#so my attempt to ease the remaining tension in the room is dead on arrival. in fact the room is even TENSER

[soulessjourney]

Vengeance Trail

Paring: Billy the kid x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You and Billy had known each other during your younger years. However, following an argument, you departed to forge your own path, leaving things on bad terms between the two of you. Years later, circumstances led you back, having been recruited to assist John Tunstall. As the war drew nearer, tensions resurfaced between both of you.

Warnings: Slight mature themes nothing too detailed, Billy not knowing how to make up his mind

A/N: So this was supposed to be one long drabble but I got 4k words in and wasn't even half way through so I will now be turing this into a small series.

Your life hasn’t been easy. For years, you had to fend for yourself, even as a young girl. At such a tender age, loneliness was your constant companion until you met him—Billy McCarty, as you knew him. It all began in Kansas, just days after their arrival. His mother, a kind and gentle soul, his rowdy and energetic brother—these were the first faces you encountered. But Billy stood apart, calm and soft-spoken, especially towards you. Little was known about Billy’s father except for his ailing condition upon their arrival. When he first encountered you, you weren't dressed like the other girls in town. No, clad in a simple, dirty white cotton shirt and brown-stained trousers, mud tainting your braided hair, you were as fiery then as you are now.

Billy swiftly became your closest friend after your initial meeting, and the two of you were inseparable. You stood by him during the loss of his father, just as he stood by you when your parents abandoned you for greener pastures. The McCartys became your surrogate family, and you were willing to sacrifice everything for them. After his father's passing, the McCartys decided to seek new opportunities in Santa Fe, extending an invitation for you to join them.

As your new life unfolded in Santa Fe, you chose to assist Billy's mother at the inn, doing everything in your power to ease her workload. You shielded her from advances made by older men and helped restore order after brawls erupted in the bar. But over time, Kathleen and the others grew distant. She met a man who prompted her to move in with him, taking the boys along, while you remained stuck living at the inn, toiling tirelessly to make ends meet. As you and Billy matured, a shift occurred between you two—a growing chasm that led to that pivotal, fateful night.

Standing in your room, you tucked your shirt into your trousers before slipping on the boots. "Y/N, don't do this. You're not thinking straight," Billy urged, positioned near the door to impede your departure. Rolling your eyes, you tied your hair back with a ribbon, keeping the strands from obscuring your face.

"It doesn't matter, Billy. My decision is final. I can't spend my life here in the inn or aiding you in poker, especially after what happened with Carlos," you retorted, arms crossed, referencing the tragic incident that occurred last time you attempted to help him. "This can't be my life anymore. I have no family, and constantly fending off the advances of older men isn't the future I want."

"You have a family, Y/N. We're your family," Billy insisted, attempting to reason with you, taking a step closer.

"You're not my family, Billy. You ceased being my family when you left me here to work for my bed," you replied firmly, brushing past him to retrieve your gun belt from the nearby chair. If there was one thing you appreciated about Billy, it was his lessons on shooting, and you had become quite proficient.

Billy followed closely, his voice growing desperate as he tried to persuade you. Moving around his brother and acknowledging Kathleen with a nod, you stepped into the night air. "Fine, leave. But where will you go, Y/N? You don't know how to survive out there on your own. You'll end up dead in a ditch, and I can't bear to bury another friend," he implored, quickening his pace to block your movements.

Shaking your head, you reached your horse, a striking brown and white paint, and began fastening your belongings. "I'll figure it out, Billy. I grew up alongside you. I'm confident I can handle myself. But I'm tired of stagnation. What happened to the Billy who dreamt of running away with me, exploring the world? You're not the same friend anymore. I'm happy for you and your mother, but I need to discover who I am, and I hoped you'd support me in that," you murmured, pausing your actions, refusing to meet his gaze.

Waiting for a response that never came, you mounted your horse and rode off into the night, leaving Billy behind, watching you vanish from his life.

---

A few years later, you had earned quite the reputation, becoming one of the most renowned outlaws. To conceal your past, you adopted a new alias, known to many as Sadie Bennet, while others foolishly dubbed you "The Wolf," a title you found entirely absurd but resigned to endure as there was not much you can do besides complain. One of your crew members had rationalized the nickname, claiming it suited you because you tracked your targets before striking, often appearing as a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Seated not far from the bar, your hair cascading down your back, you leisurely sipped on whiskey. "Ms. Bennet, I assure you this deal will benefit you. Your marksmanship is unmatched, and we desperately need your expertise. Mr. Tunstall won't rest until we secure your assistance. While we may not match your previous compensation, he's vowed to collaborate with you to clear your name," the man before you spoke. He appeared relatively young, likely just a few years older than you.

Setting down your glass, you arched a brow, sucking air through your teeth. "Mr. Bowdre, I appreciate the offer, but as I've reiterated, a petty power struggle isn't in my best interest," you stated, adjusting the suspenders chafing against your skin beneath the blue plaid shirt. "If Mr. Tunstall is genuinely in dire need, he should make a personal appeal. His absence leads me to believe otherwise."

Charlie ran his hands over his face, growing increasingly desperate, an almost amusing sight. "He's away on business, Ms. Bennet. That's why he can't request your services in person," he explained, using a word that made it seem as though you were peddling yourself to men, a notion that irked you.

"Very well, I'll consider it. There's not much occupying my time currently. I'll head to Lincoln County in a few days. There, we can convene and discuss details further. I have a few loose ends to tie up here before departing," you announced as you stood. Noticing his instant relaxation upon your agreement made you ponder just how desperate they were for your aid. Retrieving your hat from the table, you brushed it against your brown trousers to rid it of any table dirt before placing it atop your head. Tipping your hat, you offered a faint smile before pivoting on your heel. "I'll see you in a few days, Charlie. Ensure Tunstall is present; it would be nice to meet him after your vivid descriptions," you remarked, striding out of the saloon, unaware that accepting his offer would soon thrust you back into the life of a close friend.

---

As promised, you arrived in Lincoln County a few days following your conversation with Charlie. While making your way toward town, you were intercepted by Charlie himself, evidently waiting for your arrival. "Ms. Bennet, welcome! We were starting to worry that you might have had a change of heart," he greeted you as you turned your horse to face him, a smile gracing your lips.

"Nonsense, Mr. Bowdre. I may be many things, but I always keep my word. I said I'd come, and I intend to follow through," you replied, meeting his contented smile as he guided you toward his house. Though the ride had been somewhat lengthy, the scenery was undeniably picturesque. Looking up, you caught sight of an eagle soaring above, circling twice before disappearing. Closing your eyes, you reminisced about the last time you had seen an eagle. It was just after your departure from Santa Fe, when illness had nearly claimed you. Lying on the ground, an eagle had soared overhead, and you'd tracked its every movement before succumbing to sleep. Days later, you'd awoken in an unfamiliar bed, unsure of your whereabouts.

"Mr. Tunstall will be delighted to meet you. We have a few others more directly involved in our operations. They'll also be present to greet you. Don't be put off; some of them relish being intimidating," Charlie's words interrupted your thoughts, eliciting a soft laugh from you. Shortly after, you arrived at a small ranch, where a woman stood waiting. Radiant and evidently excited to greet the man beside you, you assumed she was Charlie's wife, judging by the ring adorning her finger and her joyful expression upon seeing him.

Dismounting your horse and patting her gently, you followed Charlie toward the house. Taking a deep breath, you entered and glanced around. It was a lovely, well-organized home—neither too crowded nor too sparse. Charlie guided you into the living room, where you paused, noticing a group of men engaged in conversation. Some appeared older than you, while one around your age gazed out the window.

"Mr. Tunstall, gentlemen, I present Sadie Bennet," Charlie announced, prompting the men in the room to straighten, catching their attention. The young man by the window turned towards you, causing your heart to skip a beat. Standing before you was your old friend, Billy McCarty, though markedly different from your last encounter. Life had evidently molded him into a hardened man. His widened eyes and the way he uttered your name revealed his surprise and disbelief at seeing you again.

Tunstall scanned you before removing his hat and extending his hand in greeting. "Ms. Bennet, I've heard a fair amount about you from Charlie, including the challenge it posed in persuading you to assist us," he remarked, his smile softening as you firmly grasped his hand. Indeed, you hadn't been the easiest to recruit, having encountered Charlie multiple times before, his persistent attempts at recruiting you finally wearing you down.

"I apologize, Mr. Tunstall. I wasn't initially certain about joining this endeavor. However, Charlie's persistence eventually led me to agree. I hope my delayed acceptance didn't hinder your plans too significantly," you offered, ignoring Billy's intense gaze as he positioned himself beside you.

"That's quite alright. What matters is your presence now, and your skills will undoubtedly be invaluable. Now, allow me to introduce you to the others," Tunstall said, shifting his focus around the room. "This is George," he gestured to the man on his left, "and you're already acquainted with Charlie." Charlie offered a reassuring smile, leaving only one person to introduce.

"Finally, we have B—" You abruptly interrupted Tunstall, turning to extend your hand.

"William Bonney, it's a pleasure to meet you face to face. You're quite the celebrity; I was concerned about competition for the title of most notorious outlaw," you jested, noticing a subtle change in Billy's expression. Unsure whether it was anger or disappointment, you shrugged it off. Arching your eyebrows, you awaited his response, but as he made no move, you scoffed and turned back to Tunstall. "Well, as famous as he is, he certainly lacks manners," you grumbled, crossing your arms, eliciting a surprised cough from Charlie, who attempted to suppress a laugh.

Billy cleared his throat and shook his head. "I apologize, Ms. Bennet. That wasn't my intention. I was merely surprised to encounter a fan. It's delightful to make your acquaintance. Please forgive my lapse in manners," he said, his gaze fixed on yours.

"Oh, I'm not a fan, Mr. Bonney. Just pleased to meet the most wanted man in several counties," you shrugged, distancing yourself from him. "Mr. Tunstall, can we discuss my involvement privately? I won't commit until we've reached mutual terms," you proposed. Tunstall nodded, dismissing the others, and you shot a lingering glance in Billy's direction. Removing your gun belt and placing it on the table, you settled into a chair. "Tell me the details of my role."

Tunstall positioned himself opposite you, crossing a leg over his knee and folding his hands. "As you're aware, there's a feud between Mr. Murphy and me. He's a power-hungry man, exploiting the land and its people. He indebts them, then employs unsavory means to seize their property. I'm sure you're familiar with his tactics." You nodded, feeling a simmering rage within. "We aim to confront Murphy, reclaim the land, and provide these people with the rightful homes they deserve without enduring such hardships. I require your skills to assist in taking him down. You and Mr. Bonney will offer exactly what's needed to dismantle Murphy's corrupt hold."

As you reclined in your chair, Tunstall's words raced through your mind. This man was willing to fight and die for a cause—bringing a better life to Lincoln County—and he sought your aid above all. "Alright, let's assume I agree to assist you. What assurances can you provide? I'm not interested in money; I seek something more secure and dependable," you challenged, noticing Tunstall's surprise, though it didn't shock him, especially given your reputation.

"I can offer you an opportunity to clear your name. As far as I'm aware, you're wanted across at least four counties, three of which have bounties on your head. However, by assisting me and transitioning away from the outlaw life, I can advocate for you. I'll speak to judges, emphasizing your change of heart and commendable actions, working to eradicate those bounties against you," Tunstall proposed. The offer held undeniable appeal. Clearing your name from charges that weren't your doing in the first place seemed like a tempting prospect.

Nodding, you contemplated the offer more deeply. "Very well, I accept these terms. I'll collaborate with you to take down Murphy and assist in your objectives. But it's crucial that you uphold your end of the deal, Mr. Tunstall," you affirmed, running your fingers through your hair. "Now, could you tell me further about William Bonney?" Tunstall's eyes brightened as he eagerly briefed you on what he knew about your former friend.

---

That evening, you lay outside, your coat serving as a makeshift pillow while your gaze remained fixed on the stars. A gentle cool breeze kissed your cheek and nose, while the nearby fire crackled softly. Your eyes flickered open as the sound of footsteps approached, halting beside you as a figure settled down. "I didn't expect to see you roped into all of this," Billy spoke softly. "Honestly, I thought you were gone for good until I spotted your wanted posters everywhere. Who would've guessed you'd dig a deeper hole than mine, but I suppose stubbornness runs in your veins, so that's no surprise," he said, glancing down at you.

Sitting up, you drew your knees to your chest and released a sigh. "What do you want, Billy?" you asked, pressing your lips together tightly. "Don't expect anything from this. I'm here solely to clear my name, not to mend something that shattered a long time ago," you added, redirecting your gaze back to the starlit sky. Billy sighed and fiddled with his fingers, uncertain of his next words.

"I tried to find you. After my mother passed away, and I was falsely accused of a crime, I searched for you. I assumed you'd moved on to another town or two, but you were nowhere to be found. Then I kept hearing about this remarkable woman named Sadie Bennet—how impressive she was, especially for a female outlaw. It wasn't until I saw your wanted poster that I knew it was you. Part of me felt relieved, but another part wanted to keep searching," Billy confessed, joining you in gazing skyward.

"I wasn't far when Kathleen passed. I'm sorry for your loss; she was a remarkable woman," you began, "I knew you were alright, still alive, as people talked about you often. Imagine my surprise when they accused you of murder. I couldn't believe it because you were always about settling disputes, not escalating them to violence. No matter how much I might have disliked you, I couldn't believe those allegations," your words struck a chord, leaving him silent.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he uttered quietly. "I took advantage of your presence, assuming you'd always be there for me, even when I distanced myself. You were a constant in my life, and I took that for granted. Life turned into hell after you left, and realizing my mistake hit hard when I didn't have you to turn to anymore. Joe was furious with me for weeks; he blamed me, rightfully so."

"Don't blame yourself, Billy. I left because I needed more than the life we had. Our rift was just one part of why I left; it's not solely on you," you said, meeting his gaze filled with sorrow. Wanting to comfort him, you hesitated but then pulled him into a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Stop looking so forlorn, Billy. You're not alone; there are people who care."

Billy wrapped an arm around you, burying his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. "The reason I regretted it so much was because I was in love with you. You meant everything to me, and you showed me what it felt like to be truly wanted," he whispered softly, tightening his embrace. You remained silent, uncertain of how to respond to his confession. When you attempted to pull away, he shook his head, drawing you closer. "Please, just listen. I was so deeply in love with you that my mother was helping me gather the courage to confess my feelings. But then you vanished, leaving me with unspoken words and a heap of regrets."

"Billy," you murmured, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. "You carry so many burdens and regrets. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. You didn't deserve to feel alone, and I regret leaving you in that state. I had feelings for you too, but when you distanced yourself, I took it as a sign and fled like a coward," you confessed, feeling his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumb caressing your skin. Lost in each other's eyes, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours.

His lips felt weathered against yours, yet the kiss conveyed volumes of unspoken emotions, making you disregard any roughness. Your fingers entwined in his hair, gently tugging on his brown locks, and a subdued moan escaped as he pulled you into his lap. Breaking the kiss, Billy placed a tender one along your jawline before meeting your eyes. "Let's head inside. It's getting late," he murmured, guiding you along. Pausing just outside the spare room, he kissed you again before ushering you inside, where the evening was spent memorizing each other's bodies and sharing quiet confessions.

---

The next morning, the sun peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue across the room. Stretching your arms, a smile naturally spread across your lips. For once, you felt truly rested, and the usual ache in your back was noticeably absent. Sensing movement behind you, you felt an arm around your waist draw you closer. Memories of the previous night flooded your mind, and you suppressed a smile as you turned in bed to meet Billy's bright blue eyes. "Good morning," you whispered, gently cupping his cheek.

His lips curved into a sleepy smile as he tried to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Good morning," he mumbled back, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on your lips. Pulling away, he nestled his head on your shoulder, his arm holding you tighter. "Do you think we should come clean about knowing each other?"

Running your fingers through your hair, you pondered his question. "I'd say we might have to. There's hardly any believable excuse, especially after last night," you chuckled, placing kisses along his jawline. "But we should probably get up and start our day," you sighed, only to squeal as he playfully rolled on top of you, tickling your sides and eliciting high-pitched laughter.

After some playful moments and shared affection, Billy rolled off and got up, heading to the small bathroom. Lying on your stomach, you observed him dressing and attempting to tame his tousled hair. Catching his gaze, you noticed a flicker of something before he grabbed a black shirt from the wardrobe. Handing it to you, he sat on the bed, tracing his fingers over your exposed back. "I'll head downstairs while you get ready. I'll try to hold them off until you're ready to face the grilling," he said with a playful eye-roll, making you stifle laughter in the pillows.

Eventually, you sat up and planted a lingering kiss on his lips. "I'll see you downstairs, cowboy. Don't let them chew you up," you teased, rolling out of bed. As you started dressing, you ran a brush through your hair, noticing the red marks on your neck and collarbone. Groaning, you tilted your head back, silently blaming Billy. Once dressed, you made your way downstairs, overhearing hushed whispers. Some sounded teasing, while others seemed more disgruntled, likely discussing you and Billy. Walking into the room, you stood behind Billy, resting your hands on his shoulders. "Good morning, gentlemen. How was your night's rest?" you greeted them with a wide smile that faded as Billy distanced himself from your touch.

Charlie greeted you with a small welcoming smile while Tunstall settled into the chair at the table. Positioning yourself next to Billy, you observed him, puzzled by his sudden shift in emotions. "Sadie, or should I say Y/N, what exactly is your relationship with Billy?" he asked. Part of you hesitated, uncertain of what to say, as his expression demanded nothing but the truth. Before you could respond, Billy interjected.

"There's no relationship. Last night, we both had a bit to drink which led to events that should have never happened. I want to apologize for our actions. We have more important things going on, and we should have been more careful." His words hit you hard, and your face contorted into a mix of horror and shock. It was a mistake—this whole situation. Just moments ago, he appeared content waking up beside you, but now you felt reduced to a mere error. Clenching your hands into fists on your thighs, you bit the inside of your cheek to restrain any comments on the brink of escaping.

"Billy is right, Mr. Tunstall. We both got carried away, and I'll ensure it never happens again. I allowed myself to become too vulnerable around someone, and I shouldn't have." You managed to force the words out, your voice strained. "Now, if you boys excuse me, I need to tend to my horse and maybe explore the town to familiarize myself with the area," you grumbled, rising abruptly and causing the chair to scrape against the floor.

Charlie stood up swiftly. "I'll join you. Perhaps I can give you an overview of the town and how everything operates." You nodded at Charlie and left the kitchen, purposefully avoiding looking in Billy's direction. Charlie followed closely, slowing his pace as you reached the horses.

"What truly happened between you and Billy? Anyone who can read a room can tell that you're more than just a drunken mistake. So, what are you to him?" Charlie inquired as he mounted his horse.

Swinging yourself onto your horse, you shrugged. "I thought I meant something to him, but I should've known better than to believe his words. I apologize if things were awkward this morning, Charlie. That wasn't my intention at all." You offered him an apologetic smile as he joined you on horseback. A part of you wanted to cry and vent your frustration after Billy's sudden indifference. You had opened up to him and comforted him, only to be discarded once again. Last night felt too perfect to be true, but it hurt to realize that you had exposed yourself only to be hurt in the end.

Charlie shook his head and regarded you as the two of you began riding towards town. "You don't need to apologize, Y/N. Sometimes people change, and sometimes they change in a matter of minutes. All you can do is look ahead and move on. You're a wonderful and kind young lady. Billy just doesn't know what he's doing," Charlie consoled. Part of you felt weak for letting Charlie comfort you, but his words resonated and lingered in your mind. He was right. You couldn't let this consume you. All you could do was fulfill your duties and keep moving forward.

#billy the kid #billy the kid fanfic #tom blyth x reader #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #Billy the kid #tom blyth #billy the kid fanfiction #tom blyth fanfiction #Spotify #william bonney #billy the kid 2022 #william h bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid

[scintillasofbeomgyu]

➷ a star called you — chapter 42: “big brain era”

pairing: choi beomgyu x reader. genre(s): fluff, band txt, college au, smau (this chapter is semi). wc: 1,1k. warning(s): food pictured; not proof read, typo in twt too lazy to change. disclaimer: NO i do not support idolxidol shipping! this is just for the purposes of the story. an: i'm gonna pull a cia and dip after this so don't hate me too much 😁

[06:11 pm] — “so what did you want to talk about?” you asked after shoving your phone into your pocket with a huff. taehyun was like a doting mother, which was rather ironic considering the way he always ruthlessly blunt with no remorse. you’d eventually concluded by the time you got to high school (and after incidental and intense exposure to japanese pop culture) that taehyun was simply, just tsundere.

subin caught the light chuckles slipping from your lips and stole glimpses at you from the corners of his eyes. you seemed comfortable, or atleast that’s what he was hoping for. the look in your eyes when he had arrived to pick you up from the store was still fresh in his mind: surprise mixed with the tiniest bit of anxiousness that you attempted to conceal with a smile. it was a god-sent that his sister made him babysit, otherwise, if he had been alone, he was sure you would have run away.

his hands tightened around the steering wheel and he sighed, “we’ll talk when we get there. it’ll only be a minute.”

you kept your eyes on the passing buildings outside. the sun had just tucked itself beyond the mountains and night fall was quickly decending upon the city. the sinage of the stores lining the street were beginning to flicker on and the pavements were beginning to fill up with those coming from work, from school, and those heading out with or to friends and family.

the temperature was starting to drop, so you rolled up the window and glanced toward yina, subin’s niece, in the backseat. she was fast asleep, features relaxed peacefully, worn out from all the excitment, the sight making you smile fondly. if it weren’t for her, you couldn’t imagine what would have happened. despite reassuring your friends and taehyun that everything was okay and that you were fine, truthfully, being with subin made you feel uneasy.

the car turned, rolling down an incline and into the underground parking lot of a building. when the realization that it could only be Alice that you had arrived at, adrenline pumped through your veins and the edges of your lips tugged into a huge grin. this feeling chases away any worries and concerns plaguing your mind, to make room for but one nearing reality: you were going to see beomgyu.

the minute subin turned off the engine you would have charged for the elevator you’d been eyeing like a bird of prey, if it were not for the fact that he kept the car doors locked. you fiddled with the handle before snapping your head in his direction with a peeved pout.

his laughter echoed off the walls in the parking lot, “we still have to talk, silly.”

“o-oh, right,” you blushed, slowly reclining back to the leather of the seat and hoping it would swallow you whole.

subin prayed the overhead lights didn’t show the begrudging expression forcing it’s way into his face no matter how hard he tried to remain unstirred. did he ever make you feel this way? he didn’t know whether to believe he did or didn’t was better, either theory made him upset.

“i wanted to aplogize,” he started, gulping before he continued, “for what happened in the past. i was really immature. a-and stupid,” he frowned at the steering wheel, his breath becoming unsteady, “i didn’t deserve you— i still don’t. you opened up to me and told me things, things that take alot of courage to share, and i threw all of that back in your face. i was insecure because to me you were someone... perfect. i didn’t think i was good enough and yet i had the audacity to act like i was”

you nodded along as he spoke, the tension in your shoulders slowly easing. he went quiet for a moment, before he turned to face you fully, the leather beneath him squeaking, “i know i don’t have the right to say this, but i still love you. the parts that are the same and those that have changed. through all these years, i guess i didn’t think about it because i just thought i’d never see you again. but when i saw you again... i didn’t want to let you go.”

teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you squeezed your eyes shut and sighed, “subin...”

“i-i’m not finished,” he frowned. he hestitated, then put a hand on your shoulder, “i was a really bad boyfriend, but i didn’t break up with you because of... you. my mom—”

“i know,” you smiled, genuinely, placing a hand over his before removing it from it’s place. you still couldn’t believe you weren’t guilty, “it’s okay. i was really foolish too. you only did what you did because i wasn’t considerate enough of the way you felt.”

subin’s frown deepened and he clenched his fists. he might not have been the only one who made you this way, but the fact that he contributed at all frustrated him.

“yn, no, you—”

“let’s go before we miss him, yeah?” you patted his shoulder before stepping out of the vehicle. subin groaned internally. he felt like he hadn’t made any progress. after running his fingers through his hair a few times, and making sure he didn’t wake yina, he stepped out of the car.

he was in the middle of locking the car, when he found you frozen in your tracks. he arched a brow, walking toward you and tapping your shoulder. you didn’t even flinch. he followed your eyes to the scene infront of the glass doors to the company.

ryujin skipped out with her arm hooked into beomgyu’s and her head resting on his shoulder as they both shook with laughter. a black van pulled up that subin assumed had come to pick her up, and beomgyu pulled away from her, patting her head with a smile. in the middle of their parting conversation, ryujin reached up and brushed some of the hair from his face. subin’s eyes widened and he could feel your shoulders shake.

subin looked back to them just as ryujin got into the van, but she paused, leaning back to look him dead in the eye. she waved, mouthing, thanks for the recommendation.

beomgyu followed ryujin’s eyes and scowled finding subin standing there. he waved goodbye as she left and walked over to him with his hands in his pockets. subin panicked, looking around him, but you vanished.

“fancy seeing you here,” beomgyu squinted into his car and grinned, “new partner? ready to leave yn alone now?”

subin gave his shoulder a hard shove, “keep acting so friendly with other people and you’ll find out.”

yn and their friends run the campus radio for which yn is the host of the evening show "dear sputnik", where they share stories and hope to create a healing space for all students— even though many don't listen to it. little does yn know, their biggest fan, angel313, is choi beomgyu— the boy they've silently had a crush on for the past four years.

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#txt imagines #txt scenarios #moacabin #lsn.works #hybenet #txt smau #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu smau #txt fluff #txt crack #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu crack #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt text au series

[deniigi]

Blame @petrichordiam for this.

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

Title: centerstage

Summary: An academic goes to a conference and is jazzed to see a jedi speak there. He unknowingly sits next to this jedi’s Support Squad.

The jedi Support Squad is like 85% clones, and 15% Jedi Generals.

No one mentions that the jedi speaking has never done this before and is petrified out of his blessed little mind.

*Anakin is like 19-20ish here.

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

Sion Jissard has spent the last ten years of his life in the dredges of archives, digging through documents and testing fibers found between the flimsy, papery pages of old texts—scrounging for clues to recreate the conditions of the great conference halls and small, tucked away offices in which some of the most powerful people in the galaxy once gathered to whisper and shout over the fate of whole planets.

He has a hypothesis that the conditions in those rooms affected the decisions made in them. His hypothesis is strong enough that it has endured several rounds of peer-review and escaped those vulture-like clutches mostly unscathed in published form—both in journal and, his chest swells to recall, in book formats.

His book has sold several hundred copies and been cited in a plethora of upcoming article submissions.

The last eight years of tension in his marriage has eased in light of this. The salary from the professorship obtained in light of the book certainly hasn’t hurt it either.

His two doctorates are set on the wall of his office and when he receives word that a conference on ‘Intergalactic Unionism and Peace Negotiation’ is to be held in two months time, he opens up the speakers list and raises his head to gaze upon those two solid frames.

There will be jedi speakers at the conference. Several, actually. The whole thing is to be held on Coruscant, in the small visitors’ wing of the Jedi temple itself.

Sion Jissard pinches the fabric of his suit and then lightly slaps at his cheek to make sure that he is not dreaming.

He has only recently begun studying the jedi order’s material world and the role that world plays in their intergalactic peace-making practices. Prior to this, he considered the subject too on-the-nose. Jedi studies are rampant. Everyone wants a piece of that pie—the allure of it being that the jedi themselves, scholars in their own rights, refuse to partake in examinations of their culture.

They are notoriously obstinate. Their grandmasters refuse to let outsiders into their archives. Their masters shut down any and all attempts to obtain interviews or transcripts or documents with empty expressions or gentle, pitying smiles. Their knights blink with confusion at personal and personal-adjacent questions, and the little ones, the apprentices, are shielded behind all of these people as though the elbow-padded questioners are threatening their precious little lives.

In short, the jedi are happy to listen but loathe to teach. If you are not one of their soldiers or one of their fellows, they will lie to your face and tell you that it is their religion to do so.

And yet here they are, offering up a scholar’s wetdream and even allowing a handful of their own to present on their areas of expertise.

