#finding the ruins. sealing them. and yes burying the body. i think she held it together perfectly during that sequence of events | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lils-writes-stuff · 4 years

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Divining Rod

spencer reid x reader

Summary: The death of a serial killer rises another and the team must stop it.

warnings: normal criminal minds things,

A/N: based on season 7 episode 21

“A row house in Demount Circle wow,” Penelope said, astonished at the news Emily just gave.

“I can’t believe I’m doing it.” Emily shook her head in disbelief at the news also. “I mean, it’s probably not gonna work out anyway, right?”

“That’s what I said before I found out I got my apartment so, you probably will,” Y/N said, laughing at the end of her sentence.

“Well, there are five other sealed bids, and I offered way below what the owners are asking,” Emily spoke, standing up from her chair and began walking. JJ, Y/N, Penelope, and Spencer stood up and followed her.

“Uh-huh, sounds to me like someone’s hoping they don’t get it.” JJ’s voice was filled with sass as she side-eyed Emily.

“Orthophobia, fear of owning personal property,” Spencer said from in front of the four women. He was intently looking over the case file in his hands as they walked to the round table room.

“No- I don’t have a fear of owning stuff, turn me loose in a shoe store, I’ll prove that,” Emily defended herself. “My fear is owning personal property that weighs three hundred tons.”

“Actually, depending on materials used, square footage, and horizontal versus vertical construction, the average house only weighs sixty tons,” Spencer retorted, spewing off his knowledge without even a second thought.

“Well, thanks for that Reid, I feel light as a bird,” Emily said sarcastically.

“It’s okay Em, it took me months before I could even settle into my apartment because I couldn’t feel at home, it just takes time.” Truly Y/N felt uncomfortable because the last place she lived in by herself all her friends were tormented in, but Emily didn’t need to know or worry about that.

“What‘ve we got, baby girl?” Derek asked, breaking up the conversation to bring it to the case at hand.

“We have a killing in Enid, Oklahoma, and not the capital punishment one you are thinking of right now.” Penelope walked over to her chair and took a seat before she continued. “I’m talking about a woman named Cara Smith, who was murdered in her apartment minutes after the execution of Rodney Garret.”

“Neighbors saw her front door open and discovered the body,” Hotch added.

“Look Familiar?” Rossi asked directing everyone’s attention to the victim on the screen. Her appearance is the same as all of Garret’s victims.

“Young, pretty, short blonde hair,” JJ said, examining the photo.

“And stabbed directly through the heart.” Y/N brought her pen up in the air, showing that she realized what Rossi was saying.

“That’s exactly the way Garret killed his victims,” Spencer said as he remembered back to the Garret murders.

“So are we looking at a copycat?” Derek asked looking at those around the table.

“Or someone creating doubt the right person was executed,” JJ countered, looking at Derek next to her.

“In Garret’s case there was no doubt,” Rossi corrected. “His guilt was the slam dunk of all slam dunks. Prints, DNA, a confession…”

“He even led the police to where he buried two of his victims,” Spencer added to the list Rossi was creating.

“Garret killed 25 women before he was caught. If this new unsub is a copycat, the body count’s just getting started,” Emily said.

“Which is why we can’t waste time, wheels up in thirty.”

----------

“Firing squad? That’s new,” Y/N said after hearing Garret’s choice of execution.

“It’s definitely not something you see every day,” JJ agreed.

“Well, Garret had the option of lethal injection, but he chose this instead,” Derek responded.

“Flair for the dramatic,” Rossi stated.

“No kidding.” Y/N let out a breathy laugh with her words.

“Initial reports indicate no forensic evidence at the crime scene,” Hotch said looking at the file in his hand.

“What about the ice pick?” JJ asked.

“It was generic, no serial number or unique metallurgy,” Derek answered looking at the paper that gave more detail on the pick.

“Well, now, it says here-” Emily pointed to a page in her file- “that there were water droplets and a half-filled flower vase on top of the chest drawers, but no flowers. Not in the vase, not in the garbage, nowhere.”

“Maybe the unsub took them,” Y/N posed, looking up from her folder.

A pinging sound came from the laptop as Penelope popped up on the screen.

“Hey, say it like you mean it, baby,” Derek greeted her.

“You know I’m gonna,” she replied before giving what she found. “So if you look in the dictionary, the word ‘normal’-” she held her hands up to show quotation marks- “you will see Cara Smith. College student, well-liked, straight A’s, English lit major- oh speaking of which I just got a transcript of Rodney Garret’s last words, hot off the press and a gold star to the first person who can identify the source of this: ‘She comes like fullest moon on a happy night, taper of waist-”

“‘With shape of magic might,’ it’s from the Thousand and One Nights, not the exact translation I would have used, but it’s got its own merits,” Spencer finished the last of the poem.

“And in a shocking non-upset, we have a winner,” Emily said, hopefully stopping Spencer before he would go on a spew of insight of the story.

“Garret was a sixth-grade dropout, an unlikely guy to be quoting from a Harvard classic,” Rossi said.

“The choice of material does make sense though,” Spencer began. “The book is all about how a Scheherazade forestalled her own death at the hands of the king by regaling him night after night with stories.”

“In the end, he won him over right?” JJ asked.

“Yes, the king found a love for her and decided not to execute her,” Y/N answered, looking at JJ. “Although I wouldn’t say that would be a strategy that would work with the Oklahoma Department of corrections.”

“Another body’s been found half a mile from the first victim, same M.O.” Hotch had stepped away to answer the phone and was now relaying the information he was just given to the team.

“That's six hours later, this guy’s not wasting a lot of time,” Derek said.

“We land in twenty minutes, Reid, you and Y/N go to the latest crime scene, Rossi, you JJ and Prentiss go talk to Garret’s widow. Morgan and I will go to the prison.” Y/N saluted Hotch at his order. “If Garret’s got a disciple, we need to find out who he is and fast.”

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

“Such a beautiful day for such a terrible thing to happen.” Y/N’s eyes looked up to the sky, observing the blue of it and the bright sun. She wasn’t really thinking about the case until she walked up the steps, always trying to fit the last of the good in before she saw the bad.

“I don’t think serial killers stop because of the weather, sweets,” Spencer said, raising an eyebrow at the thought.

“Hey, what did I say about nicknames at crime scenes,” Y/N said turning to Spencer who was slightly behind her.

He laughed lightly. “Not to use them, because you’re afraid they’ll be ruined,” he answered her remark.

“Exactly.” She pulled her credentials out of her back pocket to show the officer at the door. Walking into the house, a tall man turned around to greet the two.

“Hey, I’m detective Childers,” the tall man said walking up to Y/N to shake her hand. “You must be with the FBI.”

“Yes, I’m Agent Y/L/N, and this is Dr.Reid.” Y/N pointed to her right to the lanky brunette.

“Hi,” Childers said, holding his hand out for Spencer to shake. Spencer offered the man a small wave, as usual, opting out of the handshake.

Y/N offered a smile to the detective in hopes of trying to make the awkward moment go away. “How about you show us the scene.” Y/N changed the subject.

“Yeah, why don’t y’all follow me back here,” Childers said as he led the two over to the bedroom. “It’s unbelievable this is happening all over again.”

“Who is she?” Spencer asked as they entered the bedroom.

“Jodie Armstrong, single, works a cosmetic counter at a department store downtown,” Childers answered.

The body laid in the exact position it was found. Duct tape still on the mouth and wrists, and the ice pick stabbed into her heart.

“Young, pretty, short blond hair,” Y/N said as she looked at the victim’s appearance. “That’s the same victimology as the others.” She turned her head to look at Spencer, who’s eyes had been wandering the room around them.

“Who discovered the body?” Spencer asked.

“Apartment manager. A neighbor called to complain that a teapot in the kitchen kept on whistling,” Childers explained.

“So he surprised her.” Y/N said, turning as she watched the struggle play out around her. She pictured the unsub pushing her down and tying her onto the bed.

The three separated as Childers went to go handle something out front and Spencer and Y/N stayed to look around the scene more. Y/N gloved her hands and squatted down next to the bed, looking closely at the victim’s head. Pushing her head to the side, she moved her hair to and fro as she examined the hair cut. She noticed it’s unevenness and well, basically, it was a shitty hair cut for such a pretty young girl to have.

“Hey, Spence, come look at this.” Spencer looked over at Y/N who was across the room from him.

“What is it?” He asked, setting down the CD he had been looking at to walk over.

“This girl is young and she obviously cares about her appearance, she’s fit, her nails are done,” she said, laying one finger on top of the other as the listed off the things she’s noticed. “But her hair, look at it, it’s uneven.” She picked up the phone that had headphones plugged into the jack and turned it on.

“Could it maybe be a fashion statement, you know, look bad on purpose?” Spencer asked looking next to him at Y/N.

She shook her head, looking through the phone in her hand. She began to look through some things in her photos before she found a selfie of Jodie and some of her friends. “Look at this,” she leaned over to show Spencer the photo.

With two of her fingers on the screen, she zoomed in on Jodie, who in the photo had very long blonde hair. “It was taken last night,” she said after pointing to the timestamp at the bottom corner of the photo. “The unsub cut her hair.”

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

In the station, the mood was serious. Two bulletin boards stood side by side with large maps placed on the. Spencer, Hotch, Y/N, and Derek sat in swivel chairs from desks in the area they were in. Behind them sat JJ, Emily, and Rossi, who were looking through letters that were sent to Rodney Garret’s home.

“This new guy’s hunting in a different neighborhood,” Childer’s spoke after looking at the map.

“He must be comfortable in the area, he knew the victims’ routines,” Derek stated.

“His method of ingress and egress is quiet and unnoticeable,” JJ said, leaning back in her chair.

“Get a load of this one,” Emily began as she turned in her chair with a letter. “Dear Mr. Garret: It took a lot of courage to do what you did. Most people are cowards and don’t do what they feel inside them. You are an inspiration, and I applaud you.”

When Emily had finished the letter, Y/N barked out a laugh. “I’m sorry for laughing but ‘I applaud you’?” She just shook her head, the letter being very funny to her in a weird way.

“These are supposed to be the non-wacko letters,” Rossi said.

Everyone raised their brows in question. A computer beeping signaling the arrival of Penelope’s on a screen got everyone’s attention.

“Hey guess what, Y/N’s genius has struck again,” Penelope began as she popped up on the screen. “The hunch about the hair was right, I’m sending you an ATM image of Cara Smith. She’s the first victim, this was taken ten hours before her murder check it out.”

At that, everyone’s attention was brought to a screen. The video showing Cara walking up to the machine with very long hair compared to what was left on her body.

“The unsub cut her hair too,” Childers said as he looked at the video.

“You know, there could be a sexual element involved. Trichophilia is a fetish where one becomes aroused by the removal of hair,” Spencer said.

“Yeah, but, either way, this is starting to look less like a copycat,” Y/N said looking next to her at Spencer.

“The unsub’s deviating too much from Garret’s M.O., Garret never took trophies,” Derek said in agreement.

“He’s also choosing low-risk victims, Garret’s stayed with high-risk target- prostitutes, runaways--” Spencer said but was cut off by JJ.

“Garret also got sloppy and left clues that eventually nailed him, this guy’s careful and meticulous,” JJ said.

“He’s not that careful,” Childers corrected. “He leaves doors open, teapots boiling.”

“I think it’s intentional. He wants the bodies found so we know when and where he’s killing,” Hotch said.

The room fell silent again, everyone getting back to their work. Little conversation was made, Emily or Rossi reading off an obscure letter or Y/N saying something about the geographical profile to Spencer. All conversation halted due to Childers getting a call that there was another body.

“Reid and Y/N, come with me to the scene.” Hotch stood up, Y/N and Spencer following his request out of the room and to the scene.

Walking into the house, Y/N took note of how it was kept and lived in by the victim. She did so in hopes of gathering something for victimology. After noticing she fell behind Hotch and Spencer, she quickly caught up to them as they entered the bedroom.

The blonde woman laid on her back, her arms duct-taped to the foot of the bed. Her eyes were closed, and she almost looked peaceful, but the ice pick in her heart told them otherwise.

Hotch squatted down to the bedside and examined the side of her head that was exposed.

“He shaved her head,” Hotch commented. Y/N and Spencer stood on either side of him, looking over the body from behind their unit chief.

“That’s even more humiliation and disrespect,” Y/N said. She turned her head sideways as she looked at the poor and almost frantic shaved spot.

“He didn’t do it to the other victims.” Hotch stood up as he spoke, looking at Childers who was on the other side of the bed.

“Detective when was the body discovered?” Y/N asked.

“Half hour ago, the killer left the front and back doors open,” Childers responded. “And there’s no indication of any contact on the wine glasses swabbed for DNA.” He gestured to the CSI unit that was brushing the wine glass behind him.

“Not even the victims?” Spencer asked. His face doing its normal twist as he thought.

“The unsub probably wiped it clean,” Y/N said. The upper half of her body turned to her left to look at Hotch and Spencer.

“Has anyone found an open or empty wine bottle in the house?” Hotch asked, turning back to the detective after looking at Y/N.

“We haven’t found one yet.” Childers shook his head.

“He probably took it with him, like the flowers of his first victim,” Spencer commented.

“He’s killed at six A.M., noon, and now six P.M.,” Hotch said, looking between Y/N and Spencer.

“That’s not a long cooling-off period.” Y/N spook with a sigh as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not feeling so good about the stroke of midnight.” Spencer’s eyes bounced between the three in front of him. All of them nodding their heads in agreement at the comment.

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

“We believe we’re looking for a white male between the ages of thirty and forty who is strong enough to subdue physically fit young women with minimum resistance,” Hotch said. The team stood in front of a crowd of local officers as they told the profile. Rossi and Emily had found out that the same man that wrote the letter Emily had read to them were some of Garret’s favorites. Taking that, they presumed that the man who wrote the letters was more than likely the unsub.

“He’s forensically sophisticated and evidence-conscious,” Derek added.

“He targets his victims in advance and leaves no trail.” Y/N stepped forward as she spoke, coming into line with Derek.

