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emilyshotchniss · 3 years

Text

Starting Fresh

Summary: After your best friend Elle leaves the BAU, you’re devastated - and a replacement agent is just adding salt to the wound. Or is it?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem! BAU reader

Warnings: a little angst? fluff, non-graphic implied smut, nothing major:)

Word Count: 1677

Oh you have got to be kidding me...

You looked up from your desk to find a slender brunette woman standing in Hotch's office. She was carrying a large box, presumably filled with her things, and that could only mean one thing: she was likely Elle's replacement. You rolled your eyes as JJ called you all into the roundtable room, interrupting Hotch's conversation with said brunette, leaving her standing doe-eyed in the doorway, clutching her box. You followed JJ to meet the others, huffing as you went.

"Her body isn't even cold yet! She's been gone less than a week!" You exclaimed to the others.

"Y/N, calm down. We don't even know who she is," Derek said, trying to reassure you. Hotch entered the room with Gideon, looking both annoyed and confused.

"Who was that in your office?" You asked, trying to act cool.

"Nobody. JJ, lets present," He said, abruptly changing the subject.

********************

You made your way across the jet and sat opposite Hotch. He glanced up at you, waiting for you to speak. You squirmed awkwardly, before blurting out your question.

"I just need to know one thing... Is she replacing Elle?" You asked.

"Y/N, not now. I know how close you were with Elle, but this is a private matter." He stated.

"Fine," You sighed, and made your way over to Gideon, at the other end of the jet.

"Hey Gideon, can I ask you something?"

"Fire away kiddo," He replied.

"That woman... You know, the one from Hotch's office this morning? Is she replacing Elle?" You asked, desperate for some more information.

"Look," He began. "I don't know who she is, or why she's here, but she has all the right paperwork saying she's supposed to be here. Hotch is waiting to hear back from Strauss about her." He told you, keeping his voice low so Hotch wouldn't hear. You knew he'd be honest with you, he was almost like a father figure to you, ever since he took you under his wing when you first joined the team. He knew that Elle was your best friend, and how much her leaving affected you - and thought it only fair you knew all the information regarding her vacant position.

"Thank you, Gideon," You said, sincerely.

"Anytime kiddo," He replied, before returning to his book.

*************************

You returned from St Louis, laughing with the team as you entered the bullpen. You noticed the light in Hotch's office was on, and upon closer investigation you saw the same brunette sitting on Hotch's couch, waiting. You knew then she'd be sticking around.

"Alright guys, I'm heading out," You declared, masking your true emotions, dodging everyones' glances.

You walked swiftly to your car, and got in quickly. Everything then hit you at once - Elle was gone - and she was never coming back. Your best friend, was gone for good. You wiped your tears, and drove home, preparing yourself for the difficult day ahead of you.

***************************

Walking into the bullpen the next morning, you saw the brunette arranging some of her things opposite your desk - what was Elle's desk, was now her desk. You sighed, rolling your eyes, psyching yourself up, when Garcia body-blocked you.

"Stop." She stated.

"Ugh- Penelope," You said, attempting to get past, and failing miserably.

"Before you go any further, fix your face. I know she's not Elle and I know you miss her, but she's only trying to do her job. She's actually very lovely," She replied, smiling and booping your nose as she moved aside.

"Okay Garcia, I'll give her a shot," I said, walking up to my desk, when I heard my name.

"Y/N? Agent Y/N Y/L/N?" The voice said. "Hi, I'm Agent Emily Prentiss," She said, extending her hand for you to shake. You hadn't noticed over the last few days, but she had gorgeous brown eyes, you could almost get lost in them.

"Y- Yes, hi," You replied, shaking her hand, before sitting down. "You nervous?" I joked.

"Uh- yeah, actually, a little. I hear I have big shoes to fill," She said, with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

"That you do," You replied, trying to be nice, "But don't worry, I have a feeling you'll fit right in," You finished, no longer faking the niceness, finding it easier to speak to her as the conversation went on. But god, those eyes...

***********************

"The cell members bailed out through a tunnel, the DEA recovered a nextel two-way and managed to intercept a message," JJ began, handing each of us a piece of paper, when she stopped Emily.

"That's not the transcript, it's-" She began, but Emily stopped her.

"No, it's in Arabic," She stated.

"Uh, our friends surprised us and eloped, we can no longer wait for the wedding as planned, we can deliver our gift at the next crescent." She said, oblivious to everyone's stares and gaping jaws. She looked up, as embarrassment flushed over her cheeks. I was in awe.

"I lived in several middle eastern countries growing up," She mumbled. This woman really was full of surprises, wasn't she? You didn't know what you were feeling, but as soon as you met those dark brown eyes you knew there was something different about her. I placed my hand on her thigh, reassuring her. She smiled gently in return, placing her hand delicately on top of yours, squeezing it gently. You were secretly praying that she would be your new field partner, but knowing Hotch and his trust issues, she probably wouldn't even fly with us.

You all returned to your desks, as Hotch and Gideon stood in his office doorway, quite obviously discussing Emily.

"Jason, this is an interrogation, not a training exercise." Hotch said sternly.

"She's the only member fluent in Arabic," Gideon countered.

"There's other translators," Hotch replied. You and Emily both glanced up from your desks.

"They haven't studied behavior," Gideon rebutted again.

"Does she even have her ready bag yet?" Hotch asked. At this, I noticed Emily duck beneath her desk, fumbling about.

"My guess is there isn't much that woman's unprepared for," Gideon said. Just as the words left Gideons' mouth, Emily re-emerged from below her desk, sliding her packed ready bag onto the table, standing awkwardly next to it. You couldn't help but giggle at her, which caught her attention.

"What," She grinned.

"Nothing, it- it's just your cute, that's all," You smiled back, causing her to blush. You had no idea where your boldness was coming from, but you weren't lying - she was cute...

"Prentiss, Y/L/N, you're flying with Gideon to Guantanamo, car leaves in 4 minutes." Hotch stated.

"Yes sir," You both replied, Emily struggling to hide her wide smile. She had the most amazing smile...

********************************

The team returned back from GTMO, after an exhausting few days. Thankfully, you were able to prevent the terrorist attack that Al Ikhteraa had planned, and everyone was headed to O'Keefe's for drinks. Hotch went straight home to Haley and Jack, and Gideon decided to skip. You were headed to your cars, when Emily stopped you right before you unlocked your door.

"Hey, Y/N wait up," She said, running over to you. You immediately felt your palms begin to sweat and your heart rate increase. You never expected to - but you liked her. A lot.

"Hey, I just wanted to say thank you," She began.

"Thank you? For what?" You said, letting out a confused giggle. She smiled back, sending the butterflies in your stomach crazy..

"Oh, just helping me settle in the last few days,and being the most awesome field partner I could've asked for, having my back and all," She continued. "I know it couldn't have been easy, you know, they told me you were close with Agent Greenaway," She said. Oh my god - you'd gone the whole week without thinking about Elle once. Were you finally moving past her?

"Uh- Uh yeah, yeah, she was my best friend." I replied, looking at the ground.

"I'm sorry, that must've been difficult," She said, grabbing your arm, the physical contact sending chills down your spine. Screw it. You had had a great week despite your first ideas, and you were feeling bold.

"I wanted to hate you so badly," You began, catching her off guard. "I wanted to hate you, because you were replacing Elle, because I knew that you joining the team would make me have to accept that my best friend was gone, and never coming back." She tightened her grip on your arm, softly stroking it with her thumb.

"But as soon as we first spoke, I knew there was something about you that I couldn't quite put my finger on. And as the week went on, I only became more sure." You continued, smiling at her, making her blush.

"Sure of what?" She questioned, nervously giggling.

"Sure that I wanted to do this..." You hummed, before grabbing her waist and pulling her close to you, then gently placing your lips on hers. You panicked when you didn't feel her kiss back initially, but were reassured when you felt her tongue brush over your bottom lip. You started slow, but things progressed fairly quickly and she took control, pushing you flush against your car. She let out a few faint groans of pleasure, before you pulled away for air, grinning from ear to ear, feeling like you were going to burst with happiness.

"You still wanna get drinks?" She whispered.

"I have other plans in mind, if you'd like to join me," You winked, before unlocking your car.

"I'd love to," She replied, jumping in the passenger side. The whole car journey home was filled with stolen glances and wandering hands, and when you finally arrived at your apartment, you could barely contain yourselves. Lips met, clothes were ripped from each other, and you spent the night exploring every inch of each other. You both knew then that this was the beginning of a beautiful adventure...

#emily prentiss x reader #emilyprentiss #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss x female reader #bau team #wlw

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dancingthesambaa · 3 years

Text

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 13

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 13: The Apocalypse (But with More Bulls)

A group of children huddled together as they tried to escape the robotic drones that surrounded them in the ice cream shop. The streets were no longer safe as they had been filled with roaming Bull drones and they ripped and tore no matter what or who stood in their way. They hoped that they would be able to wait it out until help arrived, but they didn’t count on the drones coming into the building and finding them.

“AHHHHH!” They all screamed as the bulls began to leap at them.

SMASH! BASH! CRASH!

Their eyes widened as they saw the machines falling to the ground in bits and pieces until there was nothing left except for an ominous violet figure before them.

“S-s-stay away!” One of the older children nervously warned as she stood in front of them with her arms stretched out.

“Dude, he-she-they just saved our butts,” another child put a hand on her shoulder, “I think they are one of the good guys.”

“We don’t know that!” She argued.

“I mean, they are standing right there and haven’t attacked us yet sooo,” a younger girl pointed out. “Point in the good guy direction.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Wait, I know him!” They all snapped their heads to the youngest in their group as he ran up to the figure.

“Bao!”

“Wait!”

“Are you crazy?!”

“MAC MAC!” He grinned as he threw his body to him, “I am so happy you are here!”

The monkey said nothing as he caught the child and gently patted the child's head.

“Sooo, Imma go out on a limb here and say he's good,” said the girl with the prosthetic arm. She happily smirked at their groans.

“Oh yeah, he is my sister's former teacher, though I don’t think I've ever seen you like this,” he pondered.

“Clone,” the demon uttered.

“Clone?”

“Follow me,” he instead said as he walked to the door, “I’ll take you where it’s safe.”

“Really?”

“Awesome!”

“That’s a relief.”

“Can I bring some ice cream?”

The children all chatter with a bit more pep in their step as they trudge through the war torn streets and fallen buildings until they laid eyes on a set of buildings that looked relatively untouched by the madness surrounding them with a pristine white hospital building in the middle of it all. Some people were littered around the street, but when they stepped into the hospital it was a lot more hectic as not only doctors and nurses were bustling around trying to tend to as many wounded as they could. But there were also regular people trying to give a helping hand as they either did basic first aid to those who needed it or helped the staff collect the supplies they needed.

“Whoa,” they all collectively gape at the semi organized chaos inside.

“Bao!” The child looks to see Bohai's relieved expression, “thank the gods you and your friends are okay.”

“Mac Mac saved us,” he wiggled out of the monkey arms to get a hug from the jellyfish demon then he looked around the room. “Where’s Yanyu? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she was working when this all went down, so she is currently in the back taking care of a bunch of patients. Are you all alright?”

“Just scrapes and bruises,” one of the girls says as she covers the mouth of the one armed girl. “You are not making another missing arm joke, you hear me.”

“Fine,” she huffed then she grinned mischievously as she looked at Bohai, “so do you guys need a hand, I can only spare you one though.”

“For the love of-!”

“Stoppp!”

“Nooo!”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she laughed at the agony.

“If you want to bring the staff some snacks and drinks, and yes I’m including everyone in this list, that would be awesome. They really need to pick me up right now,” he showed them to a small area where copious amounts of food and drinks were laid out. “People have been bribing them since this all started, but no one really had a break yet.”

“You can count on us!” The oldest girl saluted as she and the rest gathered snacks in their arms and began to spread out all through the hospital, except for Bao who was still holding onto the jellyfish. Even the clone Macaque had left had begun to venture through the hospital and began to help out a few patients.

“…is everyone else alright,” he whispered out in hesitation.

Bohai kneeled down and smiled, “I think they will be just fine, your brothers and sisters are smart after all. I know they will pull through.”

“Right,” he nodded and shared a grin.

“And we have people and demons looking for anyone who needs help,” that included his friends on the list as Daiyu took to the skies and over the seas, Minsheng and Ahmed took to the streets looking for stragglers, and Macaque leaping from building to building checking to see if there are any lingering people trapped inside. “So don’t worry about them, instead how about we focus on feeding some hungry people. I know how cranky they can get when their bellies are empty.”

“Like Yan Yan when she forgot to eat because she had a 30 hour shift and she tied us all up when we mentioned her leftover food in the fridge.”

“Exactly.”

“How does this keep happening to us!” Mei yelled out as she and MK were hanging onto the sword for dear life as they dangled above the pit of despair.

“I don’t know!” MK yelled too as he clung onto Mei’s legs. “How do we get down?!”

“I don’t know!” She adjusted her grip on the sword, “we are currently on our way to fight the Demon Bull King, one of Monkey King greatest enemies, with less than 2 weapons on us if you don’t count my daggers and your brass knuckles, the rest of our team still keeping the ones up top busy and-wait!” Mei’s eyes brighten, “not everyone!”

“Huh? Who?!”

“Macaque!” Mei could feel a breath of relief come through her, “he’s still in the city dealing with the other clones, but I think this warrants a higher attention.” If anyone, other than the Monkey King and MK, can stop the Bull King, it’s him.

“I don’t know,” MK flinched as Mei's head creaked to him and her eyes began to twitch.

“Oh no, we are so not doing this, I am calling fuzzbutt whether you like it or not,” she stated and she sucked in a deep breath.

“Wait,” he quickly climbed her and put his hands over her mouth, “we don’t need to call him, I can handle this.”

“Do you not see where we are?” She would emphasize their precarious situation, but she is currently holding onto the only thing that is stopping the both of them from becoming mush on the floor. “What is your problem with calling him for help?”

“Nothing,” he too quickly defended himself.

“Then you should have no problem if I call him.”

“You're not calling for him.”

I’m calling him.”

“No, you're not,” he argued.

“I am!”

“You're not!”

“Am!”

“Not!”

“Am!”

“Not!”

“Am!”

“Not!”

“Am! Wait-dammit!” He cursed as he got tricked.

“Ha! I win, and I'm calling him!” Mei grinned.

MK was about to refute her when he saw a terrifying sight above them. “Noooo.”

She raised her eyebrow as she turned to see what he was looking at and she almost let go of her sword as she saw hundreds of deactivated Bull drones stationary all over the walls and mere meters from where they were at.

“Shit.”

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ

Mei’s phone buzzed quite loudly.

“Shit.”

Blue eyes lit up one by one as the drones quickly woke up at the sound as their heads all snapped towards the two lone humans.

“SHIT!”

“GHA!” Red son grunted out as he was flung back. He gritted his teeth as the sharp rocks pierced him, but he shakily stood up as he stood behind his mother, who was also silently huffing for air as the two of them faced down the enraged Bull King. He knew something was wrong, there had to be something, otherwise, his father wouldn't so carelessly nor even attempt to accuse the two of them of traitorous intent based on the barest of threads.

‘There has to be,’ he desperately thought as he silently looked at his hands and gripped it as it began to heat up. ‘But there is no defining evidence…I should have never taken that key.’ He regretted silently as they were once more prepared to go toe to toe with the Bull King when out of nowhere.

“AHHHHHHHH!” BOOM

MK lands face first into the ground.

“Noodle boy?!” What is he doing here?!

“Little thief,” Bull King hissed out as he then gripped his head and uttered. “Sun Wukong.”

Both he and his mother were startled by that admission as they couldn’t help but share a glance, as they passively watched Bull King begin his assault on the Monkey King successor.

Red son gritted his teeth as he watched his friend get pulverized by his father. ‘I have to do something, but what can I do? Something nefarious is afoot with father and yet I am standing here like a dame instead of helping MK. MK? No! No, I mean I have to help father snap out of whatever has come over him instead of beating upon my fri-noodle boy! Hurting noodle boy…he is hurting noodle boy…MK.” He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw the horrifying sight of the rage filled demon looming over MK with his fists raised high in the air.

“NO!” He burst into flames and charged forward, but was stopped by his mother as she swiftly sent out two airstrikes to the Bull King and used her fan to sweep the boy away from his demise and plopped him down next to the both of them.

“Wha-” he groggily got up as he looked up in surprise at Princess Iron Fan.

“It’s the canister, they have driven him mad with power,” she said as she hatefully eyed the glowing blue canisters upon the Bull King back.

“Well that’s a problem,” he blinked as he saw the skeletal remains floating about in the sludge of energy.

Then in a feral-like fury where only instinct took full control of body rather than the mind, the Bull King had snarled at them and began to charge on all fours.

“All right,” he used his staff to pick himself up, “time for round 2.”

“No, we fight together,” the prince said in determination as he readied his stance and was about to charge once more when another voice echoed.

“Seems like you guys can use a hand,” their eyes widen as they see the Bull King sink into the ground as a massive transparent violent hand of energy crushed him.

“Dad/Macaque!” MK and Red son cried out in relief as Iron Fan said it a bit more calmly as MK continued. “How are you here?!”

“Jade rang for me,” the voice echoed out as it continued its struggle against pinning the demon down. “Said some interesting things too.”

Mei's hands twitched anxiously as she waited for any sign of MK. She had just finished cleaning up the rest of the drones in the caves, but she thought it best if she kept here in case there would be any bot or people trying to sneak in to aid the nefarious family. Yet, that didn’t stop her from wanting to go down there and help her friend, no matter how stupid or dangerous that may be.

“You know what, screw this. Sorry MK, but we need all the help,” she gave a quick apology as she sucked in a deep breath and yelled, “MACAQUUEEE!”

Her voice vibrated through the walls.

She knew that she could have easily called him on her phone and he would have come just as quick, but that didn’t really matter in the long run as he saw a dark figure leap his way over to her. “Took you long enough,” she said with a small grin as he phased into the mech.

“Sorry, the city is in chaos as you know,” Macaque sarcastically said as he eyed her state to see any injuries.

“I’m fine,” she quickly said, “but MK is down there fighting DBK!”

“What!” His golden eyes that were tinted with violet eyes snapped onto her light green ones as all six ears twitched.

“Yeah, he didn’t want me to tell you, but I think we have bigger things to worry about.”

“Don’t want me-no,” he stopped himself short before he could go deeper. “Putting that to the side, for now, bigger problems first. Will you be fine if I go to your idiot brother.”

“I am currently inside of a monkey mech,” she deadpanned, “I am more than fine.”

He shot her a smirk and ruffled her already messed up hair and sunk back into the shadows and began to move deeper into the pit.

“Ahaha, about that,” MK nervously scratched the back of his neck.

“We are talking about this later.”

“Yeah that’s fair,” he slumped down.

Then a figure leaped out from the shadows of the Bull King as the Bull King rapidly gained back its bearing and destroyed the hand pinning it down.

Macaque whistled, “Well, I thought that it would at least keep you down a little longer than that, but apparently I’m wrong.”

“It’s the canister!” MK yelled, “they’re amplifying his powers.”

“You don’t say,” he muttered as he eyed the glowing blue power of energy then stared at it a bit harder as something felt off about it. “Somethings not right.”

Princess Iron Fan raised an eyebrow at his comment but quickly pushed it aside as she readied herself. “We can save questions for later, right now we have to get those off of my husband.”

“Right,” he nodded and his eyes went back to the Bull King who was getting up, “alright anyone got a plan.”

“Both Red son and I shall distract him, while the two of you get that monstrosity off him,” she said.

“Gotcha, you ready comet,” he summoned a few of his clones.

MK hesitated before nodding as he put his staff forward, “born ready.”

Then, without warning, the rest of the royal family burst into action as the two attacked the Bull King in a rapid fire as he was suddenly surrounded by a huge fire tornado.

“YOU SHALL FALL TOGETHER!” He roared out as he dispersed it with a loud crackle of energy.

Both of them, who was very much still injured and winded from their already long fight, were pushed back as they fell into the rubble. They slowly tried to get up as the glowing King stomped his way towards them.

His form seemed to almost ripple in anticipation as he locked his glowing blue eyes on their downed forms. No hesitation in his steps as the voices in his head urged him to finally end the traitors.

End the traitors

Destroy them for their treachery

Build a kingdom worth your name

Let their bones turn into ashes

Let their blood soak into the ground

Let their flesh set a reminder

You are the true king

“Yesss,” he hissed out his agreement as he raised his arms to finish them (ignoring the heavy invisible restraint against his arm and a small voice yelling at him to stop.) He would end this now.

Then his head was hit by a rock.

He snarled as he turned to look at MK, who was still in a throwing position.

“Hey, guess I’m a better pitcher than a hitter!” He joked, but then yelped as he felt himself get caught in the Bull’s hand.

“I’ve had about enough of you, one would think that you would learn more of the little sage tricks,” he snarled.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged.

Bull King snarled as he proceeded to squeeze him until he was nothing but bones and blood.

“Wait! Wait!” He cried out until he poofed out in a golden light.

“What!” He shouted as he looked at the falling hair, “a clone!?”

“Yup!” He looked to see the real MK in mid-air, “and I didn’t learn little tricks from only the Monkey King,” he grinned as he summoned a hoard full of clones.

He snarled and was about to jump up to meet them when he felt his hooves and hands being grabbed, he looked down to see many Macaque clones holding him down, while some were grabbing his hands.

“Get ready for a nice wake up call,” the real Macaque smirked as he kept into the shadow to keep a steady supply of energy to his clones.

“HERE COMES MONKIE KID!” MK cried out as he and his clones proceeded to all out attack the Bull King until the canister was finally knocked off his back and with one final burst of energy, it had dispersed.

Freedom

Gather back

Become one again

Vessel

Freedom

The black furred monkey felt a shiver running up his spine as he heard the voices ringing in his ears. He looked around and sure enough, it seemed that he was the only one who heard the ominous whispers.

‘That wasn’t a normal power madness,’ he concluded as he realized what really happened. Before he could tell the rest he felt a gust of wind come about as the three demons proceeded to leave.

“Are you serious?!” MK panicked as the rocks began to fall down all around them. “You really just left us here!”

“Honestly not surprised,” he shrugged his shoulder and grabbed his kid by the back of his shirt, “now come on and let’s get out of here before the rocks do us in.”

“How?!”

BOOM!

They looked to see a giant Monkey Mech burst in as Mei smiled at them.

“Everything went well! Need a lift?”

“Mei!”

“Nice timing Mushu.”

“That was some fight huh,” Sandy said as he ate his noodles on top of the giant mech with everyone else. “But we managed to stop DBK.”

“Nice job defeating him MK,” Tang grinned as he slurped up the remains of his bowl.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I really defeated him,” he muttered as he fiddled with his chopsticks. “There was something weird, that power he had just made him…different.”

“But we won right,” she looked on the bright side.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” the historian appeared over Pigsy's shoulder and was casually grabbing some noodles from his bowl. “You don’t need this right sugar.”

“Get your hands off my food!” He pulled away from his lover as everyone around them laughed.

Amid their exuberant energy, they haven’t quite realized that the area was almost desolate with anyone else, including animals and bugs that usually roam around here. The only animal anywhere near them was a bird that perched right on top of one of the outer rocks in the clearing. It seemed to be in a tranquil state as it took in the scene, so it spread its wings to fly off when a voice stopped him.

“You know you could have jumped down and talked to them instead of standing there like an actual creeper,” said Macaque as he emerged from the shadow.

The bird gave him wide eyes as he instinctively transformed back into his original form, “Didn’t really think I should just go in there when all is said and done,” Wukong said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Wow, it must have taken a long time to think about that with the way you were sitting there,” he rolled his eyes and leaned against the rock.

“I’m not that bad,” he muttered and settled back down on top of the rock.

“Could have fooled me with the number of times you have a stupid idea.”

“Oh like you haven’t had one.”

“I have my own fair share, but it doesn’t even pale in comparison to yours, should I bring up the Kinnara incident,” he smirked.

“How was I supposed to know that she would kick our ass for interrupting her song,” he grumbled.

“Your ass,” he emphasized, “I had the common sense to stay behind, one would think not to mess with a being whose own gaze can pierce through you.”

“Didn’t seem that way to me.”

“Well, you didn’t have something called survival instinct.”

“To be fair I had plenty of instincts, but I just chose to ignore it back then and thought she was a harmless target,” he then shuddered, “so many regrets that day.”

“Pfft,” he chuckled lowly and Wukong couldn’t help but join in. He knew he was very stupid back then and so much more impulsive and looking back on it now, it is rather funny. But the laughter couldn’t last forever as it then died down as the atmosphere turned into an awkward silence.

Both monkeys knew they were avoiding the bigger problem at hand, but neither wanted to bring that up. At the same time though, they couldn’t ignore it forever, and eventually one of them will have to make the first step soon.

So Macaque opened his mouth and said, “Well if you ever feel like leaving your mountain other than stalking my kid, the forest is always open.”

“Really,” his eyes widened.

‘You really want to see me again.’ The silent question was asked.

“It is a public area, though you might want to bring starlight along with you if you want to see the not so public sights,” he said with a shrug.

‘Yes, I do.’ Was the silent answer.

“I’ll definitely do that! Maybe sometime next week?” He couldn’t stop his smile from growing widely.

“That work, well I got to get back. Too much damn medicine to make and that’s with my clone's help,” he grumbled as he pushed back off the rock.

“See you then,” he said with a short wave.

Macaque flippantly waved his hand as he sank back into the shadows.

Wukong grinned as he watched his friend's aura travel through his shadows until he had reached the city limits. It was only then he turned back into his bird form and took off towards his mountain once more.

“So the hospital is really that backed up again,” MK asked as he sat on top of the rooftop with his dad the next day.

“Like a car side swiping a train,” he groaned as he laid down. “I just got done helping not even an hour ago.”

“I bet Yanyu had to drag you out,” the monkey successor snorted.

“Nah, she was snoring in the back room, she passed the fuck out a few hours back after a successful surgery,” he grinned in pride. His student has really come far since he first started teaching her and to think that she had doubts about her ability, now look at her working alongside the attending physicians. He can still remember her running towards him and lunged at him with utter joy on her face when she told him that she passed her qualifying exam. He is really proud of her.

“She deserves it,” he nodded.

“She does,” the monkey hummed as he got up, “but I think it’s time we talk about that little thing back in the cave.”

MK nervously straightened up as he scratched the back of his neck, “hahaha what do you mean?”

“You are still a terrible liar comet, why didn’t you call me,” he looked him in the eyes.

“I was going to,” he mumbled, not sounding at all convincing.

“Really,” his voice dripped with sarcasm.

MK tried to keep a straight face, but it didn’t last long as he groaned and put his face in his hands, “Alright fine I wasn’t! But I could have handled it! You're always there and I know I can count on you, but something I need to do by myself. I’m not a child anymore.”

“And I know your not, and I have tried my best to not hound on you,” he said then he let out a sigh, “believe me when I say that I know I worry a little too much-”

“A little?!” Mei shouted as she lifted the hatch up.

“Mei! How long have you been there?!” The twenty years old shouted.

“Hehehe, long enough,” she nervously giggled as she slowly climbed out and sat next to her brother. She had forgotten she was eavesdropping on them and just had to blurt out. “Kinda forgot, but I still stand by my point.”

“I know, I mean ever since you left I've been trying to hold back from outright following you around,” he reluctantly said, not even blinking an eye at Mei’s sudden appearance.

“And I'm glad you haven’t, Mei already has a tracker on all of us,” he shot a glare at his sister.

“Wait really?”

“Yes siree!”

“…I feel like I should talk to you more about that kind of stalking,” he eyed her as he was forcibly reminded of another monkey and his stalking.

“Have you seen the number of times we unintentionally get into weird situations, let alone the times we actively seek it out?” She deadpanned.

“And I take that back,” he retracted his words. “But regardless, I trust you Starbright. I trust you even when I want to scoop both you and your sister up and hide you away from the world. But when shit like this happens, I get fucking worried cause that could have ended in a complete disaster, you understand?”

“But it didn’t!” He protested.

“But it could have,” he shot back and leaned in close, “and I’m so fucking grateful that it didn’t. Cause what if something did happen and the both of you wound up biting more than you could chew, fuck the two of you could have died and I wouldn’t have known shit until I saw your corpse.”

“I-I,” MK didn’t know what to say as he lowered his head alongside Mei. Both teenagers were at a loss of words at the reality of the situation, especially MK.

Macaque took a deep breath and let out a huge sigh as he brought both children close to him, “Look, I trust you to take care of yourself, but if you think you land in a situation you can’t handle, please call me. I know I sound repetitive at this point, but I stand by my fucking word that I will come, okay.”

Both of them looked up to meet their dad’s concerned eyes and nodded.

“You got it,” Mei smiled and leaned further into his fur.

“Okay,” MK sniffed as cuddled closer to him.

The black furred monkey smiled down at both of them and gave them each a kiss to the forehead and silently watched the bustling city below just a little longer.

“I’m fine my queen,” Bull King grumbled as he walked through the cave. “I sustained only minor injuries.”

“I know you have, but you were overtaken by a sinister energy source that managed to drive you mad with power that put your meridians past the point of exhaustion,” she deadpanned. “You need to rest.”

“It still doesn’t make sense how such a source can overtake father's mind,” Red son muttered as he looked through an ancient book. “I have heard tales of items having power from their previous owners and using it to their own design, but never of just raw aura. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“You're not wrong spitfire,” they turned to see Macaque phasing out from the shadow of a rock.

“Six Eared Macaque,” Bull King grumbled before he suddenly caught a bag that was thrown at him. “What is-”

“Spiritual roots from the Kunlun Peak, brew those in tea and they should help your median lines get back into condition before the month is up,” the monkey said as he walked closer.

“This is most useful, I will transfer the money-” Macaque cut her off.

“Consider this repaying the favor of saving my son Raki.”

“If I had not attempted to harm your child in my plight of madness there would be no need for this,” DBK gritted out and slightly lowered his head. He knew that the slight of offense of their agreement was on him and his mad conquest of power, if the Six Eared Macaque declared retribution for his actions then he would have to honor his word. What the outcome will be for both sides remains a mystery.

“Yeahhh what you did was stupid, but that’s actually what I came down to talk to you guys about,” he patted Red Son on the shoulder, “your kid is right about the power madness, what happen to you was not that.”

“What?” Both father and son blurted out.

“Explain,” the mother's eyes narrowed as her hand twitched.

“You were being possessed by one bitch of a spirit, what kind, I don’t know, but I do know the signs of possession when I see one.”

“How?”

“Was the different colored glowing eyes not obvious enough? His spouts of madness? Him going completely feral? Whatever you guys found is powerful, powerful enough to influence you BK.”

There was a silence as the surreal announcement enveloped them then someone growled as two craters appeared on the walls.

“Who dares think they have the audacity,” Queen Iron Fan hissed out as the wind began to swirl around her.

“I swear when I find the leech who manipulates me, I will tear their body limb from limb, bone to bone, blood into ashes and let their soul never find rest,” the King growled out in utter hatred.

Prince Red Son said nothing as sparks of fire flickered on and off around different corners of the cave and his hand trembled with fury.

The Royal Bull family does not take lightly to insults upon their names. They are known for sparking dread within people, making those fall to their feet, being a symbol of fear and power spread all through the nation and someone had the insolence to try to not only take control of their King but even fucking dare try to rip the family apart and kill them under his own hands?

They shall feel their wrath, this they declare.

“Well I have my message out of the way,” he wasn’t even fazed by their spirited anger, “Red a word.”

This snapped the prince out of his fury as he walked over to his pseudo uncle, “How may I help you?”

“Not me per say, but certainly my two kids who are worried the hell for you.”

“Their okay right,” he quickly questioned as he knew MK was alright but hadn't seen signs of Mei.

“A little bruised up, but they had worse, but my advice to you kiddo is talk to them. They have been worried out of their minds and I’m sure whatever you might have done they’ll forgive you.” He knew that Red Son wasn’t talking to them out of some sort of self doubt and guilt, but he wasn’t about to pry into what he did.

“You really think so?”

“You’ll have to ask them yourself.”

“…I will,” he nodded, “Thank you.”

“No problem, but let me tell you that since I have known you for a long time and I know you wouldn’t do abuse trust so lightly, especially from people you give a shit about, I’ll let you off with a light warning,” his eyes began to faintly glow a light violet color, “I may not know what you did, but don’t try to maliciously deceive them again, okay.”

“Yes sir,” he immediately said.

“Good boy,” he smirked and ruffled his hair, “now stop fucking around and send them a text before I duct tape their mouths myself.”

“They’ve been that bad?”

“I almost sicced Daiyu on the both just so they could do something else other than complain,” he deadpanned.

“…full permission to do the same if they get past that point,” he smirked.

“You don’t need to even ask me.”

“Yes!” He excitedly pumped his fist.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #macaque #six eared macaque #mk #PlumTeaAU

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keity-devil · 3 years

Text

I made this mini fic and art because of these, Miracles! From what you know, (if you found out), Morro and Harumi are cousins! And Harumi and Lloyd 'siblings', as Tommy Andreasen wrote on Twitter.

And honestly, I'm glad they're relatives. Because I don't ship Morrumi. At ALL. Sorry for those who did. If you still do, it's not my problem, everyone has their own tastes.

And I made a mini fic! At 5 AM. Because- because yes, mhm. Enjoy.

The Lost Souls

Two souls. Two lost. Two injured. Two without a family. Two who hoped to find peace, but found only sadness. Two trying to repair their reputation and wounded souls.

Morro and Harumi didn't know how, but they were there. Where exactly? They didn't know that either. All around them was white, white and white, everything was white. There were no visible corners, and no so dense or high sage and red smoke around them.

Morro looked at the girl in front of him, and Harumi looked at the boy in front of her.

"You seem... weird to familiar to me." Harumi had begun. Her voice echoed. It was clear to them now, the place where they were was huge.

"Now that you say... you look a little for me too." Morro approves, still confused, with the troubled memories in his mind.

"Harumi." She introduced herself.

"Morro..." He didn't answer at first.

They stayed- they don't know how long they stayed there. But they stayed seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, maybe even years in the sea of whiteness. They had no way of knowing, there was no clock or landmark.

Slowly, they began to know each other better. Their childhood was similar to one another, and their character, but a little or big diffrent. They had both hated Lloyd Garmadon, the Green Ninja. But they realized, late, but they did it, that it wasn't his fault. Not Him.

Morro had no family. If he had, he couldn't remember. The only thing close to his word and family feeling was Wu. Otherwise, nothing. He and Harumi had similarities, so he tried an idea that resonated in his mind for a while and didn't give him peace.

"We are.. do you think... do you think we could be relatives? Cousins?"

"My mother had a sister who.. looked like you." She talk. "And I know that, if I remember correctly, she also had a child. I don't remember.. but I think Aura was her name? But I don't know what happened to them. So, maybe. I mean, we have quite a few similarities in common."

Morro was watching her. His body was beginning to tremble slowly. Too many feelings. He felt like he couldn't resist. If what she was saying was true, was his mother really called Aura? He had a family...?

"M-Morro?!" He threw himself into her arms.

"I had a family.. And I found a member of it after years...!"

Harumi realized that Morro was just like her. Lost. Alone. Broken heart. Her parents were killed for her to live, and his, it is not known what happened to them. They both hit the streets life. They were both taken under someone's wing, loved. But they both had a tragic end, and only at the end did their eyes open.

They stayed like that for a while, rejoicing that they were reunited with someone in their family after years and years.

Another soul. Lost too. Hurt by many, mentally and physically, he opens his eyes. White, white, and white again. Sage smoke, red, gold now, walked slowly around his feet.

"Is... is anyone here?!"

The voice was too familiar. Too Gilded Green, Too Ancient Title Almighty. They turned their attention, seeing a blonde boy lost in the distance.

"Lloyd?" They said suddenly. Their voices echoed.

Lloyd saw them, he heard them. He didn't know how to react. The girl he liked and broke his heart, brought his evil father back to Ninjago, was with the boy who had possessed him for the title of Green Ninja, who tried to kill his friends and curse Ninjago, they were next to each other, in front of Him, with Him. Lloyd was about to step back.

"Stay!" Harumi spoke. "No.. don't leave. We just want to talk. Please, Lloyd. We won't hurt you, we promise. If you want, you can stay there, we can stay here. Just listen to us."

Lloyd took her words skeptically, but sat down where he was. He was on high guard, but he wanted to know what they were going to tell him. Harumi sighed calmly that they had managed to persuade him to listen. She was looking at Morro, who did not seem to feel in his waters that he was in the same room as Lloyd.

"Are you... feeling well, Morro?"

"Yes...! Yes. Heh.. yes." He was not. He was very sorry. He was looking at Lloyd, and he wanted to throw himself back into that cold, burning water. He later find out that Lloyd was really just.. a child.

"So? What do you want? Where am I? Have you two joined forces and want to kill me?! If that's a Yes, this will not happen."

"No. We don't want that. Actually..." She looked at Morro, who nodded slowly. "We want to apologize."

"What?!" Lloyd was watching them. "You're kidding..."

"We're not kidding."

There was a small silence. Harumi looked at her cousin, who had begun to hug his feet, staring at the ground. She knew he wasn't going to talk too soon, so she started-

"Lloyd, I'm sorry." Morro had spoken first to the girl's surprise. "I shouldn't have possessed you then, to put all my anger on you. It wasn't your fault and I realized too late that.. you were just a child.. I was an idiot! Blind. I'd was blinded by a stupid Prophecy! Forgive me, but you don't have to, I don't forgive myself either. I just... I want you to know I'm sorry, Lloyd. You didn't deserve anything bad in your life. You're too, good..."

Lloyd listens. Process. But he didn't say anything.

Harumi had realized that Lloyd wouldn't tell them anything, not yet. It was her turn now.

"Lloyd, I realized my mistake late." His attention was on her now. "I know that maybe these excuses really don't mean anything now, that the deed has already been done, but I want you to know... that I'm sorry. I wanted so much to see my parents again, I was so depressed by their death, and you.. you were the only one who was in the light to blame for my loss.. It wasn't your fault.. I realized this late. Hate has corrupted my mind and I'm sorry I broke your heart. Hey, it wouldn't have worked. We're relatives, cousins, aren't we, Morro?"

"Cousins?" Lloyd was confused for a long time, and his voice echoed.

"Well, yes. Morro and I have-" Giggle. "We have time to talk. A lot, time. And I found out that we have a lot in common, that maybe we are really relatives, cousins. And from what Morro told me about his experience with Wu, that in a way Wu is Morro's adoptive father, that means he is his son, Morro your cousin, and I may be very presentiment to be Morro's cousin, that makes us all three relatives, cousins!"

Lloyd was almost gaping. Many details and information suddenly thrown away carefully. But something seemed to light up in him, in his good and bright golden soul.

"Does that mean we're cousins...? All three of us?!"

"So it seems." Harumi approved, smiling briefly.

Lloyd thought for a while. Try to find the best way for him to handle the situation. Just now had two cousins, who were former criminals, but they were his. He gets up and get closer to them, sitting down again.

"Morro, Harumi," They looked at him curiously and with a little fear. "Everyone deserves a second chance, doesn't they? And a bad season everyone in this family had, right? Even me."

Morro and Harumi felt forgiven, smiling. One weaker than the other.

"And can we all get back to Ninjago?" Lloyd asked.

"That... we don't know that, Lloyd." Morro replied.

"Do you know how you got here?"

"No. We woke up here. We don't know how we got here or where exactly we are in the first place."

"Well," Lloyd stood up. "How about we find the way out together as a family."

In front of them were Lloyd's hands outstretched in front of them, with his smile. The eyes of the two former villains had met, following in his blondy hands, rising from the ground like a Family.

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

Aura is a character create by me and Blossom.

#my written #my art #morro #ninjago morro #ninjago #lloyd #ninjago lloyd #harumi #ninjago harumi #angst #fanart #mini fic

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hoodedwing · 3 years

Text

Loyalty Killed Me

Summary: The Joker could finally do what he wanted to do, traumatize Nightwing

Characters: Nightwing. Harley Quinn. Joker. Mentions of Red Hood

Warnings: Just really sick ways of stitching people up. Blood. Depressive. Major character/s death mentions. Batman. Doctor Leslie Thompkins

Additional Notes: I know Joker cannot traumatize Grayson canon-wise? Please correct me if I’m wrong.

Word Count: 2,242 words

***

Time doesn't stop.

Time knows, in its hands. It plays around with the seconds. These seconds matter, someone dying, someone on the communicator whispering, ____ come get me. come get me, I can't go back.

Time doesn't freeze. Time does not have a cloak drapes around it in a timeless manner. Time does not walk in a regal manner and stroke your gaping wounds to cauterize them. Apply pressure because really, when did Time wait for you to stop the damned arterial spray? Have you seen first hand how much blood can spew, almost like a fountain from that serrated dagger?

Time has caught up with Dick Grayson, the Wonder Boy. The Nightwing Blüdhaven didn't deserve. The loving boyfriend/husband of Barbara Gordon. The first son of Bruce Wayne, Batman.

Batman. He doesn't know who's Batman. Not anymore.

3200..6400..12800..

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Remember, inhale slowly, inflate lungs. Let it circulate through. Let. Let it work.

Richard. That's your name. Your mother was beautiful and your father was handsome. You are a Grayson. You have brothers and sisters.

Pain.

Pain is relative. If you fuck with pain long enough, it won't fuck back with you. Pain spreads through him and he inhales deep, bigger breaths. Trying to drown out the searing ache. He succeeds, deceives his brain.

Dick Grayson is such a liar.

He knows how to lie, how to smile widely at the Blüdhaven precinct when shit goes down or still tell a joke or two when Damian is there.

Dick Grayson is such a liar.

He's a good man. Honest to goodness. He's fooled himself into thinking his left leg didn't feel on fire, he's successfully managed to stop gasping against the rattle of his chest, a rub or two might be the cause. Who knows?

BOY WONDER! SAD YOUR DEAREST BATMAN HASN'T COME TO SAVE YOU YET? WHY LOOK AT THAT.

Mistah J checks his watch and smiles, his crooked smile stares back at Richard.

Dick only looks away as the Joker's cold fingers run his slimy, skinny fingers along his body. He used to shiver under his touch in a bad way, he would gulp and squeeze his eyes shut, hunting for memories to dive into.

When he got Zitka. When his mother named him her Robin. When he went on patrol for the first time with the all mighty Batman. When he first met Jason. Then Tim. Then Damian. Then the nights they spent healing wounds, fighting together or just sleeping or Netflix.

Dick doesn't move, doesn't say a word. He doesn't even let out a humourless laugh or a quip. Dick clings onto a hope.

Batman. Come get me.

BOY WONDER IS STILL LIVING. WHY, THAT'S A JOY. COME OUT THERE LITTLE BLUE BIRD. YOU REALLY THINK YOU CAN STAY IN THAT LITTLE BRAIN OF YOURS? WHEN YOU WAKE UP. THAT LEG WILL HURT. YOUR BLOOD WILL SPILL AGAIN ON THAT DARNED LITTLE CREST.

He doesn't care. The glorious speech does not make him flinch. He looks at the window, one thought crosses his cloudy vision.

Bruce (Dad), come get me.

LET'S HAVE SOME MORE FUN, SHALL WE. EVEN JAYBIRD PLAYED THIS GAME TOO. COME ON, HE HAD FUN. LET'S PLAY BLUE BIRD. BLUE JAY. HMM. I LIKE THAT.

Playtime.

Its always target practice. He would lie there and watch Harley swing her mallet here and there, sometimes too close to Dick and she would talk to him, so sweetly.

Aww, you wanna play too? Let's play together, shall we?

His face will clench up, his head will scream and suddenly everything is loud as Harley fires guns at targets and maybe shoot some arrows at Dick.

On lucky days, he's used as her gymnast prop.

I want to fly again. Batman I'm falling, please I'd like to fly again. My wings are clipping and I will rip. -

He falls asleep.

You can't call it sleeping. Dozing in and out of consciousness, he was neither awake or sleeping. A grey haze flittered across his vision. No sign of clarity. He still heard the rattle of his breath, the fire in his leg. The now warm abdomen.

He feels someone at his leg.

Harley Quinn was there, a sly smile as he feels a needle go in and out.

In and out. In and out.

In and out, in and out. You need to breathe Dick. In and out. In and out.

When he hears the door shut and a ricocheting silence, he peeks at his leg.

A sick suturing of his leg stabs with dental floss, a handiwork Harley was sure to boast later on. He doesn't care if it gets infected. What's the big deal? Batman will take care of it.

He turns over on his side to his communicator lay. The Nightwing emblem was shattered beyond measure. No matter, I can get a new one. The communication mattered.

He presses the distress signal again, again. Again. Bruce better get that flashing orange light and he should feel his bipolar touch in no time.

He tries to talk, voice hoarse from decreased usage and a rough sandpaper-like quality stuck to it.

"H..hello? Bruce. Dad. Please get me. I'm.. I'm waiting. Please."

He turns back in his side, curled up like an invited animal.

The rain pours, shadows keep coming in and out but none belong to his dad.

The boy asks the moon if Batman had lost his way. Asked if the moon could shine the light brighter at him so Dad can find him faster. He'll be okay, he'll be okay. Bruce might be lost, after all. There's a lot of streets and time isn't on anyone's side.

Two weeks go by.

Dick still finds himself bound by the ties and definitely no sign of the caped crusader.

Batman is surely coming.

That thought fades slowly, over the weeks. He's gotten more used to the Joker and the crowbar.

Is this how Jason felt, when he was in Hell?

Dick cannot remember. Dick only knows how the sound of metal and bones work, how the bullet will hit skin, pierce it through with frightening velocity and dull ache afterwards. The pool of blood will remind him that yes, I was shot.

A sick game of Russian Roulette. Instead of one bullet, there's multiple. A .44 magnum shouldn't hurt anymore. The revolver keeps spinning in his mind where acrobats should be. Where's Bruce. Where's dad. Am I forgotten?

Dick tried to remember how to breathe. Is it that hard? Just pulling in oxygen and letting the respiration mechanism do its work?

Distract thine self.

He tries to remember. Tries. He's trying. Nightwing has to do this. You need to at least remember your name. Your mother, your father. Dick. Dick.

Richard. That's your name. Your mother was beautiful but I don't know what her hair colour is, sometimes it's blonde or chestnut and your father was handsome. You are a Grayson. You have brothers and sisters. Are they Jason? Tim? Da- I don't remember, I don't remember the tiny one. Is he even real? Your sisters too. Stephanie, Stephanie. I have one more, the sneaky one. She's fast but I don't know her name. I'd like to know her well too. Pity I. I don't know her name. I hope she knows my name. That way I can hear her voice and maybe figure out who is the charming one. I know she does ballet. I know she made brownies once with.. Who? I don't remember his name. The old man with cheery wrinkles and deep eyes. I don't know who he is too. Oh. Oh oh. Dick.

[DANGEROUS TO FALL ASLEEP, RICHARD JOHN 'DICK' GRAYSON. EYES. OPEN. EYES. OPEN. BREATHE. (MY LUNGS DON'T WORK)]

I'm begging someone, please. It doesn't have to be Bruce. Get the ballet girl to help me please, she fast and maybe I can ask her name while she gets me out of here.

Bruce never gives up.

You know that too, do you? He's spent 3 weeks finding his son. His beloved child.

Do you ever think how much Bruce's heart breaks over and over everyday?

"ALFRED?! CAN YOU GET JASON NOW, NOW, NOW?! I FIGURED HIS COORDINATES."

Bruce flips from the Batcomputer and grabs everything. A blind haste, he's never dressed so fast. His son. Oh my god, his son.

Jason is down there getting the Batmobile to rev up and they speed.

They speed.

Are they fast?

I guess. If you call 290 in 85 fast.

They run, Jason dashing first and his breath catches in his throat. A cold draught erupts inside of him. He snarls, Bruce turns as he digs through the alleyways. He finds what he knows lurks.

"The sick fucker is going to end Dick in the same fucking warehouse he ended me in. That big bitch.

Bruce puts one hand on his shoulder and squeezes. No time to panic, Dick is the one. is the unsaid message as Jason crashes through the window.

And even him, Red Hood. The one who sees and commits murder everyday, stops and hot anger sears through him.

Dick lies, barely 15 feet away, bound up and covered in his own blood, the ripped Nightwing suit from his recon mission. Bruce picks him up while Jason gladly punched (and secretly plugged a bullet) the fuck out of Mistah J and Harley.

They lie on unconscious, Jason evaluates the scenes, trying to suppress his screams at what they've done to Grayson.

Bruce picks up Dick like he's glass, he hurries to the Batmobile with Jason telling to prepare the Medbay.

"The Medbay.. I.. I don't think. Leslie. Leslie can."

Is all Bruce says and Jason revs up, driving the Batmobile way beyond the legal limit. Bruce doesn't give a flying banana about it. He'll pay the fine later.

Bruce looks down at his son, hoping he hasn't fallen asleep yet. Finally, finally Dick is in the arms of the crusader. Half his domino mask is ripped and Bruce tries to not break at the baby blues staring without any light-hearted gaze.

His heart still beats (A reminder he's alive and could've been more alive. Bruce failed him)

"LESLIE. DR THOMPKINS!"

Jason screeches across and marching in, earning angry stares from the other patients but it turns into gasps and horror when they see Batman carry a limp Nightwing barely clad in spandex anymore. Everyone bows out, knowing they were priority.

Something inside Dick broke.

He doesn't know what it is.

He'll live with it.

"Bruce, he's fallen into a coma."

Leslie says, solemn. Angry tears form in Jason's eye and he was about to fight Bruce, give him the tirade. Compare him to Nightwing.

The unspoken message rings loudly in Bruce's mind. He doesn't need Jason to say it.

You failed him too.

Jason is seething, anger. Sadness a d everything is violating him from inside.

If you were a minute later, he would've died. We would've been carrying his body to the grave. The Joker would still live. You see the problem? DO YOU NOT SEE THE FUCKING PROBLEM?

Bruce sits beside Dick, his pulse like a fluttering butterfly. He grasps his hand in Duck's fragile one and prays.

Prays that he wakes up.

Dick is on a life support machine now.

I guess the ventilator couldn't keep him up. All good boys do die. If not, maybe a part of them broke.

Dick is no exception.

Alfred squeezes Bruce's hand. Jason sits so quietly beside him alongside the rest of the family.

Its April 27th. Jason was taken this day.

They don't say a word, neither does Red Hood, he just wants the baby blue eyes to open again.

He cries.

Five months have gone by and he stirs slowly.

He's barely moving and Jason shoots up and looks, squeezes Dick's hand again.

Baby blues meet emerald green.

Jason dashes for Leslie. She comes and shoos everyone out.

Jason is fucking glad. Dick is alive.

Bruce is disappointed.

He cannot bring himself to meet Dick who's currently in the ward under observation. He's failed Dick. He knows it.

He enters, heavy hearted. Dick is smiling at everyone but Bruce can see it, the hard lines. The sunshine doesn't reach the baby blues. He thinks they've turned into aquamarine, a shade tad too dark. I guess, that's what trauma does to people.

Dick smiles at Bruce, he feels the tension and Dick pats the chair beside him where Jason was sleeping. Bruce softly sits, he has no heart to wake Jason up.

Dick is alive. Dick is alive.

Bruce places one hand on Grayson's one, it feels much more warmer and his pulse is beating normally.

And he breaks.

He cries, tears steaming down his cheeks. An ugly sound escapes his throat. Bruce gasps in air and exhales shakily. Dick watches, silent.

Is this how you felt when I was in Hell?

Dick doesn't touch Bruce, doesn't say its okay and I'm alive. He stares dead into Bruce.

I cannot forgive.

Dick sits quietly, he doesn't have to say it. Loyalty does kill you in the end if you step on all the wrong pieces of glass.

That's when you find yourself falling from the trapeze line, you find yourself swirling again in the memories you wish you could lock.

Loyalty in the end, is your demise.

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

For my beloved bean @solas-disapproves , and @dadrunkwriting! Please enjoy my poor attempts at writing bawdy tavern songs, making things rhyme is HARD but at least I made myself laugh.

Pairing: Dorian Pavus/Tristan Trevelyan

Read here or on AO3!

******

“I don’t like this place.”

Trevelyan’s voice came muffled from within his mug, his eyes scanning the room as he took a long draught of ale. The inn they had stopped at on their way to Val Royeaux was humble, to say the least; rustic, even. A shithole, if Dorian was being honest about it. The scent of cheap ale wafted from every corner, crass jokes followed by raucous laughter and fists banging on tables mingled with the minstrel’s tune, that was barely audible now. Which was probably fortunate, since the man’s lute was out of tune, his voice even more so. Really, a goose squawking and flapping its wings would be far preferable to this. At least the animal might come close to something resembling a rhythm.

“Come on, Boss, it’s not so bad,” Iron Bull said, sipping on his ale. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. He still couldn’t understand why they were there to begin with. Sister Leliana had received an anonymous tip from someone claiming they had inside information about Duke Gaspard and the movements of his army in the Dales. They had specified the time and place they were to meet, and it just so happened to be this disaster of a tavern they were now sitting in. Leliana had assured them that her agents had found no suspicious movements, that it was unlikely to be a trap. “Even if it is,” she’d said with a small smile, “you’re more than capable of taking care of it.”

Dorian set his cup down, clearing his throat that had been half burnt by the acidic brew they called wine around those parts. At that point, he almost wished it was a trap. Anything that would save him from staying in that Maker forsaken place for one more minute.

“Right,” Trevelyan said, slapping his palms on the table and pushing himself up, “I’m going out for some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong with the air here? Not enough feckin’ roses for his Inquisitorial-ness?” Sera cackled, downing her drink.

“A couple roses never hurt anybody,” Trevelyan muttered petulantly before turning around and pushing his way to the door. It wasn’t long before Dorian went after him, dusting his robes.

“If you’re in need of roses, I think I might be able to procure a few,” he said teasingly, sauntering towards him. “But it might cost you.”

Full, rosy coloured lips widened in a smirk. Trevelyan’s hands wound around his waist, pulling Dorian close. “Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what will it cost me, exactly?”

“Let’s see,” Dorian hummed, tilting his head up as Trevelyan placed a kiss under his jaw, one tender enough to make Dorian’s hair stand on end. “A decent room, for a start. With a decent bed that’s not infested with lice. Oh, and I believe a tub instead of a barrel isn’t too much to ask for. And how about some wine that doesn’t taste like last year’s vinegar?”

Trevelyan scoffed, a little puff of air that warmed Dorian’s neck. “In this place we’re in, you might as well be asking for a miracle.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste. I’m sure you could whip something up,” he grinned.

The rough sound of boots on gravel and a pained yelp made them both jolt. Dorian blinked in surprise when he saw Bull dragging a scrawny man by the collar, his lip already bleeding from where the Qunari had hit him, Sera in tow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Trevelyan demanded, pushing himself upright.

“Saw this one creeping after you,” he said, tossing the sorry wretch on the ground before their feet.

Dorian tilted his head to the side, studying the man. “Could it be the informant?”

“An informant with a drawn dagger, skulking in the shadows like a thief? Don’t think so, Boss.”

“What are these- these ludicrous accusations? I was only trying to defend myself!” the man protested in a thick Orlesian accent. “I’m no informant, nor was I about to attack anyone! Not before your beast attacked me,” he spat.

Trevelyan narrowed his eyes, folding his arms before his chest. “You’re not making your position any better.”

The man cowered, glancing away and back. “I didn’t mean to scare you, messer, I swear it. On my honour! On my life!” he mumbled. “I-I just came out for some air, and-”

“Who are you?” Trevelyan asked, cutting him short. “Why are you here?”

“Bardeaux,” he said quickly. “Vincent Bardeaux. I’m a minstrel. Just a minstrel. Looking for work. Heard this place might need someone to play a song or two and came to check. I was just about to leave before-”

“If you’re a minstrel,” Sera said, perching herself atop a barrel, “where’s your lute?”

“I-” The supposed minstrel paled. “It broke. In a brawl, last night.”

“How convenient,” Dorian said with a sweet smile.

“I swear it! Find me a lute and I’ll play any tune you like.”

Bull lifted a brow, glancing at Sera. Grinning, she kicked off the barrel, sneaking inside the tavern. A few minutes later, she re-appeared with a small lute and a mug of ale she had managed to swipe off a table in passing.

“There you go, fancy pants,” she told the man, handing him the lute. “Now play us a song.”

Bardeaux cleared his throat, wincing when he plucked the strings and a jarring, discordant sound escaped. He tuned the lute and straightened, clearing his throat again, more loudly this time. “ O lovely rose, my sweet soul-”

“Does this look like a Chantry gathering?” Bull smirked leaned against the wall. “You must know something better than that.”

“I know… some songs,” the man said, squinting. “But I would hardly call them appropriate. If you catch my drift.”

“That’s the kind we like,” Sera said with a wicked grin. “What are you waiting for? Get on with it, mate, ain’t got all day!”

“I… suppose I shall.” Bardeaux prepared to start again, when Bull stopped him once more.

“Wait! You must know some about him too, right?” he nodded to Trevelyan, his eye glittering with mischief. “About the Herald of Andraste?”

“The Herald of Andraste?” The minstrel’s cheeks were bright red as he looked from Trevelyan to Bull and back. “I suppose… I do know some songs. Just a few, mind you.”

Trevelyan rolled his eyes and huffed. “Bull, no.”

“Come on, Boss, it’ll be fun! You never get to hear any of the good stuff in the Herald’s Rest. Might as well hear it now, right?”

Dorian placed his hand on Trevelyan’s back, leaning close to his ear. “Bull is right. I think it’ll be interesting. We could see what the people say about you in this part of the world, too, hm?”

Trevelyan shot him a sideways look before his scowl broke, his lips pursing only slightly. “...fine.”

“Right!” Sera leaned back against the wall, sipping on her beer. “Crack on, then, what are you waiting for?”

“Ah… alright.” The minstrel slanted a nervous glance at Trevelyan before his fingers started running deftly down the strings.

“The Herald fancied a dark-haired lad,

With sharp eyes and a sharper tongue,

A magician he was, of great renown,

People gathered when he came to town,

He played with fire, tamed the storms,

He juggled balls and swallowed swords-”

“I’m not that kind of magician,” Dorian grumbled, already regretting having urged Trevelyan to listen to the dratted song. “That makes it sound like I go around performing petty parlour tricks!”

“I think he’s talking about a different kind of tricks, Vint,” Bull chuckled, before Sera shushed them both sharply.

“'Such skill,” cried the Herald, “such finesse!

My love to him I must confess.”

He knelt before the mage’s feet,

And took his mighty hand in his,

“There are no eyes, no lips like thine,

Your silken hair, your form divine,

I want thee with a throbbing need,

‘Tis a matter of urgency indeed,

You hold the key to my heart’s lock,

I shall not rest until I’ve had your-'"

“For the Maker’s sake,” Dorian rolled his eyes as Bull howled with laughter. “Do we really have to listen to this?” He yelped when Sera punched him on the arm.

“Oi!” She glared at both of them, waving her mug in the air and spilling beer in every direction. “He was just getting to the good part, ye daft tits!”

Trevelyan chuckled, the blade of his dagger catching the light as he twirled it around his fingers. “You seem a decent fellow,” he told the minstrel. “I hate to kill you.”

The man’s face, who had lit up momentarily with hope, twisted in a grimace of despair. “R-rock! I was going to say rock!” He bit his lip, wringing his hands. “I implore you, messer. I meant no harm! I’m just a minstrel-” He paused, gaping when Trevelyan’s blade pressed against his neck.

“You tell me who sent you now,” he hissed, his expression turning stony, “or you won’t sing another song about ‘rocks’ again. Yes?”

The minstrel, pale as a sheet, nodded with a whimper.

“So he was an assassin after all,” Dorian said, lying on the soft bed of their new room; the largest one the tavern possessed. It was warm and comfortable, all things considered, yet he still had to make due with an old wine barrel full of tepid water instead of a tub for his bath that night. Dratted South, he reflected acidly. “Who would have thought.”

“I did.” Trevelyan kicked off his boots and flopped on the mattress beside him. “And you. And Bull. I believe Sera knew before any of us did. Plain as day, really.”

“Hmm. I believe Leliana is getting rusty.”

“So am I.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “That was more than enough excitement for a day, thank you very much.”

“Are you quite sure about that? You do, after all, have a certain reputation to keep.” Dorian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, propping himself on his elbow.

Trevelyan cracked his eyes open to peek at him, his lips widening in a smirk. “I do?”

“Oh, yes. Remind me where the minstrel left off…? Something about rocks and locks, was it? Or perhaps-” Dorian chuckled when a suddenly very energetic Trevelyan rolled on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head.

“How odd. I can’t remember. I’m afraid you’ll have to tell me.” He flashed him a wry grin. “Or show me.”

Dorian hummed in amusement, a shiver running down his spine when Trevelyan's plush lips closed softly over his own. “Gladly,” he whispered.

#dadrunkwriting #dorian pavus #dorian pavus x trevelyan #dorian pavus/trevelyan #tristan trevelyan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian/inquisitor #pavelyan #johaerys writes

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Dynasty Chapter 26

“And now we’re off to training,” Wade sang, in his Deadpool suit as Peter (Spiderman suit in his bag) and Arachne (still wearing her fairy wings) followed him to the tower. “Gonna kick some ass—ets.”

Peter snorted. It couldn't be more obvious that Wade was trying not to cuss in front of the girl. Personally, Peter thought it was adorable. Wade spun a pirouette as they crossed the street.

Wade casually leaped from the street to the sidewalk in an odd move that was part jump and part axel spin. “And after lunch,” caroled Wade, “we get to do it all over again!”

“You know they don’t like it when you say stuff like that Wade,” Peter mock scolded.

“Oh!” Wade put both hands over his heart. “You wound me!” He collapsed to the sidewalk. “I shall die.” He made an exaggerated croaking noise and his head fell to the side.

The general public in the area, aware that Deadpool did this at least once a week, merely stepped over or around him. Arachne (wearing pink and blue today, to match the sparkles on the wings) ran up to Wade and timidly touched his shoulder, clearly concerned. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Somehow, Wade drew himself to his tip-toes without bending and announced to the world, “I HAVE REVIVED!”

Peter clutched the side of the building as he burst into helpless laughter. The girl looked between the two of them, clearly confused and Peter stifled his laughter as he picked her up so he could explain—outside where the AI couldn't hear them. “One day Iron Man demanded to know if Wade could act more outlandish, and every time we both come over he tries to one-up himself.” He didn’t share the rest of the conversation, where Wade had demanded to know who had Tony’s panties in a twist.

“Brains!” moaned Wade shuffling forwards with his arms outstretched and wrists limp. “Brains!”

The door automatically opened for them both. “Mr. Wilson-Parker,” Friday said as they crossed the threshold into the building, “Mr. Romanov is in the training room waiting for you. Peter, Dr. Banner is waiting for you in the new lab.”

Wade gaped. “How come he’s ‘Peter’ and I’m Mr. Wilson-Parker?”

“Earlier in our acquaintance Peter informed me that he felt uncomfortable being addressed by his last name. Since you have made no mention of discomfort at being called by your last name I merely continued to do so. Would you prefer to be known by another name?”

Wade beamed up at the ceiling and stood, hands on his hips. “Yes!” he said happily. “I want to be Mrs. Wilson-Parker.”

There was a soft tone and Friday said, “Very well, Mrs. Wilson-Parker. I shall remember.”

“Thanks buddy!” Wade said, skipping (literally) down the hall.

Peter put down Arachne as he tried not to burst out snickering. He hoped he was in the room to see Tony’s face the first time Friday called Wade “Mrs. Wilson-Parker.” Arachne tucked a hand into his and looked up, worry on her face. “Don’t worry,” he told her as he led her to the elevator. “Everything will be all right,” he added as they went up to the floor.

When Friday said that Dr. Banner wanted Peter in the new lab, the AI didn’t mean that a new lab had been built—it meant that Dr. Banner had moved to another lab. The man regularly switched between two of them, and the next lab was always “the new one.” Peter wasn’t sure why Dr. Banner had changed labs, but felt certain he’d find out.

In the new lab was an alarm clock, very conspicuously in sight of the door, that was a match for the one that Dr. Banner broke not that long ago. “Is it set?” asked Peter curiously as he set Arachne down on the table. She stuck her thumb in her mouth as she watched the two of them with wide eyes.

Dr. Banner grimaced. “No,” he said wearily. “I couldn't figure out how.” Peter grinned; there was just something funny about how the man could use micro levers to take apart a nanomachine and couldn't set an alarm clock. Dr. Banner opened a single eye at him. “I heard that,” he told Peter.

“Sorry Dr. Banner,” said Peter. He quickly changed the subject. “This is Arachne,” he said. Then he remembered what Friday had called Wade and added, with a grin, “Arachne Wilson-Parker.”

“Nice to meet you Arachne,” Dr. Banner said. “Have you told Tony yet?”

“Not yet, but I did call Aunt May last night.”

Dr. Banner nodded. “That was wise,” he commented. He put his coffee cup on the table next to him and strode over to Arachne. “Now,” he said to the child, “I have a few questions.” Arachne looked at Peter, still worrying her thumb in her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Peter assured her.

“Peter tells me that you use webbing. Would you mind showing me how that works?”

“Don’t you already know about that?” asked Peter.

“Amazingly, no. It didn’t come up.”

“Show?” asked Arachne, frowning.

“He wants you to spin your web to something,” Peter said.

The girl continued frowning and Dr. Banner opened his mouth to say something, but Peter shushed him with a shake of his head. Arachne needed figure out what she wanted to do. She looked around the lab and Peter saw when her eyes lit on two poles (used for hanging bags when liquid needed to be dripped for an experiment). She jumped down from the table, climbed the wall next to them. Then, alternating which pole she was pointing at, she spun an almost perfect orb weaver web using both wrists.

Arachne reached out to grab the web and the poles moved. She flattened herself to the wall and glared. “They’re not very sturdy,” she complained as she got down to the floor. Then she began gnawing on her wrists.

“Arachne, what are you doing?” asked Peter curiously. He’d never seen her do that before.

She looked up. “They’re getting clogged,” she explained.

“May I see? Arachne,” asked Dr. Banner. Arachne hesitated, glanced at Peter, and then held out a timid hand. Dr. Banner looked at the tiny holes in her wrist. Sure enough, there was still a little bit of webbing stuck in there. “Fascinating,” he mused. He looked at the child. She looked like she wanted to snatch her hand and run, but didn’t dare. He released her hand and she backed up until she was next to Peter. “Arachne, have they always gotten clogged like that?”

The girl shook her head, but didn’t speak. Peter wasn’t certain what it was about Dr. Banner’s examination that spooked her, but he was willing to bet it had to do with those videos he didn’t watch. “How long have they been clogging like that?” he asked the child.

Arachne looked up at Peter, clearly having no difficulty talking to him. “Since last night.”

“Hmm,” mused Bruce. “It might be a dietary imbalance—I’ll run some tests,” he said. Arachne backed up a little more until Dr. Banner pulled some of the web down and took a thin strand.

Peter looked at Arachne and tried to think of something—anything—the child wasn’t eating. Then he frowned, considering. Maybe it wasn’t an eating problem. “Arachne, how much water do you normally drink?”

“I don’t know,” she said, clearly confused. “We used to get six big glasses four times a day.” She grimaced. “I don’t really like water that much,” she confessed.

“Dr. Banner, Peter, Mr. Stark has announced he is coming to visit.”

“What does he want now,” muttered Dr. Banner as the door to the lab opened and Stark walked in.

In a flash Arachne had scaled Peter and was clinging to his back. Peter absently grabbed the front of his shirt to keep it from sliding back and choking him. Tony missed none of this. “What was that?” he demanded as he glared through Peter at the child on his back. Arachne began to shake.

“You scare her,” Peter explained.

Tony stared for a moment. Then his face went red. “I refuse,” he growled, “to believe that I am scarier than Deadpool!”

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool

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nearlymanaged · 4 years

Text

13. Lily’s Revelation and A Sleeping Dog

Lily had been sitting on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, leaning her back against the edge of one of the sofas; she had assumed this position about two hours into doing Ancient Runes homework, which was proving to test both her and Remus’ willpower.

“I’m just missing about an inch…” She mumbled and Remus leaned over from his armchair to scan Lily’s parchment with his eyes.

“It seems like you're contradicting yourself here… See, because up here you said…”

“Bloody hell…”

“For how much everyone talks about how difficult sixth year is, I am deeply shocked to find myself somehow still surprised by just how hard,” he leaned back in his seat with a tired chuckle.

“What if my conclusion is that it’s inconclusive?” Lily asked, obviously not needing an answer, frowning at her essay.

“Yeah, I’m starting to suspect this was a trick assignment. If we had been--”

“You’re bleeding, Remus!” Lily snatched his forearm, careful not to touch a thin red line that was appearing on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Oh...that’s...yeah…” He retracted his limb and shuffled uncomfortably in the armchair. “It’s nothing.”

Lily didn’t say anything but rather simply eyed Remus, her eyes full of about a dozen different emotions and thoughts. This wasn’t the first time that he had fresh wounds that never seemed to have an explanation. Their appearance, Lily had noticed, was always preceded by a mysterious visit to the hospital wing which, as far as she could tell, happened every month. She knew for a fact that Remus would often spend the night or two in the hospital dormitory, although not every time. But most importantly of all, she’d observed, these hospital visits and fresh wounds always coincided with the full moon.

She didn’t tell Remus this, but before she went home for Christmas, she had spent some time in the library, looking up information about werewolves. They had been taught about them in Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons a couple of years prior so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the subject, but she didn’t want to assume anything.

At first, when the thought popped up in her head, it was almost jokingly that she considered it. But soon she couldn’t deny that it made sense, that everything made sense, if that were the case. Now, Lily was almost completely sure that Remus Lupin was a werewolf; she wondered how she hadn’t figured it out before, it seemed almost laughable that she had known this person for years and had no clue… But then again, they had never been friends exactly. She had never spent much time with him until the beginning of their sixth year.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Remus spoke quietly, and yet it made Lily flinch ever so slightly as she felt herself being jerked out of her thoughts.

“Like what?” She asked, flustered.

“Strangely.”

“I don’t know, it’s just how my face is.” She had decided a while ago to never bring up what she suspected to Remus. She felt that that would have been the grossest robbery of his privacy and free will. “Alright, I’ve done a good amount tonight. I can’t read or write anymore, it’s all blurring together.”

“Moony!” The voice of Sirius Black rang out through the entire common room out of nowhere and before Lily could turn around, Remus’ three friends were flocking around them.

But the unexpected arrival of the boys wasn’t what truly startled her. Moony, she thought, of course. She’d heard Remus’ nickname before on a handful of occasions but she never thought anything of it. In any case, it never came up between the two of them seeing as they didn’t spend much time together in the other boys’ presence. But it made sense. It made perfect sense…

“There’s that strange look again,” Remus chuckled, his eyes fixed upon Lily. “Maybe we should take a break from Runes over the weekend?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Moony… I mean, Remus!” She corrected herself, all the while James was making himself comfortable no more than an inch away from her on the sofa.

“Did you just call me Moony?”

“No. I mean, I guess, yes…” Lily cast a sideways glance at James, who was staring at her squarely, and scooted away a little bit, only to have him move closer again.

“Ah well you see, we call him Moony because--”

“I didn’t ask why,” Lily attempted her best nonchalant impression as she cut across Peter; she had no desire to either have his friends out him or make them lie to her. “I mean, surely, it’s because of the Moon.”

“Wait… Did you tell her?” James’ eyes bore into Remus’ face.

“I didn’t, James,” there was a note of impatience in his voice.

“Why is she being so weird then?” Sirius, who had sat down on the other side of Lily, squinted at her sideways.

“Maybe she’s seen something?” Peter offered, also narrowing his eyes at the girl.

“Do you think she suspects something?” James went on.

“She probably does now,” Remus said in a voice that was definitely accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

“Alright, alright. Are you messing with me?” Lily looked around at all the boys.

“She wants to know if we’re messing with her,” Sirius leaned to look at James over her.

“I would never!” James gasped.

“But is she messing with us?” Peter piped up.

“Are they always this insufferable?” Lily asked loudly, looking at Remus.

“No, no. They’re usually much worse. You’re not curious about what they think you know?”

“No,” Lily answered without missing a beat, locking eyes with Remus, whose face was painted with an inarticulate emotion now.

“Because you do know?” He asked after a pause, quietly; but Lily didn’t need to answer - she merely looked down at the rug, causing Sirius to let out a gasp. “Well. To be fair, I would have been a little offended on your behalf if you never figured it out,” Remus spoke again.

Lily stole a glance at him but she couldn’t make out whether he was mad or upset or relieved. “Is it true then?” Her voice came out just above a whisper as she looked up again.

“Does anyone else know?” Sirius sounded rather menacing all of a sudden.

“Don’t be rude, Sirius, she asked first,” Remus continued with the same nondescript note in his voice as he looked over at Lily; he looked paler suddenly, she thought. “Yes. I am a,” he quickly glanced around and sighed, “monster, for lack of a better word.”

“Shut up, Remus!” Sirius growled and turned to the girl again. “Does anyone else know?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve told anyone - of course not!” Lily glared at him indignantly. “But… How long…”

“About a decade, give or take,” Remus mumbled and Lily stared at him wordlessly, her eyes popped in disbelief.

“Lads, do you think she knows about the rest of us too?” Peter glanced around fearfully.

“Oi! She is here and capable of speaking for herself,” Lily snapped out of it. “And-- what do you mean, the rest of you? You’re not all...” She looked at each one of the boys.

“This one is not for me to talk about,” Remus said looking down at the book in his lap; he still seemed tense.

“Well,” James cleared his throat. “Sirius, Peter, and I are--”

“Really now?!” Sirius exclaimed. “We’re making this public knowledge?”

“Lily is not public,” James pouted.

“I think we should tell her,” Peter chimed in.

“You’re only saying that because she yelled at you,” Sirius frowned at him.

“I think we should tell her too!”

“That’s only because you’re in love with her, Prongs!”

“So?”

“Remus?”

“Sirius, this is really not for me to decide. If you’re asking for my opinion, I trust Lily completely.”

“Fine then!” Sirius sighed angrily before dropping his voice. “We’re animagi. There.”

“Excuse me, what?” Lily leaned back in shock as she stared back at him and then laughed when no one said anything. “I see, you are messing with me.”

“I personally wish we were,” Remus gave her a sad smile. “But alas.”

“Are you serious?” Lily slowly looked over at Peter and then at James.

“Yes,” Sirius answered impatiently.

Lily gasped and, without thinking, locked his forearm in a rough grasp. “I don’t believe it!”

“I know, I was surprised too,” Peter mumbled.

“But that is extremely advanced magic!” She gaped in awe; Sirius, in the meantime, gently unclasped her fingers from around his arm and moved her hand over to James’ wrist.

“I’ll say. It was a fucking drag, it took forever…” Sirius bobbed his head.

Lily knew that they were telling her the truth, but as she listened to them talk about how they managed to finally change into animals just the previous year and how they would go to the Shrieking Shack with Remus, she just couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“But… Surely, the staff know,” she mumbled as if answering her own unasked question, “but how come no one else knows?”

“The staff know about me,” Remus clarified.

“We’re unregistered,” James added.

“Unbelievable! But no one else knows about Remus?”

“Snape does, actually...”

“He does?!”

“I’m surprised he never told you, that greasy little git,” Sirius folded his arms over his chest.

“But how long has he known?”

“Since last year. Sometime around the beginning of second term, I guess.”

“Ah well, I haven’t been talking to him much lately… So your arm,” she looked over at Remus again. “Is that from...from this past full moon?”

“What’s wrong with your arm?” James’s voice was tinged with alarm while Sirius got up to his feet and leapt over to where Remus was sitting.

“I don’t have any Dittany on me!” Peter too sounded panicked.

James stood up as well and put his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “Does anyone have any essence of Dittany?”

“It’s just a scab that’s peeled off,” Sirius mumbled, holding Remus’ wrist in one hand and using the other to push his sleeve up.

James sat down again, both him and Peter looking relieved, while Sirius started murmuring incantations, cleaning the blood off Remus’ arm and shirt. Lily watched the scene wide-eyed, slightly dazed almost. She understood now why Sirius seemed to care so deeply and so gently for Remus. And not just him - Peter and James seemed to share that same unconditional love for their friend, that urge to make sure that he’s okay. She couldn’t keep a smile at bay at the sight.

“Well then,” Lily finally managed to collect herself somewhat. “We’ll have to work out some kind of a schedule so I can help you with notes and homework,” she looked at Remus.

“You don’t have to--”

“Don’t be stupid, N.E.W.T.s are just around the corner. You don’t want to fail anything, do you? Blimey, you’ve always been at the top of every class...”

“Well,” Remus sounded more at ease now, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve always had help.”

“So modest, this one,” Peter rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

“We have nothing to do with how good you are at everything. If anything, we have the opposite effect,” Sirius put his wand away and perched himself up on the armrest of Remus’ chair.

“Really now, Moons, don’t make me look like a huge nerd in front of Evans, will you?” James huffed dramatically.

“You know what,” Lily’s expression rearranged itself into a smirk as she sat back more comfortably. “I’m very much into nerds. Can’t get enough of them,” she added as the boys all started laughing at James.

* * *

“I just keep feeling that jolt every time I start dozing off…” Remus mumbled sleepily in the dark.

He had woken up with a start just seconds before and he must have made enough of a ruckus to tip Sirius off - he had asked if Remus was okay, temporarily startling him even more since he didn’t know anyone else was awake.

“We’ve got to get you some Sleeping Draught from Madam Pomfrey,” Sirius replied. “She’s offered it before.”

“I don’t need it, it’ll just make me even more drowsy the rest of the day.”

“You’ve not been sleeping though. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Don’t deflect,” Sirius’ voice came out of the dark and Remus could hear a smile in it.

It warmed his heart immensely whenever Sirius said and did things that meant he cared. And the way that he cared was different - over the years, Remus had gotten really good at distinguishing between care and pity. Some of his relatives that knew about his lycanthropy always treated him as though he was fragile, as though he would shatter and explode any second. Even his own parents sometimes looked at him with eyes full of sorrow and regret that, as far as Remus was concerned, was no one else’s but his to feel. And ever since he’d had that terrifying conversation with Lily, he had been thinking back on their friendship, understanding finally why she was so nice, so kind to him.

But Sirius never once, in all the years, looked at him as if he felt sorry for him. On the contrary, when he found out about Remus’ condition, he said something along the lines of it being ‘wicked’ before he proceeded to tell him that he’d have to come up with a better excuse to push his friends away. And then he effortlessly fell into this routine of, well, caring for him. That moment, that confession, was nothing more to Sirius, it seemed, than an opportunity to prove his friendship, and he had done it every day since.

“I’m fine,” Remus drawled, “my head’s just been buzzing with too much stuff. Even Lily Evans is cracking under the pressure of sixth year, how can anyone else stand a chance?”

There was a long pause before Sirius spoke again. “How do you feel about her knowing about your furry little problem?”

“Oh, you know, the usual - just hoping she doesn’t start seeing me as a monster and slowly distance herself from me until we become less than acquaintances.”

“Moony, shut the fuck up. For what it’s worth, she took it a lot better than Peter,” Sirius whispered and they both sniggered, remembering their friend’s pale, horror-stricken face on a night a few years ago.

“She did, didn’t she? Almost too well.”

“Too well?”

“Yeah,” Remus pulled his shoulders into a shrug as he stared at the underside of his bed’s canopy through the thick darkness. “Who knows what she’s really thinking, you know?”

“I think I do know, actually. She’s probably thinking that you don’t deserve this but that there isn’t a soul in this entire castle that would cope with it better than you do, and she’s probably feeling pretty special to have earned your trust. She’s probably hoping that you don’t push her away, too.”

Remus lay there, unable to conjure any words to respond to what Sirius had said. His lips twitched, wanting to form syllables, to verbalise the mess that was his mind, but he couldn’t.

“You there, Moony?”

“Yeah…”

“I thought you fell asleep.”

“I wish.”

“Do you want some chamomile tea?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Are you hungry? Did you eat enough at dinner? Maybe that’s why you can’t sleep?”

“I’m not hungry, Pads.”

“Are you cold? Hot?”

“No…”

“Not enough pillows? Too many pillows?”

“Shut up,” Remus wheezed out through a chuckle.

“Alright, I’m coming over…”

“You’re what?” Remus asked, but no answer came; instead, he heard Sirius’ mattress creaking followed by some shuffling, and then a big, black dog leapt onto his bed. “What are you doing?”

Of course, Padfoot couldn’t answer and instead, he made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, lying down across Remus’ legs.

“Unless you’re going to smother me to death in the middle of the night so I can sleep forever, I don’t see how this is supposed to help me?”

The black dog got up, turned around on the spot a few times, and lied down again, a little closer to the head of the bed this time.

“You don’t have to turn into a dog just to get out of talking to me, you know.”

At this, Padfoot lightly bit Remus’ hand, as if in place of a verbal protest.

Frankly, Remus couldn’t argue with the comfort that having another body there provided him with; Padfoot’s slow, steady breathing, the warmth of him, his presence was nothing short of soothing. Soon enough, he started dozing off again. He found himself just barely awake a couple times throughout the night, just enough to make out Padfoot's massive mound of a silhouette, before falling back asleep.

Finally, he had no idea how many hours later, he could almost physically feel himself being gently pulled out of his dreams, his waking mind finally registering James’ voice talking about Sirius. Remus fluttered his eyes open and a couple of seconds later, everything became focused and sharp as his surroundings came into view in the dimmed morning light. He realised then that he wasn’t alone in his bed - Sirius, in his beautiful human form, was sleeping next to him, only one of his feet covered by the blanket, his other leg and arm draped loosely across Remus’ own body.

“Remus, are you awake? Have you seen…” the curtain of his bed flew open to reveal James, whose face suddenly fell into a surprised expression before a smirk found its way onto his lips, “...Sirius.”

“Mornin’,” Sirius yawned and stretched next to Remus; evidently, James’ yelping had finally managed to wake him up.

“You lot finally figured it out then?”

“Figured out what?” Remus raised his eyebrows, all while excruciatingly aware of how close he was to Sirius.

“You know, your...thing. Well, I’ll be the first one to say I’m happy you did because I’ve been tired of listening--”

“James,” Sirius spoke with noticeable patience.

“What thing? Were we supposed to be fighting or something?” Remus looked at the two boys.

“Fighting…” James chuckled. “I mean, it’s obviously not just about me, but it was getting a bit--”

“James.”

“What? Is this a secret? I don’t need to tell anyone, but Peter should probably know…”

“What is he talking about?” Remus turned to Sirius, his face just inches away.

“I wish I could give you an answer, Moony.”

“What...what do you mean?” James finally stopped blabbering.

“James, Moony couldn’t sleep last night.”

“So you crawled into his bed?” James furrowed his eyebrows.

“Actually, technically, Padfoot the dog did.”

“Okay, alright, I see… Er, Sirius, could you come in here to help me with...something?” James turned on his heel swiftly and started walking across the dormitory.

“You want me to come help you with something...in the bathroom?” Sirius asked brightly as James held the door open, waiting for his friends.

“Yes.”

“Moony--” Sirius started but was interrupted.

“I want no part in this. He’s probably got something illegal in there,” Remus chuckled, sitting up in bed.

“No, I was just going to say, I slept really well. Thanks,” Sirius said as he got out of bed and then followed James into the bathroom.

Remus could hear the two boys talking quietly, almost whispering, behind the closed door, but he didn’t care much for it. Yes, his mind was still drifting over what James had said, wondering what he was talking about, but far more importantly than that, the thing that left Remus in a daze was the fact that Sirius had slept in his bed and then thanked him for it.

Unable to fight a smile away, he got out of bed and started getting ready for the day. Surely, it was going to be a lovely one.

#idk lads #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #marauders #hogwarts #fanfic

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thats-how-i-role · 3 years

Text

😱😱 I’m confident today?? Wow, progress

The sun was hot on Jem’s back as they road through the deserted streets of what was once a lively, and populated area. Their motorcycle engine revved beneath them as they scouted ahead for any enemies that may decide to ambush their crew. Thorne, Jem’s tall, dark skinned, but bleached haired partner was driving a massive moving truck behind them. And protecting Thorne from the rear was Lillian, a girl with olive skin a dark blonde hair. She also rode a bike, with her German Shepard, Clint in the sidecar. Completed look with goggles to protect Clint’s eyes.

Jem, with a sniper rifle hoisted on their shoulder and a back up pair of binoculars in their pocket, began leading their group towards the docks. Where Alveyn, the scamp but good friend of Jem’s, was waiting on his ship with the next load of cargo. He was hanging from a rope, scoping out beyond the ship.

Once Jem’s group pulled to a stop, Alveyn’s crew began taking the weapons that Jem’s group had crafted. And as the weapons came off, clothing, blankets, wood and other tools to build shelter were loaded on.

Jem had just barely been able to switch their motorcycle helmet to their aviator glasses before Alveyn pulled them in for a tight embrace. Jem returned the affections tenfold, as Alveyn did a little waddle with Jem still in their arms.

“Miss me?” Alveyn quipped, his signature cocky grin gracing his face.

Jem shrugged, finally being put down on the ground. “Not really, figured if you did something stupid and got yourself killed then your angel would’ve contacted me by now.”

“Not even a little bit?” He taunted, preparing for tickle attack. Jem kept one strong hand on Alveyn’s chest, protecting themselves.

“If I say yes will you keep your hands to yourself?”

Alveyn nodded hesitantly, “For now, we’ll see how the day goes.”

Jem shoved him lightly, “I guess that’s as good as I’m gonna get. So fine, I missed you a little bit. Now, what’d you bring me?”

Alveyn, in a poor impression of an Australian accent said, “Crikey Jem, I brought you quite the haul. Australia is more of a barren wasteland than we thought. But at least they kept their supplies in order from pre-times.”

“Could you stop?” Jem asked, exasperated but silently enjoying his playfulness.

Continuing in the accent he said, “Now why would I do that? That island changed me Jemon Morale, for the better.”

Jem rolled their eyes, fighting their smile. “Well, next time go to Ireland. Maybe get a sexier accent in the meantime.”

The two bantered back and forth, as well as getting their business in order. Making sure each side was getting a fair trade. About an hour later, Jem was off to get back home. Still keeping an eye out for demons, angels or anyone else that may feel the need to get greedy.

Jem barely relaxed until they reached the middle of the city, where the rest of their Battalion was waiting. As smoothly, and quickly as possible, they got to work. Unloading their loot and bringing it down the stairs into the abandoned subway. A few imps and other lesser demons showed up but were quickly dispatched.

About half way through the load Elgar, Jem’s short, tawny haired friend, came up for the first time today. Which was unusual within itself, but nobody seemed the wiser. Both Jem and Elgar picked up small boxes of lanterns and began carrying them down in silence.

That was, until they both were far enough away from people so they wouldn’t hear Elgar say, “You have a guest in your room.”

Jem perked up, knowing immediately who Elgar was referring to. Jem’s dirty little secret.

They nodded, passing their box over to Elgar and immediately made their way over to their room. It was a make shift bedroom, but had direct access to the subway rails and platforms. It was once the employee break room, with a kitchen counter and cupboards on one side. Jem let the others take the furniture once Jem had gotten a mattress from one of the other leaders in the area, Romy. It was only a mattress, with a sheet, a blanket and a flat pillow. Jem had a crate as a kitchen table and two barrels as chairs for typically Elgar on the nights where the isolation became unbearable. The entire room was lit up by candlelight, the candles laid haphazardly across all flat surfaces, including the floor.

It wasn’t much, but it was a lot more than others had, and it was as close to home as Jem has ever had. Especially when the angel known as Lewellyn came to visit.

Now, Jem couldn’t make sense of their feelings towards the mysterious entity that made them feel... something. Curiosity? Yes. Warmth? Definitely. Love? Who really knows. After all, Jem considered love as a luxury in this world.

They approached their bedroom, double checking that they weren’t followed, for they didn’t know how their battalion would react to other supernatural creatures. Once Jem was sure the coast was clear, they entered but didn’t find who they were expecting. Perched on their bed was a tall, pale man. He had shaggy, platinum blonde hair. He was lean, but fair skinned and pale green eyes. He had blood and bruises covering his body, and white feathers protruding from his clothes.

Jem reached for the machete just inside the door saying, “I will only ask this once, who the hell are you?”

“Jem.” A voice they did recognize spoke up. Walking from what was once a commonly used bathroom was Lewellyn. She had a bucket and a cloth in hand. “Do not be afraid.”

Jem sighed in relief, “Lew, you scared the shit out of me. And I ask again, going against my own word, who the fuck is this?”

Lew sat down next to Laufi, cleaning the blood off of him. “He’s my friend since before the fall. Meet Laufi, Laufi this is Jem.”

Laufi nodded shyly, as yet another creature exited from the bathroom. This woman was tall, with dark skin. She had short, black hair with a blue tint to it. She wore a neutral expression but it was kind nonetheless.

“And this is Mercy.” Lewellyn added. The one known as Mercy sat on the other side of Laufi, and helped to clean his wounds as well.

Mercy eyed Jem and stated plainly, “You didn’t mention this brave leader of yours was a half-breed.”

“They’re plenty more than that.” Lewellyn assured, speaking about Jem as if they weren’t even there. “Although I wish they didn’t act as if their lineage was something to be ashamed of.”

“I don’t see any malformations.” Laufi added, his voice slightly hoarse.

Lewellyn nodded, “It’s their eyes. Gorgeous as they are, they share the look of Kalliope.”

“The demon of wrath?” Mercy gaped, but continued her work. “And they’re supposed to be a fair and just leader.”

Jem cleared their throat impatiently, “Lew, why the hell is there a gaggle of angels in my room?”

Lewellyn left Laufi’s side, approaching Jem for reassurance. “Laufi was injured when we fought off some greater demons earlier today. We were closer to here than Romy’s and I felt as if I had no other choice.”

“You know how my Battalion feels about creatures like you.” Jem argued, attempting to keep their temper down. “Not only is this putting you in danger, but if they were to find out, my group would lose all trust in me.”

Lewellyn shook her head, removing Jem’s glasses to make sure they were looking in her eyes as she said, “If I thought that was a possibility then I wouldn’t have done it. But I know because-“

“Because you read my stars. I know, I get it. Doesn’t make my life easier. As soon as you get cleaned up, you have to go.”

Lewellyn huffed in frustration, “I don’t ask for favours often Jem. Please, he needs help. You’ve given it to people far less deserving.”

Shit, does she know about-

Jem takes a moment to consider, before ultimately shaking their head once more. “No, I can’t put my people in danger. I refuse.”

“Jemon.” Lew snapped, trying to intimidate them.

“Lewellyn.” Jem shot back, staring her dead in the eyes.

After a moment of tense silence, a cheerful, “Laufi,” Came from Laufi himself.

Looking back at him, Jem stared into Laufi’s eyes and caved practically instantly. “Fine, he can stay. But Lew, your puppy, you clean up the mess.”

Lew grabbed Jem’s wrist gently, pulling them close into a brief hug. “Thank you.”

“Don’t do that.” Jem groaned, but returned the hug nonetheless. “You’re making me soft, and that’s not allowed.”

Mercy stared back and forth between Lew and Jem with an amused smirk on her face, but didn’t say anything. The two parted and Lew went back to Laufi’s side. Jem awkwardly shuffled back and forth on their feet before speaking.

“I’m gonna go back and help everyone finish unloading. We’ll have some spare blankets for you Laufi so you can rest up.” Jem nodded, and Laufi gave them a soft smile.

“Thanks Jem, really.” Laufi stretched his shoulders, and winced in pain.

Jem left their room, making sure to close the door behind them. They made their way back towards the entrance, but made a small detour towards the tunnels. Still making sure they weren’t spotted, Jem found another fugitive they were hiding in the underground. The being was resting in a small maintenance area deep in the tunnels.

The small demon was hunched over, buried in blankets. Her short, black hair sticking up at all ends. Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, as she laughed at Jem. “If you thought I didn’t notice the chicken wings entering your room earlier, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Aerilyn,” Jem began to apologize but was interrupted.

“You don’t think this is actually going to work out, do you?” Aerilyn snarled. “You’re playing all sides here. Humans, demons and now angels. How do you think this is gonna end?”

Jem breathed, pinching the bridge of their nose, “I know there is a peaceful solution here.”

Aerilyn let out a loud, humourless laugh. “Please Jem, spare me the fairy tale. Let’s face it,” she grinned devilishly, her eyes glowing slightly more, “you’re gonna end up ripped apart from every limb. And the streets are going to be painted with blood, and there won’t be a single soul left to blame.”

#my ocs #Jem #Aerilyn #Alveyn #Lewellyn #Romy #Laufi #mercy #campaign 1 #my art #friend ocs #my writing #au week

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

Lick Your Wounds (part five; finale)

[Breakaway]

hope y’all got tissues ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

TW: Blood, vomit, discussions of death

———————

In The Mouth of The Leviathan

Joan awoke to excruciating pain.

Her mouth opens to scream, but no noise came out. Only a strangled whine that grates the back of her throat like hot iron claws. She struggled to sit up and was met with even further discomfort- soreness in all of her limbs, tightness in her chest, cramps in her stomach, pounding in her head. It all added to her misery and she didn’t think it could get any worse, but then she looked at her hand and the blood all over her bed.

Red. Red on her sheets and blankets and pillows. Red soaked through the fabric and her bandages. Red dripping from the gaping hole in her palm.

The wound had opened back up in her sleep.

A choked cry worms its way out of Joan’s throat. She began to weep weakly as pain invaded all her senses. She wrapped her good arm around her stomach and wished Maggie was there holding her, rocking her, telling her that everything would be okay.

But it wouldn’t be okay, would it?

Joan was dying. She knew it. She could feel it. She could feel her cells shredding themselves and her blood tainting and her poor stomach lining inflaming from the infection that now coursed through her body. First, her hand went, now her stomach was being attacked by the bacteria...it wouldn’t be long until her heart was next, and then her brain.

And then there would be no more Joan.

Tears burned as they slid down Joan’s cheeks. She didn’t want to die. There was still so much she wanted to do, so much she wanted to see, so much she wanted to say. She wanted to sing all the songs she wrote herself, she wanted to learn how to swim, she wanted to finally beat Nightmare King Grimm in Hollow Knight, she wanted to get an apartment with Maggie and adopt a cat and argue about what kind of decorations they’d have in their flat. She wanted to tell Maggie how much she meant to her.

But she doesn’t know if she can anymore. Because her body is destroying itself and she can feel herself getting weaker and weaker as the seconds ticked by.

She knows her time is running out, so, with whatever strength she had left, she grabbed her phone and began to type in an empty doc. She typed and typed and typed until her vision started to blur and her hand burned and her stomach ached.

Then, her phone is back on the bedside table and she’s crumpled on the floor, kneeling over a pool of her own bloody vomit. Consciousness leaves her quickly and she finally gives in to her infection.

After everything, it’s nice to not feel.

———

Jane and Anne find Joan sprawled out on the floor of the cabin when they went to visit her with lunch. They rushed to her side and were horrified to find that she was barely breathing.

“She’s in a rhythm.” Jane declared grimly.

Before Anne can react, Jane’s threading her fingers together and pumping them against Joan’s rib cage with measured violence.

“Rhythm? What does that mean?“ Anne asked in alarm. She notices that Jane’s breathing a new number every half-second, counting off as she delivers CPR.

Jane reached fifteen and then looked at Anne. Her eyes are determined, but worried and scared.

“Listen to me, Anne. If we don't even out her heart rate, she’s going into cardiac arrest. I need to do this, okay?"

Jane goes back to Joan within seconds, putting her ear to her chest and beginning her straining pumps again. Again, she counts out to fifteen and puts her temple on her chest.

“Shit.” It's so quiet that it's hardly a word, more of a distressed noise. With sweat beading on her forehead she goes through five more cycles before her arms begin the shake visibly. “Come on…” She grunts into her motions. “Come on, Joan.”

Anne can just sit petrified, watching the queen struggle with her efforts. She claps her own hands together and prays silently.

“Come on, Joan!” Jane’s calls are slowly becoming louder, fighting the edge of desperation. She's coming up on her thirteenth cycle, pumping against Joan’s rib cage with weakening arms, and the beads of sweat on her forehead only serve to frighten Anne further.

“Joan, open your eyes.” Anne encouraged. She took one of the girl’s hand- it’s so cold in her own. “Don't do this.”

But Jane is losing her battle against Joan’s heart.

“You aren’t allowed to give up now, Joan!” The silver queen shouted between clenched teeth, and Anne agreed with her angrily.

“Joan, you’re so close,” Anne spoke back up, squeezing tightly to the small, still, freezing hand in her own. “You’re almost there. You can’t let go now!”

A sickening silence fills the room. Jane leans once more, ear pressed firmly to Joan’s chest. Anne swore she felt a twitch of pressure around her hand.

“Yes…Yes!” Jane’s exclamation catches Anne off guard. “That's it, sweetheart. Come on.” She’s beaming in relief.

“Is she…?”

“Yeah,“ Jane nodded. “She’s alive.”

Anne closed her eyes and smiled. She quickly wiped away tears that had been forming, then looked down at Joan.

“She’s still not waking up.”

Jane’s smile is gone, replaced with a dark frown.

“I don't think she has the strength to wake up.”

Anne swallowed thickly. Behind her, she hears the locking mechanism on the door click, but neither she nor Jane dare to face the one who steps inside. They can’t bear to see the stricken expression plastered on their face after what just happened.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Anne whispered.

Jane does not answer as Maggie lunges down to their sides and takes Joan’s lax body into her arms.

———

The nurses in the ship’s medical wing stare pitifully when Maggie covers Joan up with blankets and sleeps huddled next to her in one of the beds, but they don’t say anything. It’s the only thing the guitarist can think to do, her little sister’s dear friend’s body too cold and too weak to fend for itself.

It's been six hours since Jane pulled Joan back from the brink of death. Maggie never thought she’d think such a thing, but she wished she’d stay unconscious until they got to land.

Instead, Joan operates in the between space, the little grey line between states of being. She wakes, but she is delirious with fever and confused every time. She talks, but never beyond a mutter of no significant meaning. Her eyes open sometimes, but only to stare at the ceiling in an empty way. If she were lucid enough to understand her situation, most would think she was waiting impatiently for her own death.

Maggie clung desperately to Joan’s side despite how disturbingly frozen she is, and listened to music alone. She tried so many times to wake her with it, but the bud wouldn't stay in her ear and eventually she gave up. In the back of my mind she realized that this is the beginning of their separation, when the pieces of the two of them disconnect in a long, painful way until everything pulls back and snaps suddenly.

When Joan is gone.

Maggie’s hand clenches tightly around Joan’s side, and for the hundredth time in the last hour she wills the girl to wake.

If you love me, you'll wake up.

If you love me, you won't make me go through this alone.

If you love me, you’ll open your eyes.

Nothing.

Joan doesn’t even stir.

Maggie kissed her forehead lightly.

Joan doesn’t respond.

Maggie wants her back.

———

Joan’s cabin feels haunted when Maggie enters on the sixth night. What used to be a cozy little safe haven that she loved to visit was now a dim, vomit-smelling den of pain and bad memories. Blood has turned rust brown on the bed sheets. The pool of throw up is still stained on the ground. Evidence of the torturous week that Joan so desperately tried to endure lied everywhere.

Maggie stands in the middle of the room for the longest time until her mind collapses. Her persona finally shatters to pieces and she lets herself crumple.

She remembers first meeting Joan, surprised to see that she of all ladies in waiting had come back to life. She remembers first getting close to the girl, how Joan would follow her around like a duckling from afar, but not have the courage to actually talk to her. She remembers boarding the boat, taking Joan’s hand in the process and leading her up the walkway, since the poor thing had been quite nervous about getting on. She remembers the way Joan practically leapt into her end after the very first performance and she cracked a smile at her excited, happy babbling.

Those were the days, the months in which they consumed one another. Even if they were platonic, more than that- sisterly, they changed each other. They fed on each other’s energy. They laughed together, smiled together, and everything in between those points. Friends left, lovers left, family left, but they stayed, always. Always.

Joan is all Maggie has. She was all of her.

And with Joan freezing and unresponsive in the medical wing, Maggie can already feel herself becoming nothing.

Through a beginning haze of tears (oh how it hurt to cry), Maggie noticed Joan’s phone on the nightstand. She gingerly picked it up and put in the password (1234...she would tell Joan to change it to something less guessable it it weren’t for their current situation). A doc is opened up to her and she begins to read what it said.

Dear Maggie,

I’ve never told you before, but I’ve always been searching for something. What I wanted was someone to laugh with. Someone to smile with. Someone to suffer with...even fight with. A true friend. That’s what I was looking for. And I finally found one. And that was you, Maggie.

We’re best friends, you and me. You really are my dearest friend. I wanted us to stay together forever, but...

Even if we won’t be able to see each other anymore, I’ll still be thinking of you everyday, wherever I go. No matter what the distance, no matter what happens to me, no matter where I go or if I disappear...I will never forget you.

Thank you. Thank you for being with me all this time. Thank you for holding my hand and hugging me and supporting me through this—and everything else. Your touch and your voice and your presence means more than you’ll ever know. It kept me going through everything that hit me. Without you, I don’t know where I’d be.

I’m glad we got to meet. You gave me a chance to smile and laugh and live like I never had before. You gave me a purpose in this world. Nobody has ever loved me like you have.

I’ll miss you, and I know you’ll miss me, too, but promise me you’ll live your life. Don’t rush our reunion. Go live. I’ll wait a thousand years for you, Maggie.

I have to go now. I can’t keep writing anymore. But I had to leave something for you.

Goodbye, Maggie. I love you.

-Your darling Joan

Tears poured down Maggie’s cheeks as she sunk to the ground, sobbing. She didn’t care how loud she was being, she didn’t care who would hear or if this ruined her stoney persona. She couldn’t help herself.

It hurt to breathe. Her chest was aching with the weight of each sob. When she looked up, she could barely see through the haze in front of her eyes, but she just barely managed to make out a furry mass on the bed.

Maggie grabbing Sunny and cuddled her close to her chest as she wept.

Now she understood why Joan liked it so much.

———

The cruise ship docks in Cozumel the next morning on the seventh day. The nurses wanted to put Joan on a gurney, but there was no time. She had to get off the ship that instant, so Cleves scooped her limp body up and began running.

There’s an ambulance and a readied gurney pulled out in front of the docks. Most people know to move when nine Tudor women are charging in a herd, but some don’t and they are shoved without mercy. There was no time to ask them to step slightly to the right- they had a girl dying in one of their arms, damnit! Everyone could wait to get on the island and explore.

The doctors take one look at Joan when they get down to the ambulance and begin shouting commands at one another, taking her from Cleves’ arms and strapping her into the gurney. Maggie and Maria barely have time to climb in after them before they slam the back doors and speed off onto the interstate.

“What has happened to this girl?” One of them said to Maria in Spanish, urgent tone thinly veiled.

“A light fell on her hand.” Maria answered.

Maggie looked between them, not knowing what either of them were saying. She knew very little Spanish, which was why Maria was there in the first place, but it only took a little common sense to know what they were discussing wasn’t very good.

The ambulance was going so fast that Maggie could hardly stay seated without tumbling over. Shouting, clasping grips and stabbing needles, ad scribbling on white paper pads- there’s so much going on in such a small space. Flurries of abstract motion. That unnatural freeze that soaked beneath Joan’s milky grey skin is now a heat- burning up, boiling, blazing. Such a temperature spike so quickly, and they’re so close now to getting her help…Was she giving up now?

Or had she already given up a long time ago?

One of the machines to Maggie’s right began to beep rapidly, deafeningly, like some kind of angry force. It beats viciously in her brain and she screwed her eyes shut. She never was the most religious person, but she found herself praying to God and any other ethereal beings that may exist to save her little sister.

Not best friend anymore. Little sister. Joan was her sister and she wasn’t going to lose another one.

Not after Anne.

It takes a long, very long ten minutes before the ambulance finally pulled into the emergency station at the local hospital. The team is bursting through the doors in seconds, completely prepared, white jackets and blue gloves and silver chrome instruments. They crowd Joan, yelling. By Maria’s wide eyes, Maggie knows whatever they’re saying isn’t good.

The two follow them in, more running, more shouting, more needles. Someone orders for broad spectrum antibiotics. Doctors form a typhoon, a tornado surrounding the gurney as it’s rolled inside, and a collection of nurses egg Maggie and Maria with personal questions.

It isn’t long before Joan is wheeled off somewhere further into the hospital, somewhere not even Maggie can follow. She and Maria are left in the wakes of the panic, standing aimlessly in shock. The others arrive soon, but there was nothing they could do but wait.

And wait they do.

A nurse comes out, eventually. An English speaking one, thank god. If this lady was the bearer of bad news, everyone knew neither Maria or Aragon, the only Spanish speakers there, wanted to be the ones to translate and pass that onto everyone else.

“Is she okay?” Maggie asked instantly, jumping out of her seat.

“Joan. She’s in critical condition. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

Maggie couldn’t bear to hear anything else. Jane and Anne took over listening to the news while Maggie went to sit back down and pray alongside Aragon. And Bessie. And Cathy. And even Cleves, who teased Joan religiously. They were all praying for the girl’s recovery.

Surely God would hear at least one of their pleas.

———

Surgery. Surgeries. Surgery.

It’s a blur- Was it plural? Did Joan get one or two? Were two needed for a hold in the hand? Or was the other for something else?

Maggie didn’t know. Nobody knew.

Two days have passed. Joan hasn’t been seen by any of her friends. The cruise is being delayed, but the captain can’t promise for much longer.

They were going to leave Joan behind.

Not like they’ve failed her enough already.

It’s on that second day when Joan is allowed to be seen. Maggie rushes to the opportunity and nobody stops her.

Joan is so very pale in her bed and so very small, like a baby bird. Her features are sunken, but relaxed as she sleeps. Or, what Maggie hopes is sleep. Her left hand is still attached to her wrist- honestly, Maggie had been fearing it would be amputated. When an English-speaking doctor steps in, he relieves Maggie of that fear—the hand was still functional.

But then his face went very dark.

“What?” Maggie said. A chunk of ice stabs mercilessly into her gut.

“Joan is stable.” The doctor said first. “She will recover.”

Tears fill Maggie’s eyes. Tears of relief and joy, but all she can do it nod with a mouthed, “Thank you.” The doctor gave her a small smile through his grim expression.

“However—” He stopped and looked down at his clipboard. “She is a pianist, yes?”

“Yeah,” Maggie nodded. “We perform on that cruise. The show’s called SIX. She plays the keyboard and also is our music director.”

“She must love her job.”

Maggie actually managed a light, laughing breath. “She tries.”

The doctor nodded. He’s looking at his notes again.

“Joan will make a recovery,” He said again. “And her hand will still be functional. But there will be permanent nerve damage in it.”

Maggie swallowed thickly. The shard of ice presses in deeper- she feels like she’s being ripped open.

“What do you mean?”

“Things like writing, eating, simply picking things up with that hand will be difficult. Near impossible at times, depending on flareups.” The doctor explained. “She may never play piano again.”

Like that, Joan’s whole world came crashing down on top of Maggie, and she could only save some of it. She goes very still; the piece of ice has ripped a hole through her, just like the hole in Joan’s hand, and just like the permanent hole now opened up in the girl’s life.

“Or, at least she won’t be able to play like she used to.”

Maggie gets to be alone with Joan shortly after. She sits by the bedside, holding the girl’s good hand in her own. She murmurs to her, whispers to her, hums to her, and lets her know that she was there and she could take her time with waking up, but she just had to know that she will have to wake up and return to her at some point.

And, like before, like when this all started, she lies to Joan over and over again. She says she’ll be able to play her piano again soon and perform all those songs she had planned. But something tells her when Joan’s foggy eyes slowly open, that she already knows.

She knows and she’s pretending it isn’t true, just like Maggie was.

“Hey,” Maggie whispered.

“Hey,” Joan croaked.

Still together. There’s something new, now, and it has lurked into their lives like a snake or an unwanted guest, but they’re still together.

Or, at least Maggie thinks. It isn’t the same Joan looking at her. Not really. Not anymore. But she’ll love her all the same.

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

What Might Have Been - 17

@goodomenscelebration - Theme Prompts

Continuing to post as many as possible in one evening!

If you missed a chapter, they are all available on AO3!

CW for briefly described but very bad injuries; and for creepy abandoned towns

For those who need a reminder: “Crowley” is our Crowley, while his “mirror image” is the Alternate Universe version. “Aziraphale” (or the “Guardian of Humanity”) is the Alternate Universe angel, while “Kasbeel” is ours, in disguise.

I apologize for that being confusing.

Holiday

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley’s mirror image slumped against the wall, looking blankly at the space between them.

It was the only thing he ever asked. He never spoke of his own Aziraphale.

At first, Crowley had thought it was a trick. He’d kept his responses vague, evasive. What do you want me to say? Smug bastard with white wings. The mirror image had simply nodded.

Over time, Crowley started telling stories from their past, short ones, ones he thought over carefully, to ensure they wouldn’t reveal too much.

He likes oysters, way too much. Just. Salty, briny disgusting oysters, and he’ll eat a dozen of them in one sitting. Slurps them, too.

He can’t stand Charles Dickens. No idea why. Might just be that his customers are always asking for him, but I think they met once.

He’s been trying to learn to pull a coin from someone’s ear for over a century. Still drops the damn thing half the time. Isn’t it only supposed to take ten thousand hours to learn a skill? He’s coming up on a hundred thousand hours I think, and he still can’t get the fingers right.

And then, somewhere along the way, he stopped even guarding himself that much.

“He helps people,” Crowley said, turning his leg, which was still stiff and sore from the last torture session. The floor around him was black with demonic blood. “Even…when it’s really not worth it, even when there’s something way more important going on. One time, we were at this little restaurant in Italy. I turn my back for a minute, and there he goes, off washing dishes. He hates doing that sort of stuff, you know, always leaves them in the sink until I take care of it. But the girl in the back had been sick, and he sent her home and took over the job himself. Didn’t even use miracles, by the way, and couldn’t figure out how the machine worked, so he did it all by hand.”

“What…” the mirror image asked. “What was the more important thing?”

“Oh, uh, I’d been planning to ask him something. Not important what. We picked up the conversation later, but, um, he really ruined my first attempt.”

A hundred and forty miles to London.

Alone, Kasbeel could fly the distance in just under five hours. He would be exhausted, but he’d had a lot of practice the last few years.

He was not alone.

A Roman legion could walk twenty miles a day, setting up camp every night and breaking it in the morning. They could have made it in a week. Harold Godwinson had crossed from Yorkshire to Sussex in a little more than that.

But Kasbeel wasn’t leading an army.

He was leading nearly three hundred tired, hungry humans, most of them young, through enemy territory. Where they could be spotted at any moment and taken from him.

He took a deep breath, and walked through the crowd.

“Patrick, how’s the leg? Healing well? Ollie, make sure you hold onto Jennifer’s hand. Mrs. Sherwood, that’s not too many children? Please let Mrs. Kumar know if you need help. Amiyah, why don’t you move up to the front where we can see you? Alex, please, stay with your group, I don’t want to ask you again.” He greeted as many as he could, clasping shoulders, grasping hands.

When he reached the front, Lyla was waiting. She’d arranged her hair to hide the Mark on her cheekbone, as many did if they could. He bit his tongue and didn’t say anything. It was her choice.

“Are we ready to go?” she asked, tilting her head towards the highway, cutting south towards London.

“I believe so.” He glanced at the sky, black, filled with stars once more. It was comforting, and frightening. What else would change? “Let’s get as far as we can before sunrise.”

Ishliah had never seen the world before the apocalypse. Just barracks and training until the day the war started, then fighting, and fighting and fighting.

What spread before her now was almost incomprehensible. Little short plants growing everywhere from the ground, a vibrant, impossible green. And the taller ones – the trees – reaching almost to the top of the wall, branches spreading thick with fruit. Little animals sat in the branches, singing, not as varied or interesting as the singing of angels, but music nonetheless.

All that, and the sky above, brilliant blue again – it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Ishliah of the Seventh Battalion. Welcome to New Eden.”

She turned, and her heart stopped in her chest. That face – she knew him, would never forget it, though now he was in uniform, flaming sword in hand. But the pale curls – the round face – the blue-grey eyes…

“You…” she managed, weakly.

“That would be the confirmation I need.” He stepped closer, still smiling. “I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth and Guardian of Humanity. I believe you met someone claiming to be me, three years ago, according to your report.”

“That…it really was…you?” Her hands began to tremble, and she wondered if this was what fear felt like. She never felt it on the battlefield, but this was much, much worse.

Ishliah had lied in that report.

“No, it was not.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And I don’t believe many others understand what you truly witnessed. I don’t fully understand it myself, but I mean to. Now. You said this angel…” a screen appeared in his hand and he scrolled down, lips pursed as he read. “Here it is. He took you into a hidden room and tortured you for information? Is this true?”

“Yes?” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. There was a great deal of pain and…he asked me questions…”

Something caught her eye down in the garden. A group of humans, being led to a smaller walled area not far away. The human in the lead was shouting, and they all seemed to be bound together on some sort of chain.

“Even here we have our troublemakers,” Aziraphale said, with something like regret. “Sometimes the children don’t grow obediently as we’d hoped, and sometimes the Retrieval teams make mistakes when identifying the Elect. Not often, but we have been very busy lately.” He nodded towards the smaller walled section. “The holding pen is their last chance. Gabriel will arrive in a week to deliver the final Judgement on them.”

“And…if they’re found wanting…?”

“They’re cast out, of course. Far from here. The Eastern Gate, you understand, is purely ceremonial.” He gestured to the outer wall beside them.

Ishliah glanced down to see, not quite directly below them, a single stone missing from the completely smooth face of the wall. It hardly looked large enough for even a young human to slip through. She checked the inside curve of the wall. No breaks there – the missing stone didn’t even reach all the way.

She looked up again to find the Guardian scrolling through her report with pursed lips. “Ishliah. I wonder if, perhaps, you weren’t completely honest in what you said?”

She clenched her jaw, the fear suddenly reaching a height she had never suspected. Was this why traitors deserted? She would do anything not to feel this way again…

But the Guardian merely smiled, stepping close, lowering his voice. “My dear. Do not worry. What you witnessed was…truly extraordinary, and of course you thought no one would believe you. But this is no longer an isolated incident. There have been…other reports, curious ones, and yours doesn’t quite line up. But if you tell me the truth now, all will be forgiven.”

Her eyes slid again to the holding pen. “All?”

He rested a hand on her back, turning her away, until she faced him and only him. “Now, Ishliah. Tell me about the angel.”

“Tell me about the angel.”

Crowley tried to sit up straighter. His leg had healed, but now there was some great gaping gash across his stomach, and the way his manacled arm hung kept stretching the wound.

“He’s a complete hedonist. Foods. Wines. He goes to the barber every month. His hair doesn’t grow, he’s never had a beard, and he never even changes his look. I have no idea why he does it, except to have someone wash his hair and buff his nails. But he always comes out smiling, like he’s found the secret to peace on earth.”

“Nh,” the mirror image said. Crowley looked up to find he had a hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his neck. But it hadn’t sounded like a noise of pain. “I…uh, yeah. I know the look.”

“He likes to spoil me, too, when he has a chance. Trying to cheer me up, I think. I don’t tell him when it works, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. One time in Rome, there was this place with oysters—”

“Stop.”

Crowley looked across the cell, but his mirror image might as well have lost interest, tugging himself towards the corner to sleep.

After three days of travel they reached Burton-upon-Trent.

The gang of wanderers divided into teams to explore, looking for supplies: food, medicine, clothing, shoes, anything that could be used as a weapon. Kasbeel and Lyla walked together with Squad A down the empty street, hot with the kind of blistering heat that only comes on a sunny day. Barricades were put up here and there, signs of the Marked painted on the walls, but no one came out to challenge them.

“I don’t like this,” Lyla muttered. “I don’t want to fight, but…where is everyone?”

All of the villages they’d passed had been abandoned. Apart from the angelic patrols, England was apparently empty.

Kasbeel shook his head. “The Sainsbury’s should be up ahead. Why don’t you…” he trailed off, looking at a few unbroken windows up the side of the street. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I have something to investigate here.”

Two hours later, Squad A emerged with four shopping trollies loaded with cans of soup, vegetables, powdered milk – everything they thought might still be edible after seven years. Lyla doubted it would last them more than a day or two.

No sooner had she stepped into the overly-bright day – she’d forgotten how painful the sun could be – then she heard a shriek, a high-pitched scream of a small child.

She spun, grabbing a can of food, ready to throw it at whatever angel, demon or human threatened her people –

The wanderers had gathered in the parking lot of the carwash across the street, and jets of water filled the air. She could still hear the children shrieking, but everyone else looked relaxed, calm, many of them smiling.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, prepared to push her way through the crowd, but they parted, pressing her forward until she saw the set up.

Four chairs, padded and high-backed, stood in a line across the parking lot. In each one, a child sat, dripping wet, while behind them the adults scrubbed and combed their hair, snipping with delicate scissors. They passed a hose up and down the line of chairs, rinsing the children off.

On one side, Alex had mastery of a single hose, waiting until a chair was free. “Next!” Ollie ran up, bouncing eagerly for his turn. Alex turned on the hose and drenched him, from head to toe, while the little boy shrieked, jumping up and down in the water. “Alright, you’re clean, go get your hair cut.”

On the other side, Kasbeel had set up a small table with two chairs. He sat on one side, and delicately rubbed at Mickey’s nails with an emery board, a pair of glasses she’d never seen before perched on his nose. “Ah, Lyla, you’re back. Join the queue, but be careful, many of the older customers are finding Alex’s methods a little intense.”

“What are you doing?” Lyla shoved at the table, causing little bottles of nail varnish to rattle. “You could have been helping us find food, and instead you’re – you’re wasting time!”

“I most certainly am not. Time is a precious commodity, you know, and ought never to be wasted.” He put down the emery board. “Do you want a color, Mickey? I think the pale pink would look wonderful.”

And Mickey – tough, stoic Mickey, veteran of five battles in the demonic army, Mark emblazoned on his brow for all to see – asked, “Can I try the gold? I like the way it shines.”

“Of course. A wonderful choice.”

“Look at me!” Lyla slammed her hand onto the table again. “What is wrong with you? We need to get everyone ready to move, we’re still weeks away from London. We don’t need—”

“My dear, you most certainly do need.” Kasbeel pulled off the glasses, brows snapping down. “Look at our people. They’ve been living in the mountains, in the dirt, covered in their own filth. It isn’t right.”

“So what? Who cares how we look? Humans lived like that for thousands of years. Our ancestors didn’t need to be pampered, they survived with the bare minimum—”

“Oh, no, who told you that?” Kasbeel shook a jar of nail varnish and began applying the first coat to Mickey’s nails. “I was there, and I can tell you. People bathed. People spent hours on their hair, and their eyebrows, and their nails, and elaborate henna tattoos, although I wasn’t able to find any supplies for that. It isn’t about wanting to look good, or to impress anyone. It’s about taking care of yourselves.” He blew a breath across Mickey’s nails, encouraging them to dry. “Being clean, being groomed, it makes humans feel human again.”

Lyla’s lip curled in disgust. But she looked back at the crowd, the smiling faces, the way the kids splashed in the puddles with bare feet, the way the adults laughed behind the stolen salon chairs, passing the hose back and forth. The teenagers all tugged at each other’s newly-short hair, running their fingers through it, marveling in how light it felt on a hot day.

She hadn’t seen her people like this. Hadn’t seen anyone like this. Not in so very long.

“Fine. If that’s what you want. And since we’re clearly going to spend the rest of the day here, I might as well look for a place to sleep. Something that’s actually necessary.”

She stormed up the street, past the shattered windows of the salons and nail parlors, past the Sainsbury’s again, and around the corner. She kept walking until the sounds of the crowd at the carwash were long gone, then just stood, quietly, in the street.

She wanted to scream, until the knot in her stomach was gone. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she couldn’t find the voice for it. So, she just stood there, in the street, fists clenched.

Until Kasbeel’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it, my dear?”

“Talk about what? I told you – I’m – I’m looking for a place for us to stay.”

“There were plenty of townhouses in the other direction, you know. And I’ve already sent a team to explore them. Unless you think a, er, door stripping establishment would make a better place to spend the night.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m mad, I feel like I don’t have any control over my mind. I’m just – I have a million thoughts racing in my head and I can’t even slow down long enough to actually think any of them, I just know we have to keep moving.”

“You’re afraid,” he told her. “You’re stressed, and although I forget it sometimes, you are still very young. I shouldn’t ask so much of you.”

“I can handle it!”

“Yes, you can. You handle it very well, taking care of the others, taking care of your brother before that. But, you know,” his hand rested under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It’s perfectly alright to take care of yourself, too. Indulge a little. Let yourself be happy. They deserve it. You deserve it. And it will make you feel better.”

“I just…I’m not sure I can relax anymore. What if they come for us while we’re all standing around, or—”

“If they do, I will be ready. I promise. I have not let my guard down for an instant.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, rubbed her back like a child. “That fear you feel. You know if the angels come back, there’s nothing you can do, but you want to be ready anyway. Your mind is telling you to find a solution that doesn’t exist. I’m sorry. But there is something you can do, I think.”

“What’s that?”

“There are many of my former colleagues who believe that anything which makes humans happy is a sin. I believe it is always worth indulging, just a little, to show them how little you care.”

“Oh. And one other thing.” Gabriel wasn’t happy. He often wasn’t happy these days. Bringing about the end of the world, it seemed, was more complicated than anyone had expected.

Aziraphale kept his face carefully blank.

“We have reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south, but the scouts can’t seem to get near it. Vanishes every time they try. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

“Yes. I’ve been following up on these rumors for some time. The circumstances appear to me, well, nearly incomprehensible.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “It would appear these humans are being led by a rogue angel, posing as a scout or a messenger.”

“Rogue? You mean a deserter?” A brief flash of anger in Gabriel’s eyes, but it quickly vanished, smoothed over by something calm and patient. “Well. At least my best agent is already on this. Glad you took the initiative. Now. Tell me about the angel.”

The mirror image didn’t say anything today. He wasn’t a mirror image, either. He’d angered the angels who had come in earlier, refusing to cry out as they hurt him. Shoftiel had left him as a serpent, coiled mutely on the ground, and then they’d turned to Crowley.

“I can tell you about the angel,” Crowley offered. His throat was still raw from the screaming. They hadn’t even asked any questions, simply given him back his wings and broken every bone in them. It hurt, worse than almost anything else in the last three years. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

The serpent lifted his head, then let it fall heavily.

“He…he…” Crowley closed his eyes. It was so hard to think of a story. Not just the pain. His mind longed to be blank. “He is so soft. Like a cloud, like a warm blanket, like a pile of feathers. And that’s all most people ever see of him. A fool and a pushover and a – a – a lazy pleasure seeker who likes his books and his chair and his food. It’s what he wants, though. He wants to be soft.”

He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, ignoring the way his wings felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass.

Far away, an angel led a troop of humans down the motorway. He laughed as he walked, carrying one of the youngest on his back. In the week of travel, they’d grown dirty again, their nails had lost their color, their clothes become faded and stained. But they still smiled, still tossed their heads, running fingers through their hair. The young woman beside him had hers cropped almost completely off, exposing the Mark on her cheekbone.

Suddenly, the angel stopped walking, his eyes locked on the sky above. None of the others had heard or sensed anything, but he knew what was coming. Three hundred humans gathered close in the shelter of his wide white wings, and his eyes took on the color of steel.

“But then…when he needs it…when the things he cares for are threatened…he isn’t soft at all.”

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starforged · 4 years

Text

general general and skywalker: a post-tros finnrey

He dislikes the desert. It’s too hot. There are two suns. Who just has two suns? And the sand, it’s everywhere. It’s in his mouth and his eyes and he doesn’t know how, but it’s in his pants. Against his skin in places nobody wants sand to be.

But…

It isn’t Jakku, so he supposes he can give Tattooine the smallest of passes.

Very small.

The cantina is full of tired humans and aliens, and some that look like they would shoot him if they could. It’s the only place with people. The only place where he can pay for information.

“Listen, I am General Finn. You know, of the Resistance?”

The barkeep, a gaunt Twi’lek with skin the color of dying grass, stares at him. Mostly, that tactic works. General, Resistance. Everyone eats that up, and it makes Finn’s life easier and keeps his pockets kind of heavy. Metaphorically speaking. Because credits didn’t actually have weight.

“Finn what?” the barkeep finally says in return. It’s not an answer to his question.

Finn blinks and takes a deep breath. “Just Finn. No, not just. General. Point being, I am looking for my friend. A girl. She carries a lasersword. There’s an orange droid. Can you tell me where she is?”

The Twi’lek holds out his hand. Rubs two of his fingers together.

Finn transfers over the credits.

“You must mean the Skywalker girl. Homestead has been empty for years, but I knew the family that lived there. Owen and Beru and their kid, Luke.”

This is too much information to receive all at once, and Finn doesn’t know how to process any of it. Skywalker girl? Luke? What?

Rey is waiting for him outside of the little home, built right into the sand. A moisture farm, the barkeep called it. Finn doesn’t get it, but there she is, standing in the middle of the sandy yard. BB-8 beeps with delight and rolls up the incline to him. He asks about Poe, who isn’t here with him.

Poe is busy. Everyone is busy.

“I’m confused, you’re a Skywalker now?”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t have anything to say about it. So her shoulders lift in a shrug and a faint smile paints over her lips. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you.”

They’ve all needed time. She’s never told him all of it, what happened down on that planet’s surface while he had been on the destroyer. And then, a few months later, she was gone. Something she had to do. She’d be back.

That was three months ago.

And now here he is, on this dreadful planet, standing before Rey Skywalker.

They move towards each other at the same time, without having to think about it. Her arms loop rightly around his neck, his around her waist. They press together, too warm, but it feels like it always has: a missing piece slotting back into place.

“I missed you,” she whispers into his shoulder. When she pulls away, he tries to not feel disappointed. “Let me show you around.”

The machinery for the moisture farming is, surprisingly, fascinating. And it’s nice to talk about something that isn’t war or death or First Order or who the hell is gonna run the Republic now because most of the Senators were blown up and who is going to trust any of them. They’re no Princess Leia or Mon Mothma, who he hears was fantastic. This is just weird rustic living.

He hopes whoever his parents were or are, that they aren’t moisture farmers.

She makes him dinner. He helps to clean the dishes.

The room she lets him sleep in has old models of x-wings and other ships. There are spare parts buried in bits of sand, nothing that is good enough to salvage. The room vibrates with this energy of more.

Luke Skywalker must have been some kid.

“What are you really doing here, Rey?”

“I buried Luke and Leia’s lightsabers,” she tells him.

“In the sand?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think they minded.”

She seems different. Well, they all are, so that’s a stupid observation. But she feels more calm, more sure of herself. This is not the Rey he knows. She’s still there, the bright eyed girl from Jakku and the angry girl during the war. There are just parts of her that he feels but doesn’t know. He wants to.

He’s always wanted to, and she was too wrapped up in her anger to understand that he wasn’t going to leave. That he wasn’t scared of her, but for her. She kept trying to be alone, and all Finn has ever known is working as a unit. As part of a whole.

He feels that this is what’s happening now, too.

“I’m sorry,” Rey says, cutting through his thoughts. There’s a certain flicker of grief that crosses her face, of regret and pain.

He reaches out, across the table, pushing her cup of tea out of the way. He takes her hand. It’s warm and rough. He remembers the first time he took her hand, when it had been rough and sweaty against his palm. “Me too.”

“Ben saved me,” she whispers. Her dark eyes are downcast, lips parted.

“Ben? Solo. Ben Solo, Han and Leia’s son? Our enemy? Who was hunting us?” Sometimes, Finn feels like his mind is splitting apart. When he thinks of Ben Solo, there’s only Kylo Ren. The ghost stories the troopers spoke of him in whispers during training. The feel of his blade striking against Finn’s when they fought. That mask.

But when Rey raises her gaze to his again, squeezing his hand, he sees parts of Ben Solo that are just Ben. It doesn’t change his opinion of him. The guy was a monster. And he is dead.

“He gave me his life. There’s this ache, like a part of me has been hollowed out.”

He swallows. Hard. “Tell me about it. All of it.”

She does. And he does his very best to understand the things he doesn’t get. He doesn’t ask many questions, afraid that she’ll shut down on him again. Shut him out again, and Finn doesn’t want that.

And he thinks, while she tells him her story, her past, her future, her other half, he understands what love fully is. Love is not a continuous act of sacrifice for someone else, but it is a helping hand and a listening ear and an acceptance of some things that he can’t change. He’s not jealous. No, okay, he is, because other half is such a serious notion and if Ben was alive… Finn would love Rey enough to keep an eye on a reforming monster so that she could be happy. And he would move on.

He can’t change who Ben Solo and Kylo Ren were to Rey anymore than he can change what Poe and Rose and Jannah are to him. He can’t change that her power is something he can’t exactly touch. He’s never wanted to change any of those things.

A month passes. It’s a hot, sandy month. Farming is hard work. But it’s good work.

A month passes. He begins to learn the names of the regular crowd at that cantina. They teach him card games and how to gamble. He’s terrible at it. Rey is great at it. Nobody likes to play with her.

Trusk slaps a card down, rattling some machine parts on the table. “Where’s the wife, Skywalker?”

Finn frowns. “It’s General.”

“General General?”

He realizes how stupid it sounds the second Trusk says it. “Yeah, yup. General Finn General.” It only takes him another second for him to register that Rey was referred to as his wife. The wife. To his husband. His cheeks burn hot, and he’s thankful for both the darkness of the cantina and of his skin.

Rey teaches Finn to lift rocks. Small ones, at first, because he tried a rather large one and nearly took out the rear section of their home. He learns how to build instead of destroy. He learns to reprogram. He learns that he is not a Jedi.

He learns that she has six different smiles and a storm in her heart.

“He’s still with me,” Rey confesses one night. It’s cool when the suns are down, and they sit outside.

“He’s always going to be with you,” Finn says.

“No. I mean - he became part of me, when he gave me his life force.”

“I - what.”

“And his ghost--”

“Nope.” Finn holds out his hands, shaking his head. “Nope, I don’t do ghosts.”

Smile number five comes out, brighter than any number of suns combined, a wide grin that stretches across her face and reminds him of how young they really are beneath the war wounds.

“Oh, so having him part of me is fine--��

“No that’s just weird. The Force is weird. Jedi are weird.”

“I just wanted to say that, if you kissed me, you’d be kissing part of him.”

Finn gapes. It takes a few moments for everything to catch up with him. Time, breathing, his brain. Rey’s cheeks are burning red in the faint light he can see her in. But her gaze is even, steady.

“Do you--” He coughs, because his voice becomes high pitched and he remembers coming into puberty all those years ago and how squeaky he sounded. He lowers his voice an octave. Manly, smooth. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

She takes her time, thinking that question over. He waits with a patience he didn’t think he could have in this situation, because really, all he wants to do is grab her and kiss her until they both run out of air. That’s all he’s wanted to do since the day she looked at him, him.

“You had something to tell me once,” she says instead of answering him. “What was it?”

All those missed moments, all of Poe’s butting in and the near death, and his desperation for her swell up inside of him. “I love you. I always have.”

“The thought of losing you hurts me,” she tells him. Her hand is over her heart. “Here.”

“What does that mean?”

They stare at each other, and his body is twitching to move, and his mouth is itching to kiss her, and his mind is screaming at him to do something, say something. Her eyes are glassy, and he’s ready to face the rejection. He can do that, for her. So she can heal.

“I love you.” Her voice is a whisper. “And I love him.”

Competing with a kind of dead man who may or may not live inside of her soul and also probably comes to visit when he isn’t around isn’t exactly an ideal situation.

“I know,” Finn reassures her. He takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, one by one.

One tear falls, then another. They make silent streaks down her face. “It’s not a competition.”

“I mean, I’d kick his ghostly ass.” His smile is fragile, wobbly. “Rey, whatever you want to do, I will be here for you. There’s no rush.”

“I know.” And then she closes the distance between them, her mouth on his in a gentle kiss, sweet and undemanding. She tastes of sand and soup and power. She tastes of love.

He tries his very best to not think about kissing Kylo Ren.

#star wars #the rise of skywalker #tros spoilers #the rise of skywalker spoilers #finn #rey #finnrey #canon compliant #so there is reylo #rey tries to grieve #finn becomes a moisture farmer #i needed him to finally tell her his something #sequel trilogy fic

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silvokrent · 4 years

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The Prices We’ve Paid - 1

In the aftermath of the Fall, Emerald starts to realize she might be out of her depth.

There were days—once far and few in-between, but now becoming increasingly more frequent—when Emerald was relieved the entirety of their plans didn’t hinge solely on Cinder’s confidence.

Not that the surety was unwarranted. Tonight had been the culmination of months spent carefully vetting and recruiting numbers to their cause, compromising the kingdom’s defenses, theft and sabotage and infiltration and death of a magnitude that Remnant hadn’t seen in nearly a century. Cinder had been meticulous in leaving little to chance, and in the end, they succeeded.

Or very nearly, anyway.

Emerald struggled not to lose her footing on the gnarled root of a tree, nearly-overbalancing to compensate for the weight borne between them. Beside her, Mercury faltered in his pace, pausing long enough to readjust the limp form braced by his shoulder. The light of the shattered moon and distant flames illuminated the sheen of sweat on his face, and the haunted, hunted look he did little to hide. She never thought she would have found herself missing his obnoxious arrogance or haughty disdain for everyone around him, if only because it was something familiar. Anything would have been better than the sobering panic he wore, that she was sure perfectly mirrored her own.

“We’re close to the extraction point, right?” Emerald asked, when the silence became too much. Well, no, silence wasn’t the right word. Even with all the distance they’d put between themselves and the city wall, she could still hear the screams of people and the spine-chilling ululations of the Grimm.

Mercury pulled out his scroll and thumbed through a mess of readouts on the screen. “It’s about thirty meters northeast from here. Rendezvous’s gonna be a spot in Forever Fall. Figure it should only be another ten minutes.” He scowled. “Probably not though, seeing as we’re sort of inconvenienced at the moment. We could get there faster if we just—”

“Don’t,” Emerald snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, Emerald, look at her.” It was kind of hard not to, with her adrenaline-overdosed brain jumping back and forth between spellbound morbid curiosity and gut-churning disgust. Emerald made an effort to keep her eyes fixed ahead, determinedly ignoring Mercury’s glare. “She’s slowing us down. And if by some miracle the Grimm don’t pursue us, she’s lost a lot of blood. Who knows if there’s anything left to even save.”

Her pulse jumped in her throat. “The Grimm aren’t going to go after three people while there’s still the entirety of Vale,” Emerald said in what she hoped passed for a reasonable tone. “And—” She weighed her options against all the things she actually wanted to say (she’s our leader, we wouldn’t be here without her, we’ve survived worse, abandoning her is wrong) and decided that appealing to Mercury’s self-interest would get her the results she wanted. “What happens when we show up without her? What happens when she finds out we made that call?”

A vicious satisfaction surged through her as Mercury, however discreetly, flinched.

“We already lost our chance at getting the Relic. How forgiving do you think she’d be if she found out we lost the Fall Maiden, too?”

Very faintly, she could make out the sound of teeth grinding together.

In the end self-preservation won out, and to her relief Mercury didn’t argue. On some tacit agreement they resumed their trek in tense silence, with the only interruptions being the occasional grunt of exertion, the snap of a twig underfoot, or an incoherent noise of pain. Fortunately her theory held true and they moved through the shadows of the trees unaccosted, though it did little to quell the anxiety savagely beating against her ribs. The thoughts came unbidden, and Emerald tried (and failed) to not dwell on the very real possibility of Mercury’s words.

There had been a lot of blood. And in the pandemonium of the aftermath, they’d had little time to make a full assessment between digging through rubble and sprinting through the hysteria-induced crowds toward the outskirts of the commercial district. Were it not for the shallows puffs of air against the side of her neck, she could have forgiven him for assuming otherwise.

She could have, but the odds of that were up there with the ones of ripping off one of his prosthetic legs and proceeding to bludgeon him to death. For now, at least, he was keeping his spiteful cynicism to himself.

Her uneasy train of thought was interrupted by the sight of a dim glow in the gap of the trees.

Emerald stopped and gestured with her free arm in the direction of the light. After briefly consulting his scroll, Mercury nodded, and they pushed their way through the undergrowth.

During the final stages of preparation it had been a foregone conclusion that Atlas’ fleet would be too preoccupied with the White Fang, Grimm, and overridden mechs to pay mind to any lone airship that just so happened to blip on the edge of their radar. Despite this, Cinder had been loathe to let a getaway vehicle anywhere near her preparations, with the merest hint at a contingency plan from Torchwick nearly earning him a second-degree burn. To even suggest the need for one implied failure, an implication which Cinder did not take to kindly. It was only when Salem was consulted on the matter, and made it clear that retreat must be considered a possible outcome, did Cinder relent.

It made sense, really, when Emerald had tried to approach the issue from Cinder’s perspective. Contingency plans were a sign of ineptitude. That you didn’t posses the resolve or skill to succeed, that you openly acknowledged your inability to account for what could go wrong. Cinder had accounted for everything, and therefore nothing could go wrong.

A mutinous voice at the back of her mind (the one Mercury liked to mock whenever they were beset by boredom and passed the time by bickering) tried to empathize. Emerald had wanted to believe her. And as she’d watched from the rooftop—the wyvern perched atop Beacon Tower, stygian tar dripping from its wings and Cinder’s outstretched hand caressing its skeletal maw as the world burned below them—she had.

Their encumbered pace brought them to the edge of the small clearing where the airship idled. A seamless door slid open on the hull, pooling light on the ground ahead of them. Emerald squinted against the glare as a familiar silhouette stepped into view.

“Just because the CCT has fallen does not mean local communication was disrupted,” said Watts, by way of greeting. They’d only dealt with him a handful of times in the last year, as Cinder preferred to minimize her and her team’s interactions with him. It hadn’t taken them long to figure out why. Salem made sure to fill the ranks of her council with people of varying occupations and skillsets, and it had taken all of thirty seconds of listening to Watts talk before Emerald had filed him under the heading of Professional Bastard.

Of course it was their luck that he’d been assigned to extraction, in the event of a worst-case scenario.

Then again, he was apparently some sort of doctor, so maybe it was their luck.

Time to find out.

Mercury bristled. “Sorry, but it’s kind of hard to call ahead when we’re running and avoiding capture.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Watts said. He brushed his hands down the front of his overcoat, narrowed eyes peering into the darkness where he couldn’t see, but still heard them approach. “Were I not concerned with the impending consequences, I would congratulate you on the manner in which you failed. I suppose if you were going to waste our one chance at victory, then might as well do it with style. That was quite the lightshow. I think there were a few people in Mantle that didn’t go blind just now.”

“That wasn’t us,” Emerald said, an edge creeping into her voice. She took another step toward their escape, desperately trying to ignore the stab of agitation at the seconds ticking by. “We need to get onboard and leave. Cinder is—”

“Ah, yes. Our fledgling Maiden. I did wonder how she fared.” He had the audacity to smirk. Were she not making the effort to fight off exhaustion, Emerald might have considered the risk worth striking him. Agitation and fear were quickly fraying what little patience she had left, and if Mercury’s clenched fist was any indicator, consequences be damned was going to become a battle cry very soon. “Our lady invested quite the time and resources into her training. It would be a shame to learn that it had all been for naught.”

“Then see for yourself,” Mercury spat. At last he stepped forward and pulled Emerald with him into full view, carrying with them the third member of their party.

The emotion slid from Watts’ face.

“Bring her onboard and set her down, now,” he ordered.

“What did you think we were trying to tell you?” Mercury’s barbed remark was predictably ignored, not that Emerald really cared. Watts had already disappeared to the front of the ship by the time they’d hastened Cinder’s limp form onto one of the benches by the wall.

For the first time since they’d hauled Cinder from the wreckage, Emerald was able to get a clear, unobstructed look at the extent of her injuries. It occurred to her, somewhere, in the region of her brain not preoccupied with gaping like a fish, that a lifetime spent in poverty had given her a pretty great front row seat to the unflinching horrors of the world. What people looked like as they starved to death, what people smelled like as untreated wounds turned gangrene from medical neglect. What people sounded like as they died in anonymity, begging for help from passersby that would avert their gaze and double their pace. The familiarity had taken on a role reversal in recent months, courtesy of Cinder’s benefactors, and Emerald could now say that she’d perpetrated quite a few of those horrors herself, with the odd homicide or two thrown in for good measure.

A lifetime of horror had made Emerald assume she was immune to the worst of it by now, only to realize she needed to seriously update her definition of worst.

The arm was the most immediate and visually arresting. Halfway down the appendage, just above where the elbow should have been, hung strips of mangled flesh. Debris and bone fragments sullied the wound, darkening the blood that had begun to trickle around the remains of the limb.

There was a sudden, plummeting sensation in her midriff, accompanied by a bout of nausea Emerald very nearly failed to suppress. Not wanting to vomit on her boss, she decided to focus on Cinder’s face instead.

And immediately regretted it.

A mutilated stump was a lot to take in, but at least it still looked like a limb. Cinder’s face was all but unrecognizable. Skin had been asymmetrically burned away into a topographic map of red-and-white flesh that furrowed here, peaked there, as if it were suspended in the process of melting. Where an eye should have been was a congealed mass of raw flesh and fluid that pooled into the socket. Only the right side of Cinder’s face remained unmarred, comparatively speaking. Amidst the pallor of the skin her remaining eye shone wetly, the pupil dilated to a pinprick, unfocused on the people crowding above her.

“She looks…bad,” Emerald managed, when her vocal cords finally remembered how to work. As far as descriptors went it was pretty underwhelming, and judging by Mercury’s unimpressed frown, he agreed.

“She looks nearly dead,” Mercury corrected her, rather unnecessarily at that. Okay, it was more accurate than “bad,” but it still made Emerald want to punch him. Common sense quickly banished the impulse from her thoughts. Both of them were low on Aura and running on fumes, and getting into an impromptu fistfight on a moving aircraft probably wasn’t the smartest plan she could’ve come up with. Instead, she focused on trying to drag air through her lungs, wincing at the burning sensation from the smoke she’d inhaled. The gesture did enough to clear her mind though, and bring with it another intrusive thought.

“Why hasn’t she said anything?” Torn between the desire to touch and the instinctive fear of Cinder lashing out at any physical contact, Emerald hovered nearby, arms folded over her chest. “She made noise when we transported her, so she’s definitely conscious. I think.”

Mercury frowned, this time in thought rather than contempt. “It could be some injury we’re not seeing.”

“Perhaps if you moved,” said a voice from behind, “I could find out why.”

In the time between configuring the flight controls and rejoining them, Watts had donned a blue-gray lab coat and retrieved a pinstriped physician’s bag. With an impatient shooing gesture he strode past them and set it down on the benchside table.

“Formalities first. Cinder”—Watts leaned forward—“if you’re alert then I need you to prove it. Can you speak?”

His only answer was a faint, rasping breath.

“I assumed as much.” A critical eye swept lengthwise over his patient as he removed a pair of latex gloves from his bag. “Not that it particularly matters, but in the event you can still hear me, I assume you’re consenting to whatever treatment methods I deem necessary.”

She could've imagined it, but Emerald thought she saw Cinder’s chest rise and fall a little faster.

Mercury, meanwhile, had made himself comfortable leaning against a nearby wall, close enough that he could still watch the proceedings. It was a deceptively casual gesture that to the untrained eye would have given the impression of indifference. It was also a complete lie and fooling no one, so Emerald really didn’t see why he bothered. Couldn’t he at least pretend to look worried?

Then, to her surprise, he spoke up: “You’re not seriously going to perform surgery on her now, are you? Right here? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“More or less dangerous than leaving her to hemorrhage everywhere?” Watts asked dryly. He arched a slender brow at Mercury. “If you’re squeamish then by all means, you’re welcome to leave the room.”

“Leave the—? It’s an airship with one room and a cockpit.”

“Precisely,” Watts drawled. He slipped a surgical mask over his face, but not before Emerald caught a flash of teeth. “So I suggest you get over yourself rather quickly.”

There was a pause as he removed another piece of equipment from his bag, before he added, almost as an afterthought: “And to answer your earlier question, no. I’m merely seeing that she arrives in stable condition. We’ll operate upon our return.”

That got her attention. Emerald exchanged a wary glance with Mercury, before curiosity got the better of her. “You actually never said where we were—”

That was exactly when Cinder decided she’d had enough, and with an incoherent cry slammed the heel of her foot into Watts’ ribs.

The blow caused him to stagger backward, although it lacked any of the usual strength behind it. The most it achieved was creating a meter gap between them. With a swear Watts closed the distance, sidestepping a second kick aimed for his head and pinning her with the weight of his arm in the same fluid motion. The proximity caused Cinder to thrash harder, teeth bared in a snarl.

It took Emerald a stupidly long moment to realize she was still standing there, occupying about the same level of uselessness as Mercury, who hadn’t even vacated his spot by the wall. Uncertainly she took a step forward, wanting to intervene but not sure how, or even who, to help.

It was a decision that became irrelevant a second later, as Watts had finally managed to wrestle what looked like a syringe out of his bag. Before either of them had the chance to react, he’d stretched out her intact arm and jabbed the needle into the skin. An eerie, cold sensation, like the kind Emerald got whenever in the presence of Grimm, settled in her gut as she watched the fire fade from Cinder’s remaining eye. Her face slackened into an emotion that she couldn’t read (not that it was necessarily a good one), and with a final gasp the tension bled from her body.

Cautiously, Watts straightened to his full height. He collected himself with a quiet exhale, and then scowled at the copious blood stains that had soaked their way into his coat.

“I suppose I’ll have to dry clean this,” he announced to no one in particular.

Emerald must have been telegraphing her thoughts pretty hard, so she didn’t exactly jump so much as dramatically fidget when Watts answered her unspoken question: “That was a general anesthetic. It should keep her unconscious for…well, for however long I decide. If nothing else, the silence is an improvement.”

Prick.

Weighing the pros and cons, Emerald crept a little closer, while maintaining an apprehensive amount of space. It wasn’t so much a lack of faith in the drug so much as it was a lot of faith in Cinder. And the reasonably healthy paranoia of nothing short of a rhino tranquilizer keeping her boss down. A paranoia that may or may not have been stoked a little by the sight of Watts touching her arm and fastening a tourniquet to the bicep.

“Why did she do that?” Not that Emerald blamed Cinder in the slightest. “How was she even able to do any of that?”

“You’d think bleeding to death would take a lot out of you," Mercury added. Emerald shot him a glare.

“It does, or hadn’t you noticed her inability to fight?” What would have ordinarily been a derisive remark sounded almost pleasantly neutral—or rather, what passed for “pleasantly neutral” from Watts, if only because his focus was on the windlass he was torqueing against her skin. “That little outburst certainly clarified a few things in retrospect. I suspected this would be the case, if the earlier unresponsiveness and confusion hadn’t been dead giveaways—oh dear, that was rather insensitive, wasn’t it?”

If she concentrated hard enough, Emerald could picture the smirk beneath the surgical mask.

“Clarified what, exactly?” Mercury prompted, after a beat of silence.

Watts clipped the windlass into place and jotted something down on the strap. “Her current condition, which lines up with the other symptoms she’s been exhibiting since you dragged her onto the ship.” He reached down and secured Cinder’s wrist with one hand, pressing two of his fingers against the skin. He lapsed into a momentary silence before releasing the appendage, and inscribing something on a holographic tablet with a stylus. “Reduced temperature to extremities, pale complexion and clamminess, pulse one hundred and thirty beats per minute, heightened anxiety and panic, respiratory rate estimated at thirty breaths per minute.” He tsk’d. “Even without the measurements for systolic and diastolic pressure it’s safe to infer she’s in the early onset of hypervolemic shock. That would place blood loss at…” Watts tapped the end of the stylus to his chin. “About a liter and a half, give or take.”

“What?” Emerald lurched forward. Out of her periphery she saw Mercury’s expression go blank. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, quite.” Watts’ eyes didn’t stray from whatever was so fucking fascinating on his screen. “Do bear in mind that she’s lost an arm. Amputations tend to be rather bloody affairs.”

“Then do something about it!” Mercury snapped. For a moment, Emerald was taken aback by the venom in his voice, only to belatedly remember that she’d convinced him that making sure Cinder didn’t die was in their best interest. Well, that was reassuring. In a messed-up sort of way.

“I am,” Watts said. Rather pointedly he set down the tablet and went about retrieving his supply bag. “The pressure I set in place is constricting the blood vessels. Not that it matters, seeing as her brachial artery was completely severed by whatever put her in this sorry condition. That's some good news, I suppose.”

“Good news?” Emerald made a strangled, indignant sound. “How is a severed artery good news?”

“Because it induces a process called vasospasm.” With an elastic snap Watts removed his gloves. “In any other circumstance that would be a problem, as it would lead to ischemia and tissue death. Here, it’s acting like a clamp and preventing the artery from hosing everything in blood. Factor in what I’ve already done to minimize blood loss, and dear Cinder shouldn’t be losing another liter any time soon.”

What should have been reassuring only dialed up Emerald’s stress to an eleven. It seemed to be a mutual sentiment, as Mercury didn’t resume his original post by the wall, but actually came to stand next to her. If Watts cared about having an audience then he didn’t show it, as he busied himself with swapping out a fresh pair of gloves and fetching a tube he’d left off to the side of the bench.

A thrill of revulsion and discomfort shot through her as Watts dabbed the ointment onto his fingers, and with obscene gentleness, began to massage it into the burns on Cinder’s face. Just the mere act of watching him touch her made Emerald want to do—something. Probably something dramatic and stupid and not at all helpful to their current predicament. In a vain effort to distract herself from the whooshing sensation in her gut, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Thank the gods or pathetically good timing that Mercury decided at that moment to offer a distraction, in the form of what seemed like a fairly obvious question: “Look, I’m not going to pretend to know anything about medicine—”

“And yet you’re still talking,” Watts said.

“—but shouldn’t she be hooked up to IVs and crap? What about an oxygen mask?”

Weird how that was the thing that got Watts to stop, long enough to shoot the pair a withering look. “Does this look like a hospital to you?”

Only Mercury could make a talent of taking all the insolence in the world and packaging it into a single shrug.

“This model of airship is designed for fast transport, not medical intervention and treatment. The extent of what I can do is everything laid out before you.” He’d gone for a second application of the topical cream—Emerald could make out the words silver sulfadiazine on the label, though what that was or what it did she had no idea—and resumed rubbing it into the skin. “Once I have access to my equipment I can begin a blood transfusion, and get her on a saline drip. For now, we make do.”

Which wasn’t exactly great news, but Watts seemed to know what he was talking about, and it wasn’t like they had any other options. Mercifully he withdrew his hand and binned the soiled gloves.

“What about her Aura?” Emerald asked. “I know depleted Auras can take a while to recover, but they’re part of the healing process for us. Shouldn’t hers have started to come back?”

It didn’t sound nearly as reasoned-out as it had in her head, and Emerald might have been grasping at straws by that point. She’d hit a profoundly new degree of desperate if she was relying on conversations with Watts for reassurance

But at least he was humoring her, even if the scornful eye-roll indicated that such questions were beneath him and a clear waste of his time. “That depends on the extent of the injuries, which in her case are rather impressive, if you can describe incompetence as such.”

A hand shot out and grabbed Emerald by the shoulder. Thankfully Watts missed Mercury’s warning headshake. With a long exhale Emerald extricated herself from his grip and stepped back.

“Until her body has healed up a bit on its own, her Aura won’t be regenerating any time soon.” Then, to her surprise, Watts pocketed his scroll and turned to face them, arms braced against the bench. “Of course, I could expedite that process if I knew what caused it.”

Emerald briefly faltered under his scrutiny and shot a helpless glance at Mercury. “We…actually don’t know what happened,” she answered, after a brief internal debate. “She was like that when we found her.”

“Oh?” he drawled. “Do tell.”

“There’s nothing really to tell.” Mercury crossed his arms. “We were the first people to get there. There weren’t any signs of what did that to her. Cinder was delirious and sort of confused, and that dragon-Grimm was turned to stone.”

Watts’ eyes narrowed, and he inclined his head to the side. Emerald didn’t like the sudden interest.

“And her assailant?” he asked. “Had they already fled?”

It took a second for her brain to connect his question with what she’d seen, and even then, Emerald really wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it certainly wasn’t what they’d found. “There was another student—a girl who goes to Beacon. She was out cold when we got there. No injuries. At least, none we could see.”

“Not like we were taking the time to give her a full-body physical,” Mercury added. Though that hadn’t stopped him from kicking Ruby in the torso as they’d collected their half-conscious employer and scrambled back down the tower.

Whatever Watts thought of that, he didn’t say. There was an assessing quality to his expression as he gave them a precursory once-over. “Were either of you injured during the battle?”

“No,” said Mercury. Emerald shook her head.

“Good. Leave it that way.”

Emerald recognized a dismissal when she heard one, and frankly, she didn’t need to be told twice. That went double for Mercury, who wasted no time in staking out a corner of the ship that was relatively free of clutter, and with a grunt, prizing off Talaria. He’d produced a screwdriver from somewhere on his person (seriously, where was he hiding all these tools?) and began to make adjustments to his protheses. Watts, meanwhile, went about cleaning up his work station, discarding the facial mask and sanitizing any surfaces of blood.

Which left Emerald rather aimless. Down time hadn’t exactly been a thing during her childhood, with every moment spent pickpocketing strangers, stealing food, or looking for shelter. Her upgrade from homeless street rat to criminal accomplice hadn’t changed much there either, as she’d immediately been consulted on everything, from planning heists to acquiring assets. It was only during their undercover operation at Beacon she’d found herself with a sudden surplus of free time, and an overwhelming uncertainty of what to do with it, exactly.

Standing in the middle of the ship, Emerald realized she still hadn’t figured out what to do with it, and it was eating away at her nerves. The offer to help Mercury with maintenance momentarily crossed her mind, only to be discarded just as quickly. He would have thrown her off the airship just for bringing it up. And she’d rather jam scalpels into her eyes before she asked Watts if he needed a hand.

And so, with nothing better to do, Emerald began to pace the length of the ship.

It was on her fifteenth pass when Watts finally looked up from whatever he’d been doing by the bench. “You know,” he said, in a voice that went for impassive and fell a little short, “it’s going to be a rather long flight. You might consider getting some sleep.”

And stop annoying me. He didn’t voice that part. Not that he needed to.

“I’m not tired,” Emerald answered, only to be betrayed by the yawn she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

Watts’ lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk. “Clearly.”

Just the suggestion of sleep opened the floodgates for all the exhaustion of the past few hours, from wherever it had been conveniently stashed away until now. Brains were funny like that. “No, really, I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep.”

“Would you like a second opinion from a licensed physician?” Watts asked meanly.

Emerald turned to face him, and was struck by the sight of him standing by Cinder, another syringe in hand. Suspicion crowded out any previous fatigue. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea to take turns keeping an eye on her,” she offered, in what she hoped passed for nonchalance. “I could take the first watch.”

Watts studied her for all of three seconds before he let out a low chuckle. (This time, Emerald did jump.) “Do you honestly believe I spent the last hour patching up the little drama queen only to off her the second your eyes were closed?” He sneered. “For that matter, do you think either of you is in fit enough condition to stop me, even if I wanted to?”

Emerald really wished she had some clever insult to fire back with. That he’d seen right through her was making it a little hard to concentrate.

“I’m merely giving her another sedative, so she doesn’t wake up and try to put a hole in the ship.” Watts stroked his chin. “I couldn’t allow it in good conscience if you were deliberately neglecting your rest. Perhaps I could help with that.” He gestured ever-so-minutely with the syringe.

Message received. Emerald warily retreated a step or two back. The other implication in his words finally caught up to her, about patching Cinder up, and she spoke before she could stop herself. “So she’s really going to live?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“But you can fix her?” Emerald gestured to what was left of the arm, now obscured by some sort of tarp.

Watts heaved a sigh that was more theatrics than sincere. “If I wasn’t the most distinguished person in my field, some other hapless soul would be standing here, tending to this mess. Yes, I can fix her.”

A breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding shakily left her.

“Now either find something useful to do or make yourself scarce. You don’t want to leave that choice up to me.”

“Em.”

Emerald turned to see Mercury regarding her with a look that, while not friendly, was a step up from his usual stick-up-the-ass MO. He appeared to be deliberating on something that he hadn’t yet come to regret, but was about to any moment.

Honestly, she really, really didn’t have time for this.

Before Emerald could say as much (along with a couple other mean things) Mercury reached a decision. Very awkwardly, he patted the spot next to him.

Emerald blinked.

Apparently she took too long for his liking, because he snorted and went back to tightening a bolt on one of the legs.

Much as she wanted to stand there and contemplate the universe and whatever planetary alignment was causing him to act like a decent person, sleep beckoned. On unsteady feet she trod over to the wall, and slid down to the floor next to Mercury. For a moment Emerald entertained the hilarious thought of using his shoulder as a pillow, but decided not to push her luck. She’d slept in worse conditions. A little discomfort was doable.

Very doable, in fact. She was out before she had the chance to think about the horrible neck pain that would be awaiting her when she woke up.

#rwby #rwby fics #rwby thought dump #the prices we've paid #emerald sustrai #mercury black #cinder fall #arthur watts #tw: amputation #tw: gore #tw: surgery #tw: burns #filling in the gaps for volumes 3 and 4 #my posts #i speak

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thewriterwithnoplan · 5 years

Text

Between the Courts (Part 5)

Summary: Daughter of the Dawn, Warrior of the Night. Her Homes were being threatened. Her friend has just come home. She made a sacrifice in vain. And stole a hidden power. A new threat rises. The circle is ready. Pairing: Cassian x OC Word Count: 1165 Warnings: None.

Where are we going? Raya huffed from where she was wrapped around my arm. Hot air tickled my shoulder eliciting a slight giggle from my throat. I stayed silent for a moment, flying over Velaris becoming too distracting to hold a conversation. Something cold flicked into my ear.

"Raya!" I hurriedly rightened myself, stopping the crash she almost caused. I shouted apologies to the woman gardening who I almost hit.

You weren't listening, I figured you couldn't actually hear me. She snickered.

"You know you speak in my head right?" There was an expectant silence from her end. "There's this townhouse that Rhysand lived in, the others just might be there. That's if I can recall where about that is."

Sometimes I wonder how you're alive. Raya snorted. Ask someone!

"No need..." I blinked down at it. "There it is."

With several slow wing beats, I landed upon the stone pathway. After several comforting words from Raya, I steeled myself and stalked to the door. Using magic to hide my wings I took a calming breath. I gave a curt few knocks and waited in tense silence. When nothing happened I got ready to knock again.

"The Peregryn." I looked up at 'Cassian' who lent against the door frame.

I scratch my nose, "Half Peregryn actually."

"Rhys!" He hollered into the house. "She's here, you were right!"

"Told you she'd come back." The wannabe general of the court moved out of the way.

"Look, guys," I ran a hand through my hair. "I know you think this is all fun and games but I need the inner circle."

"What's so important?" Rhys asked with a bemused smile.

"Apart from the fact that I'm alive and spent a century learning advanced magic?" I shrugged, pushing into the house. "Let's start with item number one on the to-do list; break into the prison."

"Wait," They gave me a shocked look. "You're going to break into the prison?"

"Yes, so kindly tell me where the circle is." I slumped against the back of one of the cushioned chairs. "Then maybe explain why you're in this house."

"We've told you smart ass." The blonde fae waltzed in followed by Amren. "You simply won't listen."

Just take the information. Raya sounded just as agitated as I was.

Taking her advice I slipped passed Cassian's shields, diving straight into his memories. Everything flashed by in colours and emotions. Years upon years worth of feelings slapping me like a physical hit. The Illyrian camps, a dirt tent home changing into a stone house full of laughing boys. Battle after battle, some inflicting wounds, others merely breaking and shaping his mental state. Then suddenly men were fighting with him. People at his command, cowering at his presence. Seven glowing syphons bedecking the armour of both himself and comrade. A burst of colour, passed snow white and forest green, Velaris. The house of wind, the blonde woman, a silver-eyed one and the two other males. There were snippets of other places, visits to other courts and back to the camp, a few memories of the court of nightmares. It all trickled by, sunsets and sunrises with those friends. Then somewhere along the lines, another showed up, fragile and quiet spoken. It depicted her growth, the courts love for her and slowly she became stronger. Then there were countless meetings, him protecting the girl as she represented the court on countless occasions. Then there was sorrow and anger, a friend missing, one of the boys. A downward spiral followed many drinks and unshed tears. Things started to even out, looking okay even. A pause, a short time of silence and black colours. A death. The girl whom he'd grown to care for, gone. A funeral.

"Cauldron save you, Mother hold you. Pass through the gates, and smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Fear no evil. Feel no pain. Go, and enter eternity."

I tore myself from his mind. Each of the present fae had their eyes trained carefully on me as I stumbled off the couch. The girl, me. He really was Cassian! They all thought me dead? I blinked rapidly looking around.

"You..." I breathed.

"How'd you get into my head?" Cassian trained an emotionless expression upon me.

Tears welled up in my eyes and the only words I dared utter were, "You really believe I'd died?"

"What does it-" Mor furrowed her eyebrows.

"I told you guys, that if I died," Rivets of water trailed down my cheek, collecting on my prominent bones. "I'd take down another Summer court building with me."

"Cauldron..." Cassian's blank stare broke into a shocked look. "There's no way."

"What is it? Cassian?" Mor placed a hand onto his shoulder.

"It's Lucina." Azriel stepped from the shadows, making us all jump.

"What about Luna?" Her eyes drifted across the room. "Am I missing something."

"It's been what, ninety years." I sniffed, giving her a small smile. "Don't tell me you forgot me."

"Mother above." She gaped and like a lightbulb finally switched on, she leapt into my arms. They all did actually, Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand even Amren. We all squished together in a group hug.

"There’s so much to say!" I smiled through damp eyes at my old friends.

"How about the fact that you 'died'?" Mor used air quotes.

"I had to go somewhere so we might have a chance to free Rhys." I turned to him, my expression slipping. "Guess it wasn't needed though."

"A human girl saved everyone under the mountain." Rhysand then continued, launching into a story about the human turned fae living in the spring court. "So she was visiting for the bargain when you stormed into our dinner."

"Right," I scratched behind my neck. "Sorry about that."

"Which brings up the question; You're a daemati?" Cassian furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's not important right now Cass." Amren rolled her eyes, looking back to me. "Luna's alive. Take it one miracle at a time."

"Thanks, ‘Ren." I gave her a grin, to which she flashed me her fangs, making my smile grow.

"This calls for celebrations!" Mor announced. "I'll get the wine!"

"Really Mor?" Rhys lifted an amused brow.

"Oh hush." She sent me a grin, quickly fluttering toward the kitchen.

"What has my favourite Illyrian been up to lately?" I turned back to the boys.

"Well, I..." Cassian gave everyone a smirk.

"Same old." Rhys interrupted him cockily.

"I meant Azriel," I looked over at the quiet spymaster. Noticing the subtle curve that formed from his lips.

"Nothing much." He spoke quietly, watching with a hint of amusement as the other boys began arguing.

"Did you have to do that?" Amren huffed, crossing her arms. "They'll be at each other's throats for weeks now."

"Oh, I'm counting on it." We all shuffled into a lounge seat as Mor returned with a pair of wine bottles and precariously balanced glasses. Taking the glasses off her hands the merriment began.

#acotar #acomaf #cassian #rhysand #lucina #luna #court of dreams #night court #inner circle #mor #amren #azriel

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asidian · 5 years

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Week 7: Fog

February 16, 2038

The fog blankets the city, still and soft in the cool of the morning.

It would be pretty, except for the sky.

In the air overhead, everything is the startling red of fresh blood and the deep purple of old bruises; the clouds are thick clots of color, strange and shifting, like someone’s managed to project a freeze frame of a nightmare into the real world.

Jacob’s barely paying attention to any of that.

He’s focused on the black thing hovering mid air in front of him – on the banks of eyes and disjointed wings, and the inky cavern of its mouth. That mouth is clamped down on the metal plating of Nemesis’ massive arm, and the HUD overlay shows Xia’s vitals going crazy.

She makes a sound, audible over the comms – alarmed but pissed off – and a burst of rapid gunfire explodes from the weapon mounted in her gauntlet, punching through the creature’s back. It trembles, as though in pain.

Then the exit wounds just slide closed again, like someone's pressed putty into the holes in a wall.

“Lemme give it a shot,” says Jacob, into the comms. He wheels around in the air, darting closer. “Hold still.”

Xia gives the creature another shake. “Tell that to this thing. It won’t stop –” The black shape shifts again, forcing its way up to her elbow. On the HUD, Jacob’s displays tells him that her suit’s arm has gone dead, no longer receiving power. “– doing that.”

“For real, dude, incoming!”

Xia shoves Nemesis’ arm out, in a straight line, holding the creature as far from her as she’s able – then she keeps still, for the two seconds it takes Jacob to close the distance.

He slices through the thing with his blades, carbon steel parting glossy black flesh like rotten jelly.

“Gross,” says Jacob, as the blades come out the other side, severing the thing’s – mouth? Head? He’s pretty sure it’s the head, right up until a bank of eyes open along its left flank.

Whatever it was, Xia doesn’t waste the opportunity. She yanks a grenade out of the casing in Nemesis’ massive chest cavity; the pin pulls free automatically with the withdrawal, and she shoves it, hard, into the gaping hole in the creature’s side before the flesh can knit closed again.

“We gotta move,” says Xia, and Jacob doesn’t need to be told twice.

He jets upward, far enough to get clear but close enough that he can still see; he wants a good show for the fireworks.

The muffled crump of the explosion is muted by the sound controls in the suit he’s wearing. He watches as the creature balloons outward, spraying into pieces and raining down onto the street below.

Jacob peers down at what’s left of it. “I could go like five years and never see one of those things again,” he says. “Not gonna lie.”

“You and me both,” says Xia. She’s got her palm open, face down, over the malfunctioning arm – running diagnostics, most likely. “That’s the last one, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Jacob. “Pretty sure.” Into the comms, he says, “You guys clear over in Shibuya?”

“All clear,” says Aisha, cool and collected. “Any trouble on your end?”

“I wouldn’t say trouble,” says Xia. “Definitely something weird, though.”

“Weird how?” says Will. “We’re talking eldritch alien beings, here. You’re going to have to get a little more specific.”

“Whole new kind of weird,” says Jacob. “Like someone made Jello out of ink or something. And then added eyes.”

“This thing had regen,” says Xia. “Shut off power to my arm, too.”

“Wait,” says Ari, voice high with alarm. “It regenerated?”

Jacob peers down at the street below them, to where the black blob-creature is splattered on the pavement along with the remains of the winged horrors they took out before it. It’s barely visible through the fog, but he thinks – yes, there. That was decidedly movement.

He drops in the air a little, nearer to the ground – watches as the spatters of black roll back toward each other, like spilled mercury.

“Uh,” says Jacob. “Is regenerating. Like, right now.”

“What?” says Ari, sharp and upset.

“Keep an eye on it,” says Aisha. “We’ll be there in five.”

“Hope you don’t mind being on cleanup duty,” says Xia. “Cause this thing’s going down way before then.”

On the ground, the creature’s beginning to piece itself back together again. The shape is slightly off – lopsided and malformed. But its eyes flicker open again, ten of them, all staring upward.

Xia reaches for her chest plate with the good arm, like she means to lob another grenade its way.

“Stand down,” says a voice over the comms, firm and authoritative.

It doesn’t sound like their contact in HQ. It’s definitely no one on Team Phoenix.

Still, it’s vaguely familiar, and Jacob’s still trying to place it right up until he turns around midair, searching for the source.

The suit is a glistening cobalt blue, shot through with silver. It stands a head and shoulders taller than Hurricane does, and its faceplate is tinted smoke grey to obscure the face behind. The gauntlets are set with laser blasters straight out of some fast-paced sci fi blockbuster.

Jacob should know. He put a model of this suit together on the kitchen floor when he was eleven years old, back when Team Alpha merchandise was all over the place. Jacob’s ma designed those blasters.

“Holy crap,” he blurts into the comms. “Justice?”

“Man,” says Xia, sarcastic and a little wary. “They’re really rolling out the red carpet on this one. All the stars are out tonight.”

Sure enough, Foresight is jetting toward them to flank Team Alpha’s leader, and Valiance along with her.

It kind of is a red-carpet moment. Alpha almost never gets deployed for standard cleanup ops, these days. HQ says their skill level’s better spent on other things.

What’s more important than keeping the city from getting snacked on by aliens, Jacob’s still not sure, but he’s seen Team Alpha’s suits up close all of once before, and he was a little distracted at the time.

“We’ll take it from here,” says Valiance, jetting down toward the ground, where the black creature has almost fully formed.

Xia snorts, and the comms pick it up as a harsh rush of air. “No kill steals,” she says. “I called dibs already.”

“Least let us help,” says Jacob. “We did pretty good getting this thing down the first time, right?”

“We’ll be okay,” says Foresight. “Just head back to HQ.”

When Jacob and Xia look toward each other – a shared glance, if not for the metal plating blocking the line of sight – Justice shakes his head. “That’s an order, pilots. Straight for HQ. We’re on cleanup.”

Nemesis’ head tips down, mirroring Xia’s body language when she’s spoiling for a fight. Jacob can picture the way her lips are probably pressed together behind the faceplate, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw.

“Not much left to clean up,” she says, tight – but Nemesis lifts up into the air, turning back toward the Tenno building.

Jacob lingers a moment longer – takes in the way Foresight’s swooping in to touch down beside the creature on the ground.

It’s a weird move, kind of.

Foresight’s a support class suit – high shields, stun grenades, high-voltage electrical nets to help with crowd control. Jacob’s not big on tactics, but he’s pretty sure putting the support on the front lines is a bad call. He’s played enough RPGs to know that.

“Cross,” says Justice, harder this time.

“Right,” says Jacob. “Yeah, sure. Yeah, I’m going.”

He wheels around in the air to follow Nemesis – guns it, to try and catch up.

Behind him, Team Alpha and the creature on the ground are swallowed up by the fog.

#my ocs #the way the world ends #xia igarashi #jacob cross

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aerinmelina · 6 years

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Halloween

Fictober 2018, Day 2 Prompt: “People like you have no imagination.”

(Yes I know I’m already a day late. I’m not going to be able to take the time to write or post something every day, but I’ll do a bunch of these!)

Fandom: Fablehaven

No warnings apply. :)

“Really? That’s the best you can come up with?” Warren asked, quirking one eyebrow upward as he shot Seth a quizzical look.

“What’s wrong with this?” Seth replied, his tone of voice slightly defensive.

“People like you have no imagination.”

Seth narrowed his eyes and gestured to himself. “Did you really just accuse me of not having an imagination?”

Warren didn’t hesitate. “Yes! It’s Halloween, Seth! You can wear ANY costume on the planet, and you choose to be a ghost? You’re literally wearing a sheet with holes cut out for your eyes. How much more… bland can you get?”

The teenaged boy feigned offense by sticking his nose up in the air and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see you in a costume,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, Warren. Where’s your costume?” a new voice chimed in. Kendra had entered the room.

“You too. Really?!” Warren pointed at Kendra’s outfit – she’d dressed up as a fairy, complete with glittery wings. “You don’t get enough fairy-ness in a normal day or something?”

Kendra shrugged her shoulders. “I like fairies. What can I say?”

“Why are you so wound up about this?” Seth asked. “So what if we went for the direct approach this year? Why does it matter?”

“I’m insulted. Halloween is when you’re supposed to be something you’re not.”

Seth and Kendra shared a look, and then Kendra said, “Umm… Warren, I hate to break it to you but Seth isn’t a ghost in real life, and I’m not a fairy either.”

“Whatever,” Warren said. “Next thing I know, Vanessa’s going to walk in here dressed like a vampire and then Bracken will follow with a fake unicorn horn on his head.”

Kendra and Seth both started snickering at that. “Vanessa as a vampire… Bracken as a unicorn… that’d be perfect!” the brother of the duo cried. Kendra clapped her hands in agreement as she laughed.

Vanessa took that as her opportunity to enter the room. Like Warren, she was not wearing a costume. “Hey you two. Great costumes. Kendra, that dress looks amazing on you,” she commented, motioning with her hand for Kendra to spin around so she could see the back. “A fairy. How perfect for you.”

“Thanks,” Kendra replied. “Warren thinks I’m boring.”

Vanessa turned to Warren and lightly swatted him on the arm. “She is not boring.”

“Seth is a ghost and Kendra is a fairy. Really?” Warren answered.

“You’re not even wearing a costume,” Vanessa retorted. “It’s Halloween. They can wear what they want to wear.”

“That’s exactly my point –”

“Hey everyone, hope I’m not late,” Bracken said as he walked into the living room where they were all gathered, then shot a questioning look at Seth as Warren smacked the palm of his hand into his face. “Did I miss something?”

Kendra smiled brightly and ran over to greet Bracken with a hug before pulling away from him and pointing to Warren. “He thinks we’re all boring.”

“Would you stop saying that?” Warren asked. “I didn’t say boring. You’re putting words in my mouth.”

“Sure,” Seth countered, “Because ‘people like you have no imagination’ totally doesn’t sound like ‘boring.’”

“Uncreative. All of you. Not the same as boring.”

“Sounds like ‘boring’ to me, too,” Bracken stated. He pointed at Warren and asked, “Where’s your costume? I thought we were all going to the party.”

“I’m too old for dress-up parties,” Warren replied. Bracken quirked an eyebrow in his direction at that comment, then motioned to himself. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’re older than dirt. What are you supposed to be, anyway?”

Bracken looked slightly put out at Warren’s remark, then began, “I am not older than dirt, thankyouverymuch. I’m a prince.” He pulled a crown out of the cloth bag he was carrying and placed it on his head, then fished around in the bag for another moment before pulling out an additional one. He took the second crown and placed it on Kendra’s head. “And you are my princess,” he stated, giving her a sweet smile.

Kendra blushed while she grinned, then said, “Hang on, I’ll be right back!” before dashing out of the room.

Warren simply rolled his eyes and then grunted as Vanessa elbowed him in the ribs. “What was that for?” he whined.

Vanessa just leveled a glare at him which clearly conveyed the message to knock it off. Or else.

“I’m just saying – there was one year when Dale and I dressed up like astronaut pirate ninjas! I mean, come on! You can be anything for Halloween!”

Seth laughed out loud and Bracken pretended to cough in order to cover up his own guffaw. “Astronaut pirate ninjas?! What would that even look like?!” the boy shouted.

Vanessa hid her own amused grin behind her hand as Kendra re-entered the room with a second set of cheap fairy wings, which she gave to Bracken. He accepted her gift and opened his mouth to say something, but Warren interrupted first.

“Fairy princess… and fairy prince. I give up. You all are so lame.”

“What’s lame?” came a new voice. Everyone turned to see Dale walk into the room wearing a white button-up shirt with a black tie and fake glasses. The look really flattered him and showed off his muscular build.

“Hey, Dale,” Kendra greeted him. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes indeed,” Dale cheerfully responded. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Warren openly gaped at his brother. “What’s your problem?” Dale asked. “And where’s your costume?”

“Me?” Warren started. “You’re going to the party looking like that? After all of the amazing Halloween costumes we’ve ever worn, you’re going to wear that?”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Dale looked down at his shirt. “Did I spill something on myself?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Vanessa informed him. “You look great.”

“You look like someone who works in an office,” Warren said. “A really buff office worker. What, are you trying to pick up a girlfriend or something?”

“Some of us don’t want to spend the rest of our lives single,” Dale retorted, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of…” He diverted his attention to Vanessa. “Has he asked you out yet? Because if he hasn’t done so by now, then I’d assume it’s probably never going to happen so maybe you and I—”

“Aaaaaaand we’re leaving!” Warren shouted out, stepping between his brother and Vanessa and motioning everyone toward the door with his hands. Dale chuckled at that and Vanessa blew a kiss at him with an amused smile on her face. Warren visibly reddened at the exchange.

“Are you really dressed up as an office worker?” Seth asked Dale as they left the house and walked toward the cars.

“Eh,” Dale started, then struck a superhero pose and pulled open his white shirt to reveal a second shirt underneath with the Superman ‘S’ on it. “I’m Clark Kent.”

“Nice,” Seth said, giving Dale an approving fist bump. “Vanessa, are you coming with us too?”

“Oh yeah,” she answered. She pulled a set of plastic vampire fangs out of her purse and popped them into her mouth, then winked at Seth who started laughing.

The sound caught Warren’s attention and when he saw Vanessa’s fake teeth, he threw his hands up in the air in an exasperated fashion and announced, “Seriously. No imagination.”

“Wait until he finds out that I’m actually dressed up like him underneath this sheet,” Seth whispered to Dale conspiratorially.

#fictober18 #fablehaven #bracken #kendra sorenson #seth sorenson #warren burgess #dale burgess #vanessa santoro #brackendra #maybe a little warrenessa? or dalessa? bahaha

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