. His eyes trail over to the direction of a shattered, crumbling statue that used to house the now dead spirit that possessed Twilight. Wild knew he shouldn't have ever trusted that thing. He kept telling himself that he should find a way to get rid of it, but other things kept getting more important, after all, it's not like it could go anywhere. It seemed to only be interested in Wild too, and it was only ever passive and seemingly honest with him. No harm could come for him to push it back on his list of things to do.

Twilight sighs and rubs his wrists, a thing he's been doing constantly since he woke up. Apparently, he was bound and gagged in his own mind, watching as the demon almost killed his friends. The mental binds still feel real to him even while he is back in physical control of himself, even while the only evidence that anything happened is his fatigue. "I'm still sorry. I let that… thing-"

"Link is right," Zelda suddenly says, leaning against the house, her arms folded across her chest. She wasn't there a minute ago. Twilight raises an eyebrow and smirks a little, Zelda responds with a huff. "Well… my Link is right, smart ass. It's not your fault."

Wild is about to nod in agreement but then she fixes him with a narrowed stare. "It's not your fault either. It's Calamity Ganon's. It's that demon's. They manipulate and puppeteer, what they make or convince us to do places no blame on us. Only on themselves. So stop being idiots and let's eat dinner already and move on."

Twilight smiles slightly, as if reminded of someone, and Wild readjusts his grip on the basket before they all head back inside together.

#jin writes #prompt fic #linked universe #hero of the wild #hero of twilight #hero of time #hero of legend #hero of hyrule #hero of the wind #hero of the four sword #hero of the sky #hero of warriors #zelda #legend of zelda #loz

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libermachinae · 4 years

Text

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 7, Team

Also available on AO3! Notes: @prowlweek Last day! I went pure fluff on this one, gotta end on a happy Prowl note.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Prowl stumbled back through the rift, body swaying as he fought for equilibrium. It had been centuries since he’d last accessed the timestream, and he knew this would be the final time; he’d forgotten the extent of the effect it had on his frame. His spark was burning hot like an inferno within its chamber, the photons excited beyond their normal capacity, and his sensors were trying desperately to recalibrate while he still felt himself about to crash back to the floor.

Large hands caught him, shoulder and waist, and he leaned gratefully into the hold, letting it stabilize him while he waited for his vision to stop spinning.

“Easy, Prowl,” Long Haul murmured into his audial. “We’ve got you.”

He knew it was true. Though he was not well enough yet to see them, he spark still could feel the presence of the others around him, the beacons that had guided him back to his place in time. They were nearby, but not pressing, giving him space to come back on his own terms before they showered him with the worry he knew them to be feeling.

“I know,” he said, his voice rough with static. “I’ll be alright. Just give me a klik.”

“Need anything? Energon?” Sweet Scavenger, who Prowl knew could not stop himself entirely from offering aid, though he still kept his distance while he waited for the okay.

“I think I might purge it,” Prowl admitted. His entire frame felt delicate, hypersensitive as it readjusted to being back in a space physical bodies were meant to inhabit. Long Haul’s fingers, wide and blunt, were about all he could handle at the moment, though bit by bit the zip and sting of off-balance tactile sensors were fading.

“As soon as you’re up for it, we should probably get you somewhere cooler,” Mixmaster’s voice said. “You’re not overheating yet, but it’s a near thing, and if you can’t take in coolant, we’ll need to stay on top of it.”

“I’ll get the fan going.” Retreating footsteps accompanied Bonecrusher’s words. They were a good pair, Prowl mused, a solid unit that bolstered the cohesion of the team as a whole.

“Hey, you still with me, Prowl?” Long Haul asked, gently lifting and tilting Prowl so they were closer to facing each other. His tone, though calm, revealed a hint of anxiety that Prowl’s spark ached to soothe, a feeling greater than the waning discomfort left by the timestream.

Prowl cautiously onlined his optics and smiled at the sight of the familiar faceplate, the gentle glow of an optic band whose purple matched his own.

“Of course,” he said, “where else would I be?”