“This person is also confident.” Emily paused, then continued. “He’s been taunting us by revealing his crime scene quickly.”

“Because of his ability to plan and flawlessly execute his crimes, we’re looking for someone capable of holding down a job. Even though it’s probably menial and unfulfilling,” Rossi said. His hands stuffed into his pockets as his shoulder shrugged when he spoke.

“The victims have all been young, blonde, and pretty. As such, they reflect a certain societal standard of perfection that may actually represent the type of women that are unattainable to this unsub,” Spencer explained.

“He cuts his victims’ hair, and then he takes it with him, this could be another way for him to possess a part of them,” Y/N said, bouncing off of Spencer’s statement.

“Or to degrade these unattainable women, make them uglier,” JJ added on to Y/N’s words.

“The killer has been murdering in six-hour increments. He is, in effect, time-stamping his victims, there’s no reason to believe he will deviate from that now,” Rossi said.

“Which means the next kill will be at midnight.” Y/N emphasized her words as she spoke.

“The public needs to be alerted to stay off the streets for all non-essential activities,” JJ said. “Single women should not be in their homes alone,” she continued, her warning to the people relaying its importance.

“Every available officer will be out in full force tonight, we need to blanket this city,” Emily commanded. The officer’s around the room nodding that they understood.

“We do have one advantage,” Hotch began. “A killer who uses this kind of precise timing and specificity is easy to disrupt. We can use his own M.O. against him,” he explained. The officer’s around the room were then dismissed and went to get ready for the night out.

As the sunset fell over the city of Enid, the officers suited up and began to canvas the town. Emily and Derek joined them while the others stayed back and helped run point. While they waited, they had Penelope do some more digging into Garret to find out who the unsub might be.

“What you got, Garcia?” JJ asked as she answered the call from Penelope.

“I have found a thing of interest regarding these shanking attempts made on Garret in prison,” Penelope began.

“What is it?” Hotch asked, curious as to what she found.

“The timing, see, the first time Garret was attacked was May 25, 2008, the day before that, May 24, for those of you keeping score, Garret’s imminent execution date was postponed, right?” Penelope’s question was rhetorical so everyone stayed quiet as she continued.

“So then if you flash forward to the second shanking attempt of stabby-ness, that would be November 15, 2010. The day before that, his next execution date, also postponed.” When Penelope had finished her explanation everyone was basically one the same page of what was happening.

“Okay, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say someone decided to take matters into their own hands,” Y/N said. She crossed her arms across her chest and popped her hip to the side, the resting position she stood in when she thought.

“Thanks, Garcia,” JJ said, her finger hovering over the hang-up button on the computer.

“Ever welcome, my comrades.” JJ hung up the call and turned back to those behind her.

“Well, that sounds like what you would think of somebody on the outside wanting a little revenge,” Childers said, his head turning to Rossi and Hotch beside him.

“They wouldn’t wait five years, give it two tires, and then toss in the towel,” Rossi stated, his head shaking as he didn’t believe that theory.

“It sounds to me like someone just needed Rod Garret out of the way,” JJ said, adding in her own theory.

“But Garret was on death row, confined to his cell 23 hours a day. How was he in anybody’s way?” Hotch questioned, both theories not making sense now.

“Since we’re on the subject of things that don’t make sense, the unsub left the doors open after the murders,” Y/N said, bringing in a new topic in hopes of coming up with something new.

“Okay, that’s directed at law enforcement-- catch me if you can,” Rossi responded to Y/N’s thought.

“But the cutting of the hair,” Y/N said her voice trailing off in question.

“That’s for Garret,” Hotch finished, knowing what Y/N was thinking now.

Rossi nodded agreeing with Y/N.

“Well, what makes you think that?” Childers asked her.

“Well, Garret chose victims who were easy prey-- drug addicts and prostitutes. But this unsub has chosen more difficult targets but gone to the trouble of making them look like Garret’s victims,” Hotch answered, turning to Childers.

“That’s his way of telling Garret, ‘I can do better than you’,” Rossi elaborated.

“Okay, but why wait until after the execution to start killing? If the unsub really wanted to thumb his nose at Garret, wouldn’t he want him to be alive to see it?” JJ asked, not fully understanding this theory.

“Exactly, that’s the part that doesn’t make sense.” Y/N pointed as she spoke.

“Them we’re missing something,” Hotch said.

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

When the sun rose, the team had been at the station all night. In the early morning hours, another victim was found with a different M.O., stab wounds. Since the unsub could not kill his victim properly, this led them to believe that the killer could go on a spree. The unsub also removed her scalp this time, taking away most of her hair.

The clock on the table flipped to 9:44 A.M., and Y/N’s eyes were heavy. She laid on a bench, her head resting on Spencer’s thigh. His hand rested on his arm that was propped on the railing of the bench. The two sat peacefully, Y/N was not totally asleep, but her mind was in and out of full consciousness from the long night. She wasn’t totally sure if Spencer was asleep either, his body not moving which she was grateful for. His warmth was what kept her so at peace, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stay like that for long.

“I never could do that,” Rossi stated as he looked at Y/N and Spencer who had their eyes closed.

“Do what?” Emily asked, her eyes following Rossi’s over to the sleepy couple. She let out a small ‘awe’ as she noticed the two.

“Take a nap, it never felt natural,” Rossi answered, not appreciating the cute moment.

“I’m actually wide awake,” Spencer said, sitting up from his position. His movement stirred Y/N as she moved to get comfortable again, but never opening her eyes.

“But for future reference, polyphasic sleep is completely natural. Quite common in the animal world, and highly beneficial.” His eyes panned to Y/N who was still, he believed, asleep on his lap. “However, I believe Y/N is very much taking a real nap.”

“Shhhh.” Y/N reached one of her hands to her lips sleepily, placing her index finger on her lips. She sighed after a second and sat up, realizing she was now fully awake and there was no going back to whatever state of sleep she was in before. “Okay, I give I’m awake.”

“All right, six o’clock’s way come and gone, if our guys killed again, he’s not leaving the front door open,” JJ said after looking at the clock.

“Or he could just be taking a breather,” Derek posed the counter. “I mean, even the unsub has to realize he can’t keep up this pace indefinitely.”

“Maybe the last murder completed some sort of cycle,” Rossi said, saying his thoughts aloud.

“What do you mean?” Y/N asked, leaning her forearms on her thighs.

“A day and a night have passed, the sun rises for the first time in a world without Rod Garret,” Rossi answered, his hands moving as he spoke.

“There could also be a more mundane reason, our guys got a job, and yesterday was his day off,” Emily said.

“He killed his first three victims in their homes-” Hotch pointed to the markers on the map where the homes were- “But the last victims, Emily Sisk, he tried to but he couldn’t. SO he abducted her, took her somewhere else, and then brought her all the way back to dump her body in front of her apartment building.” Hotch’s voice got slightly aggressive as he spoke, irritated as to why he didn’t know how that happened.

“That’s incredibly risky considering all the increased police presence,” Y/N said, agreeing with Hotch.

“There’s gotta be a geographic component to the unsub’s design,” Hotch said turning back to the map on the board.

“Let’s connect the dots, literally.” Spencer stood up from his seat next to Y/N and walked to the board. He pulled a red marker out of his pocket and drew lines to connect all four homes.

The lines formed an upside-down arrow almost.

“A tip of a spear,” Emily guessed, turning this into a game of Pictionary.

Y/N walked up to the board to get a closer look at the design. Her head cocked to the side as she thought.

“Maybe it’s an arrow pointing south? Could he be steering us to his next victim?” Derek asked as he pointed to the bottom of the arrow.

“It’s a quadrilateral, but there’s nothing particularly symbolic about a four-sided concave polygon,” Spencer said, pointing out the math of the shape.

“Spence, can I?” Y/N said reaching for the marker in his hand. Spencer nodded, handing her the red marker. “Look what happens when you curve the lines.” She drew curves over the lines the Spencer drew, forming something in the shape of a heart.

“A heart,” Emily said, eyes trained on the drawing.

“Well, Garret and the unsub both killed their victims using stab wounds through the heart,” Derek said.

“And Garret was executed by a shot through the heart,” Rossi continued the theory.

Hotch then moved the clear map of all the roads and homes over the heart drawing on the board. In the center of the heart sat the home of Rod Garret’s wife, Helen Garret.

“Helen Garret,” Emily realized as Hotch put the map on top of the other.

“It’s all about her,” Hotch said, confirming the speculation Emily made.

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

After JJ, Rossi, and Hotch established that Helen was probably at the prison since she was not home, the rest of the team made their way there. When the others met up with them, all of them in their kevlar’s ready to take action, they met outside the gates of the prison to talk.

“So nobody saw what happened, but Helen’s car is still in the parking lot,” JJ said walking up to the group with Rossi and the warden.

“He’s got her,” Hotch said.

“The driver’s name is Dylan Kohler, he lives at 4488 Harmony Court,” the Warden said identifying the unsub.

“Did he work yesterday, Warden?” Y/N asked.

“No, he arranged for someone else to take his shift,” the Warden answered.

“I’ll have Garcia check into Kohler, but now that he’s tipped his hand, I doubt if he’s going back home,” Rossi stated, pulling out his phone to call Penelope.

“All right, Morgan, take Reid, Y/N, and Prentiss to the house of Kohler, see if they’re there just in case.” Derek nodded, then gestured for the three to follow him to a car to go to the home.

When they arrived at the home of Dylan Kohler, there was no sign of him or Helen. They headed out of the house to go back to the prison.

“Yeah, Hotch, they’re not here,” Derek said to Hotch when he answered the phone.

“Where the hell could they be?” Y/N asked looking to Spencer next to her as she holstered her gun. He shrugged his shoulders, opening the door for Y/N. She climbed in hoping to the seat on the left and Spencer sitting on the one on the right.

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

After finding Garret’s secret hideout, the team wrapped up the case, saving Helen Garret and were now on their way home. Y/N sat in the seat across from Spencer, eyes glancing at him every once and a while as he read. His finger trailing down the page, his steady breathing, and the curve of his nose entranced her as she looked at him.

She was sleepy, there was no doubt about it. Yet, her eyes couldn’t close as she looked at him, too caught up in his domestic feel to let it be intruded on by sleep that she desperately needed.

Tell him, the voice in her head whispered. Tell him how much you love him.

She couldn’t, at least not yet. Not until she knew that Caroline was out of sight, or if he said it first. But something in her told her that he knew she loved him. Simple acts like saying you need sleep or hold my hand was ways she was able to say she loved and cared for him without having to voice it.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted though by the beeping of a computer from behind her in.

“Oh, hey, guys, hey,” Penelope said with a sleepy voice. Y/N turned in her chair to listen to the conversation. “I just wanted to see what was going on.”

“This better be important, Garcia,” Emily said irritated as she was woken from her slumber.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Penelope was playing it off, the excitement in her voice giving it away. “It’s just that a messenger came by the office today with some papers from Escrow!” Her voice was sing-song at the end.

Emily’s face became very surprised. “No!” She said, astonished and not believing the blonde on the screen.

“Oh, yes, the house in Dupont Circle-- you got it! Whoo!” Penelope was throwing confetti at the screen in excitement.

“Oh my God, Em, that’s so exciting!” Y/N said happily as she sat on her knees in her chair to face Emily.

“Congratulations,” Hotch said with a smile.

Then, Emily’s face fell and she looked like she was going to be sick. Y/N and Spencer stood up to sit on the couch so they could be closer to the conversation.

“Six seconds, fastest case of buyers remorse ever,” Rossi said, looking down at his watch then at Emily.

“Well, I say the moment we land, we all head over to Ziggy’s and clear out the champaign inventory,” Derek said sitting next to JJ.

“And talk Prentiss down off the ledge,” JJ chuckled as she looked at Emily’s horrified face.

“Oh, my stomach doesn’t feel so hot.” Emily clutched her stomach.

They all let out a small laugh at Emily’s reaction.

“I was in the middle of the best dream,” JJ said changing the topic. “I dreamt that I was at this exclusive salon getting my hair done.”

The toll from the event of the last two days pressing themselves on her dreams. The thought of having a wig made of human scalp and hair placed on her head made Y/N shudder at the thought when she was told.

“Ah, the psychotherapeutic benefits of dreams-- purging unpleasant images and replacing them with good ones,” Spencer said, giving insight on to why we dream things like that.

“Yeah, ‘unpleasant’ is putting it mildly, bub,” Y/N said looking at Spencer next to her.

“If someone put a bloody wig on my head, I would have ripped that thing off and kept it off.” JJ thought back to how Helen let the wig sit on her head when they found her.

“Well, you’d think instinct would take over,” Derek said agreeing with JJ.

“Oh, hey, Rossi, I meant to ask you, what did Helen mean at the end when she said ‘daddy was right’?” JJ asked turning to look at Rossi across from her.

Rossi let out an annoyed sigh. “He once told her that she was a divining rod for the evil in men. That she could sniff it out when nobody else could.”

“There was definitely something a little strange about her,” Emily said as she recalled the time she and Rossi had to speak with her.

“It’s curious, one woman at the center of two serial killers.” Hotch’s voice was low as he voiced his thought.

“Yeah, what are the odds of that?” Y/N said, her question being rhetorical but she knew Spencer would answer.

“Astronomical.”

Ah, there’s the answer, Y/N thought.

“Removing from the calculations serial killer groupies--” Spencer was cut off by Hotch lightly hitting her arm to have him stop.

“Y/N, why’d you ask?” JJ laughed. Y/N just shrugged, knowing she’d get the answer she kinda wanted to hear later.

“You know, whether she knew it or not, maybe Helen Garret did give Dylan something,” Derek said as he thought more into it. “I mean someone once said that every seed, even malignant ones, they won’t grow unless they get water from someplace.”

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

That night, after going out to celebrate Emily’s new house, Y/N walked into her home. Stumbling as her lips were connected to Spencer's. The impromptu makeout session starting at the door when Spencer started to say goodnight, but Y/N had a little too much champaign and really wanted a good ‘ole fashion junior-high makeout session.