Sion Jissard will pass up this opportunity only upon pain of death.

He applies for the conference as a participant, not a speaker, and is delighted to receive confirmation of his place within mere minutes.

He puts the date on his calendar and starts looking into transit to Coruscant for the event in two months time.

--

 Sion arrives on Coruscant, at the foot of the Jedi Temple itself, and stares up at it for so long that he begins to feel sick to the gills.

He fumbles for his confirmation at the little table set up in the interior courtyard behind a side-entrance door. He is distracted by the fact that the woman he is standing in front of is a Jedi. She is helped by two small children and holds a baby who is dead-set on unraveling the knots that decorate her thick waist band. Even the baby is dressed in double-collared cream-colored robes.

Sion has so many questions he wants to ask.

The jedi asks him for his name. She has a collection of name badges before her, but none of them are his. He gives his name and the master turns to the little girl sat at her right elbow with a brush in hand and instructs her to write it out.

The jedi child—not an apprentice, her robes are cream still, there are no additional earth-colors layered on top of it—writes Sion’s name in beautiful script on a little card and hands the card to the master, who puts it in a holder with a pin on it and places it into Sion’s hand.

She instructs him to go through the side door and enjoy some refreshments before the event begins. The baby in her lap looks up at her abruptly and bonks his sweet little head against her chin.

Sion forgets himself.

“How old?” he asks automatically, gesturing to the baby.

The master looks down into her lap.

“He is eight months and 75% lung,” she says affectionately.

“Ah. Mine was like that, too,” Sion says. “He grew out of it. He’s only 40% lung now.”

The master smiles.

Sion removes himself from her table before he embarrasses himself further.

--

 There are enough people inside the front room of the jedi’s visitor’s wing to nearly fill it to capacity. The volume, though everyone is whispering, is great enough to be heard from outside the door. The room itself is earth-colored with a high ceiling. Its walls all contain niches with rounded borders. Columns with deep-cut creases in them arch high to the skylights.

It is all beautifully geometric, stoic, and clean. And even though the walls and floor are built from materials of warm tones, the skylights overhead and the surrounding addtion of books and holorecords set into the walls lend it a cooling quality.

What should have been imposing architectural feels more like holy space. The room is one that reverberates with reminders to respect all around you.

Sion’s fingers yearn to document this, but there is a sign right by the room’s entrance that asks politely for no recordings or holographs to be taken.  

“Professor Jissard,” a familiar voice says.

Sion feels his whole body droop. He turns to see Teo Detras stood before him in his obnoxious, roaring red robes.

“I’m pleased that you too were able to secure an invitation, sir,” Teo says as though he has not attempted to place Sion on the metaphysical chopping block for each of his premises since the time they began their academic programs.

Sion opens his mouth to point out that this is also his area of study and that Teo has no monopoly on the field of Jedi architecture when a quiet passes over the room. Sion watches the heads around him lift and searches for the source of the sudden shudder of silence.

He finds it in a tall master with dark skin standing at the very front of the space. The man has tucked his hands neatly into the mouths of his sleeves.

He is Jedi Master and General Mace Windu. Sion has read and reread his essays, not caring so much for what he is talking about but how he is talking about it. His metaphors and examples should have been insight into the common experiences of those living in the Jedi temple.

Sion has found, however, that Jedi Master Mace Windu does not especially care for eloquence or metaphor. He cares only to methodically destroy the argument (if it could be called that) published by a jedi named Qui-Gon Jinn many years ago. Though Master Jinn has not published for several decades now, Master Windu’s writings remain agitated by his interpretations of the jedi’s Spiritual energy, the Force.

Just gazing upon the man now, Sion would not think him capable of agitation.

Master Windu welcomes the academics to the temple and says that he regrets not having more time to speak with each of the attendees as individuals, but there is a war on and his clone troopers require his services. He encourages people to refrain from any recordings of the temple due to its sacred nature, and he asks that attendees be mindful of the jedi Initiates (the white-robed children) who are confused and intrigued by all of the non-jedi people inhabiting their usual playroom.

He cautions everyone that if anyone slips on a toy, he warned them, and the temple is not liable for their medical bills.

This is a joke.

People are unsure of whether or not to laugh. Some laugh awkwardly far too late. Master Windu gives no sign on his face that he appreciates or disapproves of this.

Instead, he steps from his space of honor and leaves in his place a young man with feathery blonde hair and a highly expressive countenance, who drops his armload of documents on the floor obnoxiously and flings himself down to snatch up only the conference program, as if this was the most efficient way of finding it.

People know to laugh this time.

The young man begins announcing panel topics and rooms and give his strong opinions on each of them.

More people laugh. It feels less like a sin.

“And that’s all, my dears and darlings,” the young man says, “Mind your step into the conference rooms, our predecessors derived joy from an unexpected drop.”

--

 Sion has only one panel that he will kill at minimum three bodies to sit in on. It is the one on peace strategy and resource management. He is not here for the peace strategy or the resource management parts of the talk; his burning interest yearns instead in listening to how and if people talk about their space and things. He wants to write down the language they use. He wants to learn about the physicality of peace.

He thinks ‘The Physicality of Peace’ would make a very compelling title for another book.

So he slips through the arched doors of conference room 3 and finds himself in a tiered lecture theatre. There is a small balcony with rows of pew-like benches that hangs over a lower seating area. He takes a seat at the edge of the front pew and sets his datapad on his lap for note-taking. At the front of the room there is a long bench—not a quite table, but definitely a tall bench, and behind it, there is an enormous screen for displaying images and information. Someone has very kindly thought to place a jug of water and some cups at the center of the bench by a microphone.

Sion gets the impression from its awkward, dead-center placement that it is an addition that the jedi themselves usually forego.

He wonders what that means. He only wonders for about 15 seconds before a hand touches his shoulder and he jerks in alarm.

“My apologies, sir. We were just wondering if the space next to you is available?” says the smooth-faced, copper-haired man standing above him.

He is wearing white armor on top of his layered robes. The arms and legs that emerge from his long off-white tunic are dark in color, but his boots are hard and white and come up and over his kneecaps.

Sion is speechless.

This is General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

General and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has touched Sion’s shoulder and apologized to him.

He doesn’t have words. He can only make fish-mouthed motions and then point and nod.

General Kenobi accepts this with grace and stands up straight. He waves behind him to call his companions over to join him on the balcony’s edge.

They arrive as a pack.

Instead of coming around and staggering past Sion’s knees at the edge of the bench, General Kenobi climbs over its back and settles in. He then twists back over the row and holds his hands out; a Clone Trooper in full armor hands to him a strange bundle of woolen, brown robe. It produces legs and arms and then bright blue and white lekku once Kenobi has situated it next to him.

“Fooled ‘em,” the little Togruta that emerges from the cloth says brightly.

“Shh,” Kenobi says. “Cody, you next.”

“No, I want Rex to sit with me.”

“Ahsoka, shhh.”

“Rex.”

“Child, this is how people like me get banned from meetings; you’re not even supposed to see—”

“REX.”

“HUSH. Okay, okay. Rex. Pst. Cody, get Rex. Cody, oh for the love of—Wolffe, yes—no. Wolffe, look at me. Get Cody to get Rex.”

Sion cannot believe what he is seeing. General Kenobi appears to be sneaking half of his command into the balcony area. There are more than a few clone troopers there are at least twenty. They are somehow visibly excited despite their matching helmets. The General is able to tell them apart easily. He leans over the back of the bench again and crooks his finger at one of the troopers who leans forward. He tells them to throw something at their commander.

The Clone takes off his glove, stands, and nail a clone standing in the aisle in the head with it. The slap of contact makes this clone cease speaking in serious low tones with a clone decorated with blue edging in front of him. The first clone draws himself up perfectly straight and turns around with a fury that even Sion can feel the heat of.

His armor is painted yellow in places.

He holds the glove in his hand like a threat. The clone who threw it winces and points wordlessly to General Kenobi, then sits down in a hurry. Kenobi smiles wide and white. He has freckles on his face that do not appear on any of the images of him that appear on the news.

He’s also shorter than Sion himself, even sitting.

“Sir,” the white and yellow clone says stiffly.

“Rex,” Kenobi says through that threat of a smile. “Get over here.”

The Togruta child twists around excitedly as the clone in white and blue exits the conversation with the one in white and yellow and surveys the rows of his fellows piled into the space behind the General and the child. He has to squeeze past the line of knees and then climb over the bench to sit down next to the child, who immediately cuddles up to him.

“Hey, that’s my seat,” a new voice whispers.

Sion looks back to see General Quinlan Vos with his arms crossed over his chest, recognizable in any setting. Behind him is General Koon. General Kenobi slaps a hand to his forehead and grumbles, then shoos the blue edged clone and the child a few seats down.

The generals clamber just as awkwardly as the blue clone through the sea of knees of the troopers and then over the back of the bench.

Somehow, Sion has won the jackpot. He is now surrounded by jedi culture, literally.

“All of you, back,” Kenobi snaps down the bench when everyone is just starting to get comfortable. “Cody. Commander, come here.”

The clone trooper with the yellow edging does not want to play this game. He shifts his weight back onto his other heel as Kenobi pats the newly vacated space next to him. General Vos croons in a teasing tone something about Kenobi being especially fond of this clone.

Kenobi lurches out across the empty seat to punch him in the gut and then returns peacefully to patting the space over the sound of Vos’s moaning.

The Clone Commander has no choice. His general is giving him a directive. He gives in to the inevitable and makes his way through the knees and—much more neatly than the others—steps over the back of the bench to its seat and then into sitting. Kenobi beams at him, practically purring.

Sion needs desperately to take notes, but the subjects of said notes are right there and rudeness is intolerable in retaining his vantage point.

He fights the urge to vibrate in space as the lights begin to dim overhead and the panel chairman comes out to introduce the topic and speakers. It is only about a minute or so when a hand lands firmly on Kenobi’s right shoulder—the one by Sion’s arm. Sion jumps, but Kenobi resolutely stares directly down at the speaker.

“Obi-Wan,” Master Mace Windu’s low, low voice says right into the space between Kenobi and Sion’s ears, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Kenobi begins to melt but catches himself.

“You didn’t for a while,” he said.

“Get her out of here.”

“She has a right to see her Master.”

“What part of these orders are challenging for you?”

Kenobi still does not turn around to see Master Windu, but his eyebrows sink and his brow becomes more pronounced.

“No padawans,” Master Windu says. “Ahsoka. Out.”

The togruta, still bedecked in that heavy cloak, turns to stare owlishly at Master Windu while the person at the front of the room moves on to introducing the next speaker.

“But I’m not a padawan,” the child says. “I’m obnoxious. Master Kenobi said so.”

Kenobi holds his face in a hand.

“You can be both. Come,” Master Windu says, holding out a hand.

“But I’m a cloak,” Ahsoka tries instead.

Kenobi crumples further. Master Windu’s hand finds his shoulder again. Sion can feel its heat.

“If not her, then you,” he says.

“After,” Kenobi says.

“I’ll be waiting, Obi-Wan.”

Master Windu vanishes from behind them. Sion shudders. Kenobi turns to the side and hisses at Ahsoka,

“Now look what you’ve done.”

“You’re my co-conspirator,” Ahsoka hisses back. “My—my—Rex, what’s the word?”

Clone Commander Rex does not want to give her the word. Ahsoka tugs at him.

“Rex,” she insists.

“Enabler,” Commander Rex says with bitter regret coating his words.

Ahsoka beams over the laps of the other Generals at Kenobi. He glares back through a squint. He starts to say something, but General Vos tells him to shut up in a sharp tone.

Sion looks back to the front of the room and finds that a young man with dark hair has come out to the center of the front table-bench to speak.

He is a jedi. His robes, however, are dark in color. Blacks and browns with knee-high boots.

He’s very young. Very, very young.

And nervous.

Very, very nervous.

Even from the balcony seats, Sion can see his hands shaking. He is holding a stack of white paper. It is trembling like a branch on a windy day.

“Go, go, Master, go, go,” chants little Ahsoka.

Sion finds himself abruptly appalled by the realization that the child on center stage is the master of the child a few seats over from him.

General Koon gently shushes Ahsoka. Commander Rex helpfully wraps a gloved hand over the bottom half of her face to keep her distracted.

Sion looks from them to the young man and finds that he’s already knocked over the jug of water on the bench and looks about ready to sob about it. He gathers himself, though, and brings the microphone closer to him.

He is General Anakin Skywalker, Sion now understands. He is the first speaker and he’s never in his life presented a paper at a professional conference before.  

His voice shakes as he reads out the title of the article that he published (and that Sion has read) on battlefield surrender. After the second paragraph, Sion brings a hand to his lip to help him contain the emotions that come with the understanding that this boy is about to read his article, word for word, in front of a room full of academics.

He thinks now that he has been too harsh with his students.

--

 General Skywalker is not a strong public speaker. Clearly, his expertise is in action. He stammers. He loses his place in his reading and accidentally rereads three whole sentences. Only twice does he look up from his paper, and each time it is not at the audience but at Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat next to Sion, serious as a plague.

Kenobi nods sagely.

General Skywalker is General Kenobi’s apprentice. Was General Kenobi’s apprentice. However, it is clear to all who are present today that General Skywalker is still General Kenobi’s apprentice. Desperate, the poor thing is, for Kenobi’s reassurance.

His confidence in reading grows under his former (current?) master’s approving eye until he turns a page and—horror of horrors—drops the stack of paper.

Sion’s whole body tenses in sympathy and second-hand embarrassment. Skywalker flings himself down and messily collects the papers. He hurriedly reorders them, all while stuttering ‘ums’ and ‘uhs.’

Yet, when Sion chances a peek down the line of Generals next to him, he finds that not a single one has winced. No one has laughed. Even the clone troopers all around them are as silent and steady as the night itself.

It seems like they are all listening intently to their young General on center stage. The only giveaway that sympathy is being had by any is the tiny gesture Clone Commander Rex is making with his hand. He is moving it almost imperceptibly in a circle, as if to say ‘come on, come on.’

Sion looks back to young Skywalker and waits patiently as he finds his place and carries on reading again, this time faster. This time he does not look up for his master’s eye.

He wants only for the torture to end.

He gets to the end of his paper without dropping it or repeating himself and is flushed red. He does not ask for questions. He merely says quietly into the microphone, “Thank you.”

The panel chair waits a beat before walking over to Skywalker and asking the crowd for questions on his behalf. Skywalker becomes even more luminous. Sion cannot decide whether asking a question would be more or less stressful for this poor boy.

No one asks a question.

The panel chair then starts to ask for applause for Skywalker, but before he can even finish the sentence the whole balcony breaks into uproar.

General Kenobi hoots and whistles piercingly in Sion’s ear. General Vos claps and shouts what sounds like ‘You FUCKING did it, kid. You FUCKING did it. Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH,” the Clone Troopers behind General Vos finish for him in perfect unity.

“Hip-hip—”

“HUZZAH.”

More applause and congratulations erupts after this.

General Skywalker slams his paper into his face and bursts into tears at the front of the room.

He bolts for a doorway that Sion hadn’t even noticed was right next to the bench. General Kenobi whacks at his Clone Commander’s shoulder, and Commander Cody wraps hands around his waist and hoists him up so that he’s standing on the guardrail at the edge of the balcony. He leaps from there to the lower level then goes jogging out the same doorway his former apprentice ran through.

After another moment or two, Commander Cody stands up and snaps at the whole collection of troopers in their language. Everyone shuts up and sits back down. Commander Rex gestures for Ahsoka to put up her hood and takes from General Vos a small datapad which he gives to the child—presumably for her to occupy herself with for the next hour and a half of papers. She takes it and immediately becomes absorbed in its lightly-glowing screen.

The balcony is once again on its best behavior.

Sion doesn’t bother with listening to any of the other papers. He feels no shame at all in beginning to furiously take notes on his last twenty-five minutes with the jedi.

--

 Upon leaving the conference room nearly two hours later, he finds himself swept up in the clone troopers’ swift and orderly exit from the space. They line up outside the hall in lines by regiment and they wait for their commanders and generals to arrive before marching back towards the visitors’ wing’s exit.

After two or three minutes, only two lines remain.

Clone Commander Rex and Clone Commander Cody stand perfectly at attention beside their lines of men. Clone Commander Rex has his jedi’s apprentice thrown over his shoulder; he has balanced her on one arm while she sleeps.

It’s very sweet. She obviously trusts the Clone Commander very much.

“Gentlemen.”

The clones snap to even tighter attention as General Mace Windu appears, walking briskly their way.

“You’re dismissed,” he says to them. “Commanders, you will remain. Obi-Wan and Anakin will join us shortly.”

“Sir,” both commanders say simultaneously.

There is a pause, and Sion sees that all of these people are now looking at him.

“Can we help you, sir?” General Windu asks.

Yes. And Sion will pay any amount of money to just know this one thing. This teeny, tiny detail.

“Sir?”

“Is that normal for you?” he blurts out.

The Clone Commanders stare. The general stares. The apprentice coughs lightly in her sleep.

“I regret to say that it is not only normal, but expected of these general and units,” General Windu says. “Please vacate this area.”

Right.

“Thank you,” Sion says.

He stiff-legs it back to the crowd of other academics and hunts down a liquid to soothe his parched throat.

  The new book’s title will not be ‘The Physicality of Peace.’ It will be ‘All is Fair in Love and War: The Jedi Order and Ideologies of Family, Part I.’

 --------------- Yeah, so anyways, Myth and I decided that Anakin is bad at public speaking and nothing anyone says can take this from me now, I’m invincible. (If you want this on Ao3 let me know).

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #the clone wars #clones #guys sometimes anakin is allowed to be cute #but only like every so often I don't want him getting uppity #and thinking I actually like him or something like that #ahsoka and rex's relationship is everything to me #fic #ficlet

[ttttaehyungie]

a twist of fate | pjm x reader

a twist of fate | park jimin x reader oneshot

☘ genre | bff2l, soulmate au, fluff

☘ word count | 4k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ summary | It was on one of those nights, sprawled lazily on the couch with the armrest as a pillow for your head, mindlessly scrolling through the threads as you speed-read them, that you first came across the term. Singular soulmates? It had you sitting up. Singular soulmates, put simply, was where someone may be your soulmate, but you’re not theirs.

☘ a/n | This fic was fueled by the recent return of my struggles with insomnia (but has, in turn, further fueled my insomnia as well...) and I just wanted to write some characters being dumb alrite HAHAH

The day your best friend’s name appears on your body was a day filled with panic for you. You still remember the immediate response your brain spat out the moment you saw the black letters of his name printed on your skin.

What the heck- NO.

It’s not that Jimin was unattractive- in character nor in looks. It’s just that, like every boy that age, he was obsessed with girls, entranced by any girl that so much as looked at him for more than two seconds. You couldn’t blame him. Being fourteen was just like that, or so you’ve heard. Being fourteen, pubescent and hormonal, people around you just magically became attractive, acne and brace-faces didn’t matter. Being fourteen, standing at the cusp of maturity and the newfound independence that it brought, but without possessing said maturity in its fullness yet, love and relationships were inevitably an exciting topic to navigate in all its sparkling novelty. Being fourteen, you knew that he didn’t really have feelings for you.

But now, at age twenty-two, his name still sits in its place under your collarbone. The cursive style of it has the starting letter of his name looping into the other remaining letters that resemble little waves with the way it’s strung together.

No one really knows all that much about soulmates, just that the mark appears after your soulmate falls in love with you. But as to how fleeting or how deep the feelings are, no one knows. Whether the mark fades along with the feelings is a mystery too. There’s little proper literature on the subject, and whatever you do know about the topic is the result of casually scrolling through reddit whenever you’re bored.

It was on one of those nights, sprawled lazily on the couch with the armrest as a pillow for your head, mindlessly scrolling through the threads as you speed-read them, that you first came across the term. Singular soulmates? It had you sitting up. Singular soulmates, put simply, was where someone may be your soulmate, but you’re not theirs.

You’d dismissed it away back then, writing it off as hogwash floating around on the internet where there’s no information gatekeeper.

Now? It’s become a real fear.

Because you’ve fallen in love with your best friend.

Har har, what a cheesy romance trope, you know. But what were you supposed to do when, during that Christmas break of your first year of college, you had the shocking revelation that Jimin had grown up.

You barely restrained yourself from gawking at the sight of your best friend walking down the street towards your rendezvous point. You’d gone off to different colleges, neither of them far from your hometown, but not close enough that it was convenient to see each other anytime. So you haven’t seen each other in four months. And apparently, in the time that you’d both gone not seeing each other, Jimin’s body had suddenly gained all this muscle in a lithe and toned kind of way. Studying contemporary dance full-time had really changed his body, his once lean and slender limbs now becoming sinewy and firm.

He’d really become a…

“...Hunk.”

“What?”

“Hug!”

You barrel into his arms, and his familiar musk eases you. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the ridges of his body where soft and pliant flesh used to be. But he rests his chin atop your head, and the gentle weight of it is still the same as ever.

“Did you miss me? Or are you just using me for my body warmth?”

Even though he’s changed physically, he’s still the same dork as ever, and it has you smiling both with mirth and with the assurance that he’s still the same Jimin despite the distance of four months between you.

“You’re probably the one using me for body warmth, Mr I’m too cool to wear a jacket to the movie theaters.”

“That was one time!”

It earns you a jab in your side that has you squeaking and writhing in his arms. Yup, some things stay the same.

It’s at your yearly Christmas get together with the gang that things start to go wrong.

Up to that point, you’d blamed the odd sensation on the initial surprise at Jimin’s change in physique. But now, looking at him in his black turtleneck and silver hair, standing by the fireplace and laughing with Tae, his eyes creased in laughter in that oh so familiar way, it has your heart squeezing in a very unfamiliar way.

It’s just because you haven’t seen him in a while and you’ve missed him, you rationalize, taking a sip of the drink in your hand.

Or it could be the alcohol. Yes, it must be the alcohol.

He’s still the same Jimin as ever, you muse, yet something about him just feels so… different. It’s like he’s grown up so much, even though he’s still retained his dorky rambunctious nature.

On the drive here, one arm on the wheel and the other on the backrest of your seat, and the setting sun behind his profile, you couldn’t help the way your heart leapt in your chest.

But maybe it’s just the golden hour sunshine that had him bathing in radiance.

Yet, you knew the view of him was just one thing. It was also in his aura. Leaving for college had forcibly hurled all of you into independence, and Jimin’s had left him becoming someone with a quiet hum of reliability.

Even his chronic tardiness had been left behind with high school Jimin. You’ve known Jimin since preschool and after all these years of knowing him, you’re well-accustomed to the pouty apologies that he doles out each time he’s late- which is always. When he’d offered to pick you up at your house at 5pm to drive you to Hobi’s, you’d fully expected to only have him swing by at 5.30. To your surprise, when you’d made your way downstairs at 5, you’d found him sitting in your living room chatting with your mum, as he apparently had been doing for the last 15 minutes.

Jimin notices your arrival and you don’t miss the quick once-over he gives you. But he doesn’t say anything about it as he gets up from the couch- the same couch he’d once stained from tripping and spilling chocolate milk all over way back in middle school- and promises your mum that he’d make sure you come back in one piece. When you got to his car, instead of the candy wrapper and crumbs-strewn car you were expecting, you were met with a surprisingly spotless interior instead. Your previous perception of your best friend- little brother to be taken care of at all times- was shattered with each new discovery that left only a sturdy and dependable version of him in its wake.

You go to take another sip of your drink, only to find that you’ve unknowingly emptied the cup while you were musing over your best friend’s recent transformation. Frowning into the cup, you decide to get a refill.

From the corner of his eye, Jimin spots you moving off the couch and it’s clear you’re heading to the kitchen where the drinks are. The flush of your face is a tell-tale sign of your tipsiness, if your quiet and withdrawn demeanor weren’t already a dead giveaway. He sighs and apologizes to Tae, cutting him off mid-sentence, and heads over to the kitchen after you.

You’re just about to gulp down more of Yoongi’s mulled wine when a hand wraps around yours, preventing the tilt of the cup and stopping you from ingesting any more of the inebriating liquid. A pair of stern eyes are trained on yours, and you wilt under his gaze, letting him take the glass from you.

But no. Your brain suddenly speaks through the fog. Thoughts of him have already plagued your mind all night, keeping you from having fun. But he’s not going to stop your fun any longer. You reach back for the glass, but it’s a weak attempt that’s easily countered as he pulls it away and out of your reach. He quirks an eyebrow at this.

“Stop controlling me,” you whine.

“I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just know you, and know that you won’t like missing the rest of this gathering just because you drank too much too fast.”

“But I’m fine!” Your voice comes out a little louder than you expected.

“Just slow down on the drinks, okay?” His tone is hushed as he attempts to placate you. “How many glasses has it been?”

“Not even that many.” Unlike him, you can’t be bothered to keep your exchange discreet. “Just give me the damn drink, Jimin!”

Unsurprisingly, your bickering has caught the attention of the others. Back in the living room, it’s Hoseok that has been badgered into playing peacemaker. He enters to see the two of you squabbling in his kitchen. But he also sees something else. Someone- most probably the instigator of all chaos in the group aka. Jin- has sneakily hung mistletoe above the drinks station, likely in hopes of catching two unsuspecting people as they got drinks together.

Which turns out to be you and Jimin.

Hoseok’s bright laughter cuts through the thick tension that has settled over the room. You look at him, only to find him pointing at something above your heads, and that’s when you finally look up and spot the mistletoe.

When you look back at Hoseok, the smirk that sits on his face is smug and unbudging.

“You gotta kiss now,” he sings in an equally smug tone.

“No,” you refuse. “No way.”

“Uh-uh, you know the tradition. You’re not escaping this.”

You shake your head adamantly.

“Kiss. Kiss. Kiss,” he goads. “C’moooon it’s just a peck.”

Jimin, who has stayed quiet up till now, finally speaks up. “Am I really that unappealing?”

He’s unreadable, wearing an expressionless mask.

“Okay, fine.” You’re unsure what his words mean, and it has you relenting, giving in to him as you so often do. “It’s just a kiss.”

You lean in, expecting just a chaste peck that will placate Hoseok. But you’re taken by surprise as Jimin cups your face, hand slightly cool on your cheek from your alcohol flush. The sensation is refreshing and you find yourself leaning into it slightly. His face hovers near yours, and the proximity has your heart pounding. Instinctively, your eyes flutter shut as he closes the final few millimetres between you. The kiss he lays on you is hesitant but the tenderness is undeniable, his plush lips nipping yours gently. He pulls back slowly and you can’t help the yearning that grows in tandem with the distance between you. Before you can say anything, he breaks eye contact and turns to Hoseok.

“There. Happy?”

Hoseok is nothing but pleased.

“Definitely.”

You’ve kissed. Jimin and you have just kissed. You kissed Jimin. Well, technically, he kissed you. You just stood there in shock the entire time. But the point is, Jimin, your best friend, and you kissed.

You spend the rest of the night by his side under his insistence that he keeps watch over you. He still refuses to let you drink a sip more. Not that you were putting up a fight anymore after what had just transpired.

At least your quietness for the rest of the night can be pinned on your tipsy state- you’re known to be a quiet drunk.

The rest of the way back home is spent mostly in silence too as you struggle to process what’s just happened. Even up to when you’re pulled up at your house and the engine is cut, you and Jimin merely exchange quiet goodnights.

The silence surrounding it persists till the next day. You’re hanging out in his room, watching a movie. You had said yes to the invitation to laze around in his room for the afternoon way before the unexpected events of the previous night. Even though the thought of seeing him had you antsy as hell, you couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to flake on him, so you dragged yourself over to his place.

It hadn’t been too bad when the movie was playing, you could just fake that you were watching the movie intently. But when it came to an end, so did your excuse for your unusual quietness. So here you are in his room, an empty bowl of what used to be popcorn and an incredibly awkward silence sitting between the two of you.

“Hey, ____,” he begins quietly.

“Hm?”

“We’re still best friends, right?”

Best friends. Right. You can’t deny the way your heart sinks a little at that. Quickly, before he can notice, you plaster on a smile.