“None of that slag,” Long Haul chided, his tone light again. “You got this dopey look on your face. Needed to make sure you didn’t fry your processor or something.”

Prowl realized that he was smiling. It was something he did a lot now, though he hadn’t realized it before going back and seeing how foreign the concept had once been to him. He remembered the constant anger, the fear, the ever-present sense and expectation of betrayal, but in a distant way. Those were memories he’d learned how to suppress and dilute, so the old emotions didn’t infest the present and drive him to the same behaviors that had so nearly cost him this. He didn’t want to think about those things right now, so instead he focused on the feeling of Long Haul’s hands, the smell of so many living engines around him.

“Was just thinking,” he said.

“About?”

“The team.” He tossed his gaze aside to look on the assembled members and his optics landed on Hook, stood behind Mixmaster and Scavenger and watching Prowl was a nervousness that should have had no place here. Before he could think about what he was doing, he was wriggling to get free, and despite a concerned hesitation Long Haul did let him go. Prowl stumbled, reached out and let Scavenger be his support.

“Hook,” he got out, and at the request the named teammate stepped forward, taking Prowl’s arms when they were offered to help him keep his balance. Prowl leaned in, capturing Hook’s lips in a warm, soft kiss that tasted of iron and crackled with a sparkling twinge of electricity. A gentle glossa swept across his bottom lip and Prowl hummed, sinking into the feeling he’d steadfastly refused himself in the confines of the timestream.

The kiss lasted a klik, probably longer, and Prowl only broke it off because he felt himself starting to get dizzy again. Still, he stayed close and rested his forehelm against Hook’s, grateful when the other lowered his optic lights so they weren’t glaring into each other.

“Did I do alright?” Hook asked, quiet. It wasn’t a secret, what they’d done, but there was still something private about it, something shared only between the two of them. Prowl’s processor was still reeling from the revelation that Hook had managed to keep it a secret for all these years, trying to compute how many times he’d missed clues or near-admissions.

“You did perfectly,” Prowl said. “I’m so proud, my dear, and grateful.”

“Grateful?”

“You gave us this chance,” Prowl said. “Everyone has played a role in making it work, but you were the one who made it possible. I always knew that, but never the full extent of it.”

“I was just following your orders,” Hook said, though he was beaming under the praise. It was a gorgeous sight, and Prowl could not help stealing another kiss to that grin before he reclaimed his place.

“And I, yours,” he pointed out. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” Hook agreed.

“We all do?”

Prowl turned to look at Scavenger, still standing nearby with a posture that said he wanted to be involved but didn’t want to invade their moment. If his frame had been up to it, Prowl might have laughed, but instead he let go of Hook with one hand to reach out to Scavenger, drawing him into their huddle. He leaned over to kiss Scavenger, too, grateful for though unable to reciprocate his enthusiastic nibbling.

“The snoggers are at it again,” Long Haul complained. Prowl broke off the kiss to smirk up at their teammate, who stared down on them with his arms crossed and posture unimpressed. “Go easy on him, Scav. Don’t need him offlining because we literally blew his processor out.”

“If you’re so jealous, Long Haul, you could have gotten that mouth with your frame overhaul like I suggested,” Prowl pointed out.

“Nah, somebody on this team’s gotta maintain some dignity,” Long Haul said as his stance relaxed and he stepped forward, doing the best he could to wrap the three of them in an outer layer of hug. The closeness was a little much for Prowl, but it wasn’t uncomfortable yet and he knew, despite whatever fronts they put up, they needed assurance that he was okay.

To perhaps everyone’s benefit, it didn’t last too long.

“Hey, hey, this is the exact opposite of what I said,” Mixmaster said, stepping forward to break up the impromptu cuddle until it was just Hook and Prowl hanging onto each other. “Prowl’s temperature is rising. Hook, get him in front of that fan before he melts into a puddle of slag.”