She pushed him back to her couch, the two giggling like thirteen-year-olds as they kissed. She straddled his lap as they continued to kiss. It was childish and full of smiles and teeth as they giggled. Still, the kiss was full of love and tenderness as Spencer would caress the side of her face with his large hands. Or when she would grab the front of his sweater to pull him closer to her.

“I really need to go home,” Spencer said. His lips brushing against Y/N’s as he spoke.

She didn’t listen and kept placing pecks on his lips before she let their lips mold together in bliss.

“No,” she protested quietly as she pulled away, then went back to his lips.

He chuckled, trying to pull back again to speak, but her lips chased his. “I’m not taking advantage of you, sweets,” he said gentlemanly.

She sighed, knowing that she was slightly drunk and he wasn’t going to keep going since she was. “Fine, but you owe me.” She poked his chest with every word. “Always a gentleman, even when I’m horny, but it’s fine.” Her words were a slur of mutters under her breath, but he heard her and laughed.

“Always.” He pecked her lips one more time as she stood up and led him to the door.

Once Spencer had given her one more kiss goodnight, promising her a coffee in the morning at work, she closed the door and turned to the inside of her apartment. A sigh of relief leaving her as she stepped further into her safe environment. She took her boots off and placed them by the door and moved her keys she dropped on the floor in the bowl on the table. She began to walk to her kitchen but stopped when her eyes caught glimpse of a letter.

She hastily pulled the wax seal back to open it, but became confused as she looked at the note.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.

She laughed, it was a pathetic line to spook her that wouldn’t work. She put the note back in the envelope and placed it with others.

She thought nothing of it. She didn’t think she would need too, but everything Caroline did had meaning. This too would show it’s meaning soon.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added!!):

@throughparisallthroughrome @word-scribbless @nintendumbfuck @confused-and-really-hungry @justine-en @andiebeaword @itsarayofsunshine @baby-i-am-fireproof @abitofeverythinggg @nanocoool @marceline-is-my-spirit-animal @fancyfaucet @im-a-raging-gay @atletino @mo-whore @peterparkersdestiny @bandsandjill @mbowles23-blog @sarcasm-n-insomnia @citrussirus @nerual222 @april-14-blog @reidloversisforever @heavenlyholland

#spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid series #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds meme #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #Matthew Gray Gubler #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal mids fic #Penelope Garcia #emily prentiss #jj #jennifer jareau

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hanaasbananas · 3 years

Text

Epiphany

Summary: For when she was with Chat; when she stepped into his embrace and let him hold her close, it was as though her heart, thumping steadily in her chest, rose and took flight instead.

Missing moment from Phantoms in the Dark but can be read as a standalone.

Takes place between chapters 6 and 8

AO3

Paris, September 1788

“—nette. Marinette!” Madame Daquin rapped her sharply on the knuckles, jolting Marinette out of her daydream. “Where’s your head at, girl?”

“Sorry, madame,” she murmured, resuming her stitches hurriedly, “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well I could see that !” Madame retorted “you haven’t made a single stitch in ten minutes. You’re hardly going to finish that dress if you let your mind wander like that.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Madame sniffed reproachfully. “See to it that it does not!”

Marinette bowed her head over the fabric to hide the flush that coloured her cheeks; focusing instead on the repetitive motion of the needle going in and out of the fabric, creating a neat row of stitches along the hem of her dress. It was simple work, and often made it easy for her thoughts to stray elsewhere, focusing on other things. Or rather, other people .

It had been only two weeks since she and Chat had begun their romance. Though they had met only a handful of times since then, Marinette found herself becoming increasingly more distracted, her eyes searching for him wherever she went, no matter how many times she told herself he was not there.

Constance had taken to teasing her incessantly about it, delighted at how the tables had turned, and Marinette could not even refute her best friend's claims.

Some nights, it confused her, thinking about how quickly she’d found that her heart was no longer her own; how all it had taken was one kiss, one brush of his fingers through her hair for that heady, intoxicating feeling to settle in her bones, leaving her yearning, aching for Chat’s touch whenever he was near.

“Is that how it felt,” she’d asked Constance on one of the days she’d actually gone to see her friend, instead of using her as an excuse to meet Chat. “With you and Charles? When you were courting?”

“Yes,” Constance had grinned “it’s a delightful feeling, isn’t it?”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

Marinette thought sometimes, that the intensity of her feelings should have scared her, and perhaps it did, a little, but she wouldn’t change it for the world. For when she was with Chat; when she stepped into his embrace and let him hold her close, it was as though her heart, thumping steadily in her chest, rose and took flight instead.

***

“Plagg!” Chat waved his kwami over from behind the inn, opening his coat to let the being settle inside as he made his way into the town. “Did you do it?”

“What do you take me for?” Plagg groused “of course I did. She’ll see the note as soon as she gets into her room. Now you owe me an entire pig's trough worth of cheese.”

“That’s not gonna happ- ow!” Chat hissed as Plagg bit him. Hard. “What was that for?”

Plagg glared up at him. “ We had an agreement!”

“I said I’d give you cheese, I didn’t say how much.”

Plagg bit him again.

“Oh for-” Chat veered into the nearest alleyway, reaching into his coat to grab the kwami, who continued to look at him with murderous intent. “You’ll get your cheese,” he promised. “It will not be a pig’s trough” he continued when Plagg opened his mouth to protest, “but it will be a sizable basket. Now stop biting me!”

***

The note was waiting for her on her bed when she came home, written in Chat’s hand. Glancing over her shoulder, Marinette shut the door behind her and leaned against it, breaking the seal and reading the message within.

Meet me by our spot at sunrise tomorrow.

Reading it twice over, she traced the letters with her fingers, held it to her chest, and smiled.

***

Marinette was already waiting for him when he arrived the next morning. She could have been anyone, with the hood pulled low over her head and her face concealed, but her cloak was pinned with the brooch they’d agreed upon for him to identify her.

Their meeting spot was a small grove of trees a mile or so down the road from her parents' inn-easy to get to, and away from the town and any prying eyes. Marinette stood just under the shade of the trees, though it was early enough that few people were out on the roads who might see them.

It was the ideal place for many of their short rendezvous’s, where Marinette would meet him during the day, or evenings when he didn’t come to the inn yard, but today, Chat had different plans for their day.

“Good morning, my darling!” Chat spoke cheerfully, dismounting from Voltaire as Marinette stepped forward to meet him. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly in greeting before taking her hand and helping her up onto his horse.

“And just where are you taking me on this fine morning, Chat Noir?” she asked, leaning back against his chest like it was second nature, and he grinned.

It hadn’t taken her very long to adapt to riding. He remembered the first time he’d taken her out on Voltaire, how unsure she’d been of how to sit, her back ramrod straight as she made sure that their bodies did not touch. Until he’d bucked Voltaire a little so that she fell back against him, and hearing his laughter, had found herself relaxing, and tucking her head underneath his chin.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Chat laughed, reaching around her to grab the reins, urging Voltaire forward. “We wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise now, would we?”

***

“I’m not taking another step until you tell me where we’re going.” Marinette’s threat lacked heat, occupied as she was with stomping on a bramble that had wrapped itself around her foot.

They’d been walking for half an hour now through the woods, and Marinette’s hair had begun to escape it’s braid, strands of hair plastered to her forehead with perspiration.

“I mean it, Chat!” He had gone ahead of her, forging their path, but Marinette didn’t follow, holding onto a low tree branch to keep her balance as she disentangled herself.

“Alright,” Chat turned around with a shrug, a mischievous glint in his eye that did not bode well for her. Marinette held her hands out in front of her, backing away slowly, but he continued to advance, laughing at her panicked expression. They might have found themselves all the way back on the road if her heel hadn’t caught on a large tree root, and as she flailed, her arms windmilling by her sides, Chat leapt forward and quickly swept her up in his arms, carrying her as though she was light as a feather and turning back the way they came.

“Chat, put me down!” Marinette exclaimed, hitting her fist against his chest but he hardly broke his stride, grinning down at her.

“Ah, but my lady, you did say that you didn’t want to walk again, didn’t you? I’m merely fulfilling your wishes.”

Marinette shook her head in exasperation “you’re incorrigible.”

“Only for you, darling,” he winked, his grin widening when she flushed a deep crimson. “Now...it should be here somewhere..ah!”

Anything Marinette might have said in response was forgotten the instant Chat set foot in the glade, all the breath leaving her lungs as she stared in wonder. She hardly noticed Chat set her down, her hand still gripping onto the front of his coat.

It was as though they’d stepped into another world, the dense, overgrown trees and shrubbery of the forest behind them falling away to reveal the glade, full to the brim with wildflowers; a riot of colours and scents that made her head spin. A small stream wound through the glade, bordered by ferns and smooth stones, and beside it...beside it was a picnic basket.

“I take it you like your surprise,” Chat sounded amused, though she detected a hint of nervousness in his tone. Marinette whirled around to hug him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

“Chat, it’s beautiful!” she pulled back, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

Just like it always did, kissing Chat sent a thrill down her spine, like lightning coursing through her veins. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she lightly scratched at his scalp, smiling against his lips when he hummed and pulled her closer, one of his hands coming up to cup her neck, the other wrapped tightly around her waist as his lips slanted over hers, his teeth tugging lightly on her bottom lip and making her groan against his mouth.

When they finally pulled apart, breathing heavily and resting their foreheads together, they were significantly more dishevelled than before. Marinette blinked slowly, reveling in the pure adoration she saw in Chats eyes. “But what’s the occasion?” she asked.

Chat raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smirk. “Must there be one? What if I just wished to spend time with the beautiful woman that I am courting? We don’t do it enough as it is, and here, we can spend the entire day together.” He pecked her on the lips, “undisturbed. Come now,” Chat grasped her hand pulling her along to where the picnic basket sat beside the stream.

As she watched him prepare their breakfast feast; pulling out all manner of fruits, and pastries, breads and cheeses and meats, Marinette realised with a sudden clarity that—

“Is everything alright?” Chat had caught her staring, and she nodded, feeling a smile tug at her lips.

I love you, she almost said, but bit back the words. Too soon. It was too soon. But it was as though something had shifted inside her, making room for this one unshakeable truth to slot into place. A place she hadn’t even known existed, but was now keenly aware of with every breath that she took, every beat of her heart. I love you, she thought again, feeling giddy with the knowledge.

Chat was still looking at her, his head tilted curiously to the side and she squeezed his hand, “It’s nothing,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder, smiling when she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m just…so very happy.”

#this is PURE FLUFF and i still made myself sad bc i miss them and this reminded me of what i did in Phantoms lmao #its been a while since i wrote them so i was worried i wouldn't be able to match the tone of Phantoms but i think i got it #...right?#miraculous ladybug #marichat #chat noir #marinette dupain cheng #ml fanfic #phantoms in the dark #missing moments

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myriadimagines · 4 years

Text

Cursed Blood

The Witcher One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Renfri

Other Characters: —

Warnings: mentions of violence & death, alcohol

Summary: The entire Continent sees Renfri as evil, cursed, monstrous. But you don’t. You only see the woman you love.

Word Count: 1,760

A/N: i have already mentally prepared myself for this to get 2 notes as all my one shots do but. it’s okay. i love renfri too much to care bc every hour on this blog is missing renfri hours.

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Cursed. It was all Renfri ever knew, all she was ever told. A screaming child born under a shadowy, black sun, absorbing all light and casting rays of evil darkness upon soil. The planets aligned just to curse her blood, to fill her with venom and hatred that spit over her growing bones.

Her name didn’t matter. Any identity she would try to forge would never matter. All that she was to the world was a girl born in the eclipse, a girl that would bring the world’s end, sink her teeth into it with a bloodied smile. The planets had made her cruel, twisted and broke something inside of her, or so some old mage under a dusty robe had claimed. Renfri scoffed to think about the men who had ruined her life, as all men do, robbed her freedom from her and branded her the descendent of a demon goddess, an entity of the night as dark as the Black Sun she was born under. Renfri knew her existence was a threat, her existence meant she was a gateway for Lilit to walk the Earth, to bring death at her fingertips and obliterate the entire human race.

She felt as though her boots were always stained with blood, no matter where she walked. It was prophesied for her, after all, to engulf kingdoms in blood, to watch innocent people choke and splutter before they drowned in the crimson oceans.

She heard about the other girls like her. Girls snatched under the winking stars by Stregobor, to be locked away for his experimentation. Growing up, she knew she was always under his watchful eye, him prying for any excuse to brand her a monster. Violence bubbled up inside her, boiled over, stung her skin, but it wasn’t because of the Black Sun bullshit that had been retold time and time again. No, her anger stemmed from something else, from being a child who grew up without love, who grew up finding comfort in violence when no one else would hold her. She learned to hold herself, learned to be the only person she could trust.

And her life of loneliness was sealed when Stregobor sent the man to follow her into the woods. Stripped of her princess title, stripped of any royalty or allegiance that never belonged to her, Renfri almost felt pleasure when she jammed her mother’s brooch into the thug’s ear, piercing it into his brain.

Life became all about survival. Kill or be killed. Starve or steal. From one village to the next, home was a foreign concept. Perhaps she was a monster, she’d wonder, with each man she’d kill in order to survive another day, but how was she to know? Where did the lines between monster and human lie, and who defined that line? A paranoid mage who believed in old curses? That hardly seemed fair to her. All that she knew was that all her emotions felt so real, so palpable, they had to be human. To be human is to be joyous, to be melancholic, to be furious. To be human is to feel.

Love was an emotion she had never felt before, an emotion that lingered in the back of her head, made her wonder if she was truly human if she had never loved. She wondered what it felt like, if she would be able to recognize it if it was handed to her on a platter, but she figured petty things like love did not matter. If she had survived her whole life without it, how important could it be? Not important enough to concern herself with when she spent every waking moment trying to track down the man who had robbed her life from her. Her hunt for Stregobor was unrelenting, her taste for revenge bitter in her mouth each time she got close.

