#whoever needs to hear this - if it reaches you may your affairs be eased for you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chwepen · 3 years

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stacy’s mom ↦ hvc

♢ genre: fluff, bits of angst and crack(?) ♢ word count: 4k ♢ summary: it may sound crazy, but you have good reason to believe your best friend may have a crush on your mom.

read on ao3!

The first inkling of suspicion began with a bouquet of flowers.

Driving home, you had expected your mother to be in her rose garden by the time you arrived. She often spent the afternoons tending to the flowers in the backyard. Whether it was clipping leaves from the stems or simply soaking in the summer sun, she enjoyed her hobby. Likewise, you liked that she had something to take comfort in while your father was at the office until the late afternoon and you and your younger brother were off with friends or in class.

What you didn’t expect was Hansol’s car to be parked in the driveway. You could recognize his beat-up Volkswagen anywhere, never mind by the house where it was stationed countless times before today. He had morning classes before yours, so it was common you’d come home to find his car parked on the grass near the street and him inside with his feet up on the family couch, headphones in and head bopping back and forth. However, this time, that wasn’t the case. You checked the garage and kitchen, but neither his bag, his headphones, nor the man himself were anywhere to be found.

Fed up with the busy day you had, you walked through the living room and towards the glass door leading out to the yard. You stopped dead in your tracks though once you saw your friend and your mother in deep conversation. Your mother was in her usual gardening gear: a blue gingham apron tied to her waist and her old visor sitting atop her head. Hansol was wearing a Metal Gear Solid t-shirt and cargo shorts, not a speck of dirt on him compared to your mother who had soil-stained hands.

With your palm still on the door handle, your eyes darted to the bouquet of flowers in Hansol’s, wondering if you had to blink twice to see the scene in front of you clearer.

“Hansol, I can’t believe it,” your mother spoke, eyes alight. Her words were breathless but loud enough for you to hear through the door.

“I know. It took me long enough right?” Hansol laughed. His smile was usually bright, brighter than it should’ve been allowed to be, but his voice was shaking and the curves of his body fidgeting in a way you had never seen before.

A blush sprang up on both of their cheeks, and you felt bile in the back of your throat. Your whole life, the only man capable of making your mother blush was your father, whether by making an inside joke or kissing her without warning.

She took the flowers from him, inspecting each one with only the knowledge of someone with a green thumb. The entire time, she beamed. “They’re perfect.”

“I know it’s sudden—“

“You don’t have to explain it to me. I understand.” She placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing it with either motherly reassurance or something else entirely. “Don’t worry, honey. Our secret’s safe with me.” Your mom winked.

You backed away, tiptoeing until you made it to the stairs and ran up to your room. More than a dozen questions ran through your head once you sat down on your bed. Why was he giving Mom flowers? Why were they acting so weird about it? Where did he even find flowers? How did he pay for them? He just got fired from Prince’s Pretzels.

The thoughts swam on, circling and burrowing in your mind. Then, a theory broke through and made you freeze in your spot. He has a crush on her?

No fucking way.

Hansol never gave you a reason to suspect such a thing. He didn’t joke with Seungkwan or Doyoung about it, at least not to your knowledge. Of course, he never would tell you if he did, but you were certain he respected you and your family more than enough not to.

Still, you knew he had dated some junior cheerleader his freshman year of high school. Guys were known for finding older women attractive, but could that mean that attraction, particularly Hansol’s, could extend to your mother?

“That’s ridiculous,” you whispered out loud to yourself, pushing the speculation out of your mind to stop yourself from feeling nauseous. There was no way on the planet one of your best friends would be into your mom. And even if he did, he definitely wouldn’t act out on those feelings and expect you to be okay with it, right?

Your door opened out of nowhere. Before whoever was on the other side suspected you were acting abnormal, you grabbed the novel on your nightstand and flipped it open to a random page. You pretended to read as Hansol strolled in with a bag of chips in his hand and no bouquet in sight.

“I didn’t realize you were back. Did Professor Lee let you out that early,” Hansol asked, hopping into bed next to you. He reached his hand into the bag of chips, putting a good amount of them into his mouth. You set your book down in disbelief, the guy outside shaking like a leaf so foreign compared to your best friend stuffing his face next to you. How could he be so nonchalant?

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, “Lee’s kid had some sort of issue at daycare so he ran out half an hour before we could do lab-work.”

“Sweet. Time for Hulu.“ He turned to you, his face looking at yours with a tinge of confusion. “Are you alright?”

Besides the fact that I think you’re into my mom?

“Yeah, everything’s great.” You stuck your own hand into the bag, feigning a smile as you popped a chip in your mouth. He smiled back at you with joy, believing your guise, and grabbed the TV remote. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached over, and you felt the static of his shirt cling to your sweater. Something akin to a spark lit inside of your chest, but before you could ruminate on it further, you stamped it out.

Hansol flickered through the show and film previews with blissful ignorance of how unsettled you were by what you knew and what feelings it brought to the surface.

You couldn’t help but speculate more after Sunday dinner, three days after the bouquet episode.

Hansol and Joshua in tow, they had spent a good portion of the night discussing FIFA and current music releases with your brother. He was only a few years younger than you and your friends, but he got along with them so well it was like you rarely needed to be there for them to hang out. Your parents had been deep in their own conversations all night, mostly about your father’s new business lead and your mother’s visit to see her sister on Friday.

They had touched hands throughout, happy to be in each other’s presence when they didn’t have time during the week. You could tell on your mom’s face. And Hansol looked like he always did—ridiculously chipper and goofy. There was no way two individuals would ruin such happy lives for some irrational and pointless affair.

Once you had cleared the table, you strolled over to your mother at the kitchen sink, eager to help her. “You don’t need to do this, I got it.” Your mom shooed you off. She loved doing chores on her own for some ungodly reason, but you tried all the time to be included to ease the burden. Your father, brother, and the guys all wandered off, and you wanted to help even if your mother didn’t ask for it.

“Can you let me help you just this once,” you replied, a pout on your lips.

“How about this? Go grab your brother’s hamper from his room. That way after I wash his clothes he’ll actually have something to wear to school on Monday.”

You laughed and kissed your mom on the cheek before walking away. Your brother’s bedroom was right across from yours upstairs, so you took the usual trek to pester him and complete your mother’s request all at once.

A step away from the door, you could make out the rumbling sounds of a video game and your brother’s voice. “Dude, are you sure about this? I mean, I know it’s how you feel, but is it worth fucking things up?”

Your eyes widened.

“He wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t, dumbass,” Joshua chimed in. The night’s dinner almost made its way back up your throat, knowing the “he” in question was neither your brother nor Joshua. “But he’s got a point, Han. You’ve had more than enough time to spit it out.”

Finally, you heard Hansol speak up. “I know, okay? It seems like the worst timing, but I really care about her. I may even— Look, I know I should consider all the complicated shit in the middle. But I have to give it a shot.”

“Well, I can’t stop you, man. Just do it before you chicken out,” your brother responded.

You can stop him, you fucking idiot.

You stepped into the room, and the boys were surprised to see you there as though you had entered private territory. “What are you guys chatting about,” you asked outright, fed up with speculating.

“None of your business,” your brother replied, never looking away from the television.

“Don’t forget who helped change your diapers, asshole.”

“It was nothing, honestly,” Hansol interrupted, flinging the controller at Joshua. “Take my place. I was dying out there, anyway.”

Hansol looked at you with his typical warmth and concern, but that fresh, foreign spark rose up inside of you. This week had been an amalgamation of oddities. Why did now have to be the time for your feelings to be so tangled up? Especially when he looked at you the way he did so easily without noticing its effect on you?

Or could it be that you finally noticed it and that newfound clarity scared the shit out of you?

“What’d you need,” he asked.

“I was grabbing the asshole’s hamper. Mom asked for it.” Your brother stuck his tongue out at you in response, and you kindly sent the same expression his way with the addition of your middle finger.

Hansol laughed. “I can help.” He took it from your hands and made his way to the door. When you didn’t move, he turned his head and smiled. “You coming?”

With a nod, you remained silent as you both exited your brother’s bedroom.

You hated that you were questioning the simple act of him helping you do an uncomplicated task for your mother. You hated how Hansol seemed unbothered by what he had been hiding from you, all while you both walked down the stairs and handed over the hamper to your mother, the two none the wiser to the fact that you were questioning them. You hated a lot of things in the moment, the biggest one being the jumble of questions in your brain that got bigger with every suspicious moment you caught Hansol in. And when the night came to a close, you knew all the aching feelings inside of you weren’t going away until you got to the bottom of the situation.

“You can’t be serious!” Rin cackled, almost doubling over and running into a random stranger. The mall was quiet on a Monday at 12 o’clock, a few mall-crawlers and the occasional mom-with-a-stroller passing the both of you. Professor Lee had to run out for another parental emergency, so you appreciated the free impromptu day off from class. It allowed for you to deal with your issues head-on, especially with the advice of a friend. Typically, you would run to Hansol with a problem this big, but seeing as he was part of the problem itself, it hurt even more that you couldn’t confide in him.

Abnormal was the only word to describe how it felt dodging his phone calls and text messages, only replying once or twice in the past few days. You gave him enough so he wouldn’t notice anything weird but without any of the typical humor you both exchanged. How could you tell your best friend that you were thinking such things about him, only made worse by the feelings budding underneath the surface of those thoughts?

“You sound like a goddamn crazy person,” Rin said. Her bags bounced off of her hips as she walked, but she didn’t notice. She just looked at you like a you were the funniest and most insane woman on the planet. To her credit, you didn’t blame her.

“I know, okay,” you whined, “I know it sounds nuts, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen this past week and a half. He’s been so weird around me, and then when I see him and her together…” You blanched, horrified that you made your mother sound like the other woman in this fucked-up equation. “Anyway, I just needed to ask you what you would do in this kind of situation.”

Rin scoffed. “Well, I would first not expect my best friend to want to bang my mom, that’s for sure.”

“What the fuck, Rin?”

“Okay, too far,” She admitted with a smile. “What I mean is you have to think about how realistic you’re being here. Like come on, don’t you think he would’ve shown some signs a lot earlier if he was really into your mom? I know we’re not teenagers anymore, but Hansol has never been the type to hide his feelings.”

“I get it, okay Rin? But how do you rationalize any guy your age and—“ You stopped yourself when you noticed Rin’s smile fade slowly, eyes alight with surprise and confusion until they widened completely. “What?”

You turned in the direction of her gaze. The sight of your mother and your best friend walking towards a jewelry store was one that stung to the bone. Your mother dragged Hansol to the entrance. His eyes were skeptical but the two of them shared knowing, humorous glances. They vanished into the store hand in hand. You felt the pit you had been making a home for in your stomach for the past week expand like a balloon. The weight of it became so heavy you couldn’t feel anything besides it, its mass too agonizing to bear any more today.

“I gotta go home,” you croaked, turning back in the direction of the main entrance.

“Hey, wait a second! Maybe it’s not what you—“ Rin tried to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder but you brushed her off.

“Rin, I just need to go home.”

The house was still vacant by the time you arrived home. You sank into the living room couch, clutching onto a frilly throw pillow for support. Not only was the predicament getting ridiculous, but so unnecessarily painful. If they could just prove your suspicions either wrong or right, you could move on and forget the whole thing ever happened.

After another twenty minutes of contemplating, the front door opened. Your mother had no shopping bag in her hand or any outward evidence she had been at the mall, only her satchel strapped across her chest and a Lowe’s bag filled with what you assumed was more flower seeds. “Hey kiddo. Didn’t think you’d be home so early! Was class rescheduled again,” Your mother asked.

The carefree tone of her voice spiked a nerve, and before you could contain yourself, you said, “Why do you care? Worried I’ll find out something you don’t want me to?”

Your mother’s face contorted into surprised confusion with a twinge of hurt in her eyes. How could she pretend for this long with this much effort?

“Forget it, I’m going upstairs,” you said before she could respond. Your shoulder almost knocked into hers as you passed her to make it to your room. You were grateful you didn’t get closer, otherwise you would’ve broken down or screamed and it would’ve made it worse. All you wanted to do was lay down and forget for a minute.