“Sure thing, Mix,” Hook said, looping an arm around Prowl’s waist so they could walk over to the cooled pocket of the cave they’d set up ahead of time. Scattered around were a few stacks of extra energon, a basic med kit, and a few more heavy-duty supplies in case they’d needed to hold him together while they rushed to a proper hospital. Bonecrusher was standing by their industrial fan, adjusting its angle while Prowl sat down so he was in the center of the blast. Despite the noise and the extra sensory information getting force through his doorwings, the cool air felt wonderful against his hot plating, and he allowed his optics to dim a moment as he savored it.

“You good there, Prowl?” Hook asked from above. He’d stayed by Prowl’s side but hadn’t sat down yet.

“Could be better. Here.” Prowl reached up to lightly tug on Hook’s hand. As soon as his teammate was sitting, Prowl leaned over to cuddle against his side, grateful both for the contact and the support of a body much more stable than his own. Hook’s arm wrapped around his back, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Aw, so sweet,” Mixmaster said, standing off to the side so he wouldn’t be in the way of the fan. There was a glint in his optic that Prowl knew too well.

“Are you taking image captures?”

“Just figured Springer will want proof when we tell him that we got you safely back from the timestream, then lost you again because you couldn’t keep your hands off Hook.” The mech whose rescue mission Prowl had framed as a bounty hunt all those years ago had asked to be kept informed of their status.

“Can you blame him?” Hook asked, though he started to shift away, something Prowl could not abide by.

“My temperature is dropping,” he pointed out. He leaned more of his weight on Hook, preventing him from moving unless he wanted to risk dropping Prowl on the ground. “Maybe not as quickly as if Hook weren’t here, but it’s not at such a critical level for that to be an issue.”

Mixmaster looked like he had more argument in him, but then Bonecrusher appeared behind him, wrapping his arms around Mix’s midsection while his chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mixer,” he said, so soft Prowl knew it was only intended for Mixmaster; that the rest of them could hear it was merely incidental of the cave’s acoustics. “We got him back and he’s safe. The worst part’s over.”

Prowl saw Mixmaster minutely lean back into the touches, his optics flickering as Bonecrusher’s hands brushed along delicate seams, playing at the wires underneath. It was an attractive scene, but Prowl knew that if he spent too long watching his frame would start to overheat again. He turned his attention to Hook, who he wasn’t surprised to find was looking at him in turn.

“What?” he asked, feeling playful.

“Just glad this worked out, Prowl,” Hook said, expression relaxed but a little more serious. “And, uh, sorry that I kept this a secret for so long. What with you trusting us and all.”

Prowl’s processor scrambled for something to say to that. To buy himself time, he kissed Hook again, offlining his optics so he could focus on the feeling of soft lips, smooth glossa. In the background, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster’s hushed conversation had devolved into pleasured moans and hums, and nearby the increasing pitch of busy engines said that Scavenger and Long Haul were finding their own fun. Later, once they were back in their own ship and Prowl didn’t feel like his frame was at risk of rattling apart, he was going to drag all of them into their berth and savor each one, their unique tastes, delighted voices and rumbling engines.

He’d forced himself to forget how willing he’d been to lose it all, how he’d been ready to sacrifice their lives as well as his own in his reckless rescue mission. The ache of four million years of exhaustion had still been heavy in his spark, and he’d hoped that some part of the plan, getting back at the Decepticons for what had been done to him, saving Springer from the timestream, letting himself extinguish in the attempt, would be the thing to finally ease it. He’d refused to know then what he did now, and he pressed deeper into the kiss, hoping Hook would understand it as his own apology.

When they broke apart, Prowl did not immediately online his optics, but lay his head on Hook’s shoulder, letting the familiar frame hold him up as it had for so long.

“We’re a team,” he said, which he now knew meant, in language the Decepticons had used to keep from sounding too much like squishy, softsparked Autobots, I love you.

#maccadam #prowl week #prowlastator #prowl #constructicons #transformers #my writing #longfic #schematics #team

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falseroar · 4 years

Text

Silent Watch Part 6: In the Moonlight

((And here’s the second part of the day I promised. Marvin tries to save Jameson while Y/N, without their watch, has no protection against what’s already been started.

Links to Parts 1 and 5.))