You were the one who found her one night, drunk at an inn after she came close, so close to finding Stregobor and ending him once and for all. The wizard had slipped through her fingers, again, and she swore it would be the last time. Her face was buried in her hands, her dark locks obscuring her face, her breaths heavy as she struggled to grapple with the disappointment and anger that swirled inside her. She didn’t mean to pull her dagger on you, grab your wrist and yank you towards her in a motion so swift you didn’t even comprehend what was happening until you felt the cool blade at your throat. You had taken her by surprise, trying to clean up the various pitches of mead she had emptied and left strewn across the oak table. Renfri’s eyes bore into yours, perplexed by the fear and curiosity that stared back at her, before she let you go, dropped her dagger onto the table as her fingers released your wrist. Her fingertips burned against your skin, but in a way that you wished she would touch you again, give you another adrenaline rush that electrified you. You cleared your throat, straightened your apron, joked about it a rough night. Renfri didn’t respond, still eyeing you up carefully, intrigued as to how you hadn’t already scrambled away in fear. After the ensuing silence, you gathered the pitchers and left, only to return a few minutes later with a new one that was filled to the brim.

Perhaps it was the tiny act of kindness, a gesture Renfri had never experienced before, or perhaps it was your sweet smile that she caught a glimpse of before you turned away, but Renfri knew she couldn’t let you go without at least getting your name.

You sat with her for the rest of the night, talking until the first rays of dawn. You had seen all sorts of customers, the drunks, the adventurers, the dangerous ones, and yet you couldn’t quite understand Renfri. She didn’t talk about her past, wouldn’t tell you where she was travelling from, instead choosing to listen to your story. Learned about the inn in which your family owned, watched as you pointed your mother and father out to her, your younger and older sister. She laughed over stories you’d tell about uproarious customers who’d pass by, felt her heart flutter at your smile, that sweet, endearing smile. When she knew it was time to go, she tried to pay you, yet you tucked the coins back into her palm, insisting that her company was all you needed. She didn’t understand how you could be so kind, so soft in a world that was anything but to her, but she fell in love. With you, with your kindness, with the gentle manner in which you treated everything and everyone around you. She couldn’t let you go, couldn’t let go one of the one good thing in her life, the one person whom she’d ever felt love for.

So she told you to come with her, to join her on her travels. She didn’t expect you to agree, yet she was euphoric when you did. You felt the same magnetism, felt the same pull to Renfri as she felt for you, and you knew you couldn’t let this one night be the one and only with Renfri. You were destined for many more nights, destined for so much more time together.

You trekked through the forests together, walked alongside the babbling rivers and under chirping birds, and the world felt sunnier with you by her side. Renfri swore that the sun seemed to brighten, that the trees were greener when you skipped amongst them. She knew she had to tell you where you were going. She knew she had to tell you who she was, but for the first time in so long, she was afraid. She spent her whole life being unapologetic for who she was, learning to own up to her identity and embrace it, but with you, she feared scaring you off. She feared not being accepted by the one opinion in the entire world that mattered.

When she first kissed you, it was at an old inn, on a creaking bed you stayed the night on before continuing on your journey to Blaviken. You insisted on just paying for one room to save Renfri’s coin, claiming you could sleep on the floor if Renfri didn’t want to share the bed, but she laughed, teased you for being so foolish as to think she’d let you stay on the floor. You were both drunk, swaying, words slurring and bodies too close to one another, crossing lines you would never be able to uncross. But when Renfri leaned forward to kiss you, closing the gap between your bodies, both of you knew that crossing this line was something you’d never regret. Your kiss was feverish, desperate, loving, hands running through hair, bodies tangling in thin sheets as you unlaced your shirts, wanting to feel her skin against yours.

You held her in your arms that night, running your fingers through her hair as Renfri rested against your shoulder, pressed kisses to your collarbone and smiled each time you giggled. It felt nice to finally be held, she thought, to love and be loved. And in her moment of softness, of vulnerability, she told you the truth. Told you about the eclipse that haunts her, told you about her cursed blood, about the poison that runs through her veins. Told you the reason you were travelling to Blaviken together. She forced herself to look at you, wanting to see every emotion that crossed your face, but there was not even a hint of fear. Not even a hint of you wanting to run from her. You pressed a kiss to her forehead, down her cheeks, to her lips, and your tone didn’t waver as you swore to her, that if she wasn’t the one to slit Stregobor’s throat, you would do it yourself.

You would? she asked you, voice low and quiet, her hand reaching for yours as your fingers intertwined. She wasn’t even sure if you could fight, if you knew how to handle a sword, yet she didn’t question the determination in your tone.

Yes, you reaffirmed. Because I love you.

She kissed you in response, mumbling against your lips that she loved you, too, repeating the words over and over again like a mantra. And every time you kissed her, you swore it was impossible that her lips could be poison. And even if they were, they tasted oh-so-sweet.

tag list: @fairytalesforever / @ruvaakke / @azeret-mirror / @fangirlsarah16

#the witcher imagine #renfri imagine #reader x renfri #renfri x reader #the witcher #the witcher one shot #renfri #renfri one shot #imagine #imagines #reader insert #one shot #oneshot #💜

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nekojitachan · 4 years

Text

Hmm, got a new story idea the other day (actually, have had a couple in the past couple of weeks, but this one requires world building). I might be playing around with this a little - I never do too close a retelling of canon because... well, I like to shake things up a bit and make them interesting, but it’ll probably start out a little similar to TFC and then the changes will snowball from there.

I think this gives an idea of some of the world building, though.

*******

I Am Fire

******

Nathaniel stood near the old sedan while it burned, while the acrid stench of burnt plastic and rubber didn't quite mask the sickening odor of his mother's body slowly breaking down beneath the flames under his command. For a moment he almost made them burn even hotter, made them reduce her thin, worn body to nothing but ash (like he should, like she'd always told him to do if the worst ever happened... like it had happened) but the thought of losing her so completely made him banish the flames before they finished their job. Some still licked at the metal frame of the car as he reached into its ruined shell to fetch his mother's remains, the heat inconsequential to a Fire as powerful as him (not powerful enough, never powerful enough when it came to his father), to gather her charred remains.

He used a broken piece of metal from the car to help dig a hole in the sand as the waves washed onto the shore, then buried what was left of Mary Jamilyn Wesninski (nee Hartford) in the shallow grave, smoke rising from the remains. Once the sand was hastily smoothed back in place, the cold Pacific water lapping at his heels, Nathaniel used his power to turn it to glass, to seal the unmarked grave and give his mother as peaceful a resting place as possible. He bowed his head for several heartbeats, not so much in memorial as an impromptu breakdown, as despair and bone-deep weariness bore down on him.

Then he forced himself onto his feet and to take a step forward, to take another one and another, to keep moving because that's what his mother had told him to do - to keep running and to never stop. He only paused to gather the backpack he'd assembled from both their supplies before he'd set fire to everything else, which contained what he needed to survive for the foreseeable future (except a phone, which had been reduced to melted parts in the car), should help keep him alive long enough to buy a new ID in Reno. Then he unleashed the flames on the car once more, let them feed until the damn thing would be nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal and walked toward the nearest leyline without another glance.

*******

Andrew hummed in boredom as he rolled the handle of the striker’s racquet (Josten’s) he’d picked up to play with between his hands – bored and hyped-up and oh so done with everything already.

“Put it down before you break it,” Kevin ordered, perched on top of an entertainment center and busy reading through Josten’s stats yet again, as if he hadn’t memorized them in the last few days.

“Oh, what a shame if that happened,” Andrew drawled while he grinned, while he swung the racquet through the air just to annoy the bastard. When Kevin’s green eyes took on a golden cast, his grin widened and ice began to form on the racquet; two could play that game. Mindful of the reason they were in this shithole of a town and their ‘beloved’ coach’s instructions to ‘behave’ while he went off to talk to their quarry, Kevin quickly stifled his power and shook his head.

“Don’t do anything to scare Josten away, Hernandez warned Coach that he’s a bit… squirrely.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Andrew reminded the arrogant bastard as he resumed spinning the glorified stick between his hands. “And so what? Just find another rookie,” he needled with a faint shrug.

As expected, Kevin took the bait. “Another roo- we were lucky to get Josten’s tape, dammit!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “You think we’re going to find another striker who’s a fire elemental, any fire elemental out there at this point who’s unsigned, let alone with half his potential?”

“What potential?”

Kevin shook his head at Andrew’s unimpressed scoff.

“No, it’s there, it is,” he swore. “Hernandez said the Dingoes haven’t gotten this far in years, not until Josten showed up. That he hasn’t seen a Fire with his potential in all his time coaching, even if he’s still rough on the court.” Something hungry flashed across Kevin’s face for a moment as he set the papers aside to rub his scarred left hand. “He’s right, too. The way he plays, the way the team comes together whenever he’s out on court… it’s there, that promise. The Foxes need it, while Coach and I will make him better. You’ll see.”

So boring – Andrew had already heard this over a dozen times before, back when Kevin had argued for Wymack to chose Josten to replace poor, poor Smalls (maybe not so ‘poor’ since she didn’t have to suffer the Foxes now) and then as they flew to shithole Millport, Arizona. He already knew that his life was one big joke, but the past week had been a never-ending punchline of ‘oh wait, let’s really rub it in, shall we?’

Oh well, at least he could sit back and watch Gordon’s reaction when the asshole realized that Wymack had recruited a fire elemental more powerful than the homophobic druggie. The senior should have been replaced ages ago, except Fires weren’t easy to find, so any of real talent were scooped up by the many, many better teams out there.

Which made one wonder, why was such a diamond in the rough like Josten just waiting for Kevin to find him like this?

Just a little suspicious, yes?

Mistrust merrily bubbled along with the drug-fueled euphoria and boredom inside of Andrew’s head, which didn’t help with the whole ‘must not start smashing’ things. Oh, Wymack and Kevin owed him for this, yes they did.

He was swinging closer and closer to the racquet stand when there was the pitter patter of swift feet – was the little squirrel pulling a runner? Oh, clever boy, to want to get as far away from Wymack and his do-gooder self as possible, but Andrew had suffered on this fool’s errand for a reason, so that meant squirrelly-boy (or perhaps ‘rabbit’) would suffer, too.

Now things were getting fun.

Andrew braced himself in front of the nearest exit, the door leading out to the parking lot, with the ‘borrowed’ racquet held in both hands ready to lash out, but he literally felt rabbit-boy near – felt a rush of fire from the panicking kid (rabbit indeed). The tingling sense of pulsing heat laced with a simmering anger/threat made his own water magic rise, made the surrounding chill as it prepared to protect him.

A vague, shimmery shape propelled itself forward, toward the door, only to slid to a halt as fire and water slammed into each other; Andrew lashed out with the racquet but their elements, their magic, created enough of a buffer between them that the end of the stupid stick barely brushed against the kid’s chest.

Huh, maybe Kevin was right about Josten being a powerful Fire.

Andrew wavered on his feet from the backlash of their elements smashing together, somewhat inured to it after a year of collegiate Exy, of dealing with Kevin, of being somewhat prepared for the rabbiting Fire rabbit, while Josten ended up falling down hard onto his ass. He stared up at Andrew with dark eyes wide as his power receded, the shimmering effect around him fading away to reveal the lean, underfed kid with overgrown black hair and baggy, worn clothes and too-attractive features in the one picture which Hernandez had sent.

“Water,” Josten choked out as he gazed up at Andrew, as Andrew felt a traitorous flicker of interest overtake the boredom, both over that too-pretty face and the lingering feeling of intoxicating warmth from Josten’s element.

Uh-oh.

“Goddammit, Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things!” Wymack bellowed as he and Hernandez finally caught up to the little rabbit, his dulcet voice echoing through the lounge as he took in Josten sprawled out on the floor and Andrew leaning against the racquet. “Are you all right, kid?” he asked and held out a hand to help Josten off the floor, which of course was ignored.

“Oh Coach, if he was nice then he wouldn’t be of any use to us.” Andrew ‘grinned’ at Josten, who managed to stand up on his own, his attention focused on Andrew with a wariness which made it clear that he’d an idea of just how powerful Andrew was, even though Andrew had only used a fraction of his talent. Huh, someone wasn’t adding up, not if he sensed Andrew so easily, not if he’d recovered so quickly, not if he made Andrew want to lean forward to soak in that odd, tingling sense of warmth….

“Besides, he looks good as new. Or, well, second-hand new,” Andrew said with an exaggerated grimace as he motioned to the kid’s outfit, as he leaned away instead of closer.

“Fuck off,” Josten muttered as he clutched at the handles of the battered duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. “And what’s with the racquet?” His wary look morphed into a glare after a brief flare of recognition. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“So grouchy,” Andrew complained then once more grinned. “Here you go!” He iced the racquet before he threw it at the kid, and felt a rare spark of amusement over the way that Josten cursed beneath his breath as he fumbled to hold on to the slippery object.

He also noticed how quickly the Fire negated the ice without blasting everyone with steam, which required skill along with power.

“What the hell?” Hernandez demanded as he approached Josten (who skittered out of reach, which was also interesting). “You okay, kid?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said in an attempt to smooth things over as he got between Josten and Andrew in a clear sign for Andrew to back off and stop with the ‘fun’ tricks. “But he’ll behave from now on. So what about it, Neil?” Over on the entertainment center, Kevin, who had been oddly quiet the entire time, leaned forward in interest.

Josten shook his head and once more clutched at his duffel bag (hmm, security blanket or something more?) while he shoved the racquet at Hernandez. “I’m fine. Just let me go,” he insisted as he shook his head again.

“We’re not done.”

“Coach Wymack.” Hernandez seemed rather protective of a certain rabbit – how odd, especially since he’d ratted him out in the first place.

“Give us a second?” Wymack somehow summoned a measure of charm (and a good dose of his earth magic) to put Hernandez at ease (Andrew sensed a weak amount of air magic in the man) which made the Dingoes coach grumble and agree to leave after giving his precious striker one more look and a promise to be back soon.