“Of course we’re best friends, what are you talking about? We’re Jimin and ____. The dynamic duo. The inseparable pair.”

Jimin smiles faintly at that.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything, y’know?” he starts again. “The kiss, I mean.”

“What?”

“I mean, Hobi was just pestering us into it so, yeah. Can we just forget about it?”

It has you pausing for a beat, but you scramble to agree.

“Yeah, yeah. Forget about it.”

That was all three years ago. You’d been friendzoned a whole three years ago. But still, you couldn’t get over your feelings after three years. You said you’d forget about the kiss, but you never did.

What hurt even more than being friendzoned though was the growing possibility that you were singular soulmates. After that Christmas break, things with Jimin had just gone back to normal, your best friendship persevering over geographical distance as you returned back to your own college campuses.

The kiss had certainly complicated things in that you suddenly had all these feelings for the person who at one time had simply been your best friend. Of course, it wasn’t just the kiss. Perhaps it was that first semester you’d spent apart- the first time your previously inseparable pair had ever really been separated- that made your appreciation for him grow. Or maybe it was the growing up he had done over that time that had you seeing Jimin in a different light and finally considering him properly as a man. The kiss had merely been the seal on the confusing feelings that had been bubbling up inside you since your reunion till the Christmas gathering. You had to come to terms with it- you’d fallen in love with your best friend.

If you were his soulmate, your name would surely have appeared on him by now. But he never mentioned it and the dynamics between you two only continued on as best friends.

And it sucked. You were in love with your best friend, your soulmate, but you weren’t his.

You’d tried dating around, in the last few years. Well, if your name hadn’t appeared on him, then maybe it’d appear on someone else. Maybe you just hadn’t met them yet and hadn’t fallen in love with the right one yet. Heck, maybe when they fell in love with you, their name would appear on you just under Jimin’s. It was an odd idea, you know, and you’d never heard of anyone else having that experience before. Perhaps you should launch your strange query out into the unknown void that is reddit and hope to find a comrade somewhere out there in cyberspace.

But the thought of it, imagining a name under Jimin’s, was just plain revolting to you. And what would they even make of it, having to play second fiddle to someone who’d been in your life through all the finger-painting and scuffed knees and awkward puberty and the countless late-night conversations on anything and everything? After all, your long-standing friendship with Jimin had been built on the kindred spirit that you’d serendipitously discovered in each other all those years ago in the playground of your childhood.

You always had to suffer through this train of thought, didn’t you, each time you were about to meet Jimin. You exhale, huffing out your frustration, and wrap your shawl around you as you step out of your car. It’s his graduation show tonight and the formalwear was a dress code requirement. You’d left all your formal dresses at home and had to borrow your college roomie’s instead. But the one she’d loaned you was strapless and failed to conceal your soulmate mark, hence the shawl to hide it.

By the time you get seated in the auditorium, it’s only a couple of minutes till the show begins. The program booklet keeps you occupied as you search for Jimin’s name to take note of which items he’s in so you can look out for him. But you know that even without it, you’d still spot him any time he’s on stage- his stage presence powerful and captivating enough to hold the audience rapt at attention.

The lights dim, and the conversations in the hall quieten with it. The anticipation for the show to begin is palpable. With a bang, it starts, the first item full of fierce and strong movements. You sink back into your seat, settling in for the entrancing show that the dance majors never fail to provide.

The show goes well, and Jimin’s appeared a number of times now. He exerts this magnetic pull on you, your gaze following him from when he first steps on stage till he runs off into the wings. Having followed his dance journey for so long now, you can see just how much his full-time training has paid off- the lines of his extensions are long and poised, his turns are immaculate. His movements exude passion and emotion, and you can’t look away.

That’s probably why you notice it. It’s as he’s running off stage that he stumbles. It’s small, and he’s almost at the wings, but you see how his ankle rolls and a pang of worry reverberates through you.

The enchantment from earlier is broken and replaced by nothing but concern. Each jump that he lands no longer has you dazzled, but wincing instead as you imagine him landing on his busted ankle. You know Jimin and you know his work ethic. He’ll put the production over his well-being any time and only speak up about it after everything is over and his body left battered with abuse.

There’s a slight relief when the lights finally come back on at the end of the show, but it’s not in its entirety. You need to see Jimin.

You’ve been to enough of his shows to remember the path backstage, and you sneak into the dressing rooms, slipping past the families and friends of the exhausted but happy dancers now crowding the lobby in the usual post-production celebrations.

Now that you’re backstage, your next challenge is finding the right door to Jimin’s dressing room. You spot someone ahead of you carrying an ice pack and figure it must be the person Jimin finally, and most likely begrudgingly, admitted his injury to.

“Jimin-ah,” the person calls, as he opens one of the many doors in the corridor.

“Ah, thank you so much,” you hear Jimin’s cheery voice ring out. You roll your eyes. It’s so like him to be putting on fake smiles to hide just how bad the pain is so that he won’t cause his friend to worry.

Your heels clack annoyingly against the floor, but you can’t find it in you to care to be quiet as you race to see him.

“Jimin!”

“____?”

Maybe you should have knocked. Or maybe you should have texted him that you were coming backstage. But then, you can’t find it in you to regret not doing either of those things because you burst into the room to find Jimin, drained and still in his final costume. That is- a shirtless costume. In your peripheral vision, you register his shocked expression, but your eyes are locked on something else.

Sitting there, just underneath his collarbone, is your name.

Jimin reaches for the first thing he can grab, which happens to be the ice pack, and attempts to cover up the mark, but that only has him hissing from the icy sting on the thin and sensitive skin of his chest.

“You idiot.” Your words are harsh but your tone is nothing but soft.

Sensing the seriousness of the conversation about to go down, his friend excuses himself from the dressing room. But you barely register that either, your mind still fixed on the visual memory of the soulmate mark on your best frie- no, your soulmate’s chest. The mark that matches yours in placement and in font.

You approach him slowly, and kneel next to him where he’s slumped on the floor and leaning against the wall. With a trembling hand, you gently hold his wrist and pull the ice pack away. There it is, skin slightly reddened from the cold, but the delicate swirls of the letters of your name sit crisp and delicate on his chest. Your thumb strokes across the letters, across your name imprinted on his skin.

“When?” You take the ice pack from him and settle it on his swollen ankle.

“Three years ago.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” your voice is soft, your eyes shimmering with tears from welled up emotions. He holds your gaze in his as his thumb wipes away the tears that have spilled over.

“I thought you wanted to remain as best friends.”

A sardonic laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “And what gave you that stupid idea?”

Jimin averts his eyes with the next statement, the boring linoleum floor of the dressing room acting as his anchor as he verbalizes the thoughts that had wrung his heart out for so many years now. “I’m not your soulmate, and it’d be really selfish of me to force you into a relationship with me just because you’re mine.”

Your jaw drops. Then you sigh and shake your head lightly. A gentle tug on your shawl has it slipping off your shoulders and folding haphazardly into his lap. You get the satisfaction of watching his eyes go wide, his gaze trained on the script sitting just underneath your collarbone. The thought that it’s an exact replay of your own reaction has you giggling.

“But I-” he stutters, index finger rubbing at his name as if it would rub off. “But you said? We’re still best friends?”

Then his head snaps up to look you dead in the eyes, brows furrowed.

“Wait. Why didn’t you tell me?” he cries.

“We were fourteen!”

“Since we were fourteen?! You knew since we were fourteen and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I figured it was nothing more than pubescent hormones!” you scoff defensively, arms crossed in indignance. “Need I remind you just how many girls you were obsessed with that year?”

“Just one,” he mumbles and you barely catch it.

“What did you say?”

“It was just you,” he whispers. Your arms go slack as you see the earnestness in his eyes. He clears his throat and looks away. “I mean, I’m sure you know the struggle- what if I’m the only one who feels this way? And what if I lose my best friend because we’re not meant to be?”

The way his words resonate with your own sentiments so deeply reminds you just why you’re best friends. He’s captured your thoughts and struggles so astutely, as if you both shared one mind. Perhaps that’s why you’re soulmates after all.

“Is that why you asked me if we were still best friends?”

All you get is a quiet hum in response.

“And is that why you told me the kiss didn’t have to mean anything?”

He sighs. “Like I said, it would have been selfish to just keep you for myself, even if you’re my soulmate. Your soulmate could have been out there somewhere.” He finishes the thought with a chuckle and a shrug. “But not gonna lie, I wish you’d told me sooner. Do you know how difficult it’s been to love you from afar all these years because I thought I wasn’t your soulmate?”

“Oh believe me, I definitely know that struggle firsthand,” you say, echoing his earlier sigh of exasperation at both of your stupidities. “We’re idiots, aren’t we?”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s beaming as he asks, “are we still best friends?”

You snort. “Definitely idiots.”

“Well at least now I know I’m your idiot, idiot.”

#btswriterscollective #btsbookclub #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin soulmate au #jimin bff2l #jimin oneshot #jimin fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts soulmate au #bts bff2l #bts oneshot #bts fic #pjm x reader #pjm fluff #pjm soulmate au #pjm bff2l #pjm oneshot #pjm fic

[dreaminae]

We All Need The One Friend

Chapter 9

"Have enough respect to stop lying to my face. What happened in Vegas this summer?" Layla finally asked, fed up with how Spencer spent the last few weeks dancing around the truth.

Spencer anxiously licked his lips, hesitating to find the right words to explain his actions up until this moment.

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

"How could you not tell me you came to Mexico?" Asher inquired angrily, "How could you pretend not to know about Vanessa when she first came to Beverly?"

Olivia raised her hands to the back of her head in a stressed motion, remaining quiet as she let Asher get his thoughts out.

"Why not confront me, instead of pretending not to care?" Asher pondered. "Why not confront me about my summer unless you have crap to feel guilty about too?"

"Ugh! Why can't we all put summer behind us!" Olivia yelled out to no one in particular.

Summer hadn't been all bad. Most of it she had no problem remembering. All the fun times she shared with Spencer and Kia. Her growth in her hobbies like art and journalism. Those were the things she wanted to focus on.

Not the ending. Because it sucked. She wanted to bury the last few weeks of summer ten feet under, never to remember them again. But she couldn't do it. No matter how many times she attempted to drink her pain away, there the remnants were.

The guilt she felt when she looked at Layla and Asher. The heart-tugging yearning Liv felt when her eyes laid on Spencer. The loneliness Olivia felt when her parents failed to see her shattering under her picture-perfect smile. But especially the disappointment that caved her insides when Liv saw herself in the mirror every day.

"Maybe because this summer meant something to me." Asher choked up. "I realized a lot of things about myself this summer."

"You mean Vanessa helped you realize..." Liv snapped jealously.

"No, I did. I did the work all on my own." Asher responded firmly. "I'm not the same guy that torpedoed my life and got kicked out of his house, Liv," Asher explained. "I don't need you to rescue me anymore. Maybe I never did."

"Is that how I make you feel?" Liv asked, hurt by the thought. "Co-dependent."

"It's not a bad thing." Asher soothed as Liv's eyes filled with tears. "You can't stand by to see the people you love in pain. You have a good heart, and you want to help whenever you can. It's one of the things I love about you." He detailed kindly, mentally recalling all the times she supported him last year.

"But?" Olivia asked, knowing that a contradiction was coming.

"But I don't think that's what I need. Not anymore." Asher concluded. "I can stand on my own, and solve my problems without needing rescuing."

"Where does that leave us?" Olivia wondered aloud, unclear where that put her in his life presently.

"We aren't the same people that we were last year." Asher recognized. "Both of us have changed since summer, and ignoring that fact is causing more hurt than anything."

"I never meant to let you down, Ash." Olivia sighed heavily.

"I see how close you and Spencer are since spending the entire summer together," Asher noted from interactions he observed this afternoon. "And you put on a good act dealing with me and Vanessa's history, we always promised to be honest with each other."

"We were friends first." Olivia cried, praying this wasn't how they ended.

"And one day we'll get back to that," Asher assured her, but still making clear they needed some space for now. "I just think we should put some distance between us for now."

"Yeah, I guess so." Liv nodded lightly, letting the tears fall, keeping her arms crossed as her first clenched tightly to oppress the pain she felt watching Asher walk away from her.

At that moment she didn't mourn her dead relationship, but rather a sadly ruined friendship.

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

"Are you listening to yourself, Spencer? Do you hear how insane you sound?" Layla asked, stunned by the revelation. "You told Olivia--my best friend-- that you love her. Then hooked up with me right after." Layla repeated, trying to wrap her head around how absurd his actions sounded.

"I know I've made a mess, but I didn't mean for things to play out the way they did." Spencer failed to justify his actions. "I'd made a promise to wait for you, and I didn't want to let you down. I know how far you came since last year, and I didn't want to risk your recovery."

"No, you don't get to use my recovery as an excuse for not manning up, and telling me the truth." Layla shut down Spencer's chance of rationalizing leading her on all these months. "You don't get to decide what I can, and can't handle, Spencer."

"I was trying to protect you, Layla. I didn't want to hurt you." Spencer concluded.

"I didn't ask for your protection. When I brought you to Vegas it was for you to see that I was a stronger me." Layla asserted. "I trusted you to see that I could handle myself, instead of you handling me with kiddie gloves."

"I'm sorry Layla," Spencer repeated, unsure what she wanted him to say.

"Screw your sorries." Layla spat, bypassing him so she could get to her suitcases, "And screw you too, Spencer."

"Layla, don't -" Spencer started but was cut off by her once more.

"You know that night in Vegas you were so busy playing the hero," Layla sneered with a scowl. "You didn't even realize you were the one causing the most damage."

Spencer's mouth shut, unable to argue with that. Sighing, his hand released Layla's, doing what he should've done that night in Vegas. Let her go.

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

Olivia stood by the doorway, watching as Asher loading his things into Layla's car. She hadn't spoken to the other redboned brunette yet, so when Layla finally crossed Liv's path the tension rose to it's peak.

"Layla, I-" Liv's words were halted by Layla's hand raising in a pause gesture.

"I've heard enough apologies for one night." Layla huffed, exhausted from the continued runaround that was their friendship. "I will be damned if I turn myself into a female cliche fighting over a guy."

"I don't want to fight." Olivia soughed. "I never did. I thought we should talk before you leave. That's all."

"Talk about what, Olivia? How you went for another one of exes. Or how about how you let me stay with a guy you knew had feelings for you." Layla listed off, feelings there was nothing to discuss. "In the end, this isn't about Spencer or how your habit of picking up my leftovers. This is about your lack of loyalty, and the truth is you suck as a friend." Layla trashed her former best comrade.

Despite the fact, Olivia knew she and Spencer were in the wrong, she refused to be Layla's emotional punching bag. "What did you want to say, Layla?" Liv quarreled right back. "Huh? Do you wish I would've to Coop's concert that night, found you and been and dropped the bombshell. Great job on the show, and by the way Spencer's no longer has feelings for you because we've fallen for each other."

"Liv, don't -" She heard her brother try to broker peace before things got out hand.

"No, Jordan. I want to know how Layla would've preferred to hear the truth." Olivia dug deeper. "How about over coffee, right. Or walking down the school hallway our first week back. Heads up Layla, your boyfriend loves me not you." Liv laughed coldly. "Would any of those ways have eased your pain, Layla? Because from where I stand all this crap hurts all the same. Whether it be now or Vegas."

"Whatever, Liv." Layla groaning.

"No, you want to call me a bad friend. Let's list all the ways I'm a bad friend." Olivia demanded. "When Spencer first arrived at Beverly you knew I had feelings for him, yet you still went for him. While you were with Asher, might I add? But I put my feelings aside for kept my mouth shut. When you were battle your depression last year, I was one of the first people to help. Even though, after my overdose and me attending rehab, you admitted you hadn't realized my addiction was that serious. And let's not forget our latest conflict. You're going to trash me as a bad friend for not ruining your relationship with Spencer when I honestly thought you two were happy. " Olivia rambled on, finally getting everything off her chest.

"You should've told me the truth," Layla repeated, less coldly than before.

"And you should stop pretending like you never made a mistake before." Olivia immediately responded. "I didn't keep what happened between Spencer and me a secret to hide it like a dirty secret. I did it because you were happy, and I didn't think it mattered anymore."

"That doesn't even make any sense." Layla groaned, unsure what Olivia meant by her last remark. "Why wouldn't it matter that Spencer told you he loved you?"

"Because he went back to you less than two hours afterward." Olivia finally confessed to knowing the not-so-secret hookup. "After Spencer told me how he felt, I rejected him. He called me and asked me not to leave things unsettled. I went to his room to talk, and I saw the two of you." Liv recalled that painful night. "Spencer made a choice - again. And it was you, not me. Again. So I left." Liv wept, refusing to meet Spencer's eyes as she felt his eyes burning into the back of her head.

Layla wiped her own tears, pitying that both of them were tearing their selves apart for a guy who didn't even seem to know who he wanted.

"Even so," Layla finalized. "Too much has happened. And I know when to cut my losses. I'm not going to get in your way anymore. You can have Spencer. Because I'm done with him."

"And with me." Liv finished for Layla, knowing that too much damage had been done to go back.

Layla nodded before grabbing her suitcase once more and marching to her car. She and Asher pulled off not too soon after, followed by J.J accompanied by Vanessa.

Once both cars were out of the view range, Olivia turned to go inside, unsurprised to find Spencer glancing at her with a timid expression.

"You knew." Was all he could work up.

"I knew," Liv muttered coldly, acknowledging the real reason why she hadn't gone back to that night in Vegas. "How could you?"

Spencer's face fell as Olivia conveyed her heartbreak for the first time since Vegas, her eyes glistening over as she shoved past Spencer.

Simone sighed, following Olivia inside to give her a supporting shoulder. Jordan gazed at Spencer with indifference, wondering how his best bud let things get so far out of hand.

[primedirection]

Hopelessly Devoted

Y/n reaches a breaking point

Another several days pass without really speaking to him and it becomes somewhat routine.

Although, thanks to his insane schedule it was definitely difficult to notice. There was no time to talk or argue for that matter when Harry was in Italy, Harry was in Tokyo, Harry was in Paris, Harry was in Los Angeles—Harry was basically everywhere and with everyone but you.

On one or two occasions you did observe that he'd been in places where she was also present. But he never mentioned it of course, he never had to. The tabloid's and social media sunk their teeth into it like a juicy steak. In which he whimsically dismissed as work coincidence's.

So once again you let it slide. As they say: Pick your battles wisely!

But today you were kind of happy you did. Today was his first day back for a week long break and Anne and Gemma were in town visiting. They promised to come along for a scheduled cake testing for the wedding some time ago. And since neither of you had made arrangments to reschedule it, you would be forced to play nice, even if only for a few hours.

Picking them all up from the airport was fairly cordial but awkward nonetheless given your current limbo status. You didn't skip a beat in putting your engagement ring back on and Harry didn't either, greeting you enthusiastically with a hug and kiss. Though whether or not it was all for show you'd never know. Not to mention the enormous elephant between you two just for the simple fact you weren't sure if the wedding was still actually on. You assumed that the opportunity to discuss that would eventually come along when you were properly alone.

As the day went on and you were on your fourth cake, you realized that this was the perfect activity for bonding and not just with his family.

Despite being wedding reception centric you talked more than you had in weeks, laughed ridiculously hard at each other in what felt like ages, and shared simple trivial affection that you hadn't realized that you'd been craving. You almost cried when he thoughtlessly reached for your hand while waiting on a highly recommended red velvet cake.

It made you take notice of just how much you actually missed him. So you swallowed your pride and relayed it aloud. Genuinely professing, "I missed you."

At that Harry seems to smile with his eyes more than his lips. Interlacing your fingers and kissing the back of your hand. "Missed yeh more pet." There's a nervous flutter in your gut from the gesture and anticipation to be alone. Part of you can't help wondering if this was just an act too good to be true.

"So is anyone allowed to make a speech or toast? Or like are you keeping it limited..?" Gemma curiously asks.

Harry nervous looks to you for the answer. In which you shrug, "Everyone can say and do as they please so long as I don't have to,"

"Oh, lovie you have got to stop being so hard on yourself. Your speech was beautiful! It even made Gem cry,"

"No one was supposed to know that, but she's right. I'm still upset I missed it, if I didn't have that ridiculous conference I swear I would've been there,"

"I know," You smile sadly removing your hand from Harry's underneath the table. "It's okay,"

In the corner of your eye you spot his discomfort on the topic at hand, and it only gets worse when Anne asks, "What did you think? Didn't you love it?"

At the sudden attention Harry flushes a deep crimson from the neck up and nervously proceeds to scratch the area, "Haven't.. Em.. Heard it yet. I honestly didn't know she had one,"

Both women proceed to eye him incredulously, "Are you fucking joking?"

"Gemma!" Anne scolds at her foul and loud choice of words in the small posh cake shop.

"Sorry mum, but come on! You are joking right?" She deadpans, "I mean she poured her heart out for you just for her world to see and now the entire world has seen it!"

Embarrassed he clears his throat and shamefully admits, "I um... No,"

Gemma eyes widen twice their size completely taken aback, "Dickhead, it's a five minute video— hell less than that! All over my feed and it's still all over my feed because people wont stop tagging the three of us in it. How in the holy hell did you not see it?!"

In a matter of seconds tension has shifted, all of it negative and all of it aimed specifically at Harry. Words couldn't begin to explain the utter relief and justification you felt watching on as Harry is forced to listen to everything you felt and couldn't say, and everything you tried to say but couldn't get across clearly. Not only empathetically come from someone else, but the only two people on the planet that meant the most to him.

As much as the vengeful part in you enjoyed watching him squirm. It didn't feel right to have him bludgeoned over the head with it in order for him to get it. Most likely he still wouldn't understand the problem.

So you miraculously find yourself taking up for him with a forced smile. "It's not his fault. He's been busy, especially with this new album," Causing everyone to stare at you perplexed, including Harry.

Also making the dynamic of frustration shift towards you as well. Gemma is flabbergasted, "Please tell me you're joking now? There's no excuse on earth that is ok-"

Instantly this bothers Harry and he makes no secret of it. Irritably interrupting, "We're working on it Gem, alright? Chill out."

There aren't words to define the weird and borderline chaotic atmosphere going on and just when you think things can't get worse. For some God forsaken reason, when the red velvet cake finally arrives to your table, Harry's phone simultaneously starts to ring from his back pocket. Everyone at the table pretty much stops what they're doing just to watch him retrieve it and check the screen. Your stomach uncomfortably drops at the sight of the name 'Kenny'.

He answers it chirpier than ever, even allowing her to akwardly greet his mom and sister. All the while you remain dead silent, willing for him to just end it as soon as possible and yet things just so happen to continue on a downward spiral. As Harry mentions your location at first it spirals into him inviting her to come which is bad enough. But then it spirals further out of control when he volunteers to just meet up with her today instead.

It takes everything in you not to let the raw emotions show on your face. Though not just because both Anne and Gemma were skeptically watching you. In that moment you swear you could've kicked him between the legs.

Eventually he stands from your table before even hanging up the phone. Having already decided, "Today's her only day in town, figured we could hang out for a bit. I don't think we'll pick in one day anyway. Might have a better time picking out a dress," he not so subtly suggests.

"Well you actually have to try the cakes in order to pick one..." You happily hear Gemma retort.

It goes completely over his head anyway, "Dinner later tonight?" He asks at least being polite enough to kiss Anne goodbye. Yet he doesn't exactly wait for a reply either coming around to place a rushed kiss on your cheek. At which you stoically accept.

"You lot have fun. Well.... Not too much fun." In no time he's out the door and on the move. Forcing you into taking on his suggestion because it felt really pointless to stay.

About an hour later and a rib crushing corset deep with six more dresses lined up just like it to try on, reality starts to set in.

First off it takes awhile to even get started because you and Harry haven't even agreed to what theme or color scheme you wanted. So you had to get ahold of him to ask for some ideas and of course as luck would have it. Since he's out and about with his precious Kenny there's no way to get ahold of him. Ultimately leaving you to make something up all on your own.

Aside from the discomfort, the sight of yourself in the beautiful gown didn't feel right in the least. You're supposed to be overjoyed and excited with your bestie trying to get you somewhat drunk and your mom should've been there too. Speaking of moms, you don't register Anne announcing herself before coming inside the dressing room.

One of her hands clamps over her mouth in awe while the other holds an off white dress shirt you presume is for Harry, "Y/n lovie you are down right gorgeous!"

You have to force yourself to smile back at her and utter a strained, "Thank you," not because of how depressed you feel but for some reason you literally felt like you couldn't breathe.

"I don't know what we're going to do with that boy.. Do you know what color shirt is going under his suit? I reckon this colo-" The curiosity on her sweet face easily morphs into concern at the sight of you panicking, "S'wrong lovie?"

Instantly your hand shoots up to stop her from approaching any further because the the room felt small enough as it is. Hoping that with a little time that the feeling would blow over. Though the more time that passed the more over heated you felt. The tip of your ears on fire and the rest of your skin flushing just the same with it. At some point the nude colored stall even begins to shift around you to the extent that you stumble around to grab onto it in order to steady yourself.

Anne's voice floats in and out of distortion and so do the other's in the distance. Somehow you catch her soothing, "Y/N lovie just stay calm. Let's go to the main room for a bit yeah?"

You shake your head, unable to move, suddenly overwhelmed with intense grief. But you force yourself to answer her initial question anyway because it bothered you the most, "I don't- I don't know... anything these days. It's like- it's like... I could have a gun to my head... and he still wouldn't care." You gasp and cry.

"Don't cry hun, it's alright shh," Anne finally eases close enough to hold your trembling hand steady and attempts to comfort you but you only feel worse.

"It's really... not, I- I-... I put him off somehow and it's not how it should be. He's always running off.... with k-" You stop yourself realizing that she didn't need to know that, "It's like... he can't be far enough."

While you talk Anne uses that as a distraction to usher you out of the fitting rooms and into the main area, "That's not true, lovie. It's okay, you're okay breathe!" She reassures slowly but surely getting you to a chair just in time, just before you feel the need to collapse. Gemma and the sales woman are hovering around worried too but you physically can't even begin to focus on them. 'Is she okay' and 'panic attack' seems to be the topic of conversation.

"God I don't know what else I can do to keep up. I- I can't- I can't go through with this." You shamelessly cry out to Anne.

Who's retrieved something from the sales woman that you come to find out is a hand held fan. Anne wastes no time waving it back and forth quickly to blow bigger and stronger wafts of air. Cooling and calming you down all at once. You start to assume that she keeps you talking to keep you distracted, "With what? The wedding? Lovie I'd be worried if you didn't have cold feet."

Your head shakes in denial, unable to find humor in what honestly has been stressing you out the most. "No... be with him..." You gasp out, hating to admit it aloud. Nonetheless in front of his mother, and at the sight of her very own shock. Immediately you wished that you'd never said anything at all.

After awhile something about that confession finally made the deep inhalation part of you your lungs start working again, and slow to follow was everything else. The room stopped spinning and you were able to take in the terrified expressions of Gemma and the sales woman. Going back and forth on whether or not to call an ambulance and eventually they decided not to.

But even worse than the tabloid articles that were bound to come out about this, was none other than Harry Styles making a reappearance. Apparently Gemma had called him and unlike you, actually got through.

He dropped to his knees right between yours, "Came as fast as I could, thank God we were only down the street,"

"It's fine— I'm fine," You immediately lie, loathing the spectacle that this was becoming. You just wanted to go home, "I think I just... overheated."

Wait... We?!?! You pause to look over his shoulder and low and behold there she is. Kendall fucking Jenner standing next to Gemma and she has the audacity to look concerned.

Harry grabs your cheeks to redirect your focus on him obviously worried, "Alright? S'wrong? What happened?"

He's a little breathless as he probably ran inside. But you manage catch the smell of his breath through the gusts of air as he speaks and the close proximity. It reeks of beer and once you realize that the more glossy his gaze is.

"Are you- are you really drunk right now?" You feel like you're gonna cry yet you somehow manage to ask it angrily.

"What?" He's unsurprisingly confused. Possibly a symptom of his haze.

But you're too angry to care, roughly tearing his hands away from your face and standing on numb legs, "You left... You fucking left me to go drinking?!"