Marvin expected resistance. He had planned for it, prepared all kinds of nonlethal binding and attack spells to have ready at hand for this night. Granted, he expected that resistance to be coming from a homicidal otherworldly entity possessing a master magic user, not some little man in a waistcoat.

A little man with surprising strength, Marvin realized as Jameson’s entire body reacted to his touch, his head whipping back despite Marvin’s attempt to support his neck, solid black eyes twisting above a snarl as the hand not clenched tight around the silver watch pressed to his chest went for Marvin’s face.

Marvin’s eyes glowed behind his mask as he recited the incantation, doing his best to ignore the nails tearing at his skin and trying to find a grip on his jaw, and the way the head tried to twist away in his grip as those inhuman eyes met his before the snarl turned into a cruel smile.

“You think this will save theͬmͧͩ?” It laughed, Jameson’s chest shaking as he tried to fight the sound that ripped into his throat. “You can’t undo what I’ve done here tonight. O͟nc̀e̼̬̥ a̧͎͈͔ pu͙̺͔p̰̱͝p̖̗͔e͕̠̘t,́ ͔͕͎a̲͔l̥w̘̺ay̭͡s̠ ̕a pu̜̼p͝p̳̪̲ét͓͟.”

Marvin did not blink, turning his thoughts and emotions at those words into energy as the air within the chalk circle crackled and hummed with magic, swirling and tugging at Marvin’s cape and the brim of Jameson’s hat, a circling storm of bursting static and power centered on the two of them.

Until he spoke the last word and it stopped with an abrupt silence broken by a terrible, ragged scream as something dark began to pour out of Jameson’s eyes, mouth, and nose, at first like a thick liquid before it began to steam and rise up like a foul smoke, trailing and churning as it curled in on itself before disappearing with the echo of a distant laugh.

And then it was all Marvin could do to keep Jameson from sinking to the ground as the man’s legs buckled.

“Easy, easy,” Marvin said, trying to feign more assurance than he felt as he looked the actor up and down, his eyes drawn to a thin red line around Jameson’s neck that wasn’t there before. “Are you okay?”

“…”

Jameson’s mouth moved as his head lolled, but Marvin couldn’t hear what, if anything, he was trying to say.

“Jameson?”

His eyes opened at least, and Marvin had a brief second of relief when he saw they were back to normal before they suddenly widened. Out of reflex, Marvin reached for his mask, but as his fingertips brushed the smooth surface and confirmed it was still there, he realized Jameson’s eyes were looking past him, his mouth moving in a silent warning.

What Marvin did hear was a low, rumbling growl behind him, before Jameson grabbed his shoulders and pushed. The breath left Marvin’s chest in a rush as the two of them hit the stone floor, leaving nothing to give voice to the sheer panic when he saw the dark shape pass through the air where they had just been standing seconds before, claws tearing against stone in a terrible rasp as it turned to face them with a snarl.

The beast stood over half as tall as either of them on four legs, its dark fur a tangle that barely hid how the muscles underneath tensed for another attack, its hackles rising as its snout split to reveal a set of teeth, each one wider than Marvin’s fingers and so sharp they glistened in the torchlight.

“Move!” Marvin said, half-pulling and half-shoving Jameson behind him as he raised a hand, summoning a crackling ball of green fire, but just as he pushed forward to hurl the fire at the beast, Jameson knocked into him, sending the shot wide and leaving a dark stain on the wall just below the dome overhead.

Both men split ways as the beast leapt again, narrowly avoiding the snapping jaws as it overshot and crashed into one of the shelves, sending priceless tomes of magic showering down upon its back and head.

“What are you doing?” Marvin snapped at Jameson. “I had a clear shot!”

Jameson’s mouth moved and he gestured wildly, none of it making any sense to the magician.

“I can’t hear you! Just get your friend and—”

Marvin froze as he followed Jameson’s gesture from the empty part of the room where he last saw you and then at the massive beast shaking itself and turning back to face them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Marvin muttered, backing away as the beast took a step forward, head swinging back and forth between the two of them as though trying to decide which to disembowel first. Keeping one eye on the beast, Marvin looked around, mind whirling desperately through options before landing on one he hoped might work. “Jameson, don’t move. I’m going to try to…”

He stepped to the left and, attracted by the movement, the beast turned its eyes on him. Marvin ran to the left and, as expected, it followed suit like a hunting dog chasing its prey.