The pillow was soft under your head as you tossed and turned, your desire to take a nap outweighed by your stubbornness to know what was going on. After a minute of struggling under the covers, you pressed your back flat against the mattress and splayed out like a starfish, listening to the cars pass on your street and eyes boring into the popcorn ceiling.

I can’t do this anymore.

With a deep sigh, you promised yourself the next time you saw Hansol, you would ask him to tell you the truth. And whatever the truth was, you would be grateful for the burden being lifted off of your shoulders, even if it hurt.

One dull Psychology lesson later, Wednesday was shaping up to be one of the better days of the last two weeks. You had spent all of yesterday hanging out with Rin and your mother, Rin biting her tongue for a majority of the time and your mother showing you the newest garden catalog she got in the mail.

You had been taken aback by the fact your mother so easily forgot your outburst the day prior, but you were grateful to pretend for one day that things weren’t in silent disarray. Maybe you could fake it too for a little longer, just until the next time you saw Hansol and then everything would be out in the open, and that was what you were afraid of most.

Arriving home, you mother and father were in the kitchen, the aroma of pasta and garlic bread wafting into the hallway for you to smell immediately as you closed the door.

“Hey! Good to see you before five, stranger.” Your dad was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron that your mother bought for him a Christmas ago, even though she was the best cook of the two of them.

“What are you doing home so early,” you asked, beaming.

“I closed another account with one of the firm’s head honchos, so they gave me the rest of the week off as a thank-you,” he responded.

“And thank you, indeed.” Your mom winked, mixing the sauce and pasta shells together. “Since this is the last time I can think of that your dad has had time away, we’re going to stay in the city for a few days to celebrate.”

“Perfect time too. Your mother’s been raving about that botanical showcase for a month now.”

“You remembered!” Your mother grinned.

“Of course. How could I forget,” your dad asked, coming up behind her and giving her a kiss on the back of the head.

What. The. Fuck?

Did you imagine the past few days in your mind? It couldn’t be that easy for things to go back to normal.

“Honey, I forgot to bring in my gardening gloves. Can you get them for me,” your mother asked you with a smile.

“Sure, no problem,” you replied. Dropping your bag near the kitchen island, you walked towards the glass patio door that led to the backyard. Maybe things were that simple and it could be like the worry and hurt had never existed. It was all in your head, you assured yourself.

Then, surprisingly, you came face to face with Hansol in the backyard, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

He was wearing his favorite plaid blue button-up with a wife-beater peeking out underneath, a pair of denim jeans to match. The flowers were identical to the ones you had seen Hansol give your mother a week ago. The most you had ever seen Hansol style his hair was by putting a thick comb through it, but it was obvious he primped himself up.

Your chest sank, perplexed as to why he was at your house and if this had to do with what had been going on recently. Despite the realization you couldn’t shrug off those events, you were happy to finally be alone with him after what felt like eons ago.

What were you doing with my mom?

Why is everything so confusing?

Do you know that I’ve missed you?

“Hey loser,” you replied, knowing what came out didn’t convey everything that was on your mind. And while you tried to sound lighthearted, the words were flat as they left your lips. Nevertheless, Hansol replied with his boyish smile.

He stepped closer to you, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Before you say whatever you’re about to say to me, I need to say something first,” you interrupted him, feeling a sudden cord around your throat.

“I know what’s been going on… between you and my mom.” Tears welled in the back of your throat as Hansol looked at you with a gaped mouth and wide eyes, speechless. “And I may not understand it, but I do know my mom is an amazing person and it’s not crazy to imagine she was a catch in her day, weird as that sounds,” you said, holding back a flinch.

“That being said,” you continued, “you’re my best friend, Han. And I—“ No matter how hard you tried to or how many times you had said those three words to him in the past, they struck differently now. The realization had been there for awhile, planted somewhere down the line and in the smallest of ways, but it had grown and sprouted like the flowers in his hands until you couldn’t hide it anymore. But now because of this predicament, you wondered if you would ever be able to say you loved him the way you yearned to.

“—I just want you to be happy,” you whispered, tears falling slowly down your face. “And while this may make you happy, I don’t know if I can accept it, and if that means that we can’t be friends anymore, then—“

As quickly as you had said the words, Hansol dropped the bouquet of flowers and strode forward, pressing his palms to either side of your face and kissing you hard.

You stood there for a moment, stunned it was happening and instantly, extremely shaken by how wrong all of the signs had been. “Idiot” was too easy of a word to describe how you felt and how you had been acting, coming to such a ludicrous conclusion before you had all the facts in front of you. But it didn’t completely explain what Hansol had been doing all those times you caught him in less-than-stellar acts. The answers could wait until later, though.

Shifting your focus back on your best friend, you kissed Hansol back and grabbed onto the front of his white tank peaking out of his plaid blue shirt. You both stood there clung tight to one another until you heard a whistle come from the window that looked into the kitchen. “I know you’re in love and all but quit making out, you two. You’re still my daughter,” Your dad yelled.

You both separated immediately, tiny but meaningful blushes on both of your faces.

“Why now,” you asked.

Hansol shrugged, breathless. “I don’t know, I just— I just remember walking to the cafe one morning and wanting to show these new lyrics I had written the night before. And then when I was waiting in line I wanted to buy you a cold brew because I know without one before your morning World Lit class you go ballistic,” he said, a laugh erupting from both of your throats. Your eyes became watery again as he spoke. “I woke up wanting to do a lot of things with you, and for you, and I guess I knew after I realized that that I wanted nothing more than to just be with you, whether you wanted that too or not.”

You wrapped your arms around him in a hug when he finished his speech, thinking about how ridiculous he was for believing somewhere inside of him you wouldn’t want everything he wanted and more. Even if that meant watching dumb falling compilations with him on Youtube or listening to his mixtapes that he would never finish, you would do it for him.

“Now, what the hell were you saying about me liking your mom?” You could hear your dad’s chuckle and your mother gasp in the kitchen, the two clearly eavesdropping on your conversation.

“It’s a long story,” you replied, “but I had seen you bring my mom flowers—“

“Which I was asking her about because I know she would know what you’d like,” he interrupted. “Oh!” He turned and quickly picked the bouquet back up, dusting off the wrapping paper that held the flowers in place. “For you.”

You laughed and took the flowers with a smile. “And I heard you and my brother talking last time you and Josh came over for dinner.”

“And we were obviously…“ He had a playful look in his eyes, waiting for you to finish the sentence as a way of teasing you.

“About me, jerk, I get it.” You scoffed. “But then why were you at the mall with my mom a few days ago?”

“What, were you spying on me?!”

“It was an honest coincidence!”

Hansol rolled his eyes and placed his hands in his pocket. “Well, I was gonna wait until after our date to give this to you, but fuck it.” A box inside of his palm caught your attention. When he opened it, a pair of golden teardrop earrings glistened in the afternoon sunlight. You gawked, but Hansol stopped you, knowing where your thoughts were going. “They were within my budget, so don’t tell me to take them back. All those tips I saved from Prince’s paid off, even if I could’ve done better.”

“Shut up, they’re beautiful.” They were textured but a simple yellow-gold color.

“You always said necklaces made your neck itchy,” he said.

You beamed ear to ear and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. This was more than you could have imagined. At the beginning of last week, you wouldn’t have predicted a bouquet of flowers you believed were for someone else would lead to such a surprisingly beautiful conclusion. And there was still more to come, but hopefully what was waiting for the both you involved less bizarre antics and misunderstandings.

“I love you, loser.”

author’s note: I’m back!! After a million years!! I am so glad to be back on here and writing again. I missed you guys and i missed this, just writing for the hell of it and not worrying about all the stuff that kept me away for so long. I hope you all love this story as much as I do and I can’t wait for you to read what else I have coming! x

#vernon fic #vernon fics #hansol fic #hansol fics #vernon x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #vernon fluff #hansol fluff

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vagrantblvrd · 6 years

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Far from Home (1/1)

Summary: Gavin finds an unexpected surprise while he’s working a job. A quick and simple in and out affair at some posh gala. Grab the files and make his way out without being caught in the act, and he’ll earn himself a lovely payday.

So of course, of course, things go a little pear-shaped on him.

AO3

Gavin finds an unexpected surprise while he’s working a job. A quick and simple in and out affair at some posh gala. Grab the files and make his way out without being caught in the act, and he’ll earn himself a lovely payday.

So of course, of course, things go a little pear-shaped on him.

The whole night starts off promising.

Gavin in his smart little tuxedo, perfectly coiffed hair, and luxury sports car on loan from his employers to lend credence to his cover persona.

It works, too.

Has the guests who see him drive up in eyeing him with interest and the staff hired to work the gala treating him with a higher modicum of respect. Sets him apart from the stuffy old bastards in their gleaming limos and traditional ways borne of old money.

The gala’s hostess greets him warmly even though there’s not a speck of recognition in her eyes, a woman who trusts such things as guest lists to an assistant. Her only stipulation being that whoever receives an invitation be someone from the right social circle to win her all the power, money, and influence she so rightly deserves.

Gavin smiles at her as though they are old friends, busses her cheek and tells her she’s as beautiful as ever and that the gala itself is breathtaking.

Ice sculptures in the flower gardens and gorgeous water fountains. A string quartet playing in the courtyard and softly blinking lights strung about to lend the whole affair a magical air. Fairy realm crossing into the mortal realm just this one night and its guests the few lucky enough to lay witness to such a grand event.

He dances with several people on his way to the room where the files are kept. A computer isolated from the network the rest of the mansion uses and difficult to access any other way.

Impossible, really, given the level of security put in place to protect it. A fact that’s been proven time and time again as others with Gavin’s talent pool have failed to deliver.

But with so many people wandering the grounds tonight, there’s a chance of success for someone careful enough, skilled enough.

Gavin makes a show of enjoying the gala. Trades small talk with people who seek him out as he works his way ever closer to those files he’s being paid a staggering amount of money to acquire. Flirts with tipsy heirs and heiresses alike. Kisses the hand of a beautiful redhead with cat-eye glasses and thanks her for the dance after she’d caught his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor when he as he tries to walk past.

Gleam in her eye and a challenge in her smile, and how could Gavin ever refuse such a beautiful woman’s simple request?

Especially when it gets him closer to that darkened staircase leading up to the second floor. A laugh and a stumble and some poor, unwitting model's drink spilled down his front and a member of the waitstaff who tells him there’s a bathroom he can use to clean up.

Nice and simple and going perfectly until it doesn’t.

Until Gavin’s curiosity gets the better of him as he counts doors against the memorized blueprints in his head. One, two, three, and his lock picks get him inside the right room with startling ease.

Its the work of minutes to get the files he needs, and a little more effort wins him the bonus he was promised if he could get those as well. Hidden behind encryptions and eating up precious time that might cost him everything if he wasn’t skilled enough, careful enough.

It’s on his way out that he spies the fourth door in that long, dark hallway and the lock recently added to it.

Glaringly out of place with the Baroque styling the rest of the mansion favors with its flat gray metal and ugly about it.

There’s a countdown in the back of Gavin's mind tucked in beside the mansion’s blueprints and other bits of information he’d felt vital for this job, and it’s running down.

Security patrols and camera sweeps and there’s no time to indulge in curiosity, except -

Why?

Why put in a lock like that up here? Why does it look as though it was installed hastily, wood around it scratched and scraped and wounded looking. Why can’t he leave it alone as he moves closer to examine it, lock picks back in his hands before he realizes it and an open door in front of him.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin murmurs, once he’s inside because he has his answer.

There’s a figure slumped in a chair, hair lank and dirty hanging over their face and tired slant to their shoulders.

Tired, not defeated, he notes. Waiting, perhaps, for the right opportunity to come along, and it’s possible tonight it may be Gavin himself.

At the sound of his voice, the figure lifts their head and if Gavin was the sort given to such fancies, he’d say it was a look that would kill, if it could.

Full of cold menace and simmering resentment, anger, and the promise of violence once they’re free from their binds.

Feral, Gavin thinks, remembering the strays he’s run across in this godforsaken city in the past.

The figure’s gagged, lowest of low-tech with duct tape that looks days old and the skin around it torn and bloody, bruises dark on their – his – face. Face puffy and swollen from the beating(s) they’ve endured since he landed himself here who knows how long ago.

He looks a sight, and once he realizes Gavin isn’t one of the people who chained him up in this makeshift cell, a calculating light enters his eyes.

The USB drive is a heavy weight in the hidden pocket of Gavin’s jacket, hidden away where it will go unnoticed if security decides he should be frisked at any point along the way.

And still -

Gavin sighs, because the man is still watching him (what else would he be doing?) and that countdown hasn't stopped.

Soon, though.

“Alright then,” Gavin says, and sets to work because there’s a small window growing ever smaller and work to be done still.

The man’s eyes narrow when he sees the knife in Gavin’s hands, and Gavin pauses because it’s the polite thing to do.

“This will go better if you hold still,” he says, and when he seems to understand, Gavin moves closer.

The ropes are rough things, most likely pulled from the sheds and grounds that have bitten into the man’s skin where he’s tried to free himself.

Broken skin and dried blood, and when Gavin cuts them loose he finds zip ties underneath.

Thick, heavy plastic. Military grade, and they’ve been broken. Sawed through so they’re simply ugly bracelets pulled too-tight around the man’s wrists.

Gavin only has a moment to take it all in before the man surges to his feet, sudden movement unexpected as he turns and bears Gavin to the ground. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated from however many hours he’s been tied to that chair, but the unexpectedness is just enough.

Enough for him to pin Gavin, use his weight against him, forearm against Gavin’s throat as he hovers over him, eyes locked with Gavin’s.

It’s the fact that he stops there, doesn’t make a move past immobilizing Gavin that has Gavin hesitate, knife still held tightly in his outstretched hand, arm held in place by the man’s knee through design or happy coincidence Gavin isn’t certain.

“Rude of you,” Gavin wheezes, when the man presses down, just enough to serve as a warning. “Not my fault you bollocksed things up to get caught like this.”

A mistake on his part, perhaps, but it has the man eyeing him thoughtfully.

“Security patrol will be through this wing in less than five minutes,” Gavin says, time ticking down second by second by second. “If you don’t want to end up back in that chair you should let me up.”

The man cocks his head. Presses down hard before easing up, something dark sliding through his eyes as the corner of his mouth pulls up into a twisted smirk, silent, and why would I do that? clear in every line of him.

“Because you idiot,” Gavin manages, coughs when he gets another painful warning. “You’re not going to get out of here without my help.”

Not tonight anyway, and certainly not alive with the shape the man’s in.

For a long moment Gavin thinks the man’s going to get them both caught, killed, but he snorts.

Climbs off Gavin and plucks the knife out of his hand as he stands up, moves a few steps back to allow him to get to his feet, cautious, slow, in case the man’s a complete lunatic.

Which he very clearly is as he reaches up and pulls the duct tape free, furrow between his eyes the only sign of discomfort as it comes away from his face.

“God’s sake,” Gavin mutters, certain he’s made a terrible mistake as the lunatic gestures to the door with the knife as he lets the tape fall from his hand.

“After you,” he says, a dry croak that only adds to the unhinged maniac image he seem intent on cultivating.

Gavin sidesteps him, makes sure to keep out of arm’s length as he does. (Arm plus knife, unless the man happens to know how to throw one, in which case - )

They slip past the security patrol with seconds to spare. Holding their breaths until the pair decked out in heavy armor and carrying weapons better fit for a war zone rather than a posh mansion in the hills above Los Santos passes them by.

Things only get harder from there. Security cameras, criss-crossing security guard patrols and gala staff that bleed into gala guests.

“Hard to explain your ensemble,” Gavin murmurs, when the man shoots him a look as Gavin puts a hand on his chest to press him back into an alcove as a member of the kitchen staff hurries past. “It’s a black tie affair.”

The lunatic growls, and Gavin pulls his hand away when he realizes he can feel rather than hear it, and that’s an odd thing to think.

“Just a bit longer,” he says, which isn’t quite a lie, just -

Something to say, really, and then they’re treading through narrow service corridors to avoid being seen. Ducking back behind storage crates and wheeled carts, and a baker’s cooling rack pushed up against a wall when they almost bump into someone coming back from their smoke break.

“I wouldn’t,” Gavin hisses, when the staff member stops a few feet away patting themselves down like they’ve forgotten something.

They’re so close to the servant’s entrance. Tucked behind the mansion and a good spot to make their exit where he can either circle around and go the valet service station to retrieve his car from them and drive through the main gates, or take advantage of a slight (very slight) gap in security. Jut enough to allow Gavin the chance to hop the walls around the grounds and make it to the secondary vehicle he procured as part of a contingency plan.

The lunatic turns his head ever so slowly to look at Gavin, and perhaps if Gavin hadn’t happened upon him all trussed up the way he’d been, it would carry more weight with him.

As it is -

“Look,” Gavin says, jerking his chin to where the poor woman makes a noise of triumph as she pulls something out of one of her pocket and continues on her way. “No need to do anything that might draw unnecessary attention. Bit of patience, that’s all.”

And luck, he thinks, but doesn’t say because that’s key as well, but wouldn’t exactly bolster his point.

The lunatic snorts, amusement to it.

“This time, sure.”

No guarantee it would have worked the next time or the one after that, and honestly it’s part of what makes Gavin’s line of work so appealing to him. That added bit of risk that can make or break him and oh, how lucky he’s been up until now.

“Fair play,” he says, and when he’s sure the way is clear makes his way to the servant’s entrance with the lunatic close on his heels.

For someone as big as he is, he manages to move quietly, quickly. No unnecessary noise as he follows Gavin’s lead.

And even that feels less like he’s content to do so as much as he’s watching Gavin, taking his measure and it’s damned unnerving, isn’t it. Has Gavin regretting losing his knife to the man, worried it might end up in his back before things are said and done.

Once they’re outside things turn a less certain. Gavin tapping his fingers against his leg as they find a convenient patch of shadows to take cover.

“We have two choices,” he says, aims for a cheery, pleasant tone of voice. “There’s a car hidden along the service road half a mile to the west.”

The lunatic cocks his head, waiting for the second option.

“Or I can get my car back from the valet service.”

The tricky part here is that in doing so, he’ll have to leave the damn lunatic here to accomplish that bit and swing back around to pick him up, and -

“Okay.”

- Gavin doubts the man would be so trusting after knowing each other for so short a time.

Gavin blinks, not sure he’s heard right, and when he looks up at the lunatic, the man is smiling slightly.

“The way I see it,” he says. “Is that you wouldn’t have bothered getting me this far if you were going to fuck me over at the last minute.”

His smile goes sharp, dangerous as he leans in and Gavin presses himself against the wall at his back.

“And if you do try to fuck me over, I stand a better chance of getting out of here to get my revenge for that another day. Win-win either way.”

That’s a rather pragmatic way to look at things, honestly.

“True,” Gavin says, and stares at the man.

Bright blue eyes and there’s something about the smirk on his face that Gavin can’t quite look way from and really, really, now is not the time for this.

“Valet service, then?”

“Valet service.”

Gavin nods, and moves to slip past the lunatic only to be brought up short when the lunatic grabs him by the arm.

“I’ll find you,” he says, and it sounds like a promise rather than a threat as he watches the guards at the end of the driveway and Gavin keeps his eyes on the valets chatting to each other just a few yards away. “If you fuck me over, I’ll find you.”

“Sounds lovely,” Gavin says, and pries his fingers off his arm one by one and continues on his way, rolling his shoulders to settle his tuxedo jacket and running a hand through his hair to make himself presentable.

There are a few guests loitering nearby, tipsy and giddy with it as they regale each other with their recent exploits and oblivious to anything else around them.

He angles his approach and hops a small hedge to make it appear as though he’s come from the gala and hasn’t at all been up to anything illegal. Smiles just so at the valet and hands over the ticket stub they’d give him and makes small talk with the valet left behind while his partner brings Gavin’s car around.

Bright young man, a bit on the shorter side of things with a shaved head (recent change, if the way he keeps running a hand over his head and the momentary look of oh, right, I did that, didn’t I? crosses his face is any indication) and an accent that hints at east coast roots.

Quick with a joke and sharp eyes that has Gavin taking care with what he says. Something about the valet is just so very slightly off in a way Gavin can’t quite pinpoint, but his mind is on other things and the mystery of the odd valet can wait for another time.

Eventually his partner pulls up with Gavin’s borrowed car and greets him with a smile as he holds the door for Gavin.

Tall and slender, and there's something ever so slightly off with him as well.

Maybe it’s something to do with the quicksilver speed he talks and whiplash fast changes in direction that serve as verbal bait and switch. Look here, not there, and oh, oh, ever so sorry. Was he talking too fast? He does that sometimes, you see. Old habits and a warm chuckle as he wishes him a good night and to please drive safe, and Gavin is so very, very glad he won’t be running into either of them again anytime soon.

(Preferably never, really. Safer that way and all in a city like this.)

It occurs to Gavin as he puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb that he could leave the lunatic here, leave him in that shadowed spot he’s hidden in and go on his way. Hand over the USB drive and complete his job easy as you please, but -

It’s not fear, that has him doubling back to turn onto the service driveway once he’s out of view of the mansion and anyone there, no.

Just that damnable curiosity and niggling bit of conscience that wouldn’t let him leave an injured man in the hands of the kind of woman involved in the kind of sordid dealings she is. Things even Gavin hadn’t known about until he got his stick little fingers all over the files he was sent to procure and realized that it didn’t matter so much why the lunatic was there at all as much as getting him away form there did.

(That thought always in the back of his mind that it could be him in that situation in the future, because luck is a key factor in Gavin’s line of work and he knows it will run out on him one day.)

Gavin looks over when the passenger side door opens and the lunatic gingerly eases himself into the seat beside him.

“Seat belt,” he reminds him, because the drivers in Los Santos are mental, and he’d prefer the poor bastard not gain any new injuries in this stage of their escape.

He gets a long look for that, and then an amused huff of a laugh as the lunatic clicks it into place.

“Happy now?”

Gavin hums, gaze sliding toward him as he puts the car back into gear and drives them away from the mansion.

“I’d hate for my insurance premiums to go up, you understand.”

The lunatic laughs, and it’s not a completely unpleasant sound.

“Yeah,” he says, relaxing against his seat as Gavin puts shifts gears. “That would be the worst, wouldn’t it.”

=========

Gavin takes the lunatic to a safe house he knows about that happens to belong to a former employer who won’t need it anymore. The police haven’t yet found it, and it’s paid for six months out still, and Gavin never did get around to returning the key to place before things had gone to shit for the bastard.

No one who matters knows about it, and Gavin has no qualms about giving its location away to keep his own home a secret.

“Nice place,” the lunatic says, taking in the sparse décor and thin layer of dust on everything. “You like the minimalist look?”

The lunatic claims that he looks worse off than he actually is and all he needs to sort himself out is a shower and change of clothes, but Gavin's concern over his welfare is truly touching.

Gavin grabs a change of clothes from the bedroom and shoves them at the man, who seems to have settled on being annoyingly amused at Gavin.

“There should be clean towels in the bathroom,” he says, and ignores the quiet chuckle it earns him as he head back to the living room.

Gavin keeps an ear out, and waits until he hears the water running before he allows himself the luxury of relaxing, accepting that he was successful tonight and they’re as safe as they’re likely to be in Los Santos.

A quick phone call to his employer and he has a date and time set up to hand the USB drive over and the promise of money being deposited into one of his accounts upon receipt.

He’s not quite sure he trusts his employers, but they’re not the sort of people he can afford to refuse. Powerful enough to provide him with the information he’d needed to be successful tonight, and connections everywhere.

Enough of a presence in Los Santos to have Gavin’s contacts warn him to be careful if he chose to work with them, that things happened to people who told them no, who crossed them or got a little too ambitious while working for them.

The lunatic’s still in the shower, and Gavin has no clue what he’s meant to do next, really, but he does have petty cash his employers allotted him for this job. A couple hundred dollars and more than enough to get the lunatic wherever he needs to go after this.

Pay for a cab to get him home or wherever else he needs to go and a little extra and it’s an odd choice on Gavin’s part but then again, this whole night has been odd. Better to leave things on a positive note and avoid making an enemy he’d rather not have.

It’s easy, really, sneaking out while he’s still in the shower. Place the money under a paperweight on the kitchen counter and out the door and it’s late enough that no one notices when he leaves, no good reason to be there any longer, after all.

========

Several days later and Gavin has regrets.

So, so many because he’s an idiot and should have listened when Alfredo told him he was making a mistake taking this job. That perhaps the stakes were higher than he thought and now -

“You know too much,” his employer – former employer? - is saying, and it sounds like he regrets that things have come to this, but the man is a talented actor.

Fooled Gavin into thinking he was someone who might not turn out to be a back-stabbing bastard, might be someone who didn't indulge in petty games.

“I’d rather we not do this, if it’s all the same to you,” Gavin interrupts, in no mood to deal with the man’s ego and sense of drama. Would rather get things over with than listen to all the reasons why Gavin’s death is inevitable and on and on and on. “I find this all boring.”

Cliche, really.

Like something out of a bad Vinewood thriller and it’s honestly insulting.

“What?”

Gavin doesn’t sigh, no, because his former employer is circling the chair Gavin’s tied to like a terrible villain in a spy movie gloating about his victory.

Single chair under a spotlight in an abandoned warehouse and Gavin always did have a bad feeling about the meeting place. Thought it was the kind of place where things like this happened, and he should have listened to his instincts. Should have done something different to keep from ending up here, but he didn’t, did he.

Gavin’s former employer’s head comes up as the sound of breaking glass reaches them from somewhere beyond the circle of light they’re under.

“Check it out,” he barks, and the goon who’d accompanied him grunts in acknowledgment before presumably heading off to do as he’d been ordered.

“It’s probably just a stray,” Gavin’s former employer says, more like he’s trying to convince himself it’s true than any real belief. “Little fuckers get in here all the time.”

Gavin watches the man as he paces, nervous under everything. All too aware he’s playing a dangerous game having gotten his hands on the kind of files he has, going after the kind of people he is no matter how powerful his own operations are.

He babbles, tells Gavin how stupid he was for falling for his little ploy. For ever thinking he could hope to pull off this kind of job and expect to be dealt with fairly afterward. That things like that happened in Los Santos.

Gavin listens with half an ear, knows the basic themes by heart because he’s not wrong about any of it because Los Santos is a rotten bitch of a city. Homes to back-stabbing bastards like this one, the dirty and desperate and depraved.

Footsteps headed back their way, steady and confident and Gavin sits up a little straighter. Cocks his head because -

He notices details, Gavin does.

The gait is all wrong. No nearly undetectable limp, slight hesitation before the second foot lands. No faint jingle of the keys clipped the goons belt. Heavy key-ring weighed down by keys of all shapes and sizes and a lucky rabbit’s foot that’s been dyed blood red.

Gavin’s former employer doesn’t seem to notice, turning to speak to him and stiffens as he realizes that's not his goon at all.

It’s a tall figure in a leather jacket, ominous black skull mask and known in Los Santos.

Feared, and for good reason, given his reputation. The stories and rumors left behind in his wake wherever he goes.

“You - “

A gunshot rings out, and Gavin’s former employer drops like a puppet with its strings cut, bloody hole in his head and oh, Gavin thinks, oh.

“This seems familiar,” the Vagabond says, amusement in his voice as he steps further into the light and looks at Gavin.

Gavin stares up at him, laughter caught in his throat because -

“You,” he says, and the laughter breaks free because of course the lunatic is the Vagabond is the lunatic, of course.

The Vagabond laughs, and the amusement's still there as he goes to cut Gavin free from the ropes binding him.

Gavin rubs his wrists, sore and aching, skin reddened where the ropes dug in, as he eyes the Vagabond.

“Now what?” he asks, and as grateful as he is for the Vagabond's intervention, he’s understandably wary. “Not that I’m not grateful, but you understand, I hope.”

The Vagabond cocks his head, as though he isn’t quite sure what to make of Gavin.

“My boss,” he says, slow, halting. “He’s interested in those files you stole.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow.

The USB drive is still clutched in the hand of Gavin’s former employer, but there’s a little surprise packed in with the files that will wipe it clean if anyone enters the wrong password one time too many.

Gavin’s an idiot, it’s true, but he’s not completely stupid.

“Is he now,” he says, wondering if all that’s happened here is Gavin going from one bad situation to another and no choice in the matter.

The Vagabond sighs, reaching up to pull the mask off. Looks at Gavin, and his face is a motley array of bruises and scattered cuts.

“He sent me to get them,” he says, “but I fucked up.”

Gavin never expected to hear an admission of failure from the Vagabond, although to be fair he never expected to be in the man’s presence either, so -

“You ruined their rescue mission, by the way,” he says, and there’s a rueful twist to his mouth as he looks at Gavin. “They put a lot of work and resources into the whole thing. Touching, honestly.”

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, so he keeps his silence. Watches the Vagabond watching him and wonders how his life has come to this, what series of events have lead him to this place and time.

“You met some of them, I think.” The Vagabond says, and oh, the bastard is enjoying this. “Lindsay says you’re an amazing dancer – light on your feet, I believe she said – and Jack apologizes for ruining your shirt.”

He goes on to name other people Gavin had interacted with that night, the waitstaff with the mop of curls who’d pointed the way to the bathroom on the upper floor and the valets.

They’d been the ones to recognize him when he arrived at the gala, Gavin having made something of a name for himself in Los Santos. Tipped the others off, let them know to keep an eye on him and when they realized he’d freed the Vagabond let things play out to see what he would do.

“Should I have left you there, then?” Gavin asks, feeling exhausted because apparently there was no need for his act of kindness that night, no reason for it at all.

He feels a fool, and it grates.

Still, he needs to move carefully here, doesn’t he.

The Vagabond moves closer, and Gavin is so, so aware of the disadvantage he's at here. The way the Vagabond looms without meaning to.

“That’s the thing. You had no reason to help me, but you did anyway. Risked the job you were hired for to do it,” he says, and pauses. “You didn't fuck me over even when you had the perfect opportunity.”

Why, Gavin knows, but there’s no easy answer here.

Not really.

“Yes, well,” Gavin says, and shrugs. “I’ve been told I’m something of an idiot.”

By Alfredo, mostly, but Dan’s said the same in the past. And Meg, bless her soul, she lives in the eternal hope she can break him of the habit one day despite the fact so many others have tried.

Good friends to have in this business, this life, but some things can’t be undone.

“That’s it?” the Vagabond asks, and the man sounds confused. Like he thinks Gavin’s hiding something from him, that there has to be some deeper reason Gavin had helped him that night. “Really?”

Gavin smiles up at him.

“Were you expecting a different answer?” Gavin asks, honestly curious.

The Vagabond regards him silently for a long moment, and Gavin looks his fill because he’s still human and the man is not unattractive. Not the worst sight he expected to see before he died, because surely that’s what this is.

Try the soft approach and when that doesn’t work, well, Los Santos is full of people like Gavin, isn’t it. Thieves and hackers and give them enough money and they’ll steal just about anything for you.

Wouldn’t be long before they found someone willing to make a second attempt at stealing the files. Until someone succeeded..

“No,” the Vagabond says, and he laughs as he puts the mask back on.

Gavin swallows, wonders -

“Catch.”

Gavin blinks, hand coming up to catch the phone the Vagabond throws to him. An archaic flip phone, shiny and new.

“We could use someone with your skills. If you’re interested, use speed dial one. If not, do whatever you want with the damn thing.”

Gavin doubts it’s as easy as that, not after telling him his boss wants the files Gavin had stolen, but he leaves the USB drive where it is as he turns to leave - pauses.

“Thank you,” the Vagabond says, and clears his throat as he looks away. “I appreciate what you did.”

Gavin bites back a laugh, eyes going to his would-be murderer's body and back to the Vagabond who looks oddly hesitant. Uncertain.

“I’d say that makes us even, wouldn’t you?” he asks, and maybe things like that shouldn’t work like that, keeping score of that kind of thing, but it’s something to build on.

The Vagabond laughs and inclines his head in acknowledgment, and then he's gone, leaving Gavin alone with his thoughts and a choice to be made.

Curiosity is a failing of his, and when he opens the phone his eyes are immediately drawn to the background wallpaper someone’s selected. The all too familiar logo of the Fake AH Crew. Silhouette of a green rubber duck in the cross-hairs, and he’s heard promising things about them here and there over the years.

From Alfredo more and more recently, since they’d started courting him, interested in someone of his unique skills and know how, and thinks that things certainly couldn’t be any worse for him than they already are, really, if he were to work for them. (Ignores the thought that there would be an added bonus in getting to see the Vagabond again, because that’s hardly professional of him, but it is a very nice incentive to think about.)

Later, though, because he needs to get out of here before someone comes along to investigate the goings on here. When he’s somewhere safe he can stop to think about the offer the Vagabond made him. Think over the pros and cons and make a choice based on them and hope he isn't wrong when he does.

#freewood #ragehappy #fahc fic #this came out of nowhere #so #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#vagrant fic

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mcspirkholidayfest · 6 years

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It’s the time of year again: Get To Know Your Mod! This year the moderators will be answering McSpirk headcanons.

Hello, everyone! I’m @klmeri , and I feel like I’ve been around for too long but you know there’s this beautiful thing called McSpirk that keeps drawing me back. I will be writing my headcanons aka mini stories in the TOS ‘verse, not because I love it best (AOS is lovely too) but simply for the ease of focusing on a Triumvirate that canonically has a lot of history together. I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to the joys of all things Triumvirate, so it’s with shameless insistence that I say read on, enjoy, and bless the other mods and the participants of McSpirk Holiday Fest with your attention too. There are a great many headcanons, stories, and art for you at this tumblr!

I will be answering these:

Who initiates hand holding while the other is piloting the craft

Who would cook the better romantic dinner

Who kissed who first

Who holds the door on dates

Who remembers things

Who caves to the other giving them pleading eyes

Who shows up at the other’s work randomly with gifts

Who initiates hand holding while the other is piloting the craft

Let’s be realistic. It’s Spock or Kirk piloting the craft. McCoy isn’t allowed. Sure, he might be trained and can navigate them the heck outta a bad situation in a pinch but if you value your sanity and don’t want to revisit what you last ate, you don’t let McCoy take the pilot’s seat. And like most crafts (shuttles, hover-things, alien contraptions), there is usually no more than two seats up front, precisely for the pilot and co-pilot. That means Kirk and Spock are often side-by-side and McCoy is in a seat behind them. This gives him great advantage (at least from his perspective) because it means he can do everything he wants with little to no repercussions, as that one time Jim tried to twist backward to make Leonard stop poking his shoulder did not go over well when Spock also took his attention off the console to intervene in their mock-fight and the whole craft nearly collided with a market stand of smelly produce in an overpopulated thoroughfare. Leonard does have some control over his childish impulses however; more frequently since he, Jim, and Spock got married, he finds himself reaching for the co-pilot’s hand like a lovesick moon-calf. If it’s Jim’s hand, Jim is very quick to lace their fingers together and kiss Leonard’s knuckles. If Spock happens to be in the co-pilot’s seat, he lets McCoy rest his hand lightly on the back of his, an area which is less sensitive than the palm and finger-pads. Leonard has come to understand this is still a very intimate sort of contact for a Vulcan. With the pilot, it’s different though. Leonard doesn’t dare interfere with the hands of the person controlling the craft (Jim, keep both hands on the levers, damn it!), but of course that isn’t a deterrent to showing affection. He likes to prop his chin on the shoulder of that partner. In this way, holding the hand of one and leaning against the other, McCoy stays connected to both. As the three of them know when it comes to loving each other, there are no favorites. Neither Kirk nor Spock have complained about this penchant of McCoy’s, and he hopes they never will.

Who would cook the better romantic dinner

Cooking is for those who can’t figure out how to use the replicator. Regardless of how many times, Jim Kirk hears this from Leonard McCoy, he doesn’t feel an ounce of shame over his desire to court his two favorite people. And because Jim is a widely read man, being particularly fond of literature with both adventure and romance, he has many and varied ideas on how a gentleman pays court. But cooking is not easy, he discovers. At least, the recipe for that Vulcan entree seems simple enough until one undertakes the act of preparing it. And, unfortunately, the final result doesn’t match the picture or the description of its supposed taste. Jim isn’t a quitter though, and on his third attempt (the kitchen crew would probably be appalled by the mess of the first two times), he gets it right. Spock thanks him for the effort later, and McCoy—after cracking a few jokes—appears equally appreciative of the country casserole Jim made for him. When all is said and done, success isn’t tied to Jim Kirk as a great chef or even as the best at cooking (as Kirk suspects McCoy could whip up a gourmet meal in a nanosecond); it is that his labor of love is truly one of a kind, standing out despite that none of them can stomach a second helping of a dish Jim might have flubbed a little during the making of it. McCoy, with Spock nodding in agreement, claims that is his best quality.

Who kissed who first

Jim swears he initiated the first kiss. He did. He will tell that to anyone who is gutsy enough to ask.

Except, years later, when Jim and Leonard sit down together and think deeply about the subject, analyzing the technique of kissing as humans versus as human-and-Vulcan, they realize Spock was kissing them long before their first passionate affair.

“We were duped,” McCoy says.

Jim decides, “Spock must have known what he wanted.”

“I knew there was something weird going on. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself!”

The men laugh about it, then, and never let on to Spock that they know his little secret.

Who holds the door on dates

If the universe finds it alarming that Kirk, Spock, and McCoy race to see who can be the first to sacrifice himself for the other two, the universe has never paid attention to the all-out war that is Kirk, Spock, and McCoy dating. A man raised to have good manners holds the door. A gentleman looks after his date. A fool in love lets his adoration be known through every tiny action. So, who holds the door on dates? Whoever gets there first! That’s both a sore spot and a playful game for the three of them. Spock wins most often, simply because Jim and Leonard are too busy tripping over each other trying to play the part of a proper escort. Spock will patiently wait for them to realize he has the door wide-open, and then one will frown about it and the other will grumble something about getting there first next time. But in general Spock has to stop holding the door a minute or so after, as the next battle usually ensues over which of Jim or Leonard should go through the doorway ahead of the others. A Vulcan’s patience, like a human’s, does have a limit after all.

None of them will admit it, but they are keeping score as to who can be the most mannered/gentlemanly/thoughtful lover. A true headache for any outsider to watch.

Who remembers things

Technically, Spock would claim his eidetic memory is superior. But that Vulcan doesn’t have a leg to stand on if you ask McCoy. Remembering the date of a dentist appointment isn’t the same as remembering the day they first said “I love you” to each other. If a man can’t recall a moment like that, having an eidetic memory is about as useful as a boot full of piss.

Spock isn’t fond of that strongly delivered expression, but sadly Jim, standing next to him, isn’t in a position to come to the Vulcan’s rescue. While Jim certainly can remember special dates like McCoy is referring to—anniversaries, first kisses, etc.—his days are so busy that his short memory has become less and less reliable; hence all those calendar reminders on his personal padd. And, okay, he might have missed the last important date, although he never forgets the romantic holidays.

In short, Leonard McCoy is very methodical in the maintenance of his relationships. He believes wholeheartedly in celebrating the special moments over and over again, which of course is the problem that led to this fight. Spock is not accustomed to the same way of thinking, and though he knows very well the precise date and time of all the little moments McCoy is rattling off, he did not once consider those moments would need to be recalled on an annual basis. This is one of those little trials unique to a relationship. The good thing is, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy will come to a joint agreement over what days are to be remembered and celebrated again. Spock will continue to remember the mundane details like appointments, meetings, and his partners’ schedules. Kirk will continue to rely on his padd for reminders but as the staunchest romantic of all three, he will put both McCoy and Spock to shame with his celebratory efforts.

Who caves to the other giving them pleading eyes

Jim, being readily expressive with his body language, has the best pleading eyes of the three men. He rarely feels desperate enough to employ the technique, however, preferring other, more direct means of persuasion; yet when the need arises and Jim falls back to the pleading eyes, he is always surprised to discover they never work. Why Spock and McCoy are oddly immune and utterly unmoved by any sort of sad, pitiful face Jim can conjure is quite the mystery to him, particularly as Jim considers himself a master charmer.

Spock’s dignity more so than his Vulcan upbringing does not allow for such behavior. He would rather argue his point of view until he runs out of breath. If that fails—such is rarely the case as Spock’s stamina (and stubbornness) is greater than his companions’ combined—he may admit momentary defeat until another angle of the argument can inevitably be worked out.

It goes without saying, then, that McCoy could be the best at using this technique. Truth be told, though, he knows something that works better, for McCoy is no stranger to how sensitive Spock and Kirk are to his moods and is equally aware of his own tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so to speak. Often, under duress or in the face of ill news, he cannot fully mask feelings like disappointment or sadness. So, Leonard might subtly infuse a little of that natural dejection into his body language or his tone (a tiny sloping of the shoulders or a soft, dejected sigh) when something isn’t going his way, and this small deception frequently proves effective. Leonard has won more arguments with Spock and sparked more swift reconsideration from Jim this way than sticking to his usual method of intractability. But Leonard doesn’t abuse this power he wields over the hearts of his partners because persuading a lover to eat a healthy salad or to cuddle with him a while longer on the couch can be relatively harmless, but asking a man to go against his values or moral code is not. Leonard understands that difference.

Who shows up at the other’s work randomly with gifts

Spock would insist that his behavior is a simple matter of performing his duties as first officer and husband in proper fashion, but in truth the Vulcan is a closeted caretaker. Having grown up in an environment that did not often appreciate the subtle differences in his character due to his being half-human, he treasures those who accept him for who he is, and therefore he treasures Kirk and McCoy. Logic suggests to hold on to something precious requires taking very good care of it. With this belief, Spock finds it no hardship in seemingly randomly checking up on his partners mid-shift or at odd hours and often without warning, bearing a small gift like a meal for the replenishment of energy during a long shift in Sickbay for Leonard or the summarization of those quarterly reports cluttering up Jim’s inbox. Spock’s thoughtfulness is in turn treasured by his husbands. Leonard and Jim always have a thank you or gesture of gratitude for him. They make certain Spock understands they care for him regardless of these surprise visits. This aspect of their relationship is one of the sweetest and also a testament to the depth of their love. Later, during Kirk and McCoy’s retirement years, they take great joy in returning the favor while Spock continues his work for Starfleet.

#mcspirk #mcspirkholidayfest #2018 fest #feature: get to know your mod

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deetvar-moved · 6 years

Note

Claude/Ferry, Holy: Confessions in Church

A juicy prompt! Also my apologies for taking SO long to finish this. Title: Imagine

The Silesian breeze was particularly cold, and yet this did little to discourage the devoted who easily walked into the halls of the Church of Sailane. Vicars and curates prepared for the mass influx of people, as today marked the Vernal Equinox. Fury recalled halls similar to these in the capital of Silesse, as if it were the day of her appointment to be an Angelic Knight of Silesia.

Having been gone so long, Fury took a stroll in the church’s halls once most of the people had left today’s service. A glass stained wall showed in vivid detail the Crusader Sety kneeling before Forseti. Other details stood out to her, but the one that most caught her attention was a blond man. She recognized him from somewhere, but his name eluded her.

“Sightseeing? If you’d like, I can accompany you through Sailane.” Fury said to the man as he looked to the statues of past Silesian rulers.

He looked to Fury with a smile. “Thank you, but I believe I’m quite fine here right now.” He stared intently at the statue, noticing its details. “If I may ask, and I mean no offense, but I don’t see much mention of other Crusaders— why is that?”

She could hear the sincerity in his voice and responded, “The other Crusaders are mentioned in passing but it was Forseti, Guider and Judge Of Men, who proclaimed this land as ours. He guided our First King, and cleansed the Silesian snow of ash and blood.”

“Fascinating. I’ve always been curious to the practices of Silesians but never had firsthand accounts until now.” His smile gleamed through with curiosity. “Would it be rude of me to ask the Archbishop if she has any texts I could study?”

Fury’s brow widened at the suggestion. “I’ve never encountered anyone so inquisitive to know our ways. First thing most travelers do is marvel at the snow and stillness of our lands.” Having realized that she still did not know this man, she spoke again. “My apologies, I’m afraid I’ve been neglectful and rude to you. I’m Fury. Angelic Knight of Silesia.”

He bowed down to her. “Claude, Priest of Edda. A pleasure to meet you, General.”

“As he spoke the lord of gales, Forseti, struck his champion’s tendons with his scepter, and filled his heart with valor and righteousness. In a light gleam of radiance, Sety could brisk across the plains as if a hyena pouncing for scraps. ‘Sety, swiftest and noblest of the Crusaders, raise your palm and unleash a typhoon upon these wicked souls of Loptyr. Accept no ransom nor mercy, strike down all those who aid them in their escape.”

Claude clenched the text tightly in his hands, as if he were a child given a gift. Fury chuckled at this beady expression. “It’s seems you quite like this tale.”

“I do. The imagery is quite impressive and I love the poetic styling of this tale. Thank you for gifting this, General Fury. But I still must ask, are you sure want to give me your copy?”

Fury nodded. “Yes, it’s quite alright. I don’t have much need for it.”

Claude’s brow raised. “What do you mean?”

Fury turned her head in a bit of shame. “I’m afraid I don’t pray as much as I used to. Since Prince Levin left all those years ago, I haven’t felt much need of it. My comrades have become distant to me and my Queen has been grief stricken. I really should begin my daily prayers as I used to; I’ve shown poor faith. ”

Slowly patting to her shoulder he nodded. “I don’t see why that’s a problem. You act in good works and love for others. That is enough, and the rest will naturally follow. Pray as you feel it necessary,

“Truly?”

“A few years ago, there was an priest who had taken to missionary work in the Northern Thracia. He was a great scholar who understood the struggles of the Thracian Peninsula, I had such high hopes for him. However he was excommunicated from the Order, his practices….were…abhorrent to say the least.” His expression once pleasant was now pained, even Claude’s voice cracked upon reflecting on the mention of these practices. “What matters, General, is this: one’s faith can be contorted to do ill. I have no doubt the priest I spoke of believed in the same gods as I do. But the ultimate purpose of the Blagi Church is different, not to preach our gods to others. The goal of the Blagi Church to tend life, not to harm it.”

Fury was moved by Claude’s words, and fell into tears. “It is said that Crusader Sety instructed his disciples to combat the evil within themselves first, before we combat the evil in the world.”

“What good counsel. I would agree.” Claude reached to his pocket, offering a handkerchief to Fury.

Reaching for it, she cleaned her face of her tears. “Perhaps our faiths are far more similar than we thought.”

“Indeed, so much can be learned from other’s view.”

Fury turned to Claude, unaware of the light blush on her face. “Perhaps if you are still in doubt owning my text, would be open to an exchange?”

Claude smiled. “I’d love to.”

Reaching Thove would not be easy, and yet the army persisted forward. Sylvia had attached herself solely to Levin, hugging his arm as they marched. Fury watched as they argued to each other.

“Sylvia, give a rest? I got to talk to Sigurd about the enemy commander.” He said as he tried to wrestle the dancer off his right arm.

“Fine!” Sylvia pouted away from the Prince.

Levin pressed his fingers between his eyes. “Look, I just need to talk to Sigurd is all. We can talk another time, sound good?”

“A-okay!” Sylvia lifted her arms and skirted around Levin in a dance.

Fury approached Sylvia, her lance in hand. “I’m sorry, he can be a bit…rude.”

“I know! I once asked him to dance with me and he went off to run ‘errands.’” Sylvia sighed as she pressed her foot onto the frozen soil. “Has he always been like this?”

“Since I’ve first met him.”

“Do you like him?” Sylvia asked, her eyes beaming with curious intent.

Flustered, Fury darted her eyes off Sylvia. “I-well he’s a good friend, and I’ve known him since we were young- well he’s just the Prince of Silesia and-”

“Ah, I see. You wouldn’t mind if I go after him?”

Sylvia was by no means a terrible person, and she did make Levin happy. “No…I don’t mind-”

Placing her arms on her shoulder, she pouted. “You sure? You ain’t just pretending to not like him?”

“Why would I need to pretend?” Fury’s blood began to boil. Memories of her and Levin flashed in her mind, all those moments dear to her. Her mind wandered to the day he left and how everything fell apart, the nobles arguing over the line of succession. Should they have bothered to retrieve Levin? Maybe if she said her piece all those years ago, none of this would have happened.

“I dunno. Well, I’m going after him.”

Fury turned away from Sylvia, her back facing Sylvia. “Well, I’d like to think the next Queen of Silesia would have a bit more dignity and grace.”

Sylvia raced forward and tugged Fury to face her. “What are you saying? I’m no good? Who are you to decide what Levin’s Queen ought to be like?” Her teeth bared as her hands formed into fists

“Wait-no I meant-” Fury held her arms chest high as if to surrender.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Sylvia yelled. She ran toward the front of the army, looking for Levin.

Fury looked toward the side of the road at a small block of ice across the river water. Her reflection was shown in the ice, her eyes shot with blood as tears dripped down. She leaned toward her reflection. “Fight the evil inside you…” She reached to bring the ice block toward her, but instead it fractured upon her touch.

Fury found Claude within the Thove archives, a pile of manuscripts and books on his left side. Surely Claude has most of the day here, if not then multiple days. Fury stood next to him, waiting for him to recognize his presence as to not disturb his reading.

“Hello, General.” Claude moves his book to the side to address Fury. “How may I help you?”

Twindling her thumbs, Fury hesitates. Her heart feels heavy, burdened by the weight of her remorse. Claude made no change to his expression, he waited for her response.

Fury inhaled a deep breath. She buried the doubts in heard and spoke. “As a priest of Edda, is it common practice in your faith for a confession?”

“It is.” Seeing Fury distressed brought worries to Claude, fearful for her well being. “Is there something the matter?”

“I’d like to make a confession.” Fury pressed, her eyes brimming with determination.

Claude understood, he had washed his hands and instructed Fury to do as well. Afterward they made their way to a detached corner of the Church Of Thove. Claude prepared the rites and had instructed Fury how to perform a proper confession.

“Have you committed a wrong?”

“Yes.”

“To whom have you wronged?”

Pursing her lips, she thought what precisely. “To Sylvia, for my anger against her choices on how to conduct herself. To…Prince Levin, for presuming to understand him better than he himself.”

“Do you resolve under blessed gods to conduct yourself to cease and correct wrongs in the future?”

“Yes.” Fury would make peace with herself and be there to support her prince and whoever was to be Queen.

“Then rise.” With that Claude, dipped a jar of water over Fury’s head. As the water dripped toward her face, Fury could feel at ease. There was one last thing to do.

“Lady Sylvia, if you would please?” Claude asked of Sylvia, hesitant of approaching in light of Fury’s presence.

“Why should I?” Sylvia pouted as she held her arms crossed.

Claude spoke in a earnest clarity. “Fury would like to mend this wound.”

Sylvia made a skeptical stare but nonetheless uncrossed her arms and came forward. “Alright, I’ll listen.”

Fury looked intently in Sylvia’s eyes. “I’m sorry; it was wrong of me to interfere with your affairs. I didn’t mean to speak ill of you, and I wish you luck in whatever you endeavor. I do not expect you to forgive me but at the very least I do not wish for us to be adversarial to one another.”

Sylvia sighed, her eyes unable to look forward. “Well…it wasn’t the best thought of mine to bring up the question? I pressed you into a place you didn’t want to talk about.” Sylvia rubbed her left arm, and looked away. “I’m sorry.”

Claude moved between them. “Now that both of you have reconciled your differences, would you please move toward another.” Fury and Sylvia did as he was told, facing another but both struggling to make eye contact. “Do you promise to not repeat this again?”

At an instant both raised their voices. “Yes!”

Claude nodded as he saw the bright sunbeams gaze over them all.

Notes: I took the verse Claude was reading from a scene of the Iliad where Poseidon speaks to Ajax and retrofitted it. I thought it fitting to emulate a piece of classic Greek mythology since the current localization has favored more Greek names for the Silesians. I.E Femina -> Hermina, Fury being more Greek in Erinys. Claude’s response to Fury was inspired by Psalms 10:16. Yes, Claude is talking about August when he mentions the priest in Northern Thracia.

This prompt does take place in the Mishaverse if you squint.

#deet'var writing requests #damoselcastel #claude #fury #jugdral week 2018 #/long post

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incomplete-nano-stash · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Technasia Ch 3

The ride back to her humble house had been long and confusing. Tuck barely had the strength to open the door, or the balance to stagger across the floor to her bed. She flopped down in the bed, face down, her head sinking into her pillows.

Not exactly what she had in mind for Establishment Day, but the reality had to set in sometime. She was a Princess now, one of the rulers of her country. All it cost was the life of one of her oldest and dearest friends. She shifted her head to look up at her father’s portrait, hanging over her mantel. Fresh, warm tears started streaming.

She was interrupted in her sadness by an insistent knock on the door. Tuck groaned. “Whoever it is, I’m not home because I’m auditioning for death!”

A muffled voice came through. “May I come in?”

Tuck vaguely recognized the voice. “Your Highness?”

The door slowly opened and, in the quietest manner possible, Princess Anyia slipped into the room. “I apologize for the lateness, Imogen. It’s part of, ah, my duties of title to brief you on your new life in the Princess Corps.” Princess Anyia carried a thick book in her arms, ancient by the appearance of the hammered leather cover.

Tuck groaned again, then sat up on the side of her bed, rubbing her eyes. “Whatever.” She motioned toward a nearby chair. “Have a seat, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” Princess Anyia sat down. “That’s one of the first, ah, things I wanted to cover with you. Among our members in the Corps, we don’t, ah, usually stand on ceremony 24/7. In fact we get downright, ah, informal when we’re taking up our daily duties, so, ah, don’t worry about titles or honorifics. Among Princesses, we’re equals. The only one who, ah, gets honorifics all the time is Queen Guerrania.”

“I see. Well, while we’re being all informal, go ahead and call me Tuck. It’s what I’m used to.”

Princess Anyia shifted in the chair. “Oh dear, I’m sorry, it’s just I’m, ah, very uncomfortable with nicknames.” She opened the book in her lap, flipping through pages, searching for the correct passage. “Ah, here we go. First off, we need to establish which, ah, title you will be taking. Eliminating the current Princesses, what does that leave us with …”

Princess Anyia bent over closer, reading carefully. Tuck sat back on her arms, idly staring at the ceiling. “So just exactly how long have you been a princess for, Anyia?”

Princess Anyia looked up in surprise. “Oh, well … nobody really asks that … I guess I’ve, ah, been there quite a long time …”

Tuck nodded. “I remember you being the Princess of Literacy even when I was a little girl. It has to have been a while.”

Princess Anyia blushed slightly. “Well, I … er … oh, here we go.” She turned the conversation away from herself in the most awkward way possible. “Looks like by, ah, your trade and expertise that you’ll be the Princess of Technology.”

This made Tuck raise an eyebrow. “Is there even such a title? I don’t even remember hearing about it in school.”

“It’s quite, ah, rare, to tell the truth.” Princess Anyia tapped her book. “According to this, ah, there’s only been two previous ones and the last one died two hundred years ago.”

“What exactly is that?” Tuck leaned forward, interested.

“This is an archive of Technasian history that, ah, I’ve been spending my entire career to, ah, assemble.” Princess Anyia turned the book toward Tuck. “Here. My work on this earned me, ah, my Princess title, if that gives you an idea of how long I’ve worked on this.”

Princess Anyia seemed nervous about letting the book out of her grip. Tuck raised her hands. “That’s quite all right, you can hang on to it. I just … it’s so sudden and crazy. Why make me a Princess? I’m not exactly the type for a royal title.”

Princess Anyia sighed. “None of us ever were. We all, ah, did our jobs, but then we each had one thing we did that drew attention, that made us, ah, stand out, and which earned us our titles. At least it got us into the, ah, running for a public vote to take the title, anyway.” The Princess seemed to narrow her eyes at Tuck. “No Princess has been, ah, named by royal appointment since the last, ah, Princess of Art sixty years ago. It’s, ah, curious that you have garnered it.”

Tuck ran her fingers along her metal arm. “Not everyone has one of these.”

“Ah, yes, the, ah, arm that your father and Giana created for you.” Princess Anyia adjusted her glasses and looked closer at the device. “Quite advantageous to have this, would you not agree?”

Tuck chuckled, flexing the metal fingers gently. “More like a necessity. With only one arm it’s hard to do my work.”

Princess Anyia shrugged. “Ah well, it is what it is. Anyway, here, let’s, ah, get you ready, ah, for your position.” She flipped to another page in the book. “As Princess, you will hold power over elements of our nation’s society, geared toward your expertise. In your case, the Princess of Technology oversees our nation’s technological development, in regards to, ah, engineering and physical sciences.”

“Uh huh.” Tuck reached up to the back of her neck and unplugged the information vine from its port, letting her metal arm fall slack. Unclipping three hooks detached the appendage from her body, allowing her to remove the arm from her sleeve and hang it up on a peg on her wall, just above the bed. “Anything else the job entails?”

Princess Anyia, slightly distracted by watching Tuck remove her arm, cleared her throat and continued. “Well, ah, your duties also include assisting with the governance of the nation, and acting as an advisor to Queen Guerrania. You will need to keep appraised to, ah, international affairs. Especially where it, ah, comes to relations with Litigia.”

Tuck felt like she should have been more fearful of the mention of Technasia’s bitter rival, but she was too tired to care right now. “So diplomacy, great. Just what I’ve never been trained to do.”

Princess Anyia chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll, ah, help you out with it.” She returned to the book as Tuck returned to a prone position. “Okay, so, ah, you will have free quarters at the Central Palace, with which you can do as you please so long as no, ah, blatantly illegal activity takes place. You may also choose to move in and live there, but you are encouraged to not, ah, abuse this privilege.”

Tuck gave a barely audible acknowledgment.

“Then there’s, ah, the ceremonies for, ah, coronation and … oh …” Princess Anyia allowed herself to trail off as she looked up from the book and noticed that Tuck had fallen asleep. Though she felt she should have been annoyed by it, Princess Anyia instead simply stood up and quietly left the room, allowing the newest Princess to rest before the business coming the next day.

Insistent knocking on the door of the workshop made Tuck jump and nearly tumble out of her bed. The light was still low, too low to be dawn yet. Trying to assemble herself, she barked, “We’re not open yet!”

“Your Highness, I’m here to take you to the Central Palace.” The male voice on the other side of the door sounded official enough.

“What are you … oh yeah. One minute, please!” Tuck rubbed her face, the memories of the previous day starting to come back to her. Quickly, she changed her clothes out of the outfit she had worn to the parade, finishing off the look by putting her arm back on. Satchel securely on her shoulder, she finally opened the door.

A retinue of ten royal guards stood around a small, nondescript carriage, awaiting her emergence. The captain of the group, a tall, middle-aged man displaying finely-groomed facial hair, knelt before her. “Your Highness, this way.”

Tuck tapped the guard on his shoulder. “At ease, soldier. I guess let’s go, lead on.”

The guard nodded, guiding her toward the door of the carriage. Inside, she was greeted by another man, considerably less armored but still in royal finery. He carried a sheaf of papers in his arm, flipping through them.

“Good morning, Your Highness, my name is Jurness and I am your assistant.” He pulled a sheet of paper out of the sheaf and handed it toward Tuck. “You’ll need to read over and sign these before we get to the Central Palace …”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, I haven’t even completely woke up yet!” Tuck suddenly was thrown back in her seat as the carriage started moving on the street. She heard the ten guards, all of which were on horseback, following in the loudest procession she had ever been in. “Who are you exactly? Not that I won’t need one, but why do I have an assistant?”

Jurness nodded. “Oh, that’s right. I apologize, Your Highness, I should have explained better. Every Princess has an assistant, we give daily briefings on the nation’s business. If it happens in Technasia, we let you know.”

Tuck nodded. “Okay. So what am I signing my life away for?”

“Not exactly, you just need to sign off that I’ve discussed this business with you.” At this admission, Tuck finally took the paper from Jurness, reading it over briefly.

“Okay, so what am I looking at?”

Jurness responded without missing a beat. “Official missive from King Turgen Halder of Litigia, regarding Princess Giana.” The assistant’s face darkened slightly. “Condolences.”

Tuck nodded and turned her attention to the missive.

The Kingdom of Litigia hereby sends its warmest and fondest regards and condolences to the royal corps and the people of Technasia, in regards to the passing of Princess Giana Killaine. We will be sending a diplomatic party to attend the memorial services for the princess. Please accept our ambassador with the same warmth we offer to you in your time of mourning.

Tuck rubbed her eyes. The emotional pain was resurfacing. “Okay.” She signed the paper quickly before she was unable to read more, handing it back to Jurness. “Seems rightly neighborly of them.”

“Oh, it’s the old diplomatic song and dance. They have to seem friendly, or else someone could take offense, and then we have a war, and nobody wants that.” Jurness lowered his voice. “Nobody sane, anyway.”

Tuck nodded. Jurness handed her another missive, which she read over briefly.

Queen Guerrania of Technasia hereby announces that the vacancy created by the unfortunate death of Princess Giana Killaine will be filled by her successor and new Princess, Imogen Inperia.

Tuck was immediately self-conscious. “Good God, the body isn’t even cold and she’s already announcing it?” Her breathing accelerated.

“She was eager to let the world know that we’ll have a full Princess Corps despite the tragedy. It prevents the appearance of weakness.” Jurness rested his cheek on his hand. “It’s part of the game, Your Highness, and you’re going to have to learn how to play it if you plan on staying a Princess for a while.”

Tuck held her tongue for her immediate response, that she didn’t even want it in the first place, and simply continued reading the missive.

The new Princess Imogen will assume her position in the line of succession following the memorial for Princess Giana. Princess Hanna Umbriel will move to 4th in line for the throne. The public is invited to the coronation of Princess Imogen, to meet their newest public servant.

Tuck nodded. She was going to have to get used to all the publicity and attention. She quickly signed the missive and handed it back to Jurness. “Anything else?”

Jurness found one more paper he felt important. “One last thing, you don’t have to sign this one. We’ve received word who the ambassador Litigia has sent is from our border checkpoints.”

Jurness handed the report over to Tuck. It showed a royal procession arriving at a southwestern border checkpoint, guarding Litigian royalty and an ambassador identified as Lord Firnian Moethran.

“Why does this name sound familiar?” Tuck stroked her chin.

“I wouldn’t know,” Jurness responded, “I don’t keep track of Litigian politics. Those people are goddamn nutjobs. Pardon my language, Your Highness.”

Tuck smirked. “God knows I say worse when I stub my toe, it’s okay.” She handed the report back to Jurness. “I’m assuming we’re going to assign a security detail to them?”

Jurness nodded. “Princess Ramia has already ordered as much. Don’t worry about everything, Your Highness, we do a good job of dividing the burden among all of the Princesses.”

“I suppose so,” Tuck sighed, turning her attention out the window of the carriage, watching the familiar streets go by and almost dreading her arrival at the Central Palace.

#nanowrimo #incomplete nano

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deathscar · 7 years

Text

Shadow

“So? Is she okay?” Rainbow asked while she nibbled on her fingernails. Sunset opened her mouth to berate Rainbow’s terrible habits but swiftly closed it just a second later.

She won’t listen anyway. Sunset drew a breath before speaking, “calm down Rainbow. You didn’t get an answer the last four times you asked, you’re not going to get one now,” Sunset said, feeling a finger press into her ribcage.

“Does this hurt?” Fluttershy asked, pushing her gloved thumb into a faint black spot on Sunset’s side.

“Nope. Not even a little,” Sunset answered with a grin.

“Then it looks like your wounds healed just fine. You may put your shirt back on.” Fluttershy stood from her kneeling position and made her way to the desk at the other end of the room.

Sunset pulled the teal colored garment over her head, sliding her arms through the respective sleeves before tugging the collar down. She watched as Fluttershy ruffled through her table drawer, filling the room with the sound of shuffling papers.

Sunset took this time to glance around the office. It contained only several pieces of furniture. Most notably a tall cabinet filled to the brim with bottles and boxes of all kinds. She was seated on a cushioned examination table in the middle of the room, while at the far end sat Fluttershy’s mahogany desk. Countless papers were stacked neatly into several piles, each sitting in their own individual tray.

Maybe I should get to organizing my place like that. Sunset recalled her table, where a mountain of papers, stationery and miscellaneous items sat in a disheveled mess atop it. Simply the thought of attempting to shuffle through that mess made Sunset feel exhausted. Eh, I’ll just do it some other time.

“Ahem.” Sunset leaped up a little upon hearing how close Fluttershy’s voice was. She turned her head, realizing that the doctor was already standing right beside her, waiting.

“Oh hey Doc. Didn’t-”

“So, she’s okay?” Rainbow interrupted, the tip of her thumb still jammed in between her teeth.

“Yes, she’s fine for now,” Fluttershy spoke with her gaze locked squarely onto Sunset’s. “But she needs to take better care of herself. With how often she’s coming into my office, she’s starting to worry me.” She grabbed Sunset’s wrist lightly, turning her hand so that her palm faced upwards. She placed a tiny orange container in it before forcing her fingers close.

Sunset could only smirk through the whole ordeal. In one swift motion, she pocketed the item and retrieved several dollar bills from her back pocket with her other hand. “I didn’t know you cared about what happens to criminals like us.”

Fluttershy gave a soft sigh, plucking the notes from Sunset’s grip before placing it in her own pocket. “I’m a doctor. It’s my job to care about my patients. Whoever they may be.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Rainbow gave a warm smile towards Fluttershy, who returned a tiny one in kind. “We wouldn’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Yes, well, you’re very welcome but it is getting very late. Would you mind-”

“Right. We got it. You want us to…” Sunset gave a smack of her lips and a point to the door. “Come on, Rainbow. Let’s not hold up Miss Fluttershy.”

Rainbow nodded, giving Fluttershy a wave goodbye. Sunset grabbed her black jacket off the coat rack, slipping it on with ease.

However, as Sunset reached for the doorknob, it began to turn on its own. She swiftly retracted her arm in shock, hearing a ‘click’ echo through the room. The door swung open, revealing a familiar orange-haired detective standing at the doorway,

“Hey Flutters, ready to g-” Applejack froze in stunned silence once her eyes landed on the two girls in front of her. “Wait, what-”

“Go!” Sunset shouted to Rainbow and pointed towards an open window. They took off towards it, rushing pass a perplexed Fluttershy before leaping out the window and onto the streets outside.

“Wait wait wait! Ah ain’t gonna arrest you!” Applejack’s voice yelled from behind, accompanied with a rapid barrage of footsteps.

Of course she’s giving chase. Sunset thought as she weaved through the pitch black alleyways. Why do all cops have to be so persistent? Suddenly, she and Rainbow screeched to a halt, noticing that the road had split into two paths: one of the left and the other to the right. Sunset squinted her eyes, hoping to discern which path was the better choice. However, a wall of vent smoke rising from the ground made it impossible.

“Go right, Rainbow. Find a place to hide. And <i>do not come out</i>,” Sunset ordered.

“Sunset I’m not-”

“Ya’ll stop! Please just hear me out!”

Upon hearing the voice call out from behind them, Sunset wasted no time and darted to the left while giving Rainbow a forceful push to the right. She sprinted straight down the alley, matching it’s winding turns with swift movements of her own.

The longer Sunset followed her path, the darker it became. Eventually, she could barely see a few feet in front of her, the thick veil of darkness obscuring all her vision.

“Please stop! Ah need your help!”

Oh dammit. Sunset continued her pace and slowly, her eyes began to adjust itself to the pitch black surroundings. However, the sight of what sat in front of her made her heart sink. A large brick wall towered over her, sealing her in a dead end. Upon reaching it, she pressed her hands upon the obstacle. She jumped and clawed at any loose bricks or hand-holds, but quickly determined that the wall was insurmountable.

“Okay would ya’ll just please listen to what I have to say!?” Applejack shouted in frustration.

Sunset pondered her options but found only one that was favorable to her. In a blink of an eye, she drew the handgun in her pocket and aimed it straight at Applejack’s face. The detective recoiled in worried shock.

“N-now, don’t do something you’ll regret,” Applejack raised her arms slightly into the air.

“What’s your deal huh? You keep shouting that you need my help-”

“Cause ah do!” Applejack interrupted.

“And you expect me to believe you? A cop that wants help from the very people you arrest and toss in jail!?” Sunset screamed, taking a step forward.

“I’m a private investigator! Not a cop!”

“Psh, same difference. Some of your kind is more crooked than any mafia I know.”

Applejack opened her mouth to reply, but a meek voice drew her attention behind her.

“A-Applejack?”

As if on instinct, Sunset turned her gun to the approaching figure. When the pink-haired girl noticed what was being aimed at her, she shrieked in horror, crouching down into a tiny ball.

Sunset, upon spotting Fluttershy, returned her aim onto Applejack. Oh dammit. She was tempted to open her mouth to comfort the shivering girl, but just as quickly shut it. Can’t show any weakness now.

“B-baby, go back in. It’ll be okay,” Applejack spoke in a slightly worried tone, a rare break in her usual faultless facade. She leaned down, wrapping her arms lightly around the sobbing girl.

“Wait, baby? You two know each other?” Sunset asked.

“That ain’t what’s important! Like I said a thousand times before, I need your help!”

“What could you possibly need my help for? And why would I-”

“Shadowbolts.”

The word stilled the air around the three girls. Sunset froze in shock and a gnawing fear had started creeping from her heart. No way this detective knows what she’s talking about. She tightened the grip on her pistol and asked, “what?”

“The Shadowbolts.” Applejack repeated with her arms still wrapped tenderly around Fluttershy. “You know what ah’m talking about don’t you?”

Sunset shook her head in disbelief. “You… you’re in way over your head, detective. Piece of advice, don’t…” Sunset paused. Several thoughts flashed rapidly through her mind in that moment of silence. The screams. The memories.

The regret.

Her hand that was holding the gun began to shake nervously. The anxiety that was growing within her threatened to take over. It threatened to reduce her to a fearful mess, but she summoned as much of her strength as she could. “Don’t meddle in affairs you don’t know anything about.” Sunset warned through shallow breaths.

Applejack pulled Fluttershy softly to her feet. “Ah ain’t being left with much of a choice here. They’re planning something. Something big. If we don’t stop them-”

“We? No, no there’s no ‘we’ in this.”

“People are gonna die!”

“And if I help so will we!” Sunset screamed. Only one person was on her mind. That girl’s smile. Her laugh. She shut her eyes tight for a split second, drawing another breath to steady her fraying nerves.

If I help… so will she.

Suddenly, a loud yell echoed through the alley. Sunset glanced behind Applejack, spotting a figure running straight towards her. As she approached, Sunset could see that the girl was sporting a light blue shirt tucked into a pair of brown pants. A camera bounced around her neck as she sprinted forth, but what truly caught Sunset’s eyes was the girl’s bright pink hair. It seemed impossibly puffy and resembled clumps of cotton candy.

“Get away from my cousin you no good criminal!” The girl shouted in a high pitched voice. Sunset swung her gun to aim at the advancing stranger.

“P-Pinkie!?” Applejack stuttered out. She reached out to stop her but a sudden black blur tackled Pinkie to the ground instead.

Sunset shook her head in confusion. When she darted her eyes to the two girls on the ground, she noticed a familiar multi-colored hairstyle on one of them.

“Rainbow!?” Sunset screamed. She reached down, pulling her off from Pinkie by her collar.

“Try to hurt Sunset again! I dare you!” Rainbow flailed her arms wildly at Pinkie, her face drawn into an angry snarl.

Pinkie pushed herself off the ground, moving to join Applejack’s side. Her shirt was crumpled and her hair was now in a disheveled mess. Her posture told Sunset she was ready to pounce again if given a chance, though this time her gaze was locked onto Rainbow. She was clenching her teeth tightly and every exhale was an audible huff.

“Pinkie, how’d you even find us?” Applejack asked as she hugged Fluttershy close.

“You girls didn’t make yourselves hard to follow.” A calm, refined voice said. Sunset turned to the source. From the back of the alley, a stranger with purple hair strolled forth, seemingly unphased when Sunset’s gun pointed at her. “There’s no need to worry. She isn’t going to shoot anybody.”

“And what makes you so sure about that?” Sunset asked, taking a step forward. Everyone else matched her gesture with a step back. Applejack especially was hugging the distraught doctor, positioning her safely behind.