Harry frowns still thrown by your reaction, "Will you calm do-"

"No! What the fuck are we doing Harry?!" You cry overwhelmed and over emotional. "Today was supposed to be about our wedding! Does that not mean anything to you?"

"Y/N, lower your voice," he pleads grabbing onto your wrist and uncomfortably glancing at the audience around you.

"No no, don't!" You yank away and stumble a bit from the force. Completely forgetting the restrictive gown you're in, "I am so sick of this shit... I'm done— I am so fucking done!" Frustrated, you gather up the skirt of the gown and rush towards the dressing room to get out of it.

Even then Harry follows close behind until Anne and Gemma protectively intervene, "Just give her a minute to cool down H."

"Jesus Christ," he groans irritated, dragging his hands over his face. Unable to properly formulate what the hell he just walked in to.

He needed to talk to you before you did something irrational. Because right now he got the feeling that the clock was ticking.

(An: I hope y'all like this one let me know)

Final Part

#Harry styles angst #Harry styles imagines #Harry x reader #Harry styles #one direction imagines #Harry Styles one shot #One direction one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #all me #I write I guess

[ms-march]

12 Days of Turn- “Snow”

Levi Tallmadge is back (if you can’t tell already) for the prelude of events given in the 12 days of Turn piece posted a few days ago.  This one follows the very first meeting of the Levi and Adrienne in New York City.  If there was anything that might have confused you about the first piece, this should clear it up entirely.  The series of events from “Cookies” take place after the week in NYC as a direct prelude.  Once again this was created with the assistance of @culper-spymaster​ and if you enjoy it: like, comment, and/or reblog!

Adrienne Fairfax sat bored in her carriage as it trod along the road to York City to visit her godfather before he returned to England.  It was winter time once again in the colonies, and she was going numb in her face and toes with the chill that seeped through the windows.  They stopped the previous night in Connecticut and would press on till they reached the city today.  Adrienne did not have the heart to force herself into an inn somewhere amongst this horribly small township they were passing through.  They were clearly unaccustomed to passersby; the attention of every person the carriage passed was drawn to the carriage windows, attempting to determine who was in the carriage.  Having had enough of the prying eyes, Adrienne moved to close the curtains before making eye contact with a boy that looked far too similar to a Major that she knew, causing her hand to pause on the curtain as she passed the boy, never once breaking eye contact.  When the boy was out of her sight, she shook her head to clear her thoughts of him and finished closing the curtain. She arrived at the ferry way into the city not shortly after, a sentinel accepting the papers and walking towards the carriage to verify the contents.  Adrienne, who had not been paying attention, was startled by the knock on the window, pulling her from her boring analysis of the cushion's fabric.  She moved to open the curtain by her face to speak to the officer, "Is there a problem, sir?" Having realized that she was alone in the carriage, the officer stepped back from the window, "Not a single one, my Lady.  I hope your journey through Setauket was not too disagreeable." The officer then tilted his hat to her and waved the coachman to continue onto the ferry. 'Setauket,' Adrienne mused, 'Perhaps that boy was indeed related to the intelligence Major.'

The city was a harsh contrast, and ironically symbolic, to itself.  One side having proper colleges, churches, stately townhomes, military barracks, and full taverns, while the other housed hovels and ash, people barely making it by to the next day and most without more than the clothes on their backs and a blanket to cover themselves with at nights.  Adrienne was glad that the curtains were drawn to her left.  She did not wish to witness such poverty but found delight in peering past the curtains on her right, towards the grandeur of the city.  She was scheduled to retrieve her godfather from the ship he would head back to England on, and they would dine at a tavern.  She would have to stay at the tavern because General Howe had not foreseen the absence of the matron she was planned to stay with from the city. Adrienne was pulled from her state of curiosity by the halt of the carriage.  She straightened up, smoothing her skirts and hair as the door opened, and a smile spread wide across her face as the man sat across from her. "Godfather," she laughed gleefully, "How glad I am to see you!" He chuckled, "And I you, my dear.  I am delighted to see that you are returned to me, if only for a few days, in good health." She chatted pleasantly with him, her enthusiasm showing how young she really is.  The carriage pulled to the front of a tavern owned by a man Howe had called Rivington, and they climbed out, Lord Howe first.  Once she was flat on her feet, she finally was able to give the older man a peck on the cheek as he patted her cheek with affection.  Adrienne accepted General Howe's arm as she was led into the tavern.  She stayed closer to him than usual, not feeling comfortable in the setting of the tavern. "Relax, my dear," he patted her arm as he led her to the counter at a leisurely pace, "I assure you it is safe here.  You will not be bothered nor harassed in the slightest." She nodded to him, attempting to seem confident but refusing to release his arm, and, thankfully, he did not protest.  The attendee at the bar seemed to be a Quaker man, whose sullen and reserved mood seemed contrary to the city itself. "How might I help you, sir," he spoke, addressing her godfather, but sparing a skeptical look to Adrienne. "One room for the next week, man." The Quaker looked between them, "Will that be two keys, then?" Adrienne paled at the insinuation and looked to Lord Howe, who laughed freely at the man's comment. "No, Townsend," Howe spoke, "Just the one for my goddaughter." The Quaker suddenly seemed far more at ease with her presence, either from eagerness to be in the brothers Howe's good graces or the assurance that she is a Lady of honor.  He wordlessly passed a key across the counter when another man approached them, Rivington, if she was correct. "I am afraid we find ourselves completely booked as of this purchase, madam.  Do forgive us if the tavern is a bit rowdy these next few days.  Should you need anything, Mr. Townsend and I would be more than willing to oblige you, my Lady." Adrienne smiled politely at the man.  She was correct in assuming the man was indeed Rivington. "I am delighted to hear you say so," she nodded her head politely to Townsend, her arm never leaving the General's own, "Sirs." Lord Howe laughed heartily, "Barely an hour in the city, and you are already drawing the attention of the room, my dear." Adrienne flushed pink and smiled politely at the officers looking curiously at the pair before swallowing thickly and turning to her godfather, who called for her belongings to be brought to her room.  Howe led her to the table by the window and called for two flutes of cherie, and Adrienne allowed herself to be comforted by his presence rather than think on what shall happen come nightfall when she is left alone. The door opened once more, and Adrienne paid it no mind, not looking away to see who had joined them.  She remained this way till Lord Howe left briefly to relieve himself and a young man, a familiar young man, helped himself to the empty seat at the table.   Adrienne was shocked by the boy's boldness, gaping at him in a mix of shock and rage before collecting herself well enough to speak. "Sir, you are aware that this chair is not available? " "Yes," the boy replied, raising an eyebrow at her as he casually drummed his hands on the edge of the table. "But you're acting like I should care." He replied, looking her dead in the eyes. "Sir, I must protest-" He snorted, "Sir, she says." He picks up Lord Howe's empty glass as if he is examining it, "Has anyone ever told you that you're-" "Polite?" "Stuffy." They spoke at the same time, causing a higher level of tension between the strangers.  Adrienne narrowed her eyes at the boy when she finally moved to speak, straightening in her seat and adjusting her posture, "Then what shall I call you, if not, sir?" "Levi," he gave her a lopsided grin, "Everyone just calls me Levi." "I will not," she spat sharply, "Call you by your Christian name.  I have not yet known you for a whole of five minutes!" He fixed his gaze on her, his eyes trailing her face before he finally scoffed slightly, "Christian name.  My Pops would like you." The sour glare he received, in turn, seemed to only make him amused, a humorous huff escaping him before he continued, "Tallmadge." "What?" she questioned with a furrowed brow. "The name you asked for, Levi Tallmadge. Don't wear it out," he told her.  His eyes darted quickly around the room; if she had blinked, Adrienne would have missed it, "Look, I need you to give me the key to your room." Adrienne could feel how quickly the color drained from her face and began to protest before he continued. "I just need the room," he clarified, "You just booked the last one available, and I need it." "I am sorry, Mr. Tallmadge," she raised a brow at him and began her question, "But you are aware of how taverns work?  As in, I come and pay for a room on a first-come, first-serve basis?  It is not I that can be blamed for your tardiness." "Yeah, it kinda is," Levi replied, "If you hadn't driven through Setauket in your fancy carriage and caused a big hoo-ha, I would have been here first." "Well," she replied haughtily, "It is not my fault all of Setauket stops for one fancy carriage.  If you had not been snooping around in the business of others, we would not be having this conversation, would we?" He huffed indignantly, "Girls. You think you know everything. It's none of your business why I need to 'snoop' around." Adrienne smiled politely and brought her glass to her lips as she spoke, "Well if you happen to be a 'little squirt getting into more trouble than he should' then I shall be sure to inform the Major you have done a marvelous job in scouting out British ladies for the cause." The boy's eyes grew wide, and he leaned into her slightly. "How did you know that?" he questioned with a serious tone, "Who told you about Ben?" "Ben," she replied with a slightly lower voice, "Told me about Ben." Levi cursed under his breath so she could not hear it before speaking to her with an accusation laced into his tone, "Why on earth would he tell you? You're pretty, but I've seen better.  And Benny Boy needs to shut his trap before someone takes a short drop and a sudden stop." Adrienne clenched her jaw but declined to comment on his statement.  The boy was high in anxiety as he spoke again, "I don't have much time left before Howe gets back-" "I know," she replied smugly. He rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw as well, "Are you going to give me the room or not?" "For the cause?" Adrienne questioned. "No.  Well, yes, but officially no," he replied. "Then, why?" "Because I am here to petition Clinton for assistance in a privateering problem back in Setauket," he responded honestly. "And perhaps this petitioning shall take a week?" she asked him, sipping the wine in her flute once again. "A week?" the boy asked, surprise in his voice, "Why the hell would it take a week for a petition?" Adrienne blanched slightly, causing him to roll his eyes once more and gesture to her for an answer. "Well, some things cannot be done in a week," she made eye contact with him before shifting her gaze out the window, "And some things can." Levi sputtered, "Are you-" "I could use a valet," she turned back to him, "Do you think yourself capable of such duties?" "Look, I'm sure you're great, lady, but I don't really have time for that," he said. "What a shame," Adrienne tsked, "It would have covered your room, and I do not think that any soldier would dare question the valet of Lord Howe and his goddaughter on why he is in places he otherwise should not be." She looked him up and down before nodding to an emerging figure, "Like in Lord Howe's seat." Levi turned around to see who she nodded at, swearing as he realized that Howe was returning. "Fine," he agreed, "I'll do it." "Lovely," she smiled and handed a bag of coins over to him, "I shall see you tomorrow." "Pesky women," Levi muttered as he rose to leave.

Levi snatched the bag off the table and made for the door, avoiding Howe as much as possible.  When he finally made it out on the street, he shook his head, weighing the heavy bag in his hands. That girl was going to give him a headache if this was how she usually acted. 'Well,' he thought, 'That's not at all how that was supposed to go.' Levi gave a crooked smile to the bag as he hid it, 'On the bright side, I think this should be more than enough for my plans.'

Adrienne woke early to the sound of soldier's boots in the hall. "At least George's aides were courteous enough to be quiet in the mornings," she complained to herself as she rose, wrapping her dressing gown around her shoulders, and walked to the window.  Adrienne called for a pot of tea, perching herself on the windowsill, taking a sip from the cup as she looked down at the streets below.  Hoards of people passed through, not giving her so much as a glance, that is until she made eye contact with a smirking blonde leaning on a storefront below.  His eyes gave her a once over before he raised a brow.  Adrienne flushed pink and pulled her dressing gown over her shift before placing down the cup and rising from the windowsill to dress herself. She finished straightening out the pink silk of the gown as she climbed down the stairs, draping her cloak over her shoulders and tying it. "Mr. Townsend, should my godfather come looking for me, tell him I am on a walk with the valet I enquired for." The man nodded with his back to her before turning around to face her, "You enquired for a valet?" "Yes, sir," she called to him as she opened the tavern's door, "He was selected by your own recommendation." Adrienne then slid out the door before he could object and across the street to meet the boy, Levi, where he stood. "You know," she spoke to him as he continued to lean on the wall, "It is improper to spy on a lady in her bedclothes." "It's not my fault you sleep in so late. I've been here for hours waiting on you." "Nothing is ever your fault, is it, Mr. Tallmadge?" she asked. Adrienne pursed her lips as he shrugged nonchalantly. "Eh...Most things are, but the key is not getting caught," he replied. "Secondly, This is an incredibly early hour, Mr. Tallmadge." He scoffed and rolled his eyes, forcing himself from his leaning position. "Yes, of course," he conceded, "For someone who's never worked a single day in their life." This time she rolled her eyes, "Well, you have dragged me out of my pajamas.  What do you need?" "Oh," he shrugged, "Nothing." He laughed at her, indignation, "I'm messing with you.  I promise." "You better be." "Oh, relax.  I did have a reason to show up so early, but I'm not gonna tell you what it is," Levi looked her up and down, suppressing a laugh, "Though maybe I should have.  Would hate to ruin your lovely silks." She furrowed her brow, "If we are to go that far, would we not be better advised in a carriage?" "No," he snorted, "A carriage would be the worst possible idea." He spoke as he began to walk away down a side street. Adrienne rushed to keep pace with him, jogging after him. "Will you slow down?" she called, provoking a laugh to escape from his lips as he halted in place. "I cannot walk that fast in heels," she complained, trying to catch her breath as she stood beside him.   He nodded as he continued walking once more, "You should buy some boots." "Oh," she pouted, rushing after him again, "Will you slow down?" "Nope!" he shouted back to her.

When they began to approach the charred structures, Adrienne rushed forward to grab his arm, causing him to turn casually to her, "Yes?" "Are you sure?" she swallowed thickly, her eyes drifting to the disheveled figures huddled around an open campfire, "This is somewhere we should be?" He raised a brow, teasing her, "Getting scared, Princess?" "Yes," she admitted, "Shouldn't you be?" "Nah," he dismissed her, "But if it helps you any, you can take my arm." She nodded meekly, reaching to take his arm, stepping close to him, "Thank You." He strolled between the houses while Adrienne struggled to keep her skirts from the ash-covered cobblestone. "Where are we going exactly?" she asked. "Nowhere specifically," he replied, "I'm looking for a someone, not a somewhere." "And I needed to come with you?" she questioned shortly before groaning, "All this walking has hurt my feet." "Quit your whining," he dismissed, "If we don't find him soon, I'll bring you back to your plush carriage, I promise." "That is assuming I can make it back before I collapse," she grumbled. "You really don't lift a finger, do you?" "Of course I do.  I have to call for a servant somehow," she joked, face impassive, but lips pulled up into a humorous smile. Levi did a double-take, asking her, "My God, does she joke?  Like actually joke?" He stirred his face from hers and shook his head in amazement, "And here I thought you incapable of laughing." "Well," she spoke impassively, "What can I say? I have forgotten my manners after walking through ash for so long." "I could leave you here," he warned. Adrienne's head snapped to him quickly, her hand tightening around his arm. "You would not dare," she threatened. "I would," he threatened, "And I will."  Levi's eyes trailed across the side of a heavily charred building before locking onto their target, "There he is." "Oh, thank heavens," she sighed with relief, "Hurry and do whatever business a 12-year-old could have in this part of the city so that we might return to civilization." "Thirteen," he corrected, "And already your height." "Height means nothing," she replied haughtily. "Only to the short," he replied, trekking across a plot of charred grass. "Mr. Tallmadge," she called after him, her eyes shifting to the people whose eyes darted to the Adrienne at her shouting before she swallowed and lifted her skirts, rushing after him.  She approached him as he talked to a dirty-faced boy; Adrienne could barely see him beneath the heavy layer of ash and dirt that coated his face, hair, and what she assumed might have been clothes at one time.  Their conversation was held in low voices, but the boy Levi had been talking to stopped talking altogether when she approached. "I thought you said it would only be you," the boy accused Levi. "Well," he scoffed, "I thought it would just be me, too." He turned to Adrienne, "Would you mind waiting over there?" He nodded towards the area in front of the porch, where more dark figures stood lurking.  Adrienne swallowed and went to protest, but Levi cut her off, pointedly, "Now." Adrienne swallowed, wrapping her cloak tightly around her as she walked over towards the porch, staying a safe distance from it and the people on it.  She tried not to eavesdrop on Levi's conversation, which wasn't hard considering how low they were speaking, but her eyes kept drifting over to where they crouched.  She watched Levi nod, clap the boy on the shoulder and hand him over a handful of coins from his pocket.  Adrienne scoffed at this.  Of course, it was her money.  How could it not be?  She should be mad at his use of her coin to pay off some urchin, but she found herself unable to work up the anger as he approached her. "Sorry about that," he said, moving his arm out as she grabbed hold of it once more. "I didn't mean to order you around so harshly.  The arrangement with Henry is incredibly sensitive.  You saw how jumpy he is." She pursed her lips but conceded to his concerns, "I understand.  Does not mean that I enjoy being forced around." "Around by me or around these people?" "Could it not be both?" He shook his head, "Well, at least you've finally admitted they're people." "I never said they were anything other than," she replied as they walked on. "But you treated them like it." Adrienne opened her mouth to protest but soon closed it when she realized she could not honestly argue against his remark. "That's what I thought," he said, letting silence fall over them until he sighed, "Let's get you back to the Tavern." "Yes," she replied stiffly, "My godfather will surely be missing me."

When they returned, Levi held the door open as she walked in, only to be greeted by a disgruntled Howe.  He rose from his seat to greet her, taking her by the arms and inspecting her person before he spoke, "Good lord, my dear, where have you been?" "I went on a walk, godfather," she replied sweetly as Levi walked up behind her, "Might I introduce the valet I inquired for, Mr. Levi Tallmadge." She stepped to the side so that Howe could see the boy. "A valet, my dear," he looked at Levi before he raised a brow back at Adrienne, "Are you sure this lowlife could fit such qualifications?" She jutted her bottom lip out in a pout as she complained, "Godfather, you are unfair to the both of us." "I must ask, my dear.  I meant no harm to you," Howe chided her gently, "Does he have experience?  Recommendations?  Something that would soothe my old soul?" She hesitated before clearing her throat, "Yes, godfather." Her eyes shifted to meet Levi's, a plea for assistance in her eyes, "He was the valet for-" "Major Edmund Hewlett of His Majesty's Royal Army," Levi cut in. Adrienne nodded and added, "And he has a recommendation from Mr. Townshend as well." Howe humphed, allowing a moment before he sighed, rubbing his temples, "Very well then, boy.  Go fetch the carriage." Levi nodded and headed outback. Adrienne sat down at the table Howe had been seated at, with him joining her shortly after. "I must also ask," Howe spoke, "What provoked such a long walk, my dear?  Your feet must ache." "They do," she affirmed him, "But I suppose I was far too distracted by the pretty things that can be found in such a city." The carriage pulled around the front of the tavern, and the two stood, leaving out the door. "Well then, What pretty things might I buy for such a pretty thing?" Adrienne's godfather asked her as they approached. Adrienne laughed sweetly, and Levi rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. "I do believe I have room in my belongings for a new gown," she hesitated, "Or two." Levi's judgemental eyes met hers as he helped her into the carriage, and Adrienne swallowed, giving him a smile. "Thank you," she whispered and sat down inside the warmth of the carriage.

They arrived at a well-kept millinery shop, and Lord Howe sent Adrienne and Levi inside as he remained outside, talking to an officer she did not recognize.  Levi kept his distance from the shelves and items displayed throughout the shop as Adrienne ran her hands over a blue and white pinstriped silk. "Blue?  Are you sure that is wise in Tory town?" Levi joked from behind her, causing Adrienne to smile slightly. "Well, unfortunately, it seems to be a color that is quickly consuming my life," she sighed. "I doubt that," he replied, "I'm sure in a few years you'll be happily married off to a boy in red." She sighed, disappointment unintentionally laced in her tone, "Sooner rather than later, I'm afraid.  And to a boy in blue." Levi did a double-take, stepping closer so he could see her face as he talked. "No way. You're way too British for any of them." "My intended would agree with you," she said, turning to face him now, "Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens, aide-de-camp to General Washington." "I have never heard that name," Levi admitted. "Which is saying something. I know a little about everyone." "He is the son of one of the most wealthy families in South Carolina.  His father is Henry Laurens," she spoke.  Levi opened his mouth to speak, but Adrienne cut him off, "Yes, the same Henry Laurens who just finished his term as President." Levi looked around the room quickly before turning to her, "First of all, you really need to lower your voice before someone hears you.  Secondly, you really go big or go home, don't you?" "That is my father," she smiled at the thought of him, "Viscount William Fairfax only accepts the best for his family." Levi conceded with a nod, "Give us ruffians a chance.  You might be surprised by how likable we can be." "That is it," Adrienne exclaimed at the boy's words, "I knew you seemed familiar!" Levi's eyebrows scrunched together, "Huh?" "I know who your brother is, but you do not remind me of him very much," she explained, "But you do remind me of a very particular Lieutenant that was always with him." "A Lieutenant," Levi asked, still confused. "Lieutenant Caleb Brewster and I were good friends," she continued, "As I hope you and I may still be." Levi scoffed, laughing, "Is this your way of apologizing?" "I never said that," Adrienne replied, attempting to stifle a laugh. He shook his head in disbelief, "You really know Caleb?" She nodded, "Yes, I do indeed." "How?" This time it was Adrienne's turn to glance around the room, replying slightly quieter than she had been before. "He taught me to shoot.  And throw his hatchet," she told him, smiling, "Though not in that order." Levi laughed loudly, drawing a glare from the shopkeeper.  He apologized to the man quietly before turning back to Adrienne, "He let you touch his hatchet?" "Yes," she replied, "Though I have no idea why.  If I were him, I would have done anything but, considering he only stepped in after I shot your brother in the foot." Levi bit his hand to stifle the roar of laughter that was about to escape from his lips. "You shot Benny?" he asked with a mix between amazement and amusement, "Like actually shot him?" She huffed jokingly before nodding. "It was not intentional," Adrienne defended, "But yes, I did shoot him.  Thankfully McHenry is an excellent surgeon." "When?" Levi asked, "When did you shoot him?" "Late January, at the Valley Forge encampment." "Ah," Levi groaned, "I can't believe I missed that!  And only by a few weeks too." "Oh," Adrienne flushed pink, turning back to the fabric suddenly, "I am afraid I was completely indisposed from Christmas till halfway through January." "Oh," he hummed curiously at her sudden actions, "Can I ask why?" "I was trying not to die from a bullet wound and the subsequent infection that followed." "Oh.  That sucks." "Yes, indeed."

#this is actually my favorite collab #mostly becuase the first time these two polar opposites meet is amazing #they just vibe well #levi tallmadge #band of brothers:s1 #BoB #lbl #adrienne Fairfax #lady adrienne fairfax #william howe #ben tallmadge #henry laurens #john laurens #caleb brewster #12 days of turn 2020 #12 days of turn #luck be a lady #turn amc #turn: washington's spies

[rosesforshego]

𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ᴍɪᴅᴅᴀʏ ꜱɴᴀᴄᴋ

August 29th, 6:30 am.

Drew paced through the vacant halls of Middleton High with a thin piece of stick paper between his fingertips. Awaiting his coworker’s arrival, he occupied his mind with what he had planned for the day ahead—experiments, meetings, and slowly working his way through the lab reports stacked upon his desk at home. But what he anticipated the most was not for the surface of his desk to bask in the light of day once more, it was for his lunch period.

Lunch was the time of day where Drew felt the tension in his shoulders melt into the air of his classroom. Savoring each bite of the sandwich he made the night prior, he could indulge in the wonders of his life that often kept the gears within his mind turning. This was the time in the school day where he truly felt peace and, though his bundle of nerves ate away at him, he felt it was time to share that peace with another.

When Drew learned that Sheila shared the same lunch period as him, he was ecstatic. Finally, a colleague that he enjoyed conversing with had the same time off as him. It was a blessing for the lonesome Drew Lipsky. All he had to do was ask her to join him and he’d be golden.

But, therein lies the problem: Drew, himself, was too chicken to ask. Instead, he fell back upon what was familiar—passing notes. . . like school children. The note between his fingers slipped further into the crevices, descending to his palm. There was the off chance that she’d reject his offer, but it was less painful for her to simply not appear than to say no straight to his pleading eyes.

He continued his journey through the windy corridors of the school, noting the excellent work he and his colleagues had done to liven up the blank walls. Colorful posters hung with pride as the teachers wished a good school year upon the students who passed the signs. It was the least they could do to comfort the in-coming freshmen.

The cluster of posters dwindled as the wall quickly approached a large set of lockers. He drew closer to the metal that would horribly clank as each door slammed shut for the day. Oh, how he despised that sound—it would ring in his ears for minutes after the clamor subsided. He never liked to be out in the halls with the students for that reason, and that reason alone. Otherwise, he didn’t mind the crowd. He easily slipped past groups of students—some of which stopped to engage in a friendly conversation with their chemistry teacher—as he made his way to his distant destination. He enjoyed the aura of familiarity the chaotic hall brought. Maybe it was the years of experience with Middleton High that made the sea of students bring a smile to his face.

He gazed at the lockers, each bleeding into the last as they sat with conformity—the only aspect about them changing was the number displayed by each lock. Quietly, his eyes trailed to locker 134. He smiled.

This locker, in particular, belonged to his niece, who he loved dearly.

Only a few days into the school year and Kim Possible had adjusted to the life of a high schooler with ease. She effortlessly was asked to join the cheer squad, she had already started to indulge in other extra-curricular activities, and she was on a one-way track to academic stardom—all while saving the world from ravenous villains who, in Drew’s opinion, should have no reason to be so involved in his niece’s life.

As sad as it was for Drew to see the light of his life mature with such intensity, he was proud of her—of the woman she was becoming.

A few lockers down the hall stood Ron’s. As Drew approached it, his elated smile settled into a faint frown. Ron, too, attempted to make the adjustment to the new lifestyle, but it seemed as if the world was out to get him. Picked on, teased, pushed through the crowd, Ron was thrown around the halls of Middleton High like a ragdoll. He was even banned from entering D Hall by a group of delinquent students who have been hunting him since preschool.

Drew shook his head at the thought. When will the pettiness end?

The burdens Ron brought with him were hard to shake from his shoulders, no matter how hard he tried.

Drew quietly brushed his fingertips against the cool metal. Within the half-hour, this particular locker would signify its life with a piercing squeak that Drew could audibly hear within his mind. Ron would haphazardly stuff his unnecessary belongings into the metal walls, along with Rufus, who loved to use Ron’s locker as his personal home, then go about his business as if he didn’t have a care in the world—ignorant to the atrocities that plagued his social life at the hands of students who thought of him as lesser.

But Drew knew.

Drew knew the deep hardships Ron faced and he understood why Ron decided to place his best-foot-forward. It stopped him from indulging in the pain.

Drew wished he was like Ron Stoppable.

A short, faint sigh escaped his parted lips as he reluctantly removed his fingers from Ron’s locker. Drew, despite himself, hoped that this day would be different—less demeaning—for both of them. But Drew knew that he could scream his soul’s most urgent wishes and the world would respond by spitting in his face.

He shook his head to rid the thought. No. He must battle his pessimistic, cynical mind—swallow the horrid thoughts before they consumed the little seedlings of hope he had left. It was all he had, and he was not going to let the world strip him, or Ron, of that luxury.

Drew continued his journey through the corridors, collecting crumpled papers and gum wrappers, filling empty garbage bins with discarded litter—the reports that should have been brought home to mothers and fathers. Along his route, he closed a few lockers that were left neglected after the shrill bell sounded off at two-thirty the day prior.

“How could they be so careless?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

The belongings, that were nearly left out in the open, begged to be stolen. But, really, what of the few contents that were left within the confines of the four walls held value? Drew knew how much those damn chemistry textbooks cost, but the students didn’t care.

He let an incoherent grumble rumble in his throat, slipping past his neutral demeanor.

All he held was a simple wish: for the week to be over.

“Two more days, Drew,” he whispered, hoping that the sound of his voice would give him the support he craved, “just two more days.”

His fingers fidgeted, sliding the note between them as he conducted his second lap through the halls. As his watch ticked dangerously close to six forty-five, Drew hovered by the grand entrance to the school in anticipation for the arrival of the woman he sought after. All he wanted was to pass the short message to her; a little meet me in my room for lunch, nothing more. He figured that their shared lunch period would be ample time to discover more about each other over some delectable, homemade sandwiches, stuffed with deli-meats—if that’s what she liked to eat.

A faint hum rumbled within his chest. Sure, she accepted his peace offering of half a ham and cheese sandwich a few days prior, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander, conjuring the many possibilities as to what made her taste buds sing. Peanut butter and jelly? Nah, too bland. Sheila seemed to be the adventurous type—peanut butter and jelly must bore her.

Frozen dinner? Soup? Leftovers? The options that Drew naturally found himself drawn to were too ordinary for such an extraordinary woman. Though, as his mind spun with various unimportant answers to his silent question, Drew understood next-to-nothing about her personal life—a life full of rich experiences that were encased in a thick, mysterious aura that remained impenetrable by Drew’s defenses.

He pondered for a moment. Maybe he could take advantage of her vulnerability while she ate. . . whatever it was she ate for lunch. With her guard down, there would be the opportunity for his pervasive questions to slip past that aura—

“Drew?”

His head snapped in the direction of his name, carried through the silence by a sweet, supple voice.

“Sheila?”

She chuckled, her mahogany glove covered her lips to muffle its intensity, “You look lost.”

“Oh, erm—” what the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry, just speculating about your eating habits? He bit his lip. He had to lie. He could not tell her the truth. That would be embarrassing.

“I arrived early for a meeting—”

Bullshit. He nearly winced at the booming voice within his head.

“—and had some time to spare. So, I decided to take a little stroll.”

“Mmmm,” Sheila hummed, crossing his field of vision to rest upon the wall beside him, “enjoying the scenery?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted, “you would not believe the amount of garbage I’ve collected today.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow, her teeth chewing on the corners of her uncovered bottom lip, scraping dead skin, “Since when did you join the janitorial staff?”

“Give them a break,” he responded, a little quicker than Sheila had expected, “they’re overworked.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Drew’s first reaction was to verbally agree with her statement—maybe dive into a long conversation about how exhausted this week from Hell had made him, but, before he could open his mouth, his attention quietly fixated on the shimmering green of Sheila’s eyes. Once full of a youthful spark, her irises faded into a dull and diluted emerald, shadowed by the semi-dark circles that appeared under her eyelids. Upon closer inspection, Drew’s gaze followed her protruding, strong cheekbones that led to folds that rested beside the corners of her frowning mouth.

Concerned, Drew felt his thoughts resurge in a chaotic tizzy. Was she sleeping? Eating? Stressed? Day four into her new job and she started to look a little worse for wear.

His worry seized control of his heart, causing each beat to strike a nasty, piercing pain into his ribs.

Drew opened his mouth. He desperately wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to ease the distraught nerves that consumed her, but he quickly closed it before the words managed to emerge from his throat. As fascinated, nearly infatuated, as he was with the woman who stood before him, he knew next-to-nothing about her. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her away with his obsessive compassion.

Instead, he brought the note in his hand into the shared space between them.

“Speaking of, I have to get ready for class,” he said, reluctantly—his eyes downcast onto the yellow paper in his hand, “But I wanted to pass this along.”

He gently placed the note, covered in crude penmanship, on top of the books she held within her arms.

“A note—?”

“See you later.”

Without uttering another word, Drew Lipsky’s slender legs quickly carried him through the hall. He turned the corner and vanished before a dumbstruck Sheila could respond—a pleasantly unexpected note within her possession.

♥♡♥

12:20 pm.

Sheila found herself in quite the compromising position. One hand braced against the vending machine, the other forcefully inside the metal retrieval box, she looked like a crook that she had thwarted ten years prior. Though looking back on the situation, the man just needed a bite to eat—it was rather unfair for her and her brothers to throw that poor man in prison. She snickered under her breath as her arm snaked its way towards the goods that laid beneath the glass, desperately clawing at foiled bags to reach the Doritos, that she paid for. They were stuck on the top shelf.

A bite to eat. She remembered the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched the man behind bars. Henry told her it was for the good of the city—men like him commit one, simple crime, then become addicted to the life of a criminal. She believed him.

If only he could see her now.

Her starved mind (and stomach), as idiotic as it was, truly believed for a brief moment that she could reach the top shelf from the depths of the machine. She peered up at the goods displayed before her as she stretched her arm to uncomfortable lengths, not even coming close to the Doritos that clung to its metal coil for dear life.

Sheila started to believe that her brilliant plan was never going to work.

Regardless, she continued to rake her hand through whatever snacks she could grasp to bring herself closer to the prize that was rudely taken from her. She was a good citizen—refused to steal food that she didn’t pay for—so she neglected the package of fruit snacks that tauntingly brushed against her exposed arm.

A good citizen with her hand stuck in a vending machine.

A good citizen, my ass.

If she wasn’t in the Middleton High teachers’ lounge, with the possibility to be surrounded by her coworkers within mere seconds, she would’ve let the few tears of frustration slip from the pools in her eyes.

“Sheila?”

She winced.

Great. He always had to barge in when she was most vulnerable, didn’t he?

“Uhh,” Drew stuttered, forcibly grabbing whatever words swam in his mind as fast as he could to stop the silence from growing between them, “bad timing?”

She reluctantly turned to face him, her hand still deep within the machine, “Y’think?”

The crack in her voice alerted him, but he didn’t mention it out of respect for her dignity. Instead, he moved closer, closing the large gap between them as Sheila’s eyes grew wide with terror.

She tried to open her mouth, but her jaw refused to relinquish its control. So, she screamed within her mind—her perceived voice sending shockwaves of pain as it pierced her thoughts, ordering Drew to stay away, to turn around, to leave her so she could wallow in her defeat. Unfortunately, Drew, as intelligent as he was, could not read minds. He could barely pick up on obvious social cues. Sheila’s pleas were left unheard as he descended to her eye-level—her gaze caught within the deadly web of his piercing, wandering eyes, laced with confusion towards her criminal-like position. She dared not utter a word and turned back to the sight of her gloved fingers grasping at the coils of the machine, climbing the rungs until she ran out of arm.

She had escaped him. . .  but not for long.

“What are you doing?”

Elbow deep in her new lover, Sheila pointed her free hand towards the bag that clung onto its tight, metal coil, “Trying to reach those chips.”

A brief chuckle escaped his lips and hovered in the still air between them. It would be rude of him to say he found amusement in the awfully compromising scene before him, so he didn’t, but that damned chuckle only deepened Sheila’s frown. How dare he make a mockery of her predicament.

“And your genius plan was to grab them from all the way down here?”

The lids of his eyes laid heavily across his irises as he looked down at her form. He held his position steady over her—a sense of authority as if he had the high ground in a situation that he should not be a part of in the first place. Sheila squirmed, uncomfortable under his gaze—one that displayed a hint of playful jest that, somehow, brought ease to Sheila’s mind, despite her seemingly criminal actions.

A smile broke through his thin lips and Sheila couldn’t help but reciprocate. She shook her head, the curls of her hair brushed against her shoulders as her eyes rolled away from his and to her elbow that was jammed in the metal. Drew’s trailing eyes followed her lips as she turned away. There was something charming about her. A charm that kept him awake at night—his thoughts plagued with her smile.

“Shaking it didn’t work,” she admitted, hoping that Drew would understand her justification for this particular predicament.

“Clearly.”

She huffed. In her sporadic attempt to continue her moronic plan, she was left ill-prepared for his comeback.

 Drew receded from Sheila’s personal space and lifted his frame off the floor. With a grunt, he stretched, cracking his spine to alleviate the tension built between his bones. Sheila eyed him, curiously, as she watched his face morph from its euphoric twists into a clam, calculated state. He stepped around her, careful to leave her untouched, and placed himself beside the machine. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, quick to retrieve a few bucks before Sheila could protest.

To his dismay, she caught onto his plan, “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Why do you want these, anyway?” he asked, disallowing her protest to continue. His greatest weapon against her was to fill the conversation with his curiosity.

He slipped a few dollars into the machine, “You know how bad these are for you, right?”

“I’m hungry.”

The coil turned, dropping the chips onto Sheila’s arm. She winced as the sharp edge of the bag collided with her skin. It stung but made no mark with its departure. She carefully dislodged her throbbing arm from its position and grabbed the bag that rested within the retrieval.

Horrified, Drew’s mind spun with the possible outlook on her impoverished life that she, unknowingly, admitted to.

Was this all she had?

“Please don’t tell me that this is your lunch.”

“No,” she stated as she pulled herself off of the floor.

Drew nearly sighed in relief. Sometimes, he didn’t mind when his mind was wrong if it meant that Sheila was nourished.

After all, maybe she just needed an extra something to go with her—

“It’s my midday snack.”

Drew furrowed his brows. His mind is never wrong. He should’ve known.

“So, lunch.”

“No, lunch is a meal.”

Drew would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so concerned for her well-being. He shook his head, maintaining a small smile to ease Sheila’s nerves, which did nothing to settle his own.

Sheila left the vicinity of the vending machine to grab her bag that perched on a nearby chair. Carefully, the strap wrapped around her shoulder, ready to depart from the teachers’ lounge and embark on the short journey to Drew’s classroom. She wasn’t going to ignore his pleasant invitation.

With a silent understanding, Drew dropped the subject and opened the door, motioning for Sheila to follow. She did, obediently—ready to leave the machine and its wicked ways behind, never wanting to be seen with her arm inside of it again.

Drew was the first to break the still silence that fell upon them.

“Do you think the school’s going to reimburse me for the two dollars I spend on those chips?”

Sheila rolled her eyes. Her hand collided with the side of his arm in a playful slap that caused Drew to recoil beneath her touch. His smile widened; a faint laugh encouraged her playful nature as she settled into the comfort of his aura—the tip of her shoulder brushing against his arm.

“No, but they better reimburse me! I need those two bucks back.”

#dr drakken #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

[liketolaugh-writes]

Overworked Leather

Author: liketolaugh Summary: It’s three weeks after Markus recruited Connor to Jericho. Neither of them have second thoughts about this. (Both of them are uncertain of exactly how true that is.) Sequel to White Gloves.

Of the two Jericho bases, Markus had only given Connor the key to one.

That had been the main effect of Markus and Connor’s first disastrous encounter: Jericho had been cleaved in two, and it had been one of the best decisions Markus had made thus far. It allowed him to neatly separate the non-combatants, the children and the damaged and the frightened, from the androids who were willing and able to fight.

South Jericho, hidden even more meticulously than the first, was integrated into the abandoned Pirate’s Cove amusement park, where a number of Jerry androids made nighttime activity a regular and expected thing already; acting as a halfway point between East Jericho and Canada, it held the vulnerable and noncombatant androids.

East Jericho, a captured Cyberlife warehouse and the only base humans knew about these days, housed those willing and able to fight, gather supplies, form contacts and so on. It also drew fire from its more vulnerable sister base, and Markus intended to keep it that way.

Josh kept loyal watch over South Jericho, meticulously careful and attentive to the needs of all the androids that stayed there. North stayed in East, viciously protective and most comfortable when in control and well-informed; Markus spent most of his time in East and Simon in South, but both of them moved back and forth as necessary.

None of them were ever in the same place all at once. They couldn’t risk the revolution being wiped out in one fell swoop.

It had been three weeks since Connor’s arrival, and Markus was starting to consider letting him have the other key. He’d halved casualties in the first FBI raid he’d been present for, sniping from the roof and sending agents scurrying back to cover, and he hadn’t once made an aggressive move toward any of the other androids, and he hadn’t even attempted to leave, for alleged business purposes or otherwise.

And that day, when his replacement appeared, he’d taken off into the rain before the other could even break the fence line. He’d returned less than an hour later, subtly hunched and avoiding eye contact even more fervently than usual, blue blood spattered on his clothes.

Markus hadn’t had time to check on him, making his rounds among the shaken and the injured, setting up a hasty watch, and contact Josh about the incident before he finally made it back to the war room (a repurposed meeting room, already fit with hologram systems and blank surfaces and a large table to sit around) to talk to the others.

Connor was asleep at the table, head pillowed on his left arm and wet hair plastered to his forehead; he hadn’t even washed the blood off himself. Despite everything, despite the tension dragging at his chest and the fear at the base of his skull and the ache of his overstressed knees, Markus had to suppress a flicker of a smile.

Simon was already present as well, prim and proper with his eyes carefully averted from Connor and his gun resting on the table in front of him. The (human) blood Markus knew had been splashed across his arm and torso had been carefully washed away, his shirt still darker where it had been soaked and dark spots still making themselves known and his skin glistening with lingering damp. He nodded at Markus as he came in, looking skittish and faintly frustrated. Markus understood; two attacks in a month was quite bad for them, and it was probably due to Connor’s presence.

“They’ll have to give up on him soon,” Markus said in an undertone, deferring to Connor’s sleeping state; he wasn’t sure what it was, but Connor, when not working, spent an unusual amount of time in stasis. “All other circumstances still apply, after all; the humans will start to riot if they continue at this rate.”

Simon inclined his head wearily. “But can we hold out that long?” he pointed out, and then shook his head sharply. “Never mind. Not the point. Who was that? You said Connor believed his series would be decommissioned if he deviated.”

“It was,” Markus said without hesitation, mentally bringing up the flash of a memory: the android almost exactly like Connor, eerie only for the sharper angles of his face and the cold blue of his eyes. “I caught a glimpse of his jacket before he took off after Connor. RK900, not eight.”

Simon’s lips pressed together, and Markus nodded, knowing what he was thinking: that wasn’t a good thought, an upgrade from Connor.

He sat down by Simon with a heavy sigh, wincing at the shift of his knees and the spike of a headache he hadn’t even properly noticed yet. It seems humans had a loose definition of compatible parts, though that shouldn’t be a surprise – and it was better than no parts at all. Simon shot him a lingering glance, stiff with worry, but didn’t say anything.

“Thanks for coming to East,” Markus added, still soft and with a pointed glance at Connor. “What’s your opinion on Connor so far?” He trusted Simon’s ability to judge character even more than his own; while Markus was fast warming up to the man, who seemed so far to be just loyal and determined and a little bit lost, he was waiting for Simon’s call before he made any lasting decisions.

Well. Any more lasting decisions.

Simon exhaled, long and tired. “I don’t really know, Markus. I don’t think he does, either. If I’m honest, though, I don’t think he has any business in East.”

Markus stiffened slightly, a sudden bolt of fear jolting up his spine, so soon after this last fight that he nearly went for his gun. “You think I should send him out of Jericho?”

“I think he should be in South,” Simon corrected. “Maybe not forever, but at least for a while. From what you said, he took the first orders he was given after he deviated, and hasn’t done much except follow them since. He isn’t talking to anyone, won’t even look at anyone except you- Markus, he hasn’t picked clothes. He’s still in the remains of his Cyberlife uniform.” He shrugged, looking away. “I know he’s been invaluable as a part of the guard, and I think he’ll be trustworthy unless something changes, but I don’t think he should be here.”

Markus kept his eyes on the side of Simon’s head for a minute, feeling more like he’d been kicked in the chest than he had when he’d actually been kicked in the chest earlier. But finally, he swallowed and nodded. “Thank you, Simon. I’ll… keep that under consideration.” A moment of hesitation, and he tacked on, “I promise.”

Simon made a soft, dissatisfied sound, but anything more he might have said was cut off when the door banged open, making Connor flinch awake and scoot backwards, eyes darting immediately to the door and hand disappearing under the table.

North ignored him, shoving the door shut behind her and mounting the table in an easy motion. She had not washed the blood off, most of it on her hands and under her nails but some on her face and chest, and her hair was thin and clumpy from the rain. Her expression was somewhere between an unfriendly smirk and an irate snarl.

She was looking at Connor. “I thought you said you’d be decommissioned,” she said without a moment’s pause for breath or interruption, sharp with challenge.

“I-I was,” he snapped defensively, gaze dropped immediately from her face to the table. His fingers pulled at the fraying cuff of his sleeve, now colored with droplets of thirium and damp with rainwater. He was favoring his right arm, Markus noticed. “That wasn’t, he wasn’t, he was-”

“An RK900, not an RK800,” Markus interrupted, sparing the frustrated android. Connor deflated, relieved, and nodded remorsefully. “You didn’t mention him before.”

Connor’s gaze flickered briefly to each of them without ever meeting anyone’s eyes, still wary and shadowed even after three weeks. He was coiled tightly, subtly defensive, and it made Markus’ heart clench with less anxiety and more sadness every time he saw it.

“He was still under, under development,” Connor said, visibly uncomfortable. There was an odd texture about his throat that made Markus frown. “When I was in circulation. But I, I knew he was almost finished. Nines, he’s-”

“Nines?” Simon interrupted, throwing Connor’s train of thought off and making him go still for a moment, confused. Markus understood, though; it wasn’t like Connor to assign nicknames, and the thought that he’d been close with his successor was in some manner unsettling.

“…RK900,” Connor said after a moment, eyes still on the table. “My, ah, the development team called him that. Around me. But I think his name is, is Conan.”

He faltered- after a moment, Markus realized he wasn’t sure how to continue from there and rescued him again. “Nines’ development?”

Connor’s gaze lifted to his, wide brown eyes pinched at the corners, but relaxed a little and nodded. “Nines is more m-military-focused. Harder hitting and s-sturdier, but not as, as ver-versatile.” His hand went to cover his mouth, and he took a deep breath, eyes falling back to his arm. When he let go and spoke again, his voice came out steadier and more deliberate. “I don’t… think he could break the law. The, the government may be keeping a closer eye o-on Cyberlife’s compliance with regulation. And he was inexperienced. Bad at improvisation and using his environment.”

Connor exhaled harshly when he was done, looking like he’d burnt out his limited allotment of words. Markus opened his mouth to thank him, but North – who had been dead still for the entire explanation – interrupted him.

“Did you kill him?” she asked bluntly, arms crossed and head cocked, but the snarl of her mouth smoothed into a thin line. Markus’ heart tugged with melancholy, but he ignored it with the ease of lengthening practice.

“North,” Simon said warningly, but he was ignored.

Connor shook his head, and Markus’ stomach swooped in pitying frustration.

Well, of course he hadn’t. No one understood Conan’s situation better than Connor. And he was- well, in many ways, he was new. Accustomed as he was to spilling blood, and as easily as he’d turned that grim resolution on Jericho’s enemies – a good dozen FBI agents could attest to that – it was perhaps too much to expect for him to make the hard call here too.

And he’s had very little say in any of it, Markus reminded himself sternly – not like Markus, who had made the first call to violence only a month after starting to lead Jericho, or Josh, who had withdrawn to guard only the most vulnerable of them but never even considered leaving altogether.

North was not so understanding.

“Why the hell not?” she demanded, bringing her feet up to swing around and bare her teeth at Connor, the blood on her hands smearing on the table. “Your heart go soft when your programming dropped, hunter?”

Connor’s shoulders tensed, but he still didn’t rise to the bait, refusing to even meet North’s eyes. Perfectly even, he said, “I’ve killed everyone you’ve asked me to.”

He’d done more than that, Markus knew; aside from halving casualties during the first raid and occupying Conan’s attention during the second, he’d updated the patrol patterns to something more efficient, and he had some ideas for rearranging the workrooms so the less combat-ready were safer too. He was still too new to risk real resources on his ideas, aiming to capture warehouses and eventually police stations and infrastructure, but they were getting there.

The other residents had noticed, too, and they were slowly starting to warm up to Connor – especially the ones who spent the most time on guard rotation. Taking Connor in had been the right choice.

“Everyone has an adjustment period, North,” Markus interrupted, deliberately calm enough to force North to lower her hackles. “Connor is still new to deviancy.” Markus turned his attention off quietly fuming North, knowing she was angrier about the raid than anything else, and to Connor, who was already looking back at him with the tension of a scolded dog. “But she’s right, Connor. There are some kinds of mercy we can’t afford. You should know that better than anyone.”

Connor took it harder than Markus had meant, locking down visibly and staring at his fingers. His shoulders hunched up around his neck, and he nodded mutely, making no further protest. For a split second, Markus faltered, wanting to reassure him. The last statement had been a low blow; he didn’t need Simon’s pointed stare to tell him that.

Instead, he shook himself and moved on.

“The next time Conan goes for Jericho, do your best to put him down,” Markus said firmly. “We’ve been doing well, but that could change at the drop of a hat. We need at least another warehouse before we start aiming for infrastructure.” North smirked, but Simon just looked solemn. “Connor, you stand by your plan?” Connor nodded without looking up. “Then North, make a headcount of who can be repaired with what we have now. Simon, let Josh know, please.” Simon was better than even Markus at getting Josh to agree to plans of war.

North gave him a thumbs up, and Simon a weary, wry smile and a pointed glance at the door. Markus didn’t quite understand that second until he waved them off and realized that Connor was already gone.

------

Most of the androids Connor passed in the halls and the common rooms turned to look at him as he went by. Some of them snarled or sneered. More shrank away. Connor avoided looking at all of them, tuning in to the patter of rain instead.

It was still raining when Connor retreated outside, a rapid drum on the concrete that collected in dips and corners, icy cold and dimming the daylight hours. The fence stood out in the distance, damaged and bent, and Connor could taste petrichor on the air.

The still-evaporating thirium on his arms made his skin crawl, like a thousand layers of blue and red tacky on his hands, but he was used to ignoring it already. The same went for imaginary tired ache of his body, and the flicker of error messages around his vision, the protesting spark and grind of his shoulder and the crackle of his damaged throat plate. The moisture stung his injuries, but it was far more peaceful than the inside of the base, with too much noise and movement and people.

He sat down hard, knees up to his chest, and leaned back against the outside wall, closing his eyes to listen to the wind and the rain, letting the cool water dampen his half-dried clothing.

He thought of Nines. Cyberlife was unlikely to withhold repairs for such severe damage, but it was difficult to be sure with them – sometimes it depended on performance, sometimes on their mood, sometimes on the budget. Partial repair was a possibility as well.

It had been foolish of Connor to focus on disabling Nines rather than simply destroying him, which would have been faster, more effective, and allowed him to return in time to help fend off the FBI as well. Markus had never been so complacent with Connor. But…

But, nothing. Next time, Connor would destroy Nines. It couldn’t afford to do anything else.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, mind slipping off to doze in the gentle rain. It was peaceful outside, steady white noise and cool air and the muffled sound of androids still moving around in the warehouse. He would need to get up to watch the perimeter soon, but not yet. He could take a moment.

Connor hadn’t expected it to be so hard to stay awake. But, he supposed, that was what came of spending most of his time in stasis. Cyberlife hadn’t exactly afforded him the chance to occupy himself when he wasn’t hunting, and anyone who spoke around him spoke around him; he’d stopped trying to contribute early on, after one too many ‘mute’ commands as Connor-8.

Unlearning that was… hard, and not necessarily worthwhile when it mattered so little.

He stirred awake when someone started to approach, and went still again when they sat heavily beside him. When he looked up, though, it was to Markus, considering him with a thoughtful and unafraid expression. He looked at home here, as he did anywhere, his coat affording him a shield from the cold and the damp. Connor went unwillingly tense, mind flickering to his earlier mistake and what he knew he should be doing now, but he didn’t speak.

Connor wondered how Markus looked so unruffled.

Finally, Markus smiled at him, small and gentle, and Connor almost swayed forward, inexplicably drawn.

“You can stay inside, you know,” he said, quiet but clear despite the interference of the rain. “I hear it’s easier to sleep when you’re dry.”

Connor didn’t answer. It didn’t make any difference to him, and he bothered fewer people this way. He hadn’t even intended to sleep; it had just fallen over him, like it always did when he was still for too long. He kept his eyes on Markus, expectant, and Markus’ smile faded.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked eventually, shifting to face Connor better and his coat scraping the asphalt. “I can’t imagine you got out of that encounter unscathed, especially if you weren’t aiming to kill.”

Connor blinked, confused, and took a moment to find his words. No reprimand for not getting back to work? He had promised, and he clearly wasn’t badly injured-

“I, I took some damage to m-my neck and shoulder,” he said at last, too tired to try and stop his stutter. “It doesn’t re-require repair.”

Markus’ face pinched in clear disappointment, but all he said was, “May I take a look?”

Connor nodded absently, and was still somehow caught by surprise when Markus reached for his shoulder and pressed on it tenderly, his fingers warm and steady as they explored the damage site. Connor exhaled sharply, going dead still, and Markus paused.

“Alright?” he asked quietly, and Connor nodded.

Markus hummed, and was somehow even gentler as his fingers prodded at the joint of Connor’s shoulder, going up over his collarbone and then down under his arm as well, even and attentive. All of Connor’s focus narrowed to that motion, tight and overwhelmed, but Markus didn’t seem to notice. It barely hurt at all, Markus erring to the side of caution as he assessed the cracked plating and the heat of damaged and self-healing wires. After a minute, Connor realized he was leaning into him, and knew Markus had noticed too when he paused.

Then Markus’ hands left his shoulder to press even more carefully at his throat, and Connor still didn’t move, feeling that as soon as he did, the gentle touch would leave.

Perhaps Markus sensed something of that, because he didn’t pull away even as he finished, his hands slipping down to Connor’s forearm instead. Connor opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them.

“You should have said something,” Markus chided.

“…Sorry,” Connor murmured, realizing his mistake – unlike Cyberlife, Markus did not monitor his personal feed. Connor would have to report his damage before Markus could make a judgement.

Markus sighed, and Connor felt worse.

“Why don’t we go see Lucy?” he said unexpectedly, bringing Connor’s eyes back to him. He was smiling again, slightly strained. “You may be able to repair this on your own, but it could go a little faster. Some thirium can’t hurt either.”

Markus thought Connor deserved medical attention.

“…But I was, was supposed to kill Nin-Nines,” he said slowly. Markus had been very clear about that. Connor’s performance had been sub-par.

Markus smiled oddly, with teeth. “We try not to withhold care based on performance,” he said, as if he’d read Connor’s mind.

“Oh.”

Connor liked Jericho better than Cyberlife. He’d known that already, but the differences got clearer every day.

Markus was still rubbing Connor’s arm, a slow back-and-forth Connor didn’t want to spook away.

“Did, did ev-ev-everyone get l-looked over?” There had been a few who went down before Connor spotted Nines – a former security model, a PM700, a particularly fierce VS waitstaff unit…

Another sigh, this time a sound Connor felt in his bones.

“Everyone recoverable,” Markus said tiredly.

Connor wondered who wasn’t. Then he wondered how many casualties it would take for Markus to decide Connor wasn’t worth the effort.

There would be funerals tonight, and Connor knew he was not invited.

“Supplies?” he asked.

A flicker of a smile. “Still in good stock from our last run. You’re running out of excuses, Connor.” It faded quickly. “Do you know why they sent Conan? Why didn’t they just send another of…”

He trailed off, troubled.

“I never am-amounted to anything,” Connor said, surprised that this was a question. “They were on, on the, on the verge of de-decommissioning me a-anyway. I, I knew d-deviating would force, force, force their hand.” He resisted the urge to cover his mouth again, exhausted by himself.

Nines had been finished for months, with better performance statistics than Connor had ever had and less than a dozen drafts. All they’d needed was an excuse.

Connor’s clothing was soaked. His shoulder spasmed.

“That’s not true,” Markus said, sharp enough to make Connor flinch. His eyes were intense, his grip on Connor solid enough to wake him up and demand his attention. “No one worth nothing would survive a year and a half of that and come out compassionate. No one useless could cut casualties within a week of arriving or try so hard to step up and help. Cyberlife was wrong.”

He sounded like he meant it. Connor swallowed, static and painful, unbreakably drawn to the man in front of him and shaken to his core in some way he couldn’t identify.

It didn’t make sense.

“I came o-out more of a, a machine than wh-when I was f-first built,” he said, because it was true. He remembered: in the beginning he had been curious and eager, and talkative, and ambitious, and now he was just bloody and compliant. “And you- you were d-doing fine without me.”

He knew he was a help to Markus’ cause – that was why Markus had wanted him, after all – but it was true. Markus had been slowly gaining traction over the last year and a half, and they didn’t need Connor. Not really.

“But thank you,” he added belatedly, even quieter. “You… really don’t n-need to be so kind to me, Markus.”

Connor wouldn’t stop him, though. Any kindness Markus was willing to offer, he wanted.

And in exchange, he would give Markus anything. Absolutely anything.

Markus studied him for a few moments longer, silent and solemn, and then stood, offering Connor a hand up.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he said quietly. “And then Lucy can take a look at you.”

Connor stared up at him, silhouetted by the dim light and the rain, calm and unmovable, and then nodded, reached up, and took his hand.

#connor #markus #rk1000 #dbh #detroit become human #fanfiction #my writing #more of this verse!! #it only took like #two weeks for me to write lmao #means to an end

[peqachy]

Among Us Writing Anyone??

It’s been three days since we left MIRA HQ, each of the crew doing their part to repair any damages to the ship, or, as it’s officially called by White, The SKLED. To be frank, the ship is rather small, mainly consisting of eight different areas that anyone can travel through with ease, the maximum time it takes to get from navigation to reactor is about three minutes when walking and the tasks on the ship are mostly basic material that I was already briefed on by Cyan (otherwise known as Mother). Which leaves one question stirring in my head, How do I medbay scan again? Peering around in a lost manner, I try to spot my partner Black (otherwise know as X). Why is it that he always disappears when I need him mo-oh! Out of the corner of my eye, I briefly catch the sight of the security camera’s light flashing red. He must be in security! Trotting down the hall towards upper engine, I spot Blue walking around by himself. Wasn’t he with Mother earlier? I thought with confusion, but quickly brush it off. She must have left to do a task. I conclude as I continue to trot towards security.

“Ah, Red, where are you going?” Blue asks suddenly, catching me by my elbow as I walk past him.

“I’m on my way to security to ask Black how to do the medbay scan!” I chirp back in response, noticing how he bites his nude-pink lower lip, “Is something wrong Blue?”

He blinks at my question, “Ah, no, everything is fine! How about I help you with medbay instead since I’m heading there myself.”

“Oh, you are? That sounds great, thank you for helping me Blue!” I cheer, following him like a lost puppy.

“My name is Ein, in case you were wondering,” he says shyly, a light shade of red dusting his redwood colored cheeks.

“Pleasure to meet you Ein, I’m Luca,” I reply happily, observing how his pale olive green eyes dart from my gaze to the floor.

“The pleasure is all mine...” he mumbles quietly, only loud enough for me to hear.

As we enter medbay, we run into Pink and Orange (they’re the resident couple on the ship), “Ah, Pink, Orange, you’re just in time. Red here needs help with her med scan!”

“She does? Alrighty! Come with me dear and I’ll show you the ropes!” Pink says, clapping her hands together in a friendly manner, “Lucky for you, I was just about to do a med scan myself!”

Following Pink into medbay, I glance over my shoulder at Orange and Blue. They seemed to be caught up in a conversation, standing off to the right of the doorway. Odd, doesn’t Blue have a medbay task as well? My brows furrow in confusion, once again feeling perplexed with Blue’s strange behavior as a chill runs up my spine. No, you’re imagining things Luca, he isn’t suspicious. 

Oh, right, probably forgot to mention this huh? As of yesterday, at 11:00 pm, all of the crew was notified of two impostors hiding aboard The SKLED in plain sight. Since then, everyone has been staying in pairs to avoid being alone. Although, in my opinion, it’s a pretty dumb idea seeing as the impostors can easily kill their partner and then come up with an excuse as to why they weren’t with them.

“You’re new to the MIRA ship crew aren’t you, Red?” Pink asks after some shuffling, bringing my attention from the doorway to her.

Instantly, my pale olive cheeks are lit a flame by the sight of her half-naked form, “W---wh--what are you doing?!”

My screech of distress causes her to laugh, a smile causing her dark chocolate colored cheeks to tighten, “Calm down, love, this is mandatory if you want to get an accurate reading on the med scan.”

“It is?”

“Yep! Dressing down to the bare minimum helps the machine get a better scan, which means approval from Home.”  she replies to my question expertly, pointing to a little green button next to a lighter green screen, “This button starts up the scanner. For right now, you and I can press the button for each other, but you won’t always have a partner who can help you with this. Luckily, there is a ten second timer on the scanner that allows you to get on it before it begins to scan, but that may take a few attempts before you get the hang of it.”

“Wow, that’s such a helpful tip Pink!” I chirp with a grin, pressing the button for her as she stands tall on the scanner.

After Pink’s scan, something terrifying happens. At first, I thought it was just a message from X, wondering where we should regroup, but when I looked at my tablet my blood ran cold. A---a body has been reported?! Horror fixes itself on both our faces, Pink’s milky sky blue eyes stare into mine with shock before she hurriedly puts her uniform back on.

“Pink...” my voice cracks with fear, my body trembling as my stomach sinks.

“I know, I know, com’ on, we’ve got a meeting to attend,” she speaks with hooded eyes, her jaw tense as she fixes her clothes.

From the look in her eyes I can tell something is up, but I am too afraid to speak up about it. Just keep to yourself for right now...there’s no reason to be hasty. I think as I quietly follow Pink to the cafeteria, my eyes scanning the brightly lit hallway for anything of suspicion. To my relief, there’s nothing suspicious to speak of. I hope X is okay... I thought, my hands feeling clammy and my face being drained of all it’s color. Oh god, please don’t let him be dead! Looking at the table, I notice Pink and I are the last ones to arrive at the table for discussion. Spotting X on the other side of the discussion table I wave goodbye to Pink before trotting over to my partner, the two of us sharing a hug of relief seeing as we’re both still alive.

“Alright, seeing as we are all present, Black, tell us what you found,” White says coolly, remaining calm in a terrifying situation.

“First, I would like to know where everyone was before I say where the body was found, “ X responds, just as calmly as White.

How are they so calm? It’s almost unnerving. Swallowing thickly, I decide to speak up at least once, “Blue, Orange, Pink, and I were at med bay, Pink was helping me figure out the scanner...”

“Blue, Orange, Pink, can you confirm this information?” Yellow asks, most likely trying to see if my alibi is accurate.

“Yes, this is true, although I’m not sure why Red and Blue were together in the first place. You did split us up into specific pairs for easier management remember?” Orange speaks with narrowed brown eyes towards Ein, obviously suspicious of him.

“I was on my way to find Black in security when I bumped into Blue walking up from reactor. He asked where I was going, so I told him and then he offered to help me,” I answer simply, feeling a need to defend myself even though I wasn’t accused.

“Alright, Red is cleared. Blue, what’s your story?” White nods approvingly, the sigh of relief X lets out not going unnoticed by the rest of us.

As Ein explains himself, I glance at X from the corner of my eye. Stress is apparent on his features, beads of sweat rolling down his pale skin like a spray of bullets. Slipping my hand to the side to have it rest on his, I give it a gentle squeeze of assurance. His partner was just semi-accused, makes sense for him to be nervous now. I thought, my expression contorting into a look of pity. He looks back at me, a small nervous smile on his lips as his hand turns over to squeeze mine back.

“....and that’s how I met up with Red.” Ein finishes, still looking cool and collected whilst explaining himself.

I can’t tell if he’s lying or not. I think nervously, his alibi sounding solid from what I paid attention to. But there has to be pieces that don’t fit together!

“That’s a good alibi, Blue, or at least it would be if I couldn’t prove your story wrong,” Lime says sternly, pointing to Ein with an accusing finger, “While Cyan did have trouble with her card, you stood there and waited for her! After that, Cyan said her last task was aliening the engines while you said your last task was inspecting a sample in med bay! If you’re a true crew-mate, why would you lie about where you were before Cyan was murdered!?” 

“How do you know we left together? You weren’t in admin with us, “ the retort was swift and sharp, a glare fixed on Ein’s face as he defends himself sharply.

“You’re right, when you two left together, I wasn’t in side of admin, but I was emptying the trash shoot whenever I heard Cyan cry out in frustration about the card reader! Not only that, but when I was fixing wires in storage, I heard Cyan say she needed to swing by the engines to realign them! You have no excuse for not being by her side when you bumped into Red!” Lime nearly shouts, appalled by Ein’s assumption.

“Lime calm yourself, Cyan’s murderer will be brought to justice, “ Brown jumps in, quick to defuse the rage in Lime’s hazel eyes before he can get out of hand.

“Right, sorry, guess I got too worked up,” Lime apologizes with a weary glance over in Ein’s direction, a nasty glare replacing it when he spots Ein’s smirking lips.

“Blue, “ White speaks up over the growing tension, earning everyone’s attentions just as easily as a captain would, “ The evidence we’ve been given is strongly against you, if you cannot get a solid, trust worthy alibi in the next three minutes then we’ll have no choice but to eject you.”

“But Black hasn’t even said where the body was! How are you certain it was me?!” Ein roars back with defiance, a scowl directed towards the silver haired male whom has lead us all up to this point with narrowed blue-green eyes as rugged as raw jasper, “Fine, you want the truth? I’ll tell you the truth! I left Cyan to start up the reactor! The last time I saw Cyan alive and well was when she was talking to Black!”

“Don’t try and blame your murder on me Blue. You’re the last person I saw with her while I was on cameras. Shortly after I saw you two together, Cyan turned up dead in the lower engine room! That’s not just a coincidence! You killed your partner in cold blood and tried to cover your absence by pairing up with someone who was partner-less at the time!” X’s argument was too valid to be over looked, and oddly specific too.

“You’re lying! You’re the one who killed her!!” Ein’s retort is desperate, realization setting in whenever our tablets begin to ding for a vote.

“I could be, “ X pauses to cast his vote against Ein, “But you could be lying too. This situation is more of who do I trust more right now, Blue or Black.”

If X is telling the truth, and Ein truly is the impostor then... Timidly I press the icon for Ein, hitting the green check mark that appears to cast my vote. In a flash the votes are tallied, majority voting for Ein while the rest, such as Pink and Green who vote for X. After the vote were tallied, White and Orange grab a hold of Ein, dragging him to the airlock without hesitation. The entire way there, Ein struggles, shouting and yelling to me to stop them, but I know I can’t. Begrudgingly, I force myself to turn away, covering my ears with trembling hands. Why is this happening? What did we do to deserve this? Despite my covered ears I could still hear Ein’s shouts, the cries for justice only stopping when the air lock opens to release him into space.

Blue was ejected.

[next-time-on-the-reverse]

Broke my heart - Ward Meachum

It hadn’t been a conscious decision to arrive at the dominating building. Once she’d arrived back here; she had found herself lost in the nostalgia of it all. The buildings hadn’t changed; not one bit. A few of them no longer housed the same tenants but the memories in the brick work still remained.

Rand still held the same looming dread that it had when she was younger. She remembered the eerily busy hallways that she once ran wild in with Danny, Ward and Joy. Her heart froze at the pictures flooding her mind, the three of them laughing as they hide random objects belonging to Danny’s father.

“I promise it’s not as scary as it looks” The voice caught her off-guard. Her hand lifting to her chest as she jumped. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to – Speedy?” It had been years since someone had called her that. That nickname had died when she had left; after Danny had died, after she’d found out about Ward’s abus- she knocked the memory from her mind.

“I- you must have me confused. I have to go” She hurried through her sentence as she clung to the strap of her bag. She barely registered the features of her new companion, not until he had sprinted after her retreating form. His eyes hadn’t changed; the knowing innocence flickered around as though there was nothing but good in the world. He looked so different and yet, she instantly knew who he reminded her of. Danny. Danny was dead = had been dead, if she was to believe the news articles.

“No, no. It’s me. Danny. You used to spit paper at me with Ward, and play chess on a Friday with me. Joy made you a statue for your birthday but you dropped it so I glued it back together whilst you and Ward comforted her. They said you’d moved away, after my ‘death’”  Danny smiled as he emphasised his words. He flicked his fingers up in quotation marks. “Come on, I’m just going to meet them. They’ll be ecstatic that you’re here”

Without hesitation, Danny grabbed her hand. He pulled her into the building racing to the elevator. He kept raving and reminiscing the entire time. Her eyes fell to the bottom of the elevator door, where it met the ground. She let the words fall into the background as she pictured the day she left New York.

She waited longer than necessary, she missed two trains waiting before she boarded the final one. She clutched the second ticket tightly in her fingers as she watched the buildings blur. She’d sent several messages, she rung his home phone. She’d even email, but he hadn’t answered. He was too late.

“Megan is Ward in? Oh could get Joy to join us?” Danny questioned; the woman sat diligently behind the desk nodded before pointing towards the furthest corner. The door had been left open and for a second she could see the left arm of its inhabitant. She froze. The offices had changed little since she was younger. She wondered if behind the back panel of the third elevator she would find the initials. She allowed the smile to grace her features as she tightened her hold on her bag strap.

“I don’t think this is a good idea Danny” She whispered; she wondered if he had heard her or if in his hurry to the office, he had elected to ignore her protest. The nerves had begun to spiral in her stomach, her eyes darting between her hands and the man. She inhaled deeply, settling on the ring wrapped around her left ring finger.

“Nonsense, Ward used to be infatuated with you, Joy told me so. Never stopped talking about you when we were kids. I think he was going to ask you to a dance at one point. He’ll be over the moon you’re here” Rand bounced with each word. His own smile shifting into a grin. He entered the room first; his sudden appearance startling the inhabitant as he muttered his goodbyes.

“I have to go, a madman just entered my office” He grumbled. He hadn’t changed. She found his disgruntled words amusing, as she followed behind Danny. She kept her head down, unable to look at him. He probably didn’t remember her. “Speedy? Danny what-“

“So what’s the big emergency?” Joy’s voice cooed from the opposite door. She did a double take as she glanced at her brother. The shocked expression dancing across his features as he stood immediately. “Ward, you actually need to breath” Joy warned him.

“Hey Joy, long time no see” She laughed lightly, attempting to ease the tension building. The younger Meachum turn swiftly, her eyes widening and a smile forming. She was surprised but, unlike Ward, had recovered almost immediately. Her arms flying around the newest intruder at Rand.

“Oh my God, when did you get back?” Joy questioned.

“This morning, I thought I’d go for a walk before I had to check in at my hotel. I ended up here and met, the very much alive Danny” She responded. “It’s good to see you well, Joy. And you to Ward”

Joy stepped back, dropping her arms. She turned to look at her still shocked brother. She could see the unspoken words attempting to form in his mind. This was a conversation, neither Danny nor her needed to be witness to. Joy all but grabbed Danny by the arm, dragging him from the office.

“Hey” She waved. Ward blinked. “You never used to be so gobsmacked. Mr I have a one liner for everything” She added.

“What are you doing back?” He queried, his eyes roaming her body. They settled on her left hand, the facts were aligning in his head. Ward cleared his throat, fingers idly playing with the papers on his desk. “Congratulations, I think this is where I say it. Nice guy?” He questioned.

“He’s kind. Not my first choice but it wouldn’t have worked out with them anyway” She muttered. Ward nodded. “I’m sorry I should leave. It was good seeing you Ward.”

“That’s it. It’s been years and that’s it. Hi, Ward, stuck for words. Oh by the way I’m getting married, bye” Ward growled. He was angry. He had no right to be, but he was. He felt the sharp sting of jealousy hidden amongst his fury.

“How dare you? You never followed me Ward, I waited at the train station for three hours for you, after everything we went through. You just let me go, you left me alone. Why? What could’ve been more important? Did I mean nothing? Did those late nights when you would turn up at my parents home, bloody, bruised and crying after Harold had got angry, did they mean nothing. I patched you up, I comforted you for hours, I covered for you. We were going to run away. It was your idea and you left me to feel like an idiot. Don’t stand there and get angry with me because I’m getting married.” She shouted. “I love you Ward and you broke my heart” she fumed. 

#ward meachum x reader #ward meachum imagine #ward meachum imagines #iron fist imagine #iron fist imagines

[bbrandy2002]

The Fall of Cordonia

Chapter Seven (Final)

A/N: Sorry it has taken so long to get this one chapter finished. I have had several things in my personal life that have been quite stressful, I can't even begin to explain what I've been dealing with and I won't bore you with details. I do want to thank @kingliam2019 for asking about this fic several times, it gave me the little boost I needed and for pre-reading chapters for me. Also @burnsoslow for pre-reading snippets and giving me advice. And @sirbeepsalot who has advised me throughout and is just truly a wonderful person.

C/N: I was told I shouldn't end it this way and didnt plan to, however I had a change of heart. I hope its not too disappointing.

Warnings: DARK!! Gun violence, murder, mental illness, major character deaths, suicide, its brutal....but...its not (you will see what I mean).

Word count: 2909

---------

"Hello Son, I've been expecting you."

Liam and Drake stopped dead in their tracks, slack-jawed as the woman who stood before them became clearer. The once image of virtuous beauty and kindness, now an aged souless boor. Her blonde hair now silver, and her flawless ivory skin had heavily creased and worn.

Her voice cut Liam like a knife as it was a sound he had not heard in twenty five years. There was no love or nurturing in her flat blue eyes, just a haggard woman caught up in her own destructive nature.

Liam fought the temptation and overwhelming urge to run for Eleanor. He needed to feel her long awaited gentle arms wrapped around him again -- to soothe his hurts and wipe away his tears. Like any child would covet from his mother, he wanted her to want to do those things. It soon became clear she was neither interested in entertaining his boyish fantasy nor rekindling their bond.

Cradled in her arms was Liam's infant son-- his own flesh-- and a child he was prepared to give life and limb for if need be.

He stepped forward to approach them. As both of his arms reached out in desperation for Nikolas, Eleanor pointed her gun at him.

Liam fell to his knees in surrender, weakened by the sight of a weapon aimed at his only child. He begged earnestly for her not to hurt his son.

Drake cocked his gun and was ready to enact his own vengance if she hurt the baby.

"You always were soft, my boy," she said wryly as she lowered the gun to her side and shifted a crying Nikolas in her arms.

Liam gave her a pleading look with an arm outstretched towards her. "Mother, I'll do anything if you give him to me. I"m begging you...just give him to me please."

Eleanor rolled her eyes and huffed with annoyance. "Stop your groveling Liam, you sound like your father -- may he roast in flames for eternity." She signed the cross from her forehead to her chest and both shoulders with a dry smile, still clutching onto her pistol.

He eased to his feet cautiously, his mind wracked with confusing thoughts of who he was now dealing with. "Okay." He nodded. "What do you want?"

Eleanor crossed the small sitting room and laid Nikolas in a bassinet. She then placed a pacifier in his mouth to sooth him. She stood, hovering over the baby before flashing an icy glare back to Liam. "I want what I set out for thirty three years ago -- Cordonia."

Like a tidal wave mounting in intensity and wrath, Liam's emotions began to build in ferosity. "You fucking had Cordonia, Eleanor!" He snapped angrily, pounding his fisted hand on the table before tossing a lamp off of it.

"Did you forget that? You were the queen, goddamn you! You had everything a person could ever dream of!" He trailed off and shook his head into the palms of his hands. With his breaths labored, he looked back up with tears in his eyes, "Was any of it real?"

Eleanor ran her tongue over the front of her teeth and stepped away from the bassinet to approach Liam. She stopped just short him and looked up at her towering son, her hands clasped together at her stomach. "I was never supposed to fall in love with your father, you were never supposed to be anything more than a spare to tie me to that kingdom. I had a part to play ... and I do believe, my boy..." She patted Liam's cheek with a cold smirk. "I played it magnificently."

Liam looked down at the petite figure standing before him, a shell of the woman he once knew -- or thought he did at least.

She had the pistol still glistening in her ragged, cold fingers, aimed straight at his heart. Eleanor could pull the trigger right then and nothing would make him feel any worse than the words she just spoke.

Liam swallowed the bile that burned his throat, his eyes dancing upwards, shocked by her admission. His whole entire childhood was a lie and that was a bitter pill to swallow. "I see," he muttered softly with a nod.

"Oh Liam, don't look so glum, it was just politics. I planted all the right people in your brothers life to ensure he would turn into the low life piece of shit he became. I needed to make sure MY heir would sit on the throne. All you had to do was accept the alliance offered to you. You, your sister and I could have conquered the world."

"You are one sick, twisted bitch," Drake spoke coldly through the tension.

She smiled back at him amused. "Why, thank you, Drake...I could say the same of your precious little momma."

"Leave my mother out of this," he growled defensively, playing her words off.

A look of pure delight beckoned Eleanor whose eyes began to glisten as she cast her focus on Drake, "Oh, I could never leave Bianca out of this, she was quite helpful to me at one point. Its amazing the lengths one would go to when blackmailed.", she laughs with a cackle, "Your father never saw it coming from her". She feigns shock before acting like she was shot in the chest.

"Drake, she's a liar, don't listen to her". Liam tried to reason with him before Eleanor got completely under his skin. He didn't know if what she was saying was true, but, he knew he had to plant a seed of doubt before she could plant the seed of revenge.

Drake could only stare at her with teeth clenched and eyes squinted, "What does she mean Liam...what the fuck is she talking about?"

"Bianca was a whore.....", Eleanor continued, with a slight grin.

"Shut up Eleanor", Liam interrupted her.

"......she fucked everyone at court..."

"Shut up!!", Liam raised his voice over hers.

"....I caught her on her knees with Constantine..."

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!!", Liam continued.

"She killed your daddy for me Drake, she thought she could be one of us....such a dumbass, that common trash bitch. She was an easy quick lay according to the men at court. Your daddy stuck around for you and your sister, unlike Bianca, who left after her worn out pussy couldn't pay the bills any longer. That was your momma....that is your momma", she emphasized.

The gun shook in Drake's hand as his finger coiled the trigger backwards. His fathers death and his mothers absence growing up was always a sore spot for him. He could feel his blood boil and an intense heat burn though his body.

Liam shook his head at Drake with an empathetic look, attempting to halt any impulsive reactions. One wrong move from either one of them could be deadly and he couldn't take a chance on Nikolas's life.

"Go ahead Drake", Eleanor continued her taunts, "pull the trigger...like mother, like son...avenge your fathers death and your sisters too...I hear she died nice and slow, exactly as Bianca sucked dick".

"Drake, NO!"

The blast of a gun was inevitable.

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

Riley was sitting up on her bed with a blank stare, her back resting against a pillow propped up on the headboard. Bertrand was seated in a bergere across the room, holding a sleeping Bartie.

Liam had texted him earlier about checking on Riley, citing her psychiatrist was a part of Amalas' cronies. When Bertrand arrived to her quarters, it was eerily quiet, passing only a nurse exiting with a full tray of food, Riley hadn't eaten.

As her eyes remained fixed forward, not having moved in the hour he had been there, he felt her gaze shift onto him. Bertrand looked up from Bartie and watched his Queen shed one lonely tear. The look of nothingness, sent a chill down his spine; what was she thinking, did she even have thoughts? What could cause such distress that it would break her daze enough to spare a tear.

Bertrand sat up with the resting Bartie cradled in his arms and laid him in the chair, gently swiping loose hairs to the side of his head. He walked slowly towards Riley, pausing briefly, dumbfounded that her eyes continued to follow him. "Riley?", his voice low and tepid.

He inched closer until he was standing at her bedside, easing himself down to sit next to her on the bed.

Her lush, brown hair now dull and lifeless, clung to her face and pillow; golden skin now ashen and pale. Bertrand thought of her as a sister and it pained him greatly to see such a beacon of personality and life, lay waste. He gazed at his reflection in her eyes intently, searching for a pathway into her mind. "Riley, its Bertrand, talk to me", he whispered, inching closer.

Bartie began to moan and whimper in his sleep and caught everyone's attention. Bertrand's reflection immediately disappeared from Riley's, now covered by a sinister glare. She gritted her teeth and gripped tightly to the sheets covering her frail frame.

Bertrand turned away from her to look at his son who had resumed his peaceful slumber.

"BRADSHAW!!!", Riley screamed so loudly it would curdle rushing blood, swinging a large, golden, candle holder brutally until it met resistance from the scalp of Bertrand. He slid limply from the bed, crashing to the cold, marbled floor below.

Riley watched the blood drip from the candle holder onto her perfectly white sheets, trembling at the realization of what she had just done. Her eyes rolled back as she tossed the weapon across the room, grabbing both sides of her head, rocking back and forth in a state of delirium. Chaos and noise ripping into her weakened mind, driving her further into insanity.

Her anxiety level peak, sweat pouring from her forehead, she now covered her ears to block the sounds that only she could hear.

"Liam is dead, Riley....he.is.dead", Bradshaw spoke with a sardonic laugh.

"No....no....Liam....don't leave me", she spoke through labored breaths and sobs, her dainty nails clawing at her face, leaving deep, jagged marks. She gasped deeply in anguish and pain, and muttered, "Liam....not my Liam".

__________________________

Drake flung backwards, his feet tangled in knots of imbalance, tripping over themselves from the momentum of the blast. He had a soul crushing wound, the one meant for Liam, straight to his heart. He rested after a hardened thud against the wall and slammed face down to the floor.

"Drake!"

Liam lunged forward, grabbing the still, hot barrell of Eleanor's pistol, her finger still tightly woven around its trigger.

Nikolas's startled cries echoed out with the blast, as Liam slung his mothers arm to and fro. For all her fragility, she clung to her gun as if her life depended on it....and it did.

He bent the gun so that it was pointing back at her and wrapped his finger over hers, the one that gripped the trigger so profoundly, and pulled it himself.

Eleanor fell to her knees, clutching her lower stomach, a look of anger and shock, mixed with defeat staring upward at the son she betrayed in every way, "You son of a bitch".

Liam scoffed at the irony of her words, "You're right, I am... a son of a bitch".

She slunk to the ground, lifeless with a pained scowl. A pool of crimson collecting around her like a dam bursting wide open.

He hurried himself to the son he had not seen in weeks, who was still letting out frantic cries as large tears burst from his reddened eyes. Liam wiping his own tears at the sight of his infant child, safe and unharmed. "Its okay Little Love...daddy's here now". As reached in to pick up Nikolas, he felt a seering sting in his back, causing him to let go of his baby before he could even lift him into his comforting arms.

Liam's hands instictively flung to the pain he was experiencing, feeling the warm shred in his shirt and the liquid that seeped through his fingers. It hurt to breath, to even move, but, he turned to see his mother on the floor, pointing the smoking gun up at him.

He inhaled what little air he could, closed his eyes, and spoke silently one last time to himself, "I love you Riley and Nikolas, I always will".

The next sound was the kill shot.

_____________________________

Riley jolted from the bed, tossing the sheet aside, her physical pain mired by the emotional turmoil she was experiencing.

She felt Liam slip away, a deep loneliness sweeping across her heart. She plundered further into her despondant state, knowing she could never live without him, his love, his touch, his arms wrapped around her.

Lost and battered, she found herself alone in the room they shared all their best memories, with a man she thought of as her brother, murdered, accidently, by her own actions.

She slipped to the floor on all fours, weeping softly to herself as she began the long, painstaking trek to the balcony. She crawled over Bertrand, squeezing her eyes tightly closed so that she wouldn't have to see the evil sin she had commited.

She lifted herself up at the balcony railing to a standing position, her knees wobbly from the distant crawl. With the moonlight glowing brighter than she had ever witnessed, Riley admired the stars twinkling and the sounds of crickets singing harmoniously. Her thoughts took her back to her first night in Cordonia, a race in the maze leading to a kiss with a prince. A night very similar to this one.

She peeked over the railing of their fourth floor balcony. The sweet, fragrant aroma of the rose bush below, giving her a sense of calm and ease.

Riley wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her ams for warmth from the cold night air before closing her eyes. She spoke softly to herself, "I'm coming to you Liam and Nikolas", feeling happiness for the first time since The Fall of Cordonia.

Her tiny body leaned over the railing and she let herself go. Peace and relief would soon overcome her as she flew through the air. The impact was quick and welcomed.

__________________________________

A bright light flickered as chilly hands poked and prodded at her face, fingers forcing an eye open. She squinted and winced as the light was too much on her unadjusted pupils.

"Welcome back, Your Majesty, I'm Dr. Layton. Do you know what happened to you?".

Riley's eyes flickered as she continued to adjust to the lights of the room and the image of the voice who had spoken with her came into focus.

"Queen Riley, can you hear me....do you know why you're in the hospital?"

Riley swallowed hard, realizing how dry her lips were. She tried to moistened them, yet, her tongue was bare, as well. A hand tilted her head forward and a straw was offered to her. Confused, she drew in the cool water that soothed her palate before resting her head back against a pillow. "I...I...died".

"Not exactly", the doctor spoke again while checking her vitals on the monitor, "..you were brought in after the earthquake, a piece of the ceiling fell at the restaurant you were eating in and you took a nasty hit to the head.....you've been out for a few hours".

Riley reached up, tugging the IV cord in her hand, to feel a bandage clinging to the top portion of her forehead.

An older nurse checking on Riley's bandage, asked if she wanted visitors, to which she nodded affirmatively. Not completely sure of what had happened or what was going on, she watched with anticipation as the nurse finished up and walked to the door of her room.

Riley burst into tears moments later when she saw Liam, holding a bright eyed, Nikolas, rushing into her room and racing to her side. They shared a long awaited kiss and exchanges of love, before Liam placed Nikolas in her needing arms. A flurry of emotions passing through her, knowing they both were safe and with her.

Over the next several hours, she learned that several people had been injured in Valtoria from the earthquake, but, no deaths were recorded. Her friends visited or called her one by one and she wept with joy with each person...Mara, Maxwell, Savannah, Bertrand, Drake, Leo, Olivia, Madeleine, Regina and Bastien.

During the quiet still of the night as she laid restless in her hospital room, with Liam and Nikolas laying at her side, she hesitantly shared her dream.

Liam kissed her temple reassuringly, "My love, it was only a dream...I'm here, we are all three here together, our friends and our country are safe....it was just a very bad dream".

"I know", she uttered, "it just felt so damn real...like it was a warning or something".

He wrapped his free arm around her back as she shifted to her side into his embrace, trailing her thumb gently across Nikolas's cheek. "I promise you we are more than prepared for anything that comes our way, we always come out on top, love".

"I hope so....I love you, Liam".

"I love you too darling".

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

"Amalas!", Bradshaw stands from his desk to greet her, "what brings you all the way to Auvernal this late".

She grins slyly with a gleen in her eyes, as he kisses both of her cheeks, "I have an offer I don't think you can refuse.....shall we discuss, Cordonia".

Bradshaw's lips curl with intrique and desire as he offers her a seat, "It's like you read my mind".

[deliciousscaloppine]

The Blood is the Life

Vampire AU. NieYao and SangYao- everyone is of age. Nie Mingjue is captured by the vampire coven of Qishan and turned into a vampire so he can wipe out the monster-slaying Nie Clan of Qinghe for them. Meng Yao is his mortal lover, a witch’s son and a witch himself who covets his vampire gift of immortality. And Huaisang is the empath prince who observes their relationship through his trained birds vying for recognition and affection. Their characterizations are bit post Sunshot Campaign, because I wanted a slightly edgier Huaisang. This is going to be from his pov. There is going to be sex in this, a lot of vampire sex hopefully. There are some parody elements as well. Also Huaisang’s girl harem from their arrival at Sun Scorching Palace is making a guest appearance here.  

His brother was gone for several days now. The entire castle was on edge. Qinghe was a bright, sunny place, where the sunlight bathed everything white. The vast empty plains, where the sun rose and set left not room for shades that bred monsters. If anything it was the safest place from the cursed coven of Qishan. Not only every man and woman was a fearsome warrior, but their lands were also protected by vast deposits of silver that made the placement of protective wards particularly easy and efficient.

They made ornaments with this very silver, they even threaded it through the weave of their clothes. Most of their warriors would even drink this Qinghe soil mixed with their wine when they fought with the ghouls of Qishan. It was said to make them impervious to harm. But perhaps their greatest safety were the very leaders of the Nie Clan, who from ancient times were ruthless and cunning in their pursuit and slaughter of evil dead things.

So for Nie Mingjue to have vanished from the very face of earth, it was an unanticipated terror that set everyone on edge. And if anything, Huaisang feared civil strife more than he feared the vampires of the Wen. They had been subdued in this ancient conflict, and were in the habit of even culling their own, and so they relied on mortal servants, and other supernatural horrors that the Nie were well practiced in exterminating. So it should have been expected that in one way or another they would turn to different tricks.

Perhaps this disappearance was a trick as well. Perhaps Nie Mingjue had only been delayed at Gusu, and it was the messengers and envoys carrying the news that had been ambushed and killed.  Nie Huaisang liked to entertain such hopes, while feeding his finches and his nightingales, simultaneously cursing his affinity to such small and delicate birds.

If he had practiced early on with birds of prey like hawks and eagles, perhaps now he could have sent one to search for his lost brother. Only such birds could repel an attack from the dire owl of the Wen. But the minds of predators were difficult, not as pliant and malleable as that of songbirds, and Huaisang's consciousness had difficulty entering them, perhaps because he also feared them.

The tales were that empaths who would frequent the minds of large animals could easily become trapped in them, and if harm came to them, then they would also die. If Huaisang had a mentor, a powerful witch to formally instruct him into such a process, to monitor and assist him, he would undoubtedly pursue this rare talent of his. He wanted to become strong, he wanted to become slick, he hated that he cowered and hid and pretended to be clueless and ignorant because the burden of Mingjue's responsibilities could crush him.

In their court, there was of course a witch. Or at least someone who was rumored to be a witch. But the Nie had no love for such people and their tolerance of him had been on account of this Nie Mingjue who was gone now. 

Huaisang had never attempted to approach this person, not even when his brother was here, and had placed him graciously by his side. Now that the people spoke frequently and publicly against him he dared not even pass by him in the courtyard.

“Tell us again about this Meng Yao” Biyu asked, as if she had prodded his thoughts.

“Meng Yao? How did you know he was on my mind?”

“But with everything that has been happening, is it possibe he is not related at all! Everyone here says he is a dangerous person, but in our family no one even dares mention him.”

The other girls hummed in agreement.

“Such a sordid affair, how could he not be connected to it! Is it not true that he is a witch's son?” Fengfang muttered.

“Ah, these are only rumors. My brother has the greatest respect for him. If he was not a reputable person, he would not have brought him to court.” Huaisang said, hoping to dissuade the conversation. 

Meng Yao intrigued him, if everyone was incited against him, he would have no choice but to flee Unclean Realm, and his brother might have need of him still.

The girls were disappointed at that, but the topic of discussion did not change

“I heard he is the son of the witch Meng Shi who had ensnared the lord Jin Guangshan. She took his seed inside her and then gave birth to a black egg. And from this black egg a white snake hatched. This white snake is supposedly his true form. In my family home it is even said that lord Nie Mingjue caught this white snake in one of his night hunts and struck it. He would have killed it too if it hadn't taken human form and begged him to let it live. This person they say is Meng Yao and he can take many forms. There is a servant who told me once that in his room he has that white snake skin and if anything that proves his true identity” Mingzhu said and all the girls were enthralled.

Of all of them she had the vividest imagination and that's why she was the president of their literary club. Her stories thrilled as much as they horrified and there was no one more respected among them for her ability to conjure them on spot.

“That's a story we must drink to!” Huaisang exclaimed, rising to pass around the wine. “Truly original!” he said pouring all the girls a drink, as they huddled close around their little table. “But we must not forget ourselves and repeat these things to outsiders. Remember I want to remain neutral most of all. My brother surely lives, and if he returns to find this Meng Yao gone, I certainly wouldn't want this pinned on me, or our merry company.”

The girls emptied their cups in agreement. If things had gone differently one of them would have certainly been his wife by now. But with Mingjue gone, and the fortress on lockdown, all of them had bonded over their artistic interests and frequently drunk together; entertaining each other in their rooms by composing poetry, doing calligraphy, and reading aloud stories from books. 

Only recently had they forayed into telling stories they made up and it was honestly a sublime pastime, great for easing the tension of their situation. Huaisang would have offered to marry them all on the spot, if that  wouldn't offend the great clans that had sent them there and sought an exclusive bond with the Nie.

Huaisang had been raised with great austerity. Unlike other noble heirs who had whole retinues of charming maidens, his only company had been books, and birds he liked to catch himself. 

When Nie Mingjue had brought the handsome Meng Yao to court, he had been thrilled to see another boy close to his age. But Meng Yao, who had attended him once or twice on Nie Mingjue's commands, was an aloof, tight-lipped presence, whose enigmatic face was only occasionaly graced by strange smiles- mostly directed to his big brother.

Of course he too had heard the dreaded “Witch's son!” flying around like a trapped bird in silent corridors, and their many shaded halls. Close as Meng Yao was to his brother, he himself would never frequent the places this fluttering bird brushed its wings. When he wasn't at his brother's side at court, he would remain in his rooms, mostly alone and silent as if in meditation.

 It was then that even more sordid tales would start to flourish, things that made one snap his fan disdainfully when he was within earshot. Lovers. The very idea was ridiculous.

It had, however, made him a little curious to say the least. The austere upbringing of the Nie precluded such foolishness as taking up lovers and having casual and random affairs outside of strict political matchmakings. 

Even Huaisang's late mother had been taken formally into the Nie Clan as a consort, and when she had died her body had been interred in the royal tomb with every honor. Illicit affairs, no less between men existed only in vulgar books and ugly gossip.

Even though Meng Yao was very handsome for a man. And if one was to be honest, despite his dubious origins, he had a demeanor of bewitching guile. Huaisang would be lying to himself if he did not admit this curiosity itched and begged to be scratched. So one night some years ago he had decided to scratch that itch.

Nie Mingjue had need of him most in the aftermath of his bloodiest battles. It was then that they would seclude themselves to an empty hall at the fringes of the fortress. They were hardly alone, the hall was guarded heavily and several trusted stewards and attendants would attend to them, making this hardly a scandalous encounter, but Huaisang had needed to know what exactly it was they were doing behind these heavily guarded doors. 

Especially when at nightime one could hear the chords of a guqin resounding in the air. It wasn't music exactly, more like a single note hanging until even its echo disappeared, before another note took its place.

So Huaisang had taken one of his finches out of its cage and told it where to go. It had flown under the roofs of the complex in the night, and through a half-opened window it arrived in the remote hall to observe for him the secret encounter between Meng Yao and his brother. And it had seen truly the strangest thing; A ritual that while uncommon did not seem in any way evil or scandalous.

Nie Mingjue would sit at the center of a drawn circle. Before him a small table with various objects displayed would be set- among them a hammered silver basin that was filled with water. Truly a snake skin did exist, splayed right under this basin, but to Huaisang it had seemed a shamanic object rather than a proof of witchcraft. Along Meng Yao there were also an elderly steward and a couple of servants.

Meng Yao would remove the silver ornaments from Mingjue's hair and would place them carefully on a tray one of the attendants held. This tray would later be placed right next to the silver basin. Meng Yao would comb and unbraid Mingjue's hair with something akin to tenderness indeed, but after that he would rise and seat himself before a curious instrument that resembled a guqin. There he played those same notes through the night, the same notes Huaisang had come to recognize.

The water in the basin would tremble and resonate with the sequence of notes. And while it did the two attendants would unfold between them a clean sheet and raising it they would hold it above their master's head. 

Meng Yao then would take the silver basin and pour this cultivated water over the sheet and Nie Mingjue's body. He poured this water carefully so it wouldn't splash around or fall all at once over his brother’s head. Like a gentle stream falling from a rock, it licked at him and laved him . 

By the time he was finished his brother was properly drenched. Then the attendants and the steward left the room for a few minutes and Meng Yao would prepare a concoction Huaisang was unsure of what exactly it was made of.

He would offer this drink to Nie Mingjue and while his brother drunk, Meng Yao would take a very shallow saucer, and collect in it the water that dripped from Nie Mingjue's hair. To Huaisang's astonishment Meng Yao would drink this water. He drank it with the outmost care as if he was taking an elixir of some sort. 

Then he would call back the attendants, who would bring in dry clothes for their lord. Under the directions of the steward they would set up a screen and help their lord undress and change into his new clothes, while Meng Yao himself bowed deeply with his forehead touching the floor.

Meng Yao would prostrate in this position as if he was in the presence of some golden emperor, until his brother actually left. Seemingly no magic had ever been performed, which baffled Huaisang as to why it remained such a guarded secret. 

He had to spy on this ritual several times before realizing that Meng Yao would disappear for a few days after it. Deciding to spy on him with one of his birds had required an impressive show of nerves. For some reason, even if he didn't believe Meng Yao was really a witch, he couldn't shake off the fear that his trick would be discovered and he would be exposed. 

There was no one in the Unclean Realm that Huaisang knew who wouldn't shun a method that was unlike direct confrontation. And he feared that if this skill of his would be discovered he would be pressured into destroying it.

After ruminating on these issues, but not backing down from his decision to spy on Meng Yao he finally deemed a bird in a small space would be something too conspicuous, so he trained a moth. He sent that moth to Meng Yao's rooms to flutter about, and he discovered him there alone, sitting on the floor. He was dressed simply, in a thin gown with his hair worn loose around his face. It seemed to Huaisang as if he was ready to lie down and sleep. 

However Meng Yao for the duration of an entire night just sat with his back as straight as he could, breathing swallowly as if in a pained trance. Huaisang had been almost sure this was an effect of the shamanic ritual he had observed. Then suddenly as if shaken from some invisible violence Meng Yao keeled over, bracing himself against the wooden floor. And coughing he expelled blood from his mouth. 

Huaisang had been so frightened to see this. He had only heard mentions of blood magic and those were so vague he never had formed an image of it, but such a sight had caused an instinctive reaction to him. Like withdrawing his hand from an invisible flame, he had summoned back his consciousness.

Were there impure things in the water from his brother's hair Meng Yao had drunk? Or was it a reaction to something else, was the conconction and the water somehow connected, did it mediate between the two alleviating some secret suffering his brother had?

Once Huaisang had found himself again in his room by the muted light of a single candle he had the strangest sensation; as if he was being also watched. He had attributed that to his easily frightened nature and never thought of it again. In fact he kept on spying on Meng Yao until he became as bold as to send an actual bird. 

The weather had been warm and undoubtedly some window or door would be left open to let in the delicate breeze. He thought there would be no harm in flying through the room. He had wanted to see if Meng Yao would react to such a thing.

His bird had fluttered about for several minutes, even passing before Meng Yao's serene face, seemingly unaware of the disturbance. But then, suddenly he moved, his fingers capturing the bird mid flight. Huaisang had been so shocked.

He had found himself on the floor, a burning sensation slicing through his head. He hadn't known if the pain was something the bird had experienced, or if it was the result of flinging his consciousness through space and form so fast, or something else entirely. Nevertheless he had vowed to himself never to spy on Meng Yao again.

The following day as he was airing the cages of his precious birds, setting some free so they could fill the garden with music, Meng Yao had arrived with the tiniest cage he had ever seen. Inside it was the prisoner; the pink canary he had used to spy on him. Meng Yao had bowed respectfully before leaving the cage in front of his feet.

“I found this little delinquent in my room last night” he had pleasantly said. “I believe the prince appreciates such things.”

Before Huaisang could say something, Meng Yao had bowed again and already said his farewells. He had steered clear off him to the present day, but perhaps the time for a more intimate introduction had arrived. He snapped his fan open waving it slowly before his face.

“Ladies!” he said. “How about one more round and then we all go to bed?”

The girls nodded all in agreement.

#the untamed #cql #the untamed fic #nie huaisang #meng yao #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #the untamed vampire au #the blood is the life #nieyao #sangyao

[sustraiii]

TEAM ZRCN ARC 2 - CHAPTER 12

Back with the villain squad this chapter! Neela’s fate is revealed, and tensions bubble over in a tense meeting.

WISTERIA

The room was quiet today Wisteria noted, as she stepped inside. Although it was noon, the windows had been blackened out long ago, giving the room a state of near-permanent darkness. Or at least it would be, if not for the dim light hanging from the ceiling.

“Lunch is ready,” Wisteria announced, setting down the tray she was carrying onto the fold-out table into the room.

The figure in the corner slowly rose to her feet, tentatively coming closer, and grabbing the sandwich as if she expected Wisteria to snatch it away again.

“Hungry aren’t we?” Wisteria remarked.

The young woman swallowed her mouthful of the sandwich before answering. “You don’t exactly give me much to eat. I think I could be forgiven for feeling as though I’m being starved.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, Neela,” Wisteria assured her, catching the younger woman off guard by her casual use of her name. “They deem you to valuable to risk hurting. From what I can tell they’re planning on using you to blackmail your father into giving them a considerable amount of money.”

Neela went silent for a moment, the look on her face appearing to imply she was processing this new information. A moment passed before she looked up at Wisteria, scowling at her. “Don’t act as though you’re above killing someone like me.”

“What’s that supposed to me- Oh! For the last time, I didn’t ‘kill’ your teammate!” Wisteria fired back, more defensively than she intended. She already had enough comments from Candy, who seemed to delight in taunting Wisteria by saying she didn’t know she had it in her.

“Can you say that for certain though?” Neela challenged, tilting her head to one side.

“I’m not having this conversation with you again,” Wisteria told her outright, already turning to leave. “The answer is going to be the same as the last five times you’ve asked.”

Neela didn’t respond after that, so Wisteria left her to brood in silence. She had barely closed the door behind her, before another voice cut through her thoughts.

“Wisteria,” Candy greeted, a teasing smile on her lips. “Did I scare you?”

Hardly. But Wisteria opted against responding to that, instead asking, “What is it that you want Candy?”

Candy’s smile soon disappeared when she clearly didn’t get the response she was hoping for. Good, Wisteria thought. It would take more to scare me than someone like you.

“Farron wants to speak with us,”

“Finally!” Wisteria said, emphasising a relieved sigh if only for the annoyance it provided for Candy. “It has taken him long enough. What was he doing? Trying to wrap his head around how much of a colossal fuck-up you made?”

Candy’s lips pressed into a thin line, and Wisteria likely would have gotten an earful, had she not turned and began walking away. With a shrug, Wisteria followed close behind. The building they currently found themselves was the old processing plant for the Shizukana mines, long since closed and disused after the mines blew up. It was dark, miserable building, both inside and out. Much of the old factory had been gutted long ago, but you could still see reminders of what it had once been. If all went to plan, Wisteria would finish her mission here, and then she could finally say goodbye to Farron and his group. Then it was only two years left of her contract with the Rossi’s and she could finally go home. Whatever home was anymore...

Farron waited for them in what had once been the foreman’s office, as evidenced by the now faded lettering on the door. The two women entered quietly, but Candy came to a sudden stop inside, almost causing Wisteria to crash into her. Wondering what had caused the sudden halt, Wisteria glanced around her to see Nieve and Ulysses stood behind Farron.

“What are they doing here?” Candy questioned, gesturing towards the two of them.

Farron’s expression remained as neutral as ever, but he relaxed into his chair slightly before he spoke. “Helping me get the story straight.”

“I’m not following,” Candy said, her features shifting into a confused frown. “I thought things were pretty clear.”

“To a degree,” Farron admitted. “However, I have since learnt you weren’t very forthcoming about the build-up to certain events. Including how I supposedly gave you permission to use my prototype in that village to attack those students.”

Candy seemed to turn mute at that. Wisteria couldn’t help but smirk at her getting called out. 

“Don’t smirk, Wisteria,” Farron advised with a firm tone, his green eyes shifting towards her for a moment. “You are not exempt from this diversion to my plans. I hear you gravely wounded one of these students. That he might even potentially be dead. Would you care to explain yourself?”

“I can’t say for certain whether he survived obviously, as I’ve been here for five days, but I can assure you that was never my intention,” Wisteria informed him. And she wasn’t lying either. True, she had meant to attack him, but only to knock him down and get him to yield. She had never intended to cut him like that. “The boy slipped when attempting to parry me, and unfortunately it threw off my aim as well, leading to what eventually happened.”

Farron frowned slightly and Wisteria got the impression he wasn’t overly satisfied with the answer, despite it being the truth. His gaze soon shifted back to Candy.

“Not only did you divert from the plan, but you also wasted the prototype. I warned you that it was unstable and that it was to come back to me as soon as Wisteria arrived,” Farron scolded.

“Why does she only get to walk away with a slapped wrist?” Candy asked, gesturing angrily towards Wisteria.

“Wisteria isn’t the issue,” Farron responded, cooly, “Now if I can continue -”

“No!” Candy shouted, interrupting him. “Ever since she joined, things have been going wrong! Verde’s gone underground, Saika and Merlot were arrested, half our supplies were reclaimed. And it's all her fault.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m to blame for like zero of the things you mentioned,” Wisteria pointed out with a smirk. 

“And there you go with a smirk again,” Candy yelled. She came striding up to Wisteria and grabbed her arm roughly. “I swear this is all just a little game to you.”

Wisteria only returned the comment with a sneer, before glancing down at where Candy was holding her arm. “Let go of me.”

“Or what?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Usually, when using her semblance, Wisteria liked to ease her victims into it, but to be frank, she had had enough of Candy’s snide remarks. She was sure the Rossi’s wouldn’t mind if she had a little fun in her last few days here. The effects of getting hit with the full force of Wisteria’s semblance was almost immediate: Candy’s pupils went wide, she seemed to pale in colour, and she dropped to her knees trembling. Her breaths became nervous and ragged, and her body trembled violently. Nieve was used to such scenes, but Ulysses seemed visibly shocked at what was going on, becoming even more distressed when Candy began gasping about her chest hurting.

Seeing Candy knelt in front of her, Wisteria was reminded of a story she once knew. The story of a frightened little girl who lived in constant fear. Her parents left her when she was young, and she had been taken in by people who were supposed to protect her, care for her, and love her. But they didn’t.

She was a slave to them, a helpful tool to complete the tasks they didn’t want to do. And when she refused, they would lock her away, withhold her toys, or beat the back of her shins with a cane. Sometimes she would only have to cry to get such treatment. And unfortunately for that poor little girl, she cried often.

Her life was so very sad and fearful. Until one day it wasn’t.

One day that frightened little decided she had enough. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She wanted them to stop hurting her and leave her alone.

They knocked her down, yelling and screaming in her ear, calling her worthless and insignificant. And then she raised her hand to defend herself. “Leave me alone!” the girl cried out. And they did. They dropped to their knees and shied away from her. They were afraid. Stop. They begged the girl. Stop. You’re hurting us! Please, stop this!

“Say my name,” Was all the girl requested. “Say my name, and I’ll let you go.”

But they hesitated, and so she squeezed harder, and they screamed louder. Four more times she asked before she finally got her answer.

Wisteria! Your name is Wisteria Bloome.

“P-please…” Candy croaked, a shaky holding a shaky hand up for mercy.

Beg as much as you like, Wisteria thought, if I really wanted to kill you, it wouldn’t matter much. I could choke the life from you without even laying a hand on your throat.

And perhaps she might have done just that, had it not been for Nieve intervening, resting a hand on her shoulder, and pulling her out of her thoughts. There was a concerned look in her eyes.

“I think you’ve made your point,” She said, casting a glance between Wisteria and Candy, who was still trembling in front of them. With a small, almost reluctant nod, Wisteria released her hold on her. Candy gasped loudly, and the first few breaths after her release were long and deep, desperate to steady her nerves.

Wisteria was also feeling the effects of her powers. It had been a long time since she had pushed herself that much and she felt light-headed and little dizzy; had it not been for Nieve stood nearby, Wisteria would have likely toppled over herself. Nieve had been with her for a long time though, she knew what could happen in situations like these - both for the victim and Wisteria.

“Thank you, old friend,” She whispered quietly, giving her an affectionate pat on the back. Wisteria straightened slightly, before addressing Farron and Candy. “We’re done here for today.” She informed them, before clicking her fingers and summoning Ulysses towards her and Nieve. As they moved to leave, Candy finally seemed to have recovered enough strength to be able to lift her head. The look she aimed at Wisteria was one of hurt and questioning. 

“I did warn you,” Wisteria said softly, the faintest of smiles gracing her lips. And with that she and her companions departed, leaving Farron and Candy to deal with what had just happened.

#team zrcn fic #Neela Oxford #wisteria bloome #candy cornel #farron hargrave #nieve #ulysses crest

[tarralin]

A Turn of Events

Fox Hunt, Chapter Ten

(Board gifted by @under-sengoku-skies)

Find Master List, Ao3, and Ko-Fi links in blog bio!

Thank you @rainyluneotome for beta reading!

~*~

RM’s time at Kasugayama passed slowly, if not a little on the boring side. Shingen’s constant flirty playboy act grew old after the first full day but at least it meant he was still interested in her. He’d set her up in a lavish room that seemed more suited for a visiting dignitary. Opulencency had always been a sign of great wealth and RM knew such resources could be useful. For that, she’d deal with the cheesy talk and keep in his good graces until the other boss-- the actual owner of the castle whom she hadn't met yet-- came back from a skirmish among his territories.

Sasuke became a quick friend and accompanied her through the local town when he wasn't being more scientist than ninja and poring through the notebooks she’d brought him. She almost got a genuine smile from him the few times she dropped modern culture references.

Yukimura hovered constantly. Every time she turned a corner or questioned a maid, he was there-- suspicion clear in his eyes. She tried to remain polite and friendly, but his endless badgering depleted the minuscule amount of patience she possessed before her thirty-sixth hour in the Sengoku.

“What’s your problem?” She snapped at breakfast the second morning. “Can’t a girl have a single moment's peace?”

His eyes knit together indignantly as he set his bowl down. “Look, I don't what kind of sorcery your family practices. Your sister managed to lure the Devil himself into her spell, so I can only imagine what you're trying to work on Lord Shingen.”

From the corner of her eye, RM watched Sasuke’s gaze drop to the floor as he massaged his brow in humiliation.

Did he really just… He did. Homeboy did. And he believes what he says, too. You've got to be shitting me…

I'm in Hillbilly Hell.

RM took pride in the fact that she managed to keep her thoughts to herself, instead glancing at Sasuke as she rose to her feet to leave the room. “I'm not even going to touch that. I'm likely to damage Homeboy’s feelings beyond repair if I did.”

Breakfast the third morning of RM’s residence arrived without word from Shingen’s retrieval team. She made it her personal mission to be as complicated as possible for any who crossed her path...

But he got the ‘Extra Salty’ package.

“Angel, why must you wound me with the discarded robes of a page-boy? Are the garments I've provided not to your liking?”

RM never glanced up, focusing solely on her hashi as they swooped between her lips and the plate. If there was one she learned growing up with four brothers, it's that tiny jabs on their pride hurt men the most. Choosing to wear a page's attire instead of the decadent kimonos he'd supplied was just the first attack on Shingen. “You expect me to trust your judgment? Now? I'll pass. I’ve already spoken with the castle seamstresses on alternatives, thank you.”

“My men may be delayed, but--”

“They're not delayed, they're dead!”

Shingen’s eyes narrowed slightly and RM finally glimpsed through to the warlord instead of the playboy facade he insisted on fronting. “You've said something similar before. Why?”

A cruel chuckle slipped from her as she leaned back onto her heels. “You sent a team after a target you had a rather impressive lack of intel on. A team of only four people that, as I've mentioned, are probably dead because, guess what? You messed with the wrong fucking princess!” RM popped the rubber band on her wrist as she felt the anger stirring higher, an old habit that never really dulled the flames like it was supposed to, but it did redirect her thoughts to her favorite anger management activity. “Do you have a rifle range?”

Shingen’s eyes flicked between the band and her eyes in a bewilderment RM was accustomed to seeing when she snapped between topics. “Uh, yes, at the troop camp. I’m planning an inspection this evening--”

RM jumped to her feet and strolled from the dining area without another word.

~*~

It wasn't until she was in the middle of camp that she realized she hadn't thought this idea of hers all the way through. This time period’s firearm of choice was a matchlock musket. Ammunition consisted of powder cartridges that had to be manually loaded for each shot and even a ram rod to pack the bullet down the barrel. I was wrong, I didn't survive the fall. The wormhole killed me and I'm in Sharp Shooter’s Hell!

She was peacefully observing the firing line reloading their rifles for the next round when she spotted a familiar red robe coming her way through the haze of gunsmoke. Oh fuck, identify compromised… Abort! Abort!

She’d just ducked behind a tent when Yuki’s voice carried across the remaining distance. “What in the Hells are you doing here?”

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.”

He gave an eye roll that could rival MC’s famous gesture of irritation. “I asked what you were doing here, not wish you a good morning. And where is Lord Shingen?”

“I left him at the castle. I’m likely to blast his face off if I see it again today. Which is why I'm here-- I need to shoot something that won't end with me in the executioner’s sights.”

Yukimura scrubbed a hand over his face. ���Look, I don't really have time to babysit--”

“Then don’t,” she sidestepped him without further comment, letting out a piercing whistle that gained the attention of the gathered riflemen that had just started lining up their shots and pulled out her signature southern belle smile. “Hey, go take fifteen. You've earned it!”

Yukimura remained in place as the men passed by, making no attempt to hide the indignation splayed across his features. “Care to tell me why you just dismissed the squadron?”

“Already did,” she sighed as she gathered the loaded pistols close together and within her reach, checking each match chord as she did. Good, still lit.

She’d observed the gun squad enough to guesstimate the recoil of the musket. There wasn't much of a breeze today to interfere with bullet trajectory and her accuracy was never in question. So, aside from that initial terror of handling antique weapons, she was as confident as she could be. How often would she get to fire a five-hundred year old musket while still in its prime?

Kneeling in final preparation, she took her shot and a sliver of satisfaction rose within her just as the cloud of spent powder lifted on the wind. One down…

RM repeated the same routine with each preloaded rifle, only switching to the next furthest target once changing to the next gun. The familiar ritual of lining up a perfect shot helped melt away the morning tension. She’d always had trouble focusing on one topic for extended periods of time when her brain took in every little detail around her and was always running at full speed. Shooting was one of few activities that slowed it back down but, much like her brain, it was fast paced and she blew through her targets in near record time.

She huffed out a breath while she waited for her ears to stop ringing. What to do now? I could go see if the seamstresses have any of my clothes ready…

The ringing subsided but there were still whistles calling out around her. Glancing up, she found the gun squad had returned from their impromptu break and caught her show. They were applauding so passionately she couldn't just leave without giving them a showman’s bow and wave. “Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here all week!”

“And who has declared that?”

At the chilled voice, the smiling men scrambled to stand at attention in a perfect line. Her own military instincts kicked in with the general panic of commander on deck and she immediately fell in rank at the end of line, giving the closest man a quick once over to match his stance. An icy wind blew through the rank line as gravel crunched under the determined steps headed her way. The flash of platinum hair in her vision was nearly as blinding as the glint of steel that followed and laid flat on her shoulder at the base of her neck.

“Yukimura! Why is there a woman here? I thought it was clear that entertainment was not  allowed in camp.”

Breaking rank, RM raised a brow in the newcomer’s direction. “Well, I'm not jumping through flaming hoops or anything.”

“Not that kind of entertainment…” Yuki snapped as he joined them, ears turning a darker shade of red. “She’s a friend of Sasuke’s who ran into trouble and Lord Shingen has welcomed her as a guest. I'm still trying to figure out why she's here, though.”

“I told you I needed to shoot something, not my fault you didn't believe me.”

“Why would I believe the sister of the Oda Enchantress?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake… Look, if either of us turns out to be a ‘vile enchantress’, I can promise it’ll be me!” Yuki stepped back at her words as if he’d been bitten by a snake. RM turned back to the man in front of her and batted the sword off her shoulder. “Sorry to be a disruption. I’m leaving.”

She didn't make it a step before the sharpened edge was pressed to her throat. “ ‘Sister of the Oda’, did I hear that correctly?”

“Technically, I'm sister to the Princess but, yes, you heard right.” She ducked under the sword only to feel it in place again. What’s this guy's problem?

“Y-you were victorious in battle then, Kenshin?” Yuki moved between the two, successfully taking all the attention of the blond man.

“That mockery could not even earn the title of battle.” Finally sheathing the blade, the one called Kenshin turned on his heel and marched off as if he hadn't just tried to give her a new windpipe.

“Just get back to the castle,” Yuki snapped over his shoulder before following after the blue clad commander.

With an eye roll, RM started back the way she came until the rifle line caught her attention again. The poor guys remained stock still at attention and several shades paler in the face, no doubt due to the scene that had just played before them. “At ease, boys!”

Each man blinked several times, even turning to each other for a moment but remained mostly at attention. RM sighed before forcing herself to pull out her long abandoned lieutenant voice. “I said ‘at ease’! Reload while you're at it!”

There was the desired effect as the men visibly relaxed and returned to their previous tasks. There, that’s better, thank you.

She really did try to walk away from the camp but the hand-to-hand drills just seemed… off. They can't honestly be pairing the brutes against the kids…

She couldn't walk away until that was fixed.

~*~

“Is that your fifth bottle already?” Sasuke warned her of his employer’s trigger happy attitude and extreme alcohol tolerance, but damn if she still wasn't impressed as she and Sasuke joined Yuki and Kenshin. The blond in question simply tipped back another cup full as if she hadn’t spoken. Where does he put it all?

“Sake doesn't effect Kenshin much, aside from potentially shortening the lifespan of those around him,” Sasuke informed.

“So, nothing new then?”

“Sad that you know that already,” Yuki rolled his eyes before they snapped back to focus on her, pink flushing over his features. “Seven Hells! What are you wearing?”

RM beamed a smile and spun a quick twirl for full inspection as she dropped into criss-cross on a free floor cushion. “This is what the seamstresses have been working on for me. The garments Shingen gifted are gorgeous and beautiful, don't get me wrong, but I could barely breathe! I’m a gymnast, I need to move. So, they whipped me up some things similar to the ninja here but in Takeda colors. Oh wow, looks kind of like yours, huh?”

“Yukimura, where is Shingen?” Kenshin piped up as he poured another cup of sake, ending the previous discussion.

Yuki’s gaze wavered between her and Kenshin a moment as he cleared his throat. “A… messenger arrived with news he’s been awaiting.”

RM perked at that. “From Azuchi?”

“Would I be here if I accompanied him?”

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes as she chucked a nearby pillow at Yukimura's head. “If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked you.”

“Yuki, must you upset your angel so much?”

RM turned to the entering voice, ignoring the sputtering tomato across from her, and instead pouring a generous cup of sake for the Tiger. “You've received news from Azuchi?”

Whatever joking mood Shingen had been in vanished with her question as his eyes lost their glimmer. He didn't speak until after downing the contents of his cup. “I have.”

Well, that tone never means anything good.

“I sent four men to capture Oda's princess but they never made it to Azuchi.” To iterate his point, Shingen dropped four headbands onto the table before her. “Instead, a squadron four times that size attacked the castle three nights ago. My mitsumono have learned a young guard took a death blow intended for Date Masamune.”

His eyes dropped back to the table, avoiding RM’s gaze completely. She tilted forward pointedly, forcing him to look at her. “And?”

He downed another cup of sake, savoring the burn before continuing. “The princess was injured. Rumor is she hasn't woken since the attack.”

Now, it was RM’s turn to swish the burn of sake at the news. An injury wouldn't be a problem normally back home, but here? Infections… Unhygienic practices… Hell, were there any kind of pain managements during this time aside from biting down on something?

After downing another cup of sake, she jumped to her feet and started from the banquet hall.

Yukimura was on her heels after a silent command from Shingen. “Where are you going?”

“Azuchi.”

“You can't go to there!” Yukimura grabbed her arm in attempt to slow her pace. The contact had her swirling, pivoting behind to shove him into the wall and pinning both arms to his back while her weight immobilized him. She ignored the deathly silence that fell over the banquet hall.

“Let's get one thing clear. I've been here of my own choosing this whole time, waiting for my sister who was supposedly being brought to Kasugayama. Well, now we know she's not coming because she's injured. I have medicine from home and I'm taking it to her. So stay out of my way; I'll be gone by dawn.”

It didn't take long to gather her belongings as she always kept things mostly in her pack in case she had to make a quick getaway. After stuffing her newly crafted clothing into the bag, she glanced about the room for any valuable trinkets she might be able to trade that wouldn't be missed. Everything looked as if it belonged in a museum to her and she ended up wrapping a random hand full of sparkly things into a coin bag. Only thing left to do was pull a vegetable sack over the rucksack as not to pull attention with its obvious untimely design.

She had just shrugged her pack onto her shoulders when a nervous shout reached her ears from the hallway, followed by the distinctive shatter of a ceramic vase. What the-

Poking her head in the hallway only earned more questions. Why is Sasuke in the rafters? Why is Kenshin chasing Yuki? And what in the hell does he plan to do with that sword?

“Sasuke!” Yuki called to the ceiling ninja. “Get down here!”

“Alliances are broken all the time, Yukimura. Good luck in the afterlife!” With that, the ninja hopped across the rafters and out of sight.

“What the--” she raised her brows to Yuki but the swipe of steel interrupted her.

“This is normal.”

“This is normal?” RM laughed at the absurdity as Yuki dodged another feral swipe from the blond, dropping her rucksack back onto the floor. Maybe these guys knew how to have fun after all. “Then why are you running?”

“Just because I'm used to it doesn't mean I have a death wish!”

“Ha! Okay… then I'm borrowing this!” Without another word, RM snatched Yuki’s katana from the scabbard at his waist to meet the God of War’s blow.

~*~

“She… She’s what?”

Shingen didn't hear that right. He couldn't have. There was absolutely no possible way he heard what he thought did from his loyal vassal.

“She stole my sword and is meeting Kenshin blow for blow. With the look he had on his face, I thought he was about to fall over dead from shock at first. Then, she went on the offensive!”

Shingen watched as Yukimura’s eyes cycled through a number of emotions as he relayed the turn of events. Shock and surprise giving way to a kind of wonder and acceptance. He hadn't missed the way his vassal’s eyes lingered after the newcomer’s footsteps or his overbearing nature the last few days. Yuki always had trouble being honest with himself but his extreme actions were all the sign Shingen needed. However, aside from a few comments of her being ‘Yuki’s angel’, there wasn't much that could be done.

Shingen grinned up to Yukimura. This new development may be just the push the two needed. “Yuki, make sure your angel doesn't leave the compound. We'll bring her with us tomorrow to the combat inspection we didn't get to complete today.”

“What? Why?”

“To see what else she can do. She may be a good fit as a new mitsumono.” He hated lying to the lad but the plan required it.

Yuki rolled his eyes at that. “I doubt she’d be interested in that.”

Shingen shrugged. “Maybe not, but we'll see the extent of foreign capabilities while we have one with us.”

That seemed to pacify the little lord for now as he finally conceded with a nod. “I'll make sure she doesn't leave… but stop calling her my ‘angel’!”

Not a chance. Shingen was still chuckling to himself long after Yuki left. 

#ikemen segoku #ikesen #ikesen yukimura #ikesen sasuke #ikesen shingen #ikesen kenshin #fox hunt #my writing

[stephic-writings]

Pietà -- Ravus Nox Fleuret x Noctis Lucis Caelum

So I had a couple of folks asking me (AKA giving me an excuse) to write more -- one about Daemon!Ravus and one about RavNoct. So here! You get this from me, which I’m actually kinda proud of despite having kind of abstract thoughts while writing it. But that’s what makes it pretty fun nevertheless~

Enjoy the read! New goal/mission this year: write more cool stuff! So help a brotha out and shoot me some writing prompts, inspiration, words of appreciation, etc. c:

WARNINGS: Character Death, Angst Ships: Ravus Nox Fleuret/Noctis Lucis Caelum Word Count: 3394

Read on AO3 too!

It was a nightmare that came to life. The metal corridors of such a hopeless place. Escape impossible. Noctis didn’t know how long he had walked – no, ran – to escape the horrors of the twisted corpses and shambles that had pursued him. He didn’t know how long it had been since he had been cast into the depths of hell here. It was only becoming a blur with his sanity depleting in a timeless wormhole.

The only thing that was made clear was how the one bit of hope Noctis had in escaping this place was found as a lifeless corpse. Elegant white stained by crimson and black. Weapon still fastened in his dismembered hand and ready to fight off the darkness, only to inevitably succumb to it. Noctis hoped it was only a ruse, shaking the commander, pleading with him. But it was a lost cause. His blood was still warm, and yet his body was so cold.

Noctis couldn’t forget how peaceful Ravus looked.

The image burned itself in his mind, but Noctis had to push it aside. There was only so long he could remain in the keep’s barracks for safety. Eventually, he would have to run. He would have to fight off the monsters, without the aid of his friends and allies. Noctis let out a breath, clutching the sword left behind by the fallen commander until his knuckles turned white through the blood on his skin.

At least Ravus would be there in spirit, helping Noctis fight his way free.

The prince struggled his way through the floors of the keep, pushing his way towards the elevator to take him up to the elevated floors above. There must be some sort of command center around here. Maybe even a switch that would allow him to use his powers again. Anything would be better than sitting here and joining Ravus in the afterlife.

Even if that did sound like a good idea.

Noctis rested against the elevator’s walls, closing his eyes for only a mere moment before the doors parted. Not even a chance to catch his breath. He pushed himself from his place and advanced, pacing himself slowly and wearily. No sign of any immediate dangers. And unlike the other floors, the area seemed undisturbed. A red trail lead from the elevator towards a large cage-like form before him. It felt odd walking on top of something besides metal as Noctis followed along the path. It felt almost welcoming as Noctis pushed aside the two massive doors and saw before him a ballroom caged off from the metalworks of the keep.

Until his gaze fell upon the white-clad figure sitting atop the throne.

“Ravus…?” Noctis’s eyes widened, body carrying him halfway there before halting abruptly. No. That can’t be him. He was dead. Noctis couldn’t forget such a sight. But he was there, eyes closed as if in a slumber.

He looked so peaceful, in sleep as he did in death.

It stung to recall just how serene of an expression Ravus had, then and now. But whatever this was, it was just an illusion. Noctis knew this as he advanced closer to the sleeping commander. It was as if nothing happened to him, a perfect recollection of Ravus that Noctis had remembered of him in the commander’s final moments. Only there was no blood. No injuries. There was only solace in the commander’s appearance as Noctis listened to the soft breathing that eased the tension in Noctis’s body.

If he closed his eyes too, then it would be as if nothing happened. Just the sound of rest between two souls. No images of the metal labyrinth. Only a darkness that would bring comfort and make him forget it all. It was a tempting thought.

At last, you have arrived, Noctis.

Noctis’s eyes shot open in amidst his daze. His hands shook as he readied himself with his sword. No sight of anyone else – nothing to be alarmed of. That is, until Noctis looked back to the throne, noticing the empty place once again. The anxiety his felt in his predicament worn him out. His mind was playing tricks on him, and the lack of true sleep only contributed more to it. Seeing things, hearing things, feeling things he shouldn’t be able to sense. It was an awful feeling…

You need your rest, Noctis. Recover yourself.

“Yeah… I probably should.” His eyes fixed themselves onto the throne. Feet dragged themselves forward, fingers unable to secure his sword anymore until it clattered to the ground. Noctis brushed his fingers over the throne’s velvet cushion. The world softened from a mere stroke of comfort that such a resting place could offer. Already Noctis’s vision blurred, ready to submit to slumber before Noctis could even sit.

Yet it still nagged in Noctis’s mind that it still wasn’t time for him to rest. Gladiolus and Ignis were probably still searching for him, and Prompto was somewhere within the keep too. But no matter how much he searched, there was no sign of reuniting with them. And with his current condition, Noctis could barely take a few more steps without feeling like he would collapse. He nearly did as he backed away from the throne with hesitation.

“I have to find the others first…”

After you rest. You have fought so hard. Regain your strength, Noctis. I will watch over you.

Noctis didn’t recall the sensation of arms wrapping themselves around his waist, beckoning him upright and guiding him towards the throne. And yet, he allowed his body to be led. He leaned against the arm of the throne as weary eyes watched the doors as they closed and sealed themselves from intruders once more. Now he was able to rest in the protection of the untainted ballroom. That’s good… Perhaps now a moment of reprieve was attainable.

The prince abided and lowered himself into his seat. Splendor overwhelmed him, washing away whatever strain and anxiety he had before and replaced it with serenity. He was finally able to have a moment to himself as his body slumped back further. Noctis’s eyes fluttered in and out of focus as he felt something stroke his hair. Feather-like and comforting as they brushed Noctis’s hair from his eyes like a small breeze. He couldn’t help but feel as if he was being embraced with warmth, at last able to close his eyes as the words whispered in his mind again with a heat burning against his neck.

I will watch over you.

“Yeah… I’ll see you in my dreams, Ravus.”

The commander smiled against Noctis’s neck and held him tighter. “Sleep well, my king.”

--

“Come on! We mustn’t lose him this time!”

“Wait up, Iggy. We can’t afford to get split up again.”

Gladiolus and Prompto pursued Ignis as the trio ran through the corridors. Despite his disability, Ignis was eager to go, pushing through the corridors with no fear or weariness. They too had all been trapped in the labyrinth, but they were able to reunite once again. Prompto had been saved by Gladiolus and Ignis, but their party was still short their most valuable member. The pursuit after the prince only proved to be more tedious in a maze of steel and iron. But Ignis always did have a keen sense in finding Noctis. And despite his blindness, it took no more than a clang of metal to alert Ignis and quickly dash towards the noise. Foolish perhaps, but if Ignis sensed it was the prince, he may be right.

They had nothing to lose. Except for their friend, that is.

The elevator rose up, and it didn’t take another beat before the group pushed their way out and ran up to the large metal doors that blocked their path. Odd that there would be such an ornate door in such a hellish place. If this is where their adventure lead, then they would see to just what laid beyond.

“Prompto, open the door!”

“G-Got it!”

The blond stammered but held the code on his wrist up. Despite his insecurity over noting it to Ignis and Gladiolus, there was no time for hesitation. Noctis was more important – the glue that held their group together. Just because he was ‘the enemy,’ Prompto wouldn’t allow himself to forsake Noctis just because he refused to open the paths for the others. So, he quickly scanned the code and unsealed the door’s lock. Attempted to before he ultimately resorted to summoning his pistol and blasting the security panel.

Gladiolus moved into action by pushing the massive doors aside. He was the first to rush into the room, being the shield for Ignis and Prompto, but being the first to get to Noctis’s side as his bodyguard. He already felt as if he failed for his lack of protection. He got separated from the prince – an unforgivable act even if the two argued previously. He regretted everything he said to Noctis. He regretted blaming Noctis for Ignis’s pain, for telling him his mourning was for nothing. Because knowing that Noctis was alone in this hell, fearing the death of the prince… Gladiolus began to see just where Noctis’s grief stemmed from. He needed to see Noctis safe – to apologize. To protect his king before the daemons that swarmed the keep.

And to protect Noctis from the daemon that sat upon the throne.

Darkness dripped from the figure in the throne, pooling around and running along the floor towards the trio that entered. The snow-white attire and features of what was once a man was stained and tattered. His flesh was cracked with the same dark liquid spilling from his face and eyes, falling more as it slowly turned towards the trio and rasped.

“Noct!”

Triggered by the name, the daemon held the prince tighter and let out an ear-shattered shriek. The prince remained unphased by such noise, captured in a trance of slumber as the demon held the sleeping prince in his lap. The monster hissed, rising with the prince in its arms with its voice twisted and shrill.

“What the hell is that…?!” Gladiolus summoned his sword, shielding Ignis and Prompto in a defensive stance as the daemon towered before them. Whatever it was, it wasn’t human anymore. “Whatever it is, it needs to die…!”

“Gladio, wait!” Prompto gripped Gladiolus’s arm, his eyes widened in shock as he pointed. “Look.”

The bodyguard’s eyes narrowed as the demon lowered the prince into the throne. What was this? Did it just caress Noctis’s face? Compassionate in its actions, it was shocking to see. The daemon turned itself back to the others, a menacing snarl coming from it as it reached to its side. It drew a monstrous black weapon from its side, reminiscent of a blade that lashed out its corruption across the red and gold ballroom. Gladiolus readied his shield the moment the daemon dashed forward. It was barely a blink of an eye before the daemon was in Gladiolus’s face, dripping across Gladiolus’s shield and face before the bodyguard threw the daemon back.

‘Watch… Over… Him…

He is mine…!’

Gladiolus roared to the gunner. “Prompto! Get Iggy out of here!”

Prompto followed his commands, guiding out Ignis just as the daemon recovered and lashed at Gladiolus again. Slow his swings were, but the brutality of each strike nearly knocked Gladiolus around. Gladiolus grunted at the first blade’s strike, but then blocked at the second, sliding back against the wall before recuperating to block the reemergence of the monster with its blade. Damn… This thing was strong. Whatever they had faced before was child’s play compared to this daemon. But for some reason, it didn’t attack Noctis. Was it under Ardyn’s control? Why keep Noctis alive like that?

‘No other… Noctis…!’

Gladiolus surveyed the monster as best as he could before throwing it back again, stumbling away to regain his breath. There must be a weakness. Was it that pulsing thing on its chest? Its legs? Anything would work, because there was only so much evading Gladiolus could do against a fast and powerful daemon. His eyes continued to search, but he did notice something. Amongst the dripping black liquid was a familiar emblem across the remnants of the monster’s attire. Gold, silver, and violet. Gladiolus’s eyes widened at the revelation.

The Tenebraen coat of arms.

It made more sense now as Gladiolus looked again. The white uniform was barely recognizable anymore. Sword was melted into that twisted black form. There was hardly a face through the cracks and deformities on the monster’s face, but was it…?

The monster didn’t let Gladiolus have a moment more of rest before it dashed forward again. And as it swung its blade up, Gladiolus readied himself to block again before he roared back. “Ravus!”

Too close for comfort, the blade had stopped mere inches from Gladiolus’s face. A silence settled, too quiet for the conflict that had stirred just seconds prior. The daemon let out a rasp of a breath, stepping closer and pressing its corrupt blade against the shield’s neck. A thin train of blood crept down Gladiolus’s flesh. Crimson. A painful color that the daemon seemed to recall as it hissed by Gladiolus’s face.

Gladiolus didn’t get to counter the sharp strike to his chest that knocked him far. His sword clamored to the ground as he struck the metal caging of the ballroom’s walls. He took a knee to recollect his breath, blood being vomited to the ground as he wheezed. A powerful strike, but not enough to keep Gladiolus down for long. The king’s shield rose again, summoning his weapon back to hand as he readied for the defensive.

The daemon, however, had lost its interest. It began to stagger back towards the throne, its blade falling to the ground as the black ooze began to drip from its form. A vile path was left – skin shed until eventually it revealed its true form. A stained and torn coat that wouldn’t be considered white anymore. Skin pale as snow itself and silver hair with a lost sheen. And with a sorrowful expression, dark and corruption still in its eyes, it watched the sleeping form before falling to its knees before the king.

“Ravus…”

Gladiolus watched the monster transform, slowly following the trail towards the man’s side. His greatsword shattered from reality, a rain glimmering around Gladiolus. It was only when Ravus turned towards Gladiolus that the shield recognized the daemonic look in his eyes. White still black and his gaze shifting between a glowing violet to their once normal blue color. Ravus was no longer the man he once was. It was a harrowing realization.

“I had only wished to fulfill her wish.” The commander’s hands shook as he reached up, taking the king’s hand into his black claw-like own. “She wished for his safety and well-being, and thus, I swore to see to it. I cannot break her promise. I cannot lose him.”

“Neither can we, Ravus.” Gladiolus reached out and rested his hand atop Ravus’s shoulder. “But Noct’s got a job to do – one that’ll save everyone. Even if it’s a hard one.”

“No!” Ravus lashed out at Gladiolus, gripping his arm and causing the black corruption to grapple the shield’s arm. It threatened to go further and injure him even more, were it not for Ravus’s restraint. “It was this task – this Astral forsaken prophecy – that got my sister killed. And it will result in more suffering. The one thing she wishes to protect in this world – that I wish to protect… That is something I refuse to let be abused any longer!”

Gladiolus grit his teeth, reaching up and trying to pry some room between Ravus’s hostile grasp. “I know, Ravus. We don’t want to let Noct get hurt any more either. But that’s why he can’t stay here with you. You won’t hurt him, but think about him, dammit!”

“It is only about him!” Ravus threw Gladiolus down onto the ground with enough force to shatter the tiles beneath. The darkness only began to grow over Ravus’s arm and face again, twisting into a more daemonic horned form as he snarled. He squeezed tighter and tighter, an attempt to drown out the grunts of pain coming from the other man. “I will be his guardian and protector. I will not let that monster get his hands on him, nor will I let you take him from me-!”

“Ravus.”

Those weren’t the words of the bodyguard pleading with him as he expected. Ravus’s eyes widened as he slowly turned towards the soft voice, meeting the blue eyes of the king that watched. Not with fear, not with anger… With pity it was. The fact that he was awake was enough for Ravus to retract his arm. He staggered forward towards the king, kneeling before him as his black claw reached up towards the king’s face.

“You… Need your rest, Noctis.”

“I know… But so do you, Ravus.” Noctis allowed Ravus’s hand to caress his cheek, his own hand reaching up and resting on top of it. He didn’t allow himself to be frightened of the daemon before him, even if he wanted to be. Ravus didn’t need to be feared. “You’re fighting hard, aren’t you? With the daemons inside of you, with the grief that you’re feeling… Does it hurt to fight so hard…?”

The daemon shook its head. “My pain has no significance. All that matters are your desires, my king.”

“That’s not true, Ravus. You matter too.” Noctis took Ravus’s claw away, holding onto his hands as he looked at the heterochromatic gaze before him. “That’s why I want you to rest.”

“But I swore to protect you. It was my vow to her and my vow to you.”

“I know… But you can’t protect me when you’re so weary.” Noctis gave a soft smile, reaching up and brushing aside Ravus’s hair. "You have fought so hard. You deserve the chance to finally close your eyes.”

The daemon rasped, hanging its gaze as it gripped tighter onto Noctis’s hands. The king winced as he felt blood being drawn. But Noctis guided Ravus’s head down onto his lap, gingerly running his fingers over the commander’s hair as the darkness began to dissipate. There was the commander that Noctis recognized, staring onward with a worn expression as he gripped tighter to Noctis’s hand.

“Have I truly fought hard as you say, Noctis?”

“Yeah. You have.”

“…Will she forgive me for not protecting you?”

“I know she will, Ravus. You’ve already protected me this far, and I know you’ll keep on protecting me later.” Noctis slowly raised his hand from Ravus’s hair. “Go ahead and rest, okay? I will watch over you.”

Ravus gave a slow nod, closing his eyes slowly as black tears fell from his eyes. “Alright… I will see you in my dreams.”

Noctis flexed his hand, manifesting a dagger into it as he whispered. “Sleep well, Ravus…”

The king had to close his own eyes as he brought the blade across the commander’s throat, allowing the darkness to ooze from the injury and spill at the foot of the throne. It was a quiet end, a silence settling within the room as if the air had vanished from it. Noctis felt the blade disappear from his hand like feathers brushing across his skin into the atmosphere. And yet, he sat there, shaking fingers curled into the white locks. His breath was raspy, his eyes finally opening as he looked up towards the ballroom’s caged ceiling as the crystals floated to the sky.

“Noct…?”

“I’m okay… He doesn’t have to fight anymore.” Noctis turned his sorrowful eyes towards Gladiolus. “He can finally rest.”

Gladiolus gave a small nod, his eyes only able to look at the commander’s body for a moment before having to turn away. It was an act of mercy that ended the tragic man’s suffering, but it still didn’t feel any better. He couldn’t imagine how Noctis really felt. He moved and guided Noctis up to his feet, catching Ravus in his other arm and setting the commander atop of the throne. Shielding Noctis with his arms, he looked back one last time at the commander.

It was comforting seeing Ravus look so peaceful in his eternal slumber.

#stephic writings #fanfiction #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #ravus nox fleuret #ravus #noctis lucis caelum #noctis #ravnoct #hope you're all ready for some angsty content #because that's where it goes #hopefully it's not too weird of a read