Except Marvin turned and, the moment the beast stepped within the iron ring laid into the stone floor, he flung up his hand and uttered a word he had prepared for a different kind of monster.

The wolf lunged forward in the same moment, but its snapping jaws hit an invisible wall, a mere suggestion in the air above the circle.

“That should…that should hold it—them,” Marvin corrected himself as he bent over, gasping for breath. Using this much magic all at once was taking its toll, although seeing how close he cut that one hadn’t helped his frayed nerves. “Why didn’t you tell me your friend is a werewolf?!”

Jameson gestured, his meaning evident. It had been as much a surprise to him too, apparently.

Marvin paused and looked up, at the full moon clearly visible through the tower’s glass ceiling. The moon had risen hours ago, there’s no way you could have avoided turning before now. Unless…

“You can’t undo what I’ve done here tonight.”

“That thing, did it do something to them?” Marvin asked, feeling his heart drop when Jameson nodded.

The actor motioned with his hand before pressing it up against his own chest, then gesturing at the beast—at you, still scratching and snarling at the binding keeping it within the smaller circle, the pupils of your eyes so large that they drowned out all but a thin line of color on the edges. There was no sign that you recognized either of them.

Marvin straightened up and went to the desk, grabbing a more or less clean sheet of paper and something to write with before thrusting both toward Jameson.

“Describe everything you saw.” Marvin watched him start writing before looking back at the monster you had become, which began to prowl around the too small space of the circle, searching for a way out. “They…your friend…”

Jameson shook his head, unable to offer a name as Marvin stepped as close as he dared to the circle and said, for all the good it did, “We’re not going to leave you like this. I promise.”

((End of Part 6. Thank you for reading! The good news is, that’s probably the last we’ll ever see of an otherworldly entity orchestrating the mental breakdown of an actor caught in a series of unfortunate events in order to get a physical form in this reality. I mean, what are the odds of that happening twice?

*Awkward cough*

Anyways, here’s a link to the last part.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch ))

#markiplier #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #wkm y/n #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #marvin the magnificent #monster au #werewolf au #hugs are coming in the next part #i swear

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misfiredsynapse · 4 years

Text

wounded

someone binged the Witcher on Netflix and this spilled out

i regret nothing

warnings: blood, implied relationships (past), heavy wounds, implied violence. I don’t know the lore as well as i should so if i’ve cocked anything up, a wizard did it

Wounded

Tales of monsters haunting the village reached her ears long after the true danger began. From her little hut on the edge of the forest, it was easy to know when the beast began to prowl. She had reinforced her wards and kept herself very far from its usual trail. The village had collection plate going around to hire someone to deal with it. They had asked for a donation and she had given, though she wondered when the Lord planned to actually help his people.

Her little hut- the witch’s cottage- squatted in a glen on the edge of an unending wood. Where spooks and spectres lurked, where ghosts and ghouls wailed through the night. She had a reputation for healing, but only in the daylight. The few brave souls who had dared try to breach her door at night had seen a very different witch.

Smoke and mirrors. Necessary. Small towns bred small minds and she had no intention of letting them get the idea that they’d be better off without her.

It was so very tedious to start over.

The first she heard was that the mayor- in name only, for he was as dirt poor as the rest of them- had managed to find a foolhardy soul to send up against the beasts. A man and his bard companion, each likely to die. She had thought of them as little more than a sacrifice. A sacrifice meant to sate the appetite of monsters and keep the villagers alive one more night.

She had built a good life here. Simple, outcast, not quite belonging, but good enough. Townsfolk left her mostly alone until they had a problem they couldn’t fix on their own, and they made good deals when they asked her out of her hut. Nobody wanted to end up in her cauldron next- for as the rumour went, she would kidnap those who angered her and cook them for her dinner.

Quaint little stories and she did nothing to dissuade them. It kept thieving hands out of her garden at the very least.

From her hut, she had heard the fight. Bloodcurdling death screams of the beast, ending in resounding silence. She had sighed and peered out her window to judge the time. Still hours until daybreak. She didn’t expect visitors until the sun penetrated her shadowy glen- that is, if the mayor had been a good sport and delivered her message.

Without knowing what manner of monster lurked, she had no idea what it would be good for. Such a mystery rankled, and she had paid a hefty sum to ensure the monster’s corpse would be delivered fresh and bleeding in the morn. If the Witcher was gone by then, she wouldn’t complain. Especially if… rumours of white hair and golden eyes had flown over her head. Deliberately, perhaps. It had been over a decade since they parted ways and she had heard little of him since. If she was being honest, she had been glad of the reprieve. He was intense, he was overwhelming, and wherever he went tended to change just by his presence.

As if on cue, there came a horrid pounding at her door. Followed by pleading screams and muffled curses, the desperation pulled her from her languid chair. She peered through the window at the shadowy men waiting outside- a smaller figure holding a much larger, clearly unconscious one. The younger was the source of the noise. The other hung like a fresh kill off his back.

No monster, though.

With a disappointed click, she opened the door. “Please!” the young man cried, the moment her light spilled across his face. “He’s hurt, we need your help!” And he shifted his shoulders to reveal his burden. White hair, rugged face, familiar in all its lines- her heart stilled for several uncertain beats. He was pale- almost as white as his hair- and as he hung off his friend’s shoulders, she could see the pool of blood gathering beneath him.

She blinked herself into action. “Bring him in, quickly,” she said. With a wave of her hand she cleared space before the fire, laying out an old rug she didn’t mind ruining. “What got him?”

The signs had all been there. All the cats in the village mysteriously dying, one by one; the dogs growing stronger and fiercer with the proximity of a leader. Packs of wolves roaming closer, hunting livestock like it was their right.

“Werewolf,” said the boy, who looked doubly pale now that he wasn’t the only thing supporting the Witcher. “It had friends.”

She paused. “Friends?” she asked. If there was a pack of them- it wouldn’t bode well for the village. One cursed lycanthope was enough, but if the cursed one was deliberately infecting others… “Werewolves?”

“I don’t know,” the boy’s voice shook a little. “But there were so many.”

Her mouth twitched. She used to tease, when they were younger, that all he would never be rid of her. All she had to do was follow the corpses- monster and human alike- like following the rainbow for a pot of gold. Funny how the world worked. She stopped chasing him only to have him stumble upon her. The only gold at the end of her bloody rainbow was in his eyes.

Eyes that were currently crusted shut with blood, while the rest of him seemed determined to bleed out on her floor. The bard who had dragged him here- young, eager, but desperately unqualified for the life he had chosen- stood by the door, fighting the vomit rising in his throat.

She looked up at the boy, narrowed her eyes, and pointed at the door. “Fetch me water from the well, just outside, and a handful of dandelions and peppermint from the greenhouse beyond. Hurry!”

He nodded and was gone. With his nervous energy gone, she refocussed on the dying man. Her hands shook as she pressed them over his wounds. Deep and oozing, smelling of rot and death- she had not missed this smell. It would be another scar painted on his body, another story of a thankless task. In his younger days he had celebrated the scars. Another tale, another dead monster, another bag of gold at his hip. But people were rarely thankful for long.

Witchers were, by their very nature, unsettling to behold. Creatures able to stare into the black expanse of the void and kill the monsters lurking within.

She flattened her hands against the worst of the cuts and began to mutter a chant. She could feel the healing begin to take effect; her own body taking the brunt of his hurt to heal him faster. Between his gifts and hers, there would be naught but a scar in just a few days.

“Do you have a fucking death wish?” she hissed, at the first sign of him stirring. One golden eye cracked open, swept the room, and settled on her. The groan he made might have been pain if she didn’t know exactly how much magic was in his system. His head fell back on the threadbare pillow.

“It’s good to see you, Flissa.”

“Fuck off, no it isn’t.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched. “You sound stressed.”

She resisted the urge to smack him. “You bring it out in me,” she said sharply.

“My apologies, then.” His eyes remained closed and she listened to the rhythm of his breath until it levelled, and he slipped into a true, deep sleep. She allowed herself a moment to study his face. Unchanged, but that was hardly a surprise. Magic was in his blood as sure as it was in hers. They did not age or change as a normal human would. Still a rugged jaw, a strong nose, his long hair as white as virgin snow.

Her eyes dipped to the hem of his shirt, torn to ribbons. Beneath was an expanse of skin she had once known by heart. Years ago, she could have mapped his scars with her eyes closed. She wondered how many new ones he had earned since then- and promptly tore her mind from the subject. He was not hers to know like that, not anymore.

Knowing him like that had been the thing to drive her off. Terrified of what it meant to connect that deeply with another, refusing to let it grow between them. She had run, she had left.

And he had let her.

The door opened with a swift bang and she was on alert at once. Geralt didn’t stir; perhaps a more worrying sign than his bleeding. The depth of his slumber did draw her concern.

The returning bard dropped a pail of water at her feet and held out a large bunch of dandelions. “Are these enough?” he asked, anxious. “Will he live? Do you need anything else?”

Flissa took the bundle in both hands and nodded. “That’s fine. Sit down, boy, before you pass out.”

The bard refused to move without an answer. “Is he going to be alright?” he asked again, firmer.

“Yes,” she said; and he sank into the nearest chair in relief, holding his head in both hands. Flissa’s heart panged with empathy for him. She was him, once, before she mastered her craft; a terrified companion to a man determined to fling himself through death’s door at a moment’s notice. The singular reason why she became a healer was Geralt of Rivia.

Flissa set the dandelions in a bag and hung it in the window. She fetched dried leaves and added the fresh water to the kettle, setting it on the fire to brew. The rest of the water she heated with a whispered spell and returned, cloth in hand, to Geralt’s side. Getting the blood off his skin was significantly easier than getting it out of his clothes.

How very fortunate that she had kept a shirt in his size.

“Help me get him up,” she said to the boy. He was still pale, still shaking- in shock- but he reacted instantly. His arms under the Witcher’s shoulders, hers under his legs. Somehow, between them, they moved the man to her bed. “Where’s his horse?” she asked.

The bard raised an eyebrow. Connecting the dots at once, he had the sense not to ask but this one was a damn sight smarter than the average. “At the tavern, three days paid.”

“When the sun rises, bring him here.”

“But the wolves…”

“Are gone,” she assured, gentling her tone if only slightly. “With the Weres dead, the rest will scatter.” She returned to the kettle when it began to boil. Dandelion tea with peppermint- to calm his nerves. Flissa slid the steaming mug onto the table beside him. “Sugar and honey are behind you.”

His head rose. Eyes lingered on Geralt, then to the tea. “Thank you…?”

“Flissa,” she said, taking the hand he offered.

“Jaskier,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “Bless you.”

His mouth twitched. “My name is Jaskier.”

“You are welcome, then,” she nodded. “How does a bard end up travelling with a Witcher?”

“I wanted adventure and he strolled into town. I’m still not sure he likes me.”

“He’s like that with everyone.”

A pause, in which the boy stared at his friend. “You do know him,” he said quietly; curious, without wishing to outright ask. Flissa could see the questions bubbling but his reluctance to anger her held his tongue. The villagers likely warned him off coming anywhere near her. As if the ‘witch in the woods’ asking for a dead monster corpse wasn’t warning enough.

“For years,” she confirmed. “I used to travel with him.”

“Why did you stop?”

She shrugged, gestured to her little cottage. “I fancied myself suited to the quiet life.”

Jaskier smiled in acknowledgement, but there was a glint in his eye when he asked; “And does it suit you?”

“It’s… very quiet,” said Flissa, but that little pause said it all.

#the witcher #fanfic #kate writes #kate writes a thing #geralt of rivia #jaskier #contains an ofc #oneshot

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