“If you did, your finger would be on the trigger.”

Pinkie, Applejack and Fluttershy shot their eyes towards Sunset. And sure enough, her finger was placed just above the trigger. They opened their eyes wide in shock, prompting a sneer from Sunset.

“Now would you put down your arm. I can’t imagine how tired it must be.”

Sunset maintained her aim for a couple more seconds before lowering her arm, causing the others to give a sigh of relief.

“Detective, I’m going to give you the best advice you’ll ever hear in your life. Don’t mess with… with them,” Sunset warned. “They’re heartless. Give it up and just… enjoy your life. Continue arresting crooks like us, not going after a group that’ll end you and everyone you love.”

“I wish I could,” Applejack placed her free arm around Pinkie. “But if I don’t stop them, they’re gonna take the ones I love away anyway.”

Sunset averted her eyes, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. She stared at Rainbow, who looked back at her with wide worried eyes. “Who are they talking about?”

“No one.” Sunset felt her heart fall as she said those words. She knew it was a lie. She knew Applejack posed a point she couldn’t deny.

She knew Applejack was right.

“And you know it.” Applejack remarked in disbelief. “Y-you know how bad it’s gonna get if cwe don’t do something.”

Sunset shut her eyes tightly, her mind racing at a thousand thoughts. Dammit, why do I keep getting dragged back into this?

“Sunset?” Rainbow called out in a broken and terrified voice.

Sunset shut her eyes in contemplation. Every single part of her told her to walk away. That living a life without getting involved would be the right thing to do.

“Sunset what’re they talking about? Sunset?”

The emotions Sunset heard in Rainbow’s voice pushed all of her thoughts away.

All that is, except one.

Only for you Rainbow.

Sunset opened her eyes, locking her gaze onto Applejack. “Let’s say I were to help you. How can I be sure you won’t just lead me to prison huh?”

Applejack took a deep breath. She met Sunset’s glare, staring back into her bright teal eyes with an unwavering look. In an instant, she reached her hand up past her coat, grasping her shining, gold badge and tugging it off in one swift motion.

Fluttershy gasped in horror, holding Applejack’s arm tightly in hers. “Applejack, what’re you doing!?”

Applejack glanced down at Fluttershy, giving her a reassuring smile. “Doing what I need to to keep you safe.” Opening her palm, she allowed her badge to drop to the floor. It’s clanking the only sound resonating through the alley.

Sunset’s mouth fell open in slight disbelief. “Y-you’re serious about this?”

Applejack nodded in reply. “Please. I need all the help I can get. I love the people around me too much.”

Sunset huffed before giving a reply. “Fine.”

All of a sudden, a blinding pair of headlights lit the dark alley completely. The group lifted their arms to shield their eyes from the brightness. “What the-”

Before Rainbow had a chance to finish her sentence, the sound of an engine roaring to life reached their ears.

O-oh no. Sunset blinked several times, attempting to get her vision back once more. Okay Sunset time to think! With her thoughts racing at a thousand miles an hour, she glanced rapidly among her surroundings. Think! Suddenly, her eyes fell on a door on the building to her left. Well, not much of a choice now! She raced to it with her hand outstretched. Suddenly, just as she was about to touch it, the door swung open. Wha-

The next thing Sunset knew, she had fallen face first past the door into a pitch black room.

“Well, if the rest of you would kindly follow Sunset,” an unknown voice spoke somewhere from the darkness. Suddenly, Sunset heard the screeching of tires come from outside. “Now!”

The word triggered a stampede of footsteps. There were screams and shouts, running and diving. Sunset swung herself around to catch sight of what was going on. However, she was instead met with five silhouettes diving past her before the door slammed itself shut, cutting off all light, and vision, from Sunset’s eyes.

Sunset could still hear the muffled screeching of tires just beyond the door, followed by a loud crash. After a couple seconds of silence, there came another roar from the vehicle’s engine and a blaring screech from the car’s wheels. Though this time, it grew quieter instead of louder.

Just a few moments later and all sounds had ceased. The air fell deathly silent, enabling Sunset to hear the beating of her own heart and the sound of her own breathing.

Without warning, a bright light eliminated the darkness and blinded Sunset temporarily. She raised her arm to shield herself from it, blinking rapidly to allow her vision to adjust. The first thing she noticed upon regaining her sight was Rainbow, groaning over her. She shot up from her seat in a moment of panic, adrenaline once more rushing through her veins.

“Rainbow!? Are you hurt! Rainbow!”

“Stop shouting, Sunset. I’m fine.” Rainbow replied with slurred words.

“Did everyone make it? Ya’ll okay?” Applejack called out.

Sunset turned her attention to the rest of the people in front of her. Though they were clearly dazed and reeling, everyone from the alley had managed to make it safely out. She gandered at her surroundings, spotting a wooden table with four chairs in what looked to be a kitchen.

“Well, I’d say make yourself at home,” the same, refined voice spoke from behind the group. “However it looks like you all have done that on your own accord.” As she sashayed to the front, Sunset could now clearly see who it was.

“Rarity?”

“Yes well, we can rule ‘concussion’ out of the list of injuries you might’ve sustained.” Rarity strutted towards one of the chairs, pulling it up and taking a seat. She was dressed in a white nightgown and her usually lustrous hair had been pulled into a messy bun.

“Oh Rarity thank you thank you!” Fluttershy pushed herself up and launched herself towards the singer. She wrapped her arms around Rarity, burying her face in her shoulder.

“Oh well, it’s quite alright dear.” Rarity gave Fluttershy a light pat on her back.

“You two know one another?” Applejack asked as she stood up.

“O-oh… w-well…”

“Yes. We are friends. I hope that isn’t a problem Detective,” Rarity answered nonchalantly, breaking the hug and pulling up a chair for Fluttershy. “So may I know why all of you were at my doorstep at three in the morning? And do not get me started on the car.”

“Well…” Pinkie started. “Twi and I followed Applejack’s trail to the alleyway when BAM! We saw meanie ol’ firehair there-” She pointed towards Sunset, who recoiled in anger.

“Firehair!?”

“Pointing a gun at Applejack! So I was like kapow! I charged at her but her crazy rainbow companion-”

“Crazy!?” Rainbow screamed.

“Tackled me! Then there was talk about gun pointing and Shadowbolts and running. I wasn’t really paying much attention. I was thinking about cookies and-”

“Wait, Shadowbolts?” Rarity’s eyebrows furrowed upon hearing that word.

“Rarity, don’t tell me you know them too?” Twilight asked.

“I did not have much of a choice.” Rarity made her way to the kitchen counter and poured herself a glass of whisky. “I deal with information and recently, I’ve been hearing murmurs about them.” She placed the bottle back down. “Though I suppose you’ve arrived at the same conclusion, Twilight? Seeing as how you’re in the same business as I am?”

Her words drew everyone’s eyes onto the reporter, who gave a blush and a cough. Twilight darted her eyes to the ground in silence as she retreated to a corner of the room.

“Well, we’re looking to stop whatever it is they’re planning!” Applejack punched her fist into her palm, a smirk drawn across her face.

“Excellent. So tell me, besides their name, how much do you know about them?” Rarity asked, taking a sip of her drink.

Applejack’s smirked vanished in an instant. She gave a cough and rubbed the back of her head lightly. “W-well, I… I ain’t sure yet.”

Rarity rolled her eyes, letting out a long, strained sigh. “How do you exactly hope to defeat an enemy you do not even know?”

“I knew this was a stupid idea.” Sunset shook her head. “And now we’re all marked for death. Hope you’re happy, Detective. You just doomed everyone you love.”

“Now wait just a second!” Applejack shouted in a panic. “Don’t ya’ll go saying that! We’ll find a way to get more info!”

“Where would we even start?” Fluttershy asked.

“Ahem.” Rarity interrupted the trio. “If I may interrupt your bickering for a second, I believe I may have an answer to that question.”

“Well?” Rainbow gestured to Rarity. “Spit it out!”

“Suri Polomare.”

“Suri?” Pinkie tapped her finger on her chin. “You mean that meanie that runs the club across yours?”

“Yes.” Rarity placed her glass on the table. “Her.”

“And why exactly would she be a lead? From all I can gather she’s just an impulsive brat.” Rainbow said with a scowl.

Sunset resisted the urge to burst out into laughter. If there’s a better example of irony, I haven’t seen it.

“That’s precisely why I think she’s a person of interest.”

Twilight thought for a second before speaking. “I… don’t follow.”

“You’ve met her, Twilight. What words would you use to describe her?” Rarity inquired, picking up the nearby cigar case.

“Impatient. Offensive. Self-centered. Remorseless…”

Geez, remind me never to get on Twilight’s bad side. Sunset thought to herself.

“So tell me.” Rarity slid a cigar out of the case. “How many of those qualities do you look for in a club manager?”

The room fell silent for a second until Applejack spoke up. “None.”

“Exactly. A club owner needs to be calm, patient and kind. The job is a year-long commitment with few vacation days and your establishment is only as good as the people willing to work for you.”

“If she’s really as bad as you say, Twilight, then I wouldn’t want to work for her,” Fluttershy spoke with her hands pressed towards her chest.

“So now we have to ask the question.” Rarity flicked her lighter open, slamming her thumb against the top to light the wick. “Why would she choose to open a club when it’s clearly something she wouldn’t be able to handle nor enjoy.” She brought the flame to the cigar in her mouth, lighting it before exhaling a breath of smoke.

“She wouldn’t.” Twilight answered, pacing around the room with her finger glued to her chin. “Unless the club is a front for…”

“A hidden business.” Sunset and Twilight said in unison. They shot each other a shocked glance which quickly melted into a smirk.

“What makes you two so confident?” Applejack leaned into a nearby wall with her arms folded.

“We did that before!” Rainbow replied proudly, pumping her chest outwards. Upon hearing her answer, Sunset sent an elbow swiftly into Rainbow’s chest, causing her to recoil in pain. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Still, that ain’t no confirmation that Suri’s part of the Shadowbolts.” Applejack shook her head. Sunset didn’t know if Applejack missed what Rainbow had said or was choosing to ignore it.

And even though Sunset was curious, she wasn’t dumb enough to look for clarification.

“Only one way to find out!” Pinkie yelled happily, her hands gripping tightly onto her camera. Sunset and the others gave a nod in agreement. All, that is, except for Applejack.

“Let us enter her club tonight and find out more about her connections.” Rarity said, taking a long draw of her cigar. Sunset watched as her eyes scanned the room, eventually landing on Applejack’s face. “Unless you have a better idea, Detective?”

Applejack shook her head. “I ain’t worried about the plan, Miss Rarity. I’m worried about the safety of the people I care about.” She darted her eyes to Fluttershy, then to Twilight and Pinkie.

“Applejack, you left ‘safety’ behind when you said their name in public.” Sunset strolled towards the kitchen counter, hands pressing firmly on the wooden top. “Now it’s a race. Either we get them first. Or...” Sunset picked up the glass of whisky, eyeing its contents. “Well, let’s not consider that part.” She lifted the cup to her lips, tilting the whiskey into her mouth.

“Well, then its settled. Meet me at Club Everfree at 8 p.m. tonight. Whether we like it or not, we’re stuck together for now.” Rarity sat back down, taking another smoke of her cigar.

“What are our chances of getting out of this alive?” Rainbow asked.

“Statistically?” Twilight spoke. “Umm, you probably don’t want to know.”

“Way to be positive,” Sunset said.

“Well, regardless,” Rarity interrupted the bickering, drawing all attention to her once more. “Let’s just hope we will still be drawing breath after settling this matter.”

“How do we do that?” Fluttershy frowned.

“At this point?” Rarity took a deep smoke, before exhaling a dense cloud. “We just hope that there’s some sort of magic that’ll keep us together and alive.”

Another small fic based upon @pasu-chan’s 1930’s EqG Swing AU!

If you like my work, you can find more at my FiMFiction account. You can also follow me on my Twitter!

You can check out the other Swing AU fics I’ve written here::

The First Act

Attention

Wonder

#deathscar's writings #fanfic #story #swing au #pasu-chan #rarity #rainbow dash #fluttershy #applejack #pinkie pie #twilight sparkle #sunset shimmer #shadowbolts

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