As soon as he was gone, the rabbit found his voice again (could a powerful Fire be a rabbit? Something to ponder). “I already gave you my answer, I won’t sign with you,” Josten insisted as he gazed at the door as if desperate to go through it, too.

Sighing as if tired already (Andrew knew that he was, and eager to hit up the pathetic minibar in the hotel), Wymack rubbed along the back of his neck "You didn't listen to my whole offer," he said slowly as if in hopes that the words would sink in that time. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you then the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

There was another flare of fire magic as Josten must have finally realized that it wasn’t just the three of them in the room, as his face paled and ugly dark eyes widened yet again while he searched around the room as he stepped away from Wymack (oh, yet another fascinating and suspicious reaction). “You didn’t bring him here.”

"Is that a problem?" Wymack’s earth magic pulsed out in an obvious attempt to calm the panicked kid (to keep them all from being flambéed – well, Andrew could protect himself, and he supposed Kevin).

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion." The kid sounded as if he believed that – and about two seconds away from the flambé thing.

"True, but irrelevant.”

Ah, finally, Number Two had spoken, and as usual, didn’t appear impressed with what he saw. Yet he added his earth magic to Wymack’s, though it didn’t appear to calm down Josten at all.

"What are you doing here?" Josten asked while he continued to edge toward the door, which Andrew moved to block once again.

"Why were you leaving?" Kevin countered as he leaned forward, his attention focused on the Fire with an intensity reserved only for Exy.

Josten didn’t seem to care for that intensity – that or for Kevin. "I asked you first." Oh, wasn’t that mature?

"Coach already answered that question.” Kevin sounded a bit testy over having to point that fact out, while Andrew was almost amused over the exchange – almost. He’d need another dose of his medicinal chains soon, judging from the way his skin itched and stomach churned. "We’re waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

"No.” Both Kevin and Wymack appeared stunned over that flat denial, especially Kevin, Exy’s precious Number Two. "There are a thousand strikers who'd jump at the chance to play with you. Why don't you bother them?" Oh, Andrew might have an iota of respect for the pain in the ass, but he just wanted to go back to the hotel and start drinking instead of suffer through this scintillating wordplay.

“None of them are fire elementals,” Wymack said as he folded his tattooed arms over his chest. “We want you.”

"I won't play with Kevin,” Josten declared as he once more eyed the door. “And you already have a Fire.”

"He’s not good enough, and you will," Kevin shot back without pause, which earned him a brief glare from Wymack.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're not leaving here until you say yes,” Wymack warned Josten once he finished giving Kevin a dirty look for insulting Gordon. “Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right." The kid didn’t look happy about that.

Kevin opened his mouth again, definitely to argue more with the kid, most likely to insult him a good bit (the true Kevin Day way), maybe, just maybe to mention that the rookie striker did have some potential beneath the roughness, had one hell of a drive while out on the court (there was a reason for them to come out after him, after all, and not just because of his element), but Andrew was tired and bored and needed to get away from a certain too-attractive Fire enigma right then.

“Coach is right, he’s not going to let this go, so why don’t you, someone who supposedly plays as if he has everything to lose, save us all a lot of time and jump on the chance to get out of this boring hellhole, hmm?” Agree to sign, and then Andrew could spend the summer figuring out just what Josten was hiding, why a Fire with so much potential was hiding in Millport, of all places, and appeared freaked out by Kevin.

Was this a Moriyama trick? Planted bait?

“But… but I’m not good enough,” the kid tried to lie even as his distasteful magic kept making Andrew’s insides tingle in a disturbing counterpart to the damn drug’s withdrawal.

Kevin jumped onto his feet but one look from Andrew kept him from approaching Josten. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. Give us some time to train you and your talent, and you will get there.”

When Josten stopped eyeing the door to focus on him, Wymack piled it on as well. "It actually works in our favor that you're all the way out here," he argued. "No one outside of our team and school board even knows we're here. We don't want your face all over the news this summer. We've got too much to deal with right now and we don't want to drag you, some unknown Fire, into the mess until you're safe and settled at campus. There's a confidentiality clause in your contract, says you can't tell anyone you're ours until the season starts in August."

Josten was quiet for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped forward, a sign that his defenses were weakening. "It's not a good idea,” he announced after he looked away from Kevin.

"Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed," Wymack said while Kevin grinned in victory. "Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?" Just in case, Wymack ‘pushed’ a little with his talent, gave off soothing waves as if to calm Josten.

The kid was quiet for a few more seconds before he mumbled some bullshit about needing his mother’s permission, even though Hernandez had warned Wymack out how Josten’s parents were never around and might be abusing the striker. When he kept going on about them, Wymack glanced over at Andrew, who gave a quick shake of his head.

The kid was lying – he was interested in the contract, but it was pure bullshit about him needing his parents’ permission, from what Andrew’s magic could sense.

Wymack’s lips thinned before he told Andrew and Kevin to go wait in Hernandez’s SUV, which would take them back to the hotel. Kevin wasn’t happy about the command, but as (almost) always, obeyed their benevolent tyrant which meant that Andrew followed.

“Is he going to sign?” Kevin asked once they were outside.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and ‘thought’ about it for a moment; water elementals weren’t exactly precogs (or the majority of them weren’t), at least not beyond a vague impression of the future and people. His ability lay in knowing if someone was telling him the truth or not, if they were ‘safe’ or not – and the impression he got from one Neil Josten?

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR…..

Yet he’d felt something toward the end there which led him to believe that the young man would show up at PSU, after all.

Now that he thought about it… it was probably an impending sense of doom.

“He’ll sign,” Andrew sighed as he went to the back door of the SUV to fetch the bottle of water he’d left with his backpack while motioning for Kevin to throw him his bottle of pills, all the while ignoring Hernandez. Josten would show up just to annoy the fuck out of him, he was certain.

He used his talent to chill the water, which was warm from sitting in the vehicle for the past half an hour, then forced himself to take the pill, biological clock all fucked up (ha, more than just that) because of the time difference. After a few minutes and a cigarette, Josten finally left the building with Wymack and Hernandez at his heels, and when Josten made to walk past the SUV, Andrew opened the back door with a wide grin and a slight, mocking bow. "Too good to play with us, too good to ride with us?"

The Fire gave him a cool look (ha!) before breaking into a run; Andrew had to admit he made just as pretty a picture fading off into the distance with that lean form and long legs. Hmm, as much as Exy annoyed Andrew most days, he had to appreciate its effects on the human physique.

“Well?” Kevin snapped at Wymack once they were in the SUV, in what probably was meant to be a demanding tone but contained too much anxiety, considering that they had to sign a new striker or else.

Wymack picked up on it, too, considering how he pushed more of the ‘soothing’ bullshit while he shook out a cigarette. “He’ll be spending the summer with us, as soon as he graduates.” He twisted around in the front passenger seat to glare at Andrew. “No rough shit with the new kid, do you hear me?” Next to him, Hernandez radiated displeasure while he drove. “He’s a Fox now.”

Mindful of the non-Fox in the car, Andrew merely bared his teeth and gave his coach a two-fingered salute before he slumped back into the seat as the drug began to take effect. He hummed a little and closed his eyes while he thought about the alcohol awaiting him in his hotel room, and tuned out Kevin and Wymack arguing about the best way to go about training a rookie Fire.

Wymack could bitch and moan all he liked, but the more Andrew reflected back on his encounter with Neil Josten… oh yes, too many pieces which didn’t fit together. Someone was a too-attractive, too-powerful liar, which meant that Andrew had a new toy to play with that summer. A toy he would poke and prod and twist about until either all the pieces fit, or it was broken badly enough that any danger to him and his was all gone.

As he thought about that sharp-boned face and addicting tingle of magic… he hoped it was the latter.

*******

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg au #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #david wymack #nekojitachanfics #elemental magic #of course it'll be andreil

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind: A Wedding

A/N: I’m unsure of how many parts it will take to cover everything I want include in this most anticipated story of nuptials for our cherished Liv, and Colton. But, I do hope you relish in part one. I love you, all! This process will be written, obviously. But, lots of pictures will be included, creating some sort of a photo album for you, as well. *I do not own any images you see*

Warnings: Language.

June bride. It always sounded so… so, Cosmo. So, cliché, and posh. So typical. And so no me. And oh yet, here we are. The sunny Saturday of June 22nd. Finalizing the last pins to my loose, naturally blonde hair. Colton’s only requests for that day including the blonde. And the down-styling. And the chocolate cake which I think he somehow requested because he knew it was my favorite.

Things were elegant, and still understated. There was not to be a single sequin, or rhinestone. The only beads permissible were pearls, and that was only if extremely necessary. My boycott against bedazzle made the dress shopping a nightmare, as it seems this generation prefers all the sparkle. But in the hands of Tia, who can weasel and tantrum her way into situation, I found the most perfect cut of silk in Pittsburgh. My mother ground her teeth a little. The back hung low, flowing down the airbrushed bronze of my spine. The lush shine of the material cuddled, and stretched around the swell of my bottom, and a slit climbed my left thigh. I was reluctant about it. My scar from the frightful skiing incident of 2010 was on full display, marked horizontally along the meaty flesh of my upper thigh.

“If that asshole won’t marry you, damn it, I will, LC.” Tia sniffed as I met her eyes in the full-length reflection of the mirror.

Even on my wedding day, still posing up a good threat to snag me away from my groom.

“You look… you look phenomenal, Liv, dear. I can’t wait for him to see you.” Sweet Beth gracefully dotted away the salty residue from the full tears marking down her cheeks, as she daydreamed about her sons soon nuptials.

I squirmed at the foreshadow of Colton’s inappropriate groans and beady glances once he saw me in my dress. The dress. The one I never would’ve imagined I would try on in a private dressing room, much less parade in front of a crowd full of snapping cameras. But, love gives a girl some bold bravery, it seems. The sensual dip of the snug gown would be worth the raise of conservative brows in attendance once I saw Colt’s intrusive eyes turn black with the burying of his desires.

My mother strapped me into the buckle of my heel while Andrew snapped a few intimate snapshots of the moment on my phone. He was a member of Colton’s groomsman squad, but he’d spent a chunk of the day prepping at my side, and relishing in the bliss to come.

“Have you heard his vows, Drew? I mean, did he have you like, proof them or something?” I searched my clutch the folded note of worn paper where my own vows were scribbled down, and handed them to Sara for safe keeping until time.

“By proof them, do you mean have I checked to make sure they aren’t loaded with expletives?” He brought over my bouquet as I stood to finalize the approval of my reflection before my solo photos around the archway outside. “Yes, Liv. I read them. And that’s all you’re getting.” He sealed his mouth, and threw away the insinuated key.

I barely recognized the penetrative gazes of the woman staring back at me. My jaw was held at a confident angle, eyes lined thick with tasteful faux lashes, and hips slightly swelled with the weight of womanhood and true love. Colton had changed me in every way that made me better, before I even knew exactly who I thought I wanted to become. His many a kiss, countless moonlight confessions wrapped in the sheet of the bed we shared, and simply the way he watched me take my first morning sip of coffee constituted everything my naïve soul needed to recognize love in its most intimate state. I couldn’t wait to touch him in his suit at the altar. To let him still the trembling of my hands as we exchanged rings, and seal what I already felt with our first kiss as man, and wife.

Sara gently interrupted your thoughts, stuffing a dainty pink handkerchief into your clutches around your bouquet.

“Because I know you’re going to need this. And, because I know for a fact you’ve forgotten your something borrowed. I used it on my wedding day.” She kissed my cheek.

I wouldn’t have married Colton on this day, the day of his choosing, if Sara couldn’t have been here. I adored my Tia, and Drew, and each other person who was here with me in this adopted home of Pittsbugh. But my wedding day, the only one I know I’ll ever have, I needed my Sara to hold me in a moment just as this one.

A rattling tap echoed from the other side of the heavy oak door, capturing the attention of every eye in the room.

“Liv?”

Colton.

“Liv, baby? You in there?”

My face fell with haunting nerves, and Tia ran for the knob to answer his faint callings from the hallway.

“He can’t see me, Tia. No way! Don’t think of letting him in here.” I ordered.

“Relax, will you? I’m going to step outside with him, okay?”

Tia barely opened the door into a crack large enough for a toddler to squeeze through, and disappeared. I worked my busy hands at the ribbon flowing from the stems of my peony bouquet, scolding myself for even considering the worst reason for his unexpected visit.

I held my breath when she re-entered the overly crowded dressing area, purposely holding back her smile longer than necessary.

“He said he just wanted to hear your voice. That’s it. And only from behind the door, of course.”

Tia, and my mother ushered my prep team toward the reception area to check out the final touches, giving Colt and I a moment of solace, and a deep breath after the bustle of wedding day jitters. When the last person escaped, I wiped the sweat from my palm, and turned the door handle, carefully standing far away from the minimal crack.

Just as my fingers peeled around the door, I felt the familiar heat of his rough-skinned fingers grasping perilously for mine.

“Fuck, I needed this.” He moaned satisfactorily, and my side of the door bounced back towards me as he fell onto it from the opposite side. My touch alone fed his nervous withdraws from being apart for only two days. “I needed you. Just for a minute, at least.”

I played with his fingertips.

“Someone isn’t getting cold feet, are they?”

I could hear the tap of his black dress shoes we had bought last week for the occasion.

“Well, Drew had to talk me off the ledge a couple hours ago.”

I froze, and my bones nearly calcified into fossisl with the stillness his sentence bought over me.

“Woah. Hey, I’m only kiddin’, Livvy. Breath, baby. It was just a joke. Clearly, a poor timed one.”

Colton kissed the solo ring on my finger, staking his claim. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of my ass that easily.”

I wanted to kiss him. Those minty lips, now probably stained with a celebratory shot of whiskey were the only things my consciousness would focus on.

Maybe if we both closed our eyes first, then touched lips for just 2 seconds?

“How dedicated are you to this whole ‘no seeing each other thing’?” I thought out loud, Colton took the question as one directed at him.

“Trust me, angel. I’d give absolutely anything to see you right now. See how amazin’ I know you look, as usual. But, I think we both know you’d instantly regret breakin’ that little tradition you were so persistent about.”

He was right. I had just enough Indiana in me to keep hold of those age-old small-town traditions like not seeing your groom before the ceremony. And first dances, and flower girls.

“But, since I’m here, how about we go ahead and trade letters? I know Drew was going to do the swap for us, but I’ve got mine me if that’s cool with you?”

What a difference time can grace upon us.

I mentioned one evening, months ago, scrolling through websites while doing some planning, how I thought the idea of writing letters to each other was such a touching sentiment. Never expecting another word, much less even an initial response from my stoic, silent man. But, to my much pleasing surprise, Colton simply agreed with an “okay,” never the slightest inkling of protest in his voice. Love had done a number on this bitter, complicated man, too. A hard one. And it suited him mind, body, and soul.

“Yes, but under one condition?” I parted towards to counter to find my own letter addressed to him.

“Name it.”

“I don’t want you to read it until you’re back in your room.”

I slid the sealed envelope into his hand, holding my palm upward for his.

“I love you, Liv. I am so fucking crazy in love with you.” Colton whispered, almost breathlessly.

“I love you, you handsome brute. Now, go. Before I ruin what little makeup I still have left.”

I didn’t latch the door until his footsteps were no longer detectable, not wanting to miss the sounds of his closeness to me. Seated on the antique velvet of the elegant armchair at the foot of the bed, I delicately tore open the letter.

Liv,

You marvelous creature. You are a necessary electricity that shocks my heart to life every single day that I’m near you. My spirit is broken, and it’s only fucking hope is in your hands. Thank you for taking my hand, and warming me with your irreplaceable light. Naturally, we both know I’m not a verbal man, but it seems in writing you this letter, I may have found my newest, most favorite way to try and express how I feel about you. Nothing about you loving me makes sense, but it’s one mystery wave that I will ride until there is no life left in me with no questions asked. Yours is the only hand I want to hold, and get lost in the swell of life with, laughing, crying, and standing still along the way when need be. This day, the day you foolishly take my name as your own, and vow to be my wife will surely be the most precious day I have lived. Only second to the moment I met you. I swear, when I’m with you, it’s like the air tastes better, even. You have stroked my ego like a vicious woman in love, and you’ve stomped it out when I needed the harshest of reality checks, just as I deserved. I hope as long as you’ll have me, I can be the solace you need in the most troubling of days. And the strong tower you need when you feel scared or threatened. I’ll be the laugh when you’ve seemed to have misplaced your own, and the tears when yours don’t seem to satisfy whatever grief falls on you. Always, Livvy. It’s you. You and me, against the strongest of odds, we will come out on top. Can’t wait to see you. Soon. You know where to meet me.

I love you.

Colton

Waterproof mascara was a myth, whipped into a lie at the hands of Colton Ritter and his hidden talents with a pen and paper. I read his confessions three times, memorizing it like it was a secret that I was afraid would be torn away within minutes. All along, I’ve been the one in our household staking a claim to literary topics, and standing on my platform as an English major. But this, the handwritten romance of his raw admissions, blew me away, along with every mediocre talent I thought I wielded. Someone I had foolishly often discredited as “simple” or “distant”, had force-fed me to eat the sour swallow of “crow”, penning words that probably belonged alongside the most magical of love letters through fictional history. In my opinion, anyhow. Not the that object of the affections in said letter would be biased in the least.

. . .

Colton

I obeyed her commands, as I usually do. Happily. And waited until I was seated at the bar in my suite across the grounds from her before opening the letter. I wanted to drag her up the courthouse steps long over 6 months ago, but this place wasn’t so bad. Like it would be, with her taste. I even liked it, actually. I’d never tell Liv though, and have her thinking for a minute that any of this exhausting, unnecessary, wedding shit mattered to me. I would’ve married her in our living room with Mac ordained if I thought she wouldn’t have minded. But, I adore her. More than any should adore another human, truthfully. And I knew this day, with all the people she loves in attanedance, is what her heart needed. So, I shut my fucking mouth, and smile when I’m told like a good husband would. But, I’m not wearing those damn cufflinks. She’ll have to harass me for that one later, and I’ll ask forgiveness. Or, distract her with my mouth the way she likes so much.

I drank down another shot of the aged brown liquor, sucking in its warm after bite between my teeth as I opened the neatly sealed envelope she marked with my name.

Colt,

The mightiest of men could never steal my love for you. To most, your eyes may be the darkest, most dangerous pools of heartache and pain. But I only see the glow of a man who the world just doesn’t deserve to know. Whatever I have needed you to be, you have truly surpassed any responsibility as the man I love, and my heart shouts a thousand words of gratitude. You kickstarted the first pangs of real love within me, and sometimes I foolishly believe that there aren’t two people in the entire world who share as much love as you and I. The weight of your hand within mine is the only courage I have ever felt, and it somehow seems my most insatiable moments of weakness are both caused, and cured only by you. You’ve respected me as your equal, never pointing out my many flaws as a failed strong woman, and secured my every longing for my destined lover, and companion. I never truly believed in any definition of eternity, until I woke up one morning without you by my side and realized I never wanted to live another day without you in it. You have believed in me, encouraged me, and monumentally coached me. In the ring, and in life, I find that we are a team fit for whatever battle seems to threaten us, destined to come out victoriously hand-in-hand. I know you will only do justice to your newly deemed titles of husband….. and daddy

Surprise, my love.

-L

Did she know what she was saying? Was this some sort of reference to the future that I wasn’t understanding? Was she applying that term as some sort of kinky slang that people use these days? It was like my mind told me I should freeze, and clam up with horrified dread at Liv’s very, very unplanned spilling surprise. But yet, as I read the word again silently to myself, then again, aloud, this time, my pulse never quickened with fear. I didn’t feel like shattering this fucking glass of bourbon against the brink of the bar where I sat alone. I couldn’t even squander up the slightest glimmer of resentment at the birth-control of hers that had apparently faltered.

Daddy. Dad. Pop.

My feelings only went directly into running over all the things I’d want he… or she to call me. And all the ways I’d hear it fall from Liv’s sinfully pink lips when she spoke to the little runt about me. Would she let me use my name if it was a boy? Could I take her to the gym with me unsupervised while Liv was working, even though it was probably no place for a little girl?

The itch my skin felt already from feigning for the feel of her touch, and needing her to fill the void between my embracing arms enlarged to a dull ache now. I woke this morning already drunk, knowing for a fact I hadn’t had a single drop of liquor, simply from the joy of knowing I would finally make an honest woman out of her today. And now, I could feel my heart crawling and leaping and vibrating with gladness like I never imagined humanly possible. For a once worthless fucker like me, especially.

A tear dolloped onto the ink of her swirly handwriting, and my toes curled inside these leather vices around my feet. I hadn’t cried like this since I broke my first knuckle when I was 16. But ever since Liv had waltzed her way into my life, it seemed tears were becoming a familiar foe of mine.

“You read the letter?”

“Shit!” I shook and sniffled, whipping round to see Andrew arming into his suit jacket.

“Yeah. Yeah… I uh, I read it.” Andrew was one of the only friends I really ever allow myself to smile with.

“You are one lucky man, Colton Ritter. You better know that. As if Liv wasn’t enough of a gift, now….”

“You knew? This whole time, you knew?”

He grinned. “Guilty. But you’re not allowed to hit me and stain the tux.”

I stood, dismissing myself from the stool, and carefully folding the fateful paper into my pocket. “How far along is she, Drew? When did she find out?”

Drew shook his head like I knew he would. “You know you need to hear all that from her, man. I can’t ruin that for you guys.”

He was indeed right. I wanted to watch her snub back tears as she told me about the tests I’m sure she had taken behind my obviously inattentive back. I envisioned in my mind the way her eyes would get all glassy and wide when I hugged her belly and told her I loved her more than life, and I would kill for her if it ever came to that.

“Half hour till showtime, Colt. Look alive.”

TAGS: @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @miidailyinspiration @littleluna98

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfiction #Elizabeth Olsen #thegrind

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raendown · 5 years

Link

@madatobiweek Day 4 Prompt: Marriage of convenience Also for Day 2 Prompt: Growing old together

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6707 Rated: T+ Summary:“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not.

A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Now and Forever

“We should get married.”

Madara lifted his head from where it had been buried in paperwork he wasn’t all that interested in doing, glad for any sort of distraction. He looked over to where Tobirama stood by the window with a whimsical expression on his face and his arms tucked in to the sleeves of his haori, half-lidded eyes watching the flow of citizens passing by on the streets below. With deliberate movements Madara set his pen aside and sat back in his seat to mirror the other man’s pose.

“Should we?” he asked, willing to play along if it would keep him from reading any more budget reports.

“Neither of us is getting any younger,” Tobirama pointed out. “And I don’t know about you but I think it would be rather nice to have someone to wake up next to. I’ve spent a lot of years living alone; it would be nice not to anymore.”

“Hmm.”

Tilting his head to one side, Madara considered those points. Forty years had done very little to age the man before him. Despite the lines deepening around the corners of Madara’s eyes and mouth Tobirama remained relatively untouched by the ravages of time. The animosity and anger that had defined their relationship during the early years of the village was long since cooled, leaving in its place mutual respect and a calm companionship. He might actually call them friends if not for the excuse that there was almost always another mutual loved one there when they spent time together outside of work. Whether it be Izuna or Hashirama didn’t matter, their two families had grown close enough to blur the lines in several different ways.

It wasn’t an unattractive proposition, really, just as Tobirama was not an unattractive man. Madara could admit that he had given thought to a tumble in the sheets several times over the past couple of decades but there always seemed to be something holding him back – one of their brothers, poor timing, the tumultuous nature of their relationship in the beginning. Marriage, on the other hand, that subject had been on his mind and stuck there more times than he could count, although never in conjunction with Tobirama.

Watching his best friend’s relationship with Mito grow stronger year by year left him yearning for that same companionship. Yet it simply wasn’t in his nature to set out looking for love, being more the retiring type who figured either love would find him along the way or he would merely have to content himself with the precious people already in his life. Tobirama’s whimsical suggestion rather neatly found a way around that.

“Are you saying I’m so undesirable that I can’t find a husband of my own?” he asked, unsure if he was even taking the idea seriously or not. A smile quirked his lips when Tobirama let out an easy chuckle.

“You haven’t yet.”

Madara narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t bring the truth in to this.”

He preened a little when that earned him an outright laugh. Despite age relaxing them both quite a bit Tobirama was still known as quite a stern and reserved individual. Outright laughter was a rare gift and hard-earned by very few, typically more given to quiet chuckles or soft huffs of amusement. Tobirama unfolded his arms and turned away from the window at such an angle that the afternoon sunlight lit his hair and left a crown of gold circled around his pale locks.

“We get along. I find you attractive. And one-night stands lost their shine long before I started approaching middle age. It would be nice, wouldn’t it, to have someone to call your own? It’s not love but companionship would be…well. We’d have someone to bring along to family dinners – that we both already attend anyway.” Tobirama shrugged casually, everything about him loose and at ease as though he were only speculating out loud without caring one way or the other what answer he got. And yet there was something about his tone and the faraway look in his eyes that said his suggestion hadn’t been quite as whimsical as it originally seemed.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Madara asked.

“It’s not a bad idea. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Hm.” Sitting forward and resting his chin on one palm, Madara tried to picture it.

Going home at night to find another body there like he used to find Izuna waiting to greet him. Laying his head down in the winter and curling himself in to welcoming heat. Lounging in the summer haze with their toes dipped in the koi pond in his backyard, shoulders brushing and voices low while they chatted about how far this village had come and all the great things the next generations would do with the foundations they had been given.

It truly wasn’t such a bad idea. Several extended missions together had taught him that Tobirama was an easy man to live with. Waking up to that face every morning and sating himself in that body when the mood took them wouldn’t exactly be a hardship. Actually the more he thought about it the more he realized the idea appealed to him.

“Alright.” It slipped out almost without his permission but he didn’t take it back. “Yes. Let’s get married.”

Tobirama blinked, watched him for a moment to be sure that he wasn’t just pulling some sort of joke, then ducking his chin with a warm smile that somehow made the hard angles of his face look soft. Looking at that smile made the corners of his own mouth twitch and Madara thought to himself with some surprise that he probably wouldn’t regret this. In fact, he was actually looking forward to it.

It was likely that if both of them had been younger and still clinging to the trappings of inflated pride their engagement would probably have stretched for twice as long as they quibbled over the smallest details of their upcoming nuptials, striving against each other for both of their clans to be properly represented. Pride still straightened both their tired spines in the morning but it had banked in to quiet embers rather than flames barely contained and ready to burst forth at the slightest notice. It was easy enough to come to a few compromises when they were needed.

Although they did take the time to enjoy a few arguments. They would always be themselves no matter how old they got and at this point bickering had become a beloved ritual they refused to give up on.

Barely a handful of months passed between their engagement and the wedding, just enough time for the winter snows to melt and spring to bloom with a little help from their retired first Hokage. Most of the planning had actually been handled by Mito and Hikaku while the two bridegrooms spent as much time as they could out of the village for any duty they could possibly scrounge up to avoid all the gossip surrounding their decision. Rumors about a hidden love affair were only humorous if they were kept to whispers when the subjects passed by. When people started approaching them with questions to settle the betting pools that had popped up, that was the point at which they both started disappearing. Where was the fun is clearing the mystery?

The ceremony was held on top of the mountain overlooking the village, Madara and Tobirama exchanging their vows as the sun set between their linked hands. Originally they had intended for Hashirama to officiate but after realizing he was likely to ruin the ceremony with copious amounts of crying they asked Mito instead. It was a good choice in the end as their predictions came true and Hashirama spent most of the ceremony weeping where he stood at Tobirama’s side in witness.

Not truly listening to the woman he already considered as a distant sister-in-law, Madara watched the orange and gold light of sunset play across Tobirama’s face, setting his skin aflame. Despite throwing himself headlong in to this partnership and experiencing no doubts since then it was still at least a mild surprise to find himself so calm now that it was all actually happening. Tobirama lifted one of his eyebrows ever so slightly as if to ask where his thoughts had drifted off to and Madara replied with a light shrug that could have been passed off as shifting his position, not wanting to anger Mito. Even after all this time it simply felt off to be so content with his place in life.

Izuna was making catcalls almost before Mito could finish telling them to seal their vows with a kiss, at which point Madara realized that the entirety of the small gathering was about to bear witness to their very first kiss. Before any sort of performance anxiety could take him Tobirama leaned forward to demonstrate one of the more interesting benefits of agreeing to this marriage.

Sweet kami but the man could kiss.

Wild applause from both of their brothers almost drowned out the smattering of enthusiasm from their other guests and they were each dragged in to tight hugs the moment their lips parted. Mito sounded both exasperated and fond as she announced them bonded for life, husbands until death parted them. Her words barely registered. Madara was too caught up watching over Izuna’s shoulder to catch what glimpses he could of the rare warm smile on his partner’s face and imagining what it would be like to wake up to that smile tomorrow morning – and the morning after that one and indeed for the rest of their lives.

They were swept away before he could get lost in his own head any further and hurried along to the pavilion set up a couple dozen feet back from the edge to have dinner with their families and treasured ones. During the rush of good food and endless well wishes Madara found himself strangely relaxed. It still felt odd sometimes looking out at all the faces around him and knowing that some of them had once been his dire enemies, that most of them would have killed him on sight with no remorse, yet now they would mourn his death nearly as much as they would Hashirama’s. The man at his side had been chief among those who once sought his death yet here they were now wearing matching rings and winding their arms together to drink from each other’s sake cups for the amusement of their guests. It was strange, the paths life had taken him down. Even stranger that he regretted none of them.

After dinner came the dancing during which Madara and Tobirama mostly sat to one side in conversation or mingled with the rest of the crowd. Only a handful of times were either of them successfully dragged on to the floor and only twice did they dance with each other, once in the traditional first dance of the night and once when half of their guests had already left, Tobirama surprising Madara by offering his hand with that same quiet whimsical smile he had worn when he offered his hand in marriage.

Of course Madara took it. They said little to each other as they danced, swaying together in a simple pattern since neither of them really knew how to do anything more. And when the music changed and Tobirama asked if he would like to go home Madara nodded without words. He was more than ready to start his new life as a husband – almost eager, in fact. They weren’t in love but they could be said to be good friends and he saw no reason they wouldn’t make each other’s lives better for being together.

Their wedding night wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. In fact it was much more pleasant than most of the other experiences Madara had stumbled his way through in the past. Neither of them felt the need to stand on ceremony or do anything to make the evening special in any way but it was certainly a night to remember even without anything like that. Madara woke the next morning feeling languid and something close enough to happy that he was almost inspired to whistle as he made up their breakfast.

He didn’t though. Dignity hadn’t yet abandoned him entirely.

Life as a married man was…calm. Easier than he would have thought. Like all couples they had their disagreements and finding a way to balance their personal habits when they were both so used to being alone took a bit of figuring out. Yet the barriers between them were always thin and easily broken down with words. Age was rarely a disadvantage but in their relationship it was most of what kept them together until they found a way to coexist properly.

On their first anniversary Tobirama waited until evening had cleared the administration tower before leading Madara in to his office where he had pushed the furniture against the walls and laid out a simple picnic for them to enjoy.

“Well look at you being romantic.”

“Brother made so much noise when I mentioned we didn’t plan to celebrate that I told him I would think about it mostly to get some peace and quiet.” Tobirama shrugged as he settled on to the blanket and reached for the basket of food left close by. Madara followed with one eyebrow lifted.

“I will admit, that makes much more sense. And I’m not going to complain since this was my night to make dinner. If you want to do the work for me then I’m alright with that.”

“Oh don’t worry.” His husband smirked as he uncapped the sake bottle. “I’m going to let you cook dinner tomorrow to make up for it.”

Madara leaned against him to laugh, accepting his drink and the plate of all his favorite finger foods. Just inside the basket he could see a covered dish of inarizushi waiting for dessert. It was hard to tell sometimes what Tobirama had learned about him since they married and what he had simply picked up over the years through exposure of listening to Hashirama’s endless babble. Not that it mattered as long as it got him inarizushi to nibble on.

They ate together mostly in silence broken only by the occasional flicker of quiet conversation. Outside the window the stars were bright and the moon full, a pleasant backdrop to admire when they weren’t simply enjoying each other’s company. During the periods when they fell quiet Madara found himself reflecting on the past year, all the ways his life had changed and all the ways it hadn’t. He thought about what things would have been like if he hadn’t accepted Tobirama’s offer, how unremarkable his days would be, full of loneliness though he would still have denied it even to himself.

“Happy anniversary,” he murmured.

“It is, isn’t it?” Tobirama leaned in a little closer to refill his sake but Madara set the dish aside after only one sip.

“Kiss me,” he demanded. With a smirk, Tobirama was only too happy to indulge him.

He also seemed happy to indulge Madara’s stomach as well, feeding him inarizushi by hand and licking his lips clean for him afterwards until they set the food aside in favor of other appetites. It was hardly the first time they had defiled various corners of the tower but something felt different this time, warmer almost, like there was an element in their coupling that either hadn’t been there before or hadn’t been allowed. Madara couldn’t pinpoint exactly where his thoughts were trying to go with that but since he had other more interesting things going on at the moment he let the idea slip away from him as easily as the breathy moan that followed the hands drawing him towards an inexorable peak.

Tobirama was attentive in the aftermath, tracing patterns on his skin with something unreadable in his eyes. Without the energy to even think of trying to figure out such a complicated man’s emotions Madara simply allowed himself to revel in his husband’s attention. He created a clone just to have it clean up the room after them and pulled Tobirama down on to the picnic blanket with him, doing his best to disguise how out of breath he felt.

“Out of stamina already?” Tobirama teased him with a nip on the shoulder. “You’re getting out of shape, old man.”

“I’ll show you out of shape!”

Both of them were smirking when Madara pounced, ready to prove himself with another round.

As it had a tendency to, time went on. More anniversaries passed and their partnership only grew stronger with every one. Finally Madara had that which he had been jealous of others for: companionship. It still wasn’t love but he found as time went on that it was quite a pleasant substitute, enough so that he couldn’t speak to having any regrets about where life had taken him.

His thoughts were quiet and his mood content when he found Tobirama enjoying the weather on a warm evening just at the cusp between spring and summer. Some of the chairs on their back porch had accidentally been left out in the rain so he pressed his hands against each of the cushions to find one that wasn’t damp and pulled that one over to sit next to where his husband appeared to have spaced out entirely, staring out in to the empty backyard with no facial expression to speak of. It was only when Madara reached out to lay a hand on his wrist that he stirred.

“Is everything alright?” Madara asked.

“Yes, yes. Just thinking.”

“Anything particularly interesting? No more thoughts about the dead rising again, I hope.”

Tobirama cracked an easy smile but shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t want to listen to those lectures again, thank you. I had something rather more pleasant on my mind.”

“Could have fooled me with such a serious expression.”

He hadn’t meant anything by it so he was a little surprised to have Tobirama turn to him with a grave look in his eyes, deep ruby red in the low light yet pretty in a way that made him wonder how he could have ever hated this man. They stared at each other until he raised his eyebrows in question and Tobirama smiled at him again.

“I love you,” he murmured simply. Madara stared.

“You…did you…?”

“No, I didn’t feel this way when we got married. You grew on me over time, I suppose.”

“Oh.”

Something heavy like guilt settled in his chest. The life they had built together was a good one and he was happy, he couldn’t deny that, but love? If he were asked to be honest he could not say that he loved Tobirama, not in the way it was clear his husband meant. Whatever spiral he was about to go down paused at the touch of fingers to his jaw, the twist of Tobirama’s wrist to weave their other hands together.

“You don’t feel the same,” he acknowledged, “and that’s alright. We both knew how we felt when we got married. Nothing has to change; I don’t expect you to feel any different simply because I do. I only wanted to say it because…well because I wanted to.” With a shrug he seemed to dismiss the entire subject and Madara was left feeling adrift.

For a while they sat in silence again. It was almost unfair how at peace Tobirama seemed to be, his conscience clear with that off his chest. Madara, however, was left to wrestle with the weight of knowing that his partner loved him while he felt nothing but companionship, friendship. Obviously it wasn’t as though he felt nothing, just that he didn’t feel quite the same. It didn’t feel like enough. The issue stayed with him for the rest of the hour they spent outside and all the way through getting ready for bed. He was still wrapped up in it by the time Tobirama pulled him down under the covers and told him that he was being ridiculous.

“It isn’t hurting me, really. We’re already together so there’s no sense in pining for something I already have. Whether or not you return my love won’t change anything so don’t be stupid.” With a roll of his eyes he pulled Madara down to lay on his chest. “If it bothers you then I won’t ever mention it again.”

“No, it’s fine. If you want to say it…”

Tobirama’s fingers in his hair were unfairly soothing. “I love you,” he whispered. “This life is more than I could have hoped to have. Thank you for agreeing to marry me.”

Madara chose not to reply but instead rolled his body a little closer and entwined their legs like he always did before going to sleep. Before long his husband had given in to dreams and he was left awake to contemplate things he couldn’t change and things that he could. He could end this relationship, though it would throw several years of happiness out the window and benefit no one in any way. He also could stay and go on being happy with someone who cared for him and would continue to do so.

He’d always heard that married life would bring unique challenges, though he was fairly sure this wasn’t the sort of thing anyone had in mind when they told him that at the wedding.

After lying awake for several hours eventually Madara decided that the best course of action was to simply do as Tobirama had suggested, to let it go, to not feel bad about it. If Tobirama said that the situation wasn’t hurting him then all Madara could do was trust his word.

Since neither he nor his husband had ever had the urge to procreate or carry on their family genes, preferring to leave that particular duty to their other siblings, children hadn’t ever been a conversation they felt the need to have.

From the amount of times he had found Uchiha Kagami raiding their fridge before either of them had even made it out of bed Madara thought perhaps they would need to have that chat after all.

“You understand, of course, that this is not your home and that is not your food.” He took great pleasure in watching Kagami jump with fright, slamming his head on the inside of the cupboard he’d been halfway inside. When the younger man turned around Madara scowled. Closing in on forty himself now, Kagami could hardly be called a young man anymore. This sort of thievery should be beneath him.

“I was hungry,” the brat protested. “And my house is empty.”

“Perhaps you should stock up on nonperishables before leaving for extended missions then.” Despite his own protests Madara still pulled out three plates to set the table before he began cooking.

Kagami sank down in to one of the chairs with that same old innocent grin that had first charmed Tobirama in to teaching him all those years ago. If it wasn’t for the stubble around his jaw it might actually look the same as it did back then, stupid baby-faced idiot. Madara resisted the urge to press at the wrinkles gathering around his eyes.

The two of them were bickering like parent and child when Tobirama finally made his way out of bed, absently gracing Madara with a kiss on the way passed to ruffle Kagami’s hair. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find his old student there. It was things like this that made Madara wonder if the apron strings had ever truly been cut between those two or if Tobirama even realized that he basically acted like the boy’s unofficial adoptive father. It seemed like something his husband would do, adopt a child without ever really admitted it even to himself.

After setting the tea kettle on and preparing three cups Tobirama sat down across from Kagami and chatted with him about the mission he’d just returned from. Madara listened to their chatter with one ear, nodding occasionally and snorting at the stupidity of others. When breakfast was ready he separated three portions of egg and sat down between the other two where his fading hearing could enjoy their gossip better.

It was a pleasant way to spend the morning and, despite what his grumbling would have others believe, it was one of his favorite ways to start the day. Only waking slowly to a hot mouth exploring his body could beat out the lazy contentment of spending that first hour in the company of family. Sometimes he even preferred the company of these two instead of the days when Izuna showed up to bother him. Madara loved his brother, truly he did, would never not love him, but age had not dimmed his energy levels and there were days when Madara simply could not be bothered to keep up with the man.

Getting old was supposed to be honorable and majestic. So far he found that it only made his limbs creak.

Neither his husband nor his clansman mentioned anything about him not contributing to the conversation; there wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary about him preferring to keep to himself, especially this early in the morning. Until breakfast was done he stayed quiet and concentrated on his eggs and when Kagami left he mumbled a goodbye and made sure to ruffle those insufferable curls on the way by. If he had to feel old today then someone else should have to feel unnecessarily young. It was only fair.

While Tobirama puttered around cleaning up the plates Madara watched him. He was in an oddly contemplative and whimsical mood, apparently, as he found himself asking odd questions without thinking about them first.

“Did you ever want to adopt him?” His husband paused and turned to blink in his direction.

“It never crossed my mind.”

“But if you could have would you? He was always your favorite.”

“Who knows?” Tobirama shrugged casually like it didn’t matter and turned back to the sink, running water so he could wash the dishes.

Madara scowled. “Fine. Well if you could have adopted – not Kagami, maybe, but just a child of your own choosing – would you have?”

“Didn’t we talk about this shortly after we took our vows?” Tobirama shot back.

“Answering a question with another question is cheating! You know I hate that!”

“I just don’t see what the point of your question is. If I ever did want children, well, I suppose we do have Kagami now that you point it out. And if I didn’t, great, never had to change any diapers except a couple for Hashirama’s spawn.”

Resisting the urge to smile out of habit, because the mutual dislike between Tobirama and his nephew would always be hilarious, Madara scowled harder instead. He hated not getting answers and he hated ever more when Tobirama deliberately avoided his questions.

“Just answer me!” he half-shouted.

Tobirama turned away from the sink and dried his hands on a nearby towel, taking a moment to look Madara deep in the eyes as he thought about what to say. When he finally spoke it was with the dawning light of understanding in his eyes and a step forward to grace Madara with a single soft kiss on the lips.

“The answer is yes, you have always been enough.”

“But…that wasn’t my question,” Madara protested in a very small voice.

“It’s what you were really asking.”

He didn’t really have anything to say to that. Tobirama was right, although he hadn’t even realized it himself until it was said out loud. Rather than face the implications of that he huffed and pushed his husband back towards the dishes he was supposed to be washing. It was a deal they had made very early on, that whoever cooked should be exempt from the cleanup. So far it had worked to eliminate quite a lot of fights.

“I have…things to do,” he announced.

Tobirama’s warm chuckle followed him all the way out of the house but Madara couldn’t say he minded as much as he pretended to.

The lights were all out when he entered but Madara was able to make out Tobirama’s profile against the massive windows on the far side of the room. Muttering under his breath about creepy idiots wandering around in the dark, he made his way over to the desk and lit the candles there with a tightly controlled fire jutsu. When he turned around Tobirama was still in the same spot looking through the window at the village below.

“What, pray tell, is so interesting that you’re still here at this time? It’s passed midnight!” He shuffled over to bring a candle to his husband, clucking in disapproval when he noted the bags under his eyes. “Don’t you understand the meaning of retirement?”

“This is my last night as Hokage,” Tobirama said.

“So that means you have to sit vigil over the office until morning? Are you worried someone might make off with it or something?”

“No. I was just wondering…what Hashirama did on his last night here.”

Madara froze. “Oh.”

Well now he just felt like an ass. Here he was scolding the man for staying up late when all he was trying to do was honor the memory of a loved one recently passed. Hashirama’s loss had rocked the entire village and no one had taken it harder yet with more grace than Tobirama had. The illness that had forced their first Hokage to retire came back to hit him hard and this time his body was too old to fight it off.

Now here Tobirama stood in the place where his elder brother had stood, ready to give up his place as his predecessor had, and Madara supposed he could see how that would leave a man in an introspective mood. If the issue at hand weren’t such a heavy one he might have cracked a joke of some sort or broken the mood with the classic grumpiness others had come to expect from him. However, even he knew better than to cross certain lines. Tobirama gifted him with a soft kiss on the temple and a grateful look when he set down the candle and wormed his way under the man’s arm.

“If memory serves,” he murmured, “he spent his last night in office trying to complete some paperwork that he’d told you was done a week before.”

“That sounds like him.” Tobirama’s eyes crinkled in a smile. It truly was unfair how free of wrinkles he was even after all this time. Madara’s theory was a deal with the devil, though he still hadn’t figured out what the devil might want in return for a wrinkle-free face.

Each slipping away in to their own thoughts for a while, the two of them stood by the window of the Hokage’s office and watched the moon trek slowly across the sky above their village. Konoha had grown in so many ways since the days when it was little more than a collection of mokuton-grown huts and dreams tied together with hope. There was so much to be proud of, so many people to be grateful for. Madara could hardly believe that once he had thought this dream a foolish childhood distraction no longer within reach. It was hard to imagine where he would be now if not in the arms of the man beside him.

Tilting his head up, he studied the way Tobirama’s face looked framed with moonlight. No age spots marred his perfectly white skin, no discoloration had touched his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked now after getting broken on a mission and not healing properly but in Madara’s eyes he was the most handsome man in all the Elemental Nations.

“Should we go home?” he asked quietly, trying to make a suggestion without letting it sound like a demand. Demands were for those who were still young enough to have the energy to back them up.

“I think I’d like to stay a little longer.” Tobirama took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “This has been my office for almost longer than it was his and yet I still feel him here every day. I hope every person who sits in that chair feels the same.”

“A bit creepy,” Madara said under his breath.

To his delight that surprised a laugh out of his husband. “I suppose you could see it as creepy.”

“Yes, I could because it is. No one wants that mug staring at them from the afterlife.” He was relieved to hear laughter again rather than the sharp intake of an offended gasp. Tobirama’s arm tightened around him and he felt another kiss press against his forehead.

“Maybe you were right. Let’s go home. Brother won’t mind if I remember him from somewhere more comfortable than a dusty office.”

“As long as you don’t remember him from our bed,” Madara tutted.

“Yes, dear.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Madara waved his hand with a small wind jutsu that he only remembered because memories made with the Sharingan lasted forever. All the candles snuffed out at once and plunged them in to total darkness but he only leaned in to his partner’s side a little more and let the man with better eyesight lead them out of the room.

Someday soon they were going to have to face the fact that they had finally reached that age where their friends and family started dying of old age rather than the battles they had all retired from years before. But…not tonight. Tonight he had a husband with warms hands to hold as they tottered off in to the chilly night. Tonight they were still alive and ready to kick ass the next day, next week, and for a few more years after that at least.

“I’m old.” Watching himself in the mirror as he spoke, Madara grimaced at the way his lips didn’t quite move as spryly as they used to. Once upon a time he’d had full lips with a wicked grin. Now his wrinkles had wrinkles and his lips had thinned, all shriveled up as Izuna had once teased him.

“That you are,” an amused voice agreed from just outside the room. Madara harrumphed and stormed out of the bathroom as best he could on creaky knees.

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m still handsome!”

Unrepentant, Tobirama looked him down and back up with laughter in his eyes. “You should know my views on that by now, shouldn’t you? Fishing for compliments isn’t very gentlemanly.”

He was all but chuckling to himself as he stripped out of his lounge robe and pulled on a nightshirt, still disgustingly fit and attractive despite only being a handful of years younger. Every year Madara swore that the next would catch up with his husband and every birthday proved him wrong. Still he refused to give up on the idea and continued to insist; to give up on the idea would be to give in to the accusations that he was vain and there was absolutely no way he would be admitting to that.

At least he still had better hair, though. Even if it had gone white a long time ago.

Tobirama slipped under the covers and settled on his side. When he beckoned Madara resisted just to make his point but ultimately they both knew he was going to cave. Nothing got him to sleep faster than being wrapped up in his partner’s arms and listening to that soft familiar breathing pattern, feeling the comforting drumbeat of Tobirama’s heart against his back.

Crawling under the sheets and worming his way across the mattress in to the arms waiting for him felt more like coming home then he’d ever experienced all those years he lived by himself, dragging himself back to Konoha after a long mission just to pass out alone atop cold and dusty blankets. Neither of them had been out on a mission in more than a decade and still coming home to Tobirama’s embrace felt like he had won something from the day, beaten away the shadows of what could have been.

When soft lips pressed against the back of his neck he smiled and closed his eyes, expecting his dreams to be sweet.

“I love you,” Tobirama whispered.

Madara’s eyes slowly opened again as something bubbled up in his chest, foreign yet familiar, never named though it had been growing there for probably longer than he realized.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, awed by how much he meant it. Behind him Tobirama gave a sharp intake of breath and Madara realized suddenly that he was grinning like a fool. Just to feel the words again he repeated himself, “I love you.”

“You mean that.” Tobirama’s voice was filled with wonder and choked with tears that Madara simply didn’t have the heart to tease him for.

“Saying that if I didn’t mean it would be a special kind of cruel.”

The arms around him tightened and Tobirama burrowed in to him. Madara recognized the signs denoting one of the rare times when his husband was beyond words, moved so deeply he simply couldn’t speak. He was rather moved himself to finally realize such an incredible feeling and yet at the same time…

“I’m sorry,” he said, “that it took me so long.”

“No, don’t be sorry. If you never said the words – if you never felt this way – I would have loved you no less. I would not have been unhappy with what I have.”

Madara swallowed thickly and read between the lines easily enough. If he had never returned Tobirama’s love there would have been no regrets but that he did return it made things different in the best of ways. Pressed together like they were he could feel the thundering of the man’s heartbeat echoing his own, perfectly in sync the way they had been since the day they married. It was useless to wonder if there was anything either of them could have done differently that maybe would have opened his eyes to the possibilities earlier or even if he was simply meant to fall now after so many years.

Rather than waste time on any of that Madara turned his head and smiled in to the darkness over his shoulder.

“I love you,” he whispered one more time. Tobirama didn’t answer with more than a light squeeze but he didn’t have to; his feelings had been made clear a long time ago.

Silence fell but it was not an empty silence, the minimal space between them filled with understanding and more emotions than either of them were properly equipped to process. Madara had a feeling that he wouldn’t be getting to sleep any time soon but a little rest lost hadn’t killed him yet. Laying away in his husband’s arms was far from torture.

Tobirama seemed to agree as he laid a row of soft kisses across the back of Madara’s shoulder, still not speaking but making his point perfectly clear. Madara hummed and rolled over on his back just to keep rolling to the other side where he could shuffle up under the other man’s chin. It amazed him that such an emotional moment hadn’t been marred by his habit of flailing over anything that even smelled like emotions, though he supposed that maybe it was finally being able to accept the feeling that had allowed him to recognize and express it.

Finally, he thought to himself with amusement, finally he was growing up. Tobirama was absolutely going to be smug about taking the credit for this. And after all the years he had waited Madara supposed he could let his husband have this one. He’d earned it, after all. If not for his whimsical question on a sunny afternoon none of this would have ever been possible.

#rae writes #madatobi #madatobiweek2019 #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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brushlesprouts · 5 years

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Sir Rathus Kaine Returns

Inspired by reading Seven Blades in Black by Sam Sykes, I made this while trying to emulate the style. I highly recommend the book. Please enjoy my brain nugget.

++++

“Great General Baltha!” Said the messenger, running frantically into the office. Bethany Burlesque Baltha spared an irate glance at the frantic messenger.

“Yes?” She said, voice creaking from the remnants of a cold she was battling. The stress of running the Palace of Great Deeds had been ruining her sleep schedule which had made her condition rather worrisome. But she couldn’t let down the Glorious One, or more importantly, Abigail. She pushed the thought away from her mind. She realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the messenger.

“Uh, what was that?” She said, “Catch your breath and start over.”

The messenger seemed thankful and took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “Like I said, the Crypt of Kings was found open this morning.”

“Grave robbers?” She said and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t think a General would have to instruct her forces to hunt down bandits.” She paused as a cold chill passed down her spine, “Unless there is more to this story?”

The messenger, steadied himself on a chair in front of her desk. She motioned for him to take a seat. He obliged and took another breath.

“We thought it was stranger for bandits to get this far into the Palace of Great Deeds without anyone noticing. So we went into the crypt and found there was only one tomb disturbed. One that we have all been instructed to stay far away from.” He paused as the realization sunk into her. She rose from her desk, her eyes deadly serious and focused on him.

“Show me.”

The Glorious Empire of Divinia held a great deal of the western continent with its heart beating in the capital city of Falk at the top of Mount Spire. Surrounding allies all held an important part of the Glorious Empire. And in Velkinrath, they had the Palace of Great Deeds. A glorified cemetery for the great martyrs and pillars of the nation. Though, that was just on the surface. Deep beneath the polished marble floors, a series of chambers held dire secrets. And among them was the body of the true pillar of the Glorious Empire.

Sir Rathus Kaine. First of the Glorious Empire. The Hero who sacrificed everything for the benefit of The Glorious One. He was buried in a very prestigious place, behind several layers of protective barrier. The scraps of which lay in shattered flecks around the feet of Baltha. She gazed, a pale expression of unrest sitting uncomfortably on her face, into the gaping maw of the opened crypt. The messenger stayed at the door behind her as instructed, but for a fleeting moment she really wanted to have another body there as a shield. Or better yet, she really wanted to turn tail and run back up to her desk and dive underneath and snatch that bottle of aged whiskey for a long and comforting pull. But this would demand a report. And she would need to add a very important detail. One that Abigail would be looking very keenly for. And one that, should she leave out, would reflect poorly on her maintaining the loving relationship her neck had with her head.

She steeled her resolve and pressed onward. The echoing sound of her boots in the stone corridor emphasized the feeling that she was alone in the tomb. And hopefully, that was true.

She reached the remnants of the chamber door leading into the tomb. There were large gashes on the metal door that had severed the layers of locking mechanisms. She felt a cold wind on the back of her neck, she fought her urge to cry out, and simply turned around slowly. All she saw was the messenger standing at the entrance, dutiful and at attention. Poor soul must have been anxious as hell. Seeing his superior meekly stumbling in the dark towards a room he never had any knowledge of. She cleared her throat and called out to him.

“Seems like the grave robbers were using some impressive tools.” She said, and to her credit, she almost believed it. But the gouges in the door were clearly rend from the inside of the room. The messenger nodded from his vantage point far away from her.

She turned back to the door and the room beyond. A cold sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. One last thing to check. Just a quick peek will do the trick. Then she could leave and file a report that there was just some burglars that need apprehending and she could go back to trying to drown troubling memories and nightmares.

She slipped her hand between the cracks in the door and felt for the special switch that deactivated the traps within the room. You could conceive that these traps were built to discourage the incredibly dedicated thief, but she knew there was another being that it was actually designed for. Several layers of powerful and painful magic pointed at the sarcophagus at the center of the tomb. To be fair, it was a rather splendid piece of work, that regal coffin. Draped in the wonderful colors of the Glorious Empire and sealed with hundreds of pounds of inert stone, sculpted to look like the late Rathus Kaine. Or at least, it would, were it not for the gaping scar that tore through the length of the elegant confinement. And by all accounts, that kind of rupture did not appear to come from the outside.

“Oh no,” Baltha said to herself. She began to contemplate her options. She could bring this intel to Abigail, now would be fine. But she knew the question would come.

“And the body?” She would ask. In a voice like honey. So sweet. So viciously sweet. You wouldn’t notice the poison until you were already a blue and bloated corpse.

So, with her fear of the known overpowering her fear of the unknown, Baltha tipped her head forward and looking into the regal coffin’s wound.

Within the sarcophagus, wrapped in the regalia he wore in life, lay the late Sir Rathus Kaine. Eyes closed gently as if in peaceful rest. Hands holding onto the sword given to him on the day his life was taken by an enraged elemental and he passed away for the benefit of the Glorious Empire.

She closed her eyes let out a heaving sigh of relief. The body was still there. Still dead. Whatever had happened here was very strange, but at least she could end her report and Abigail would not come after her.

“Did you miss me?” A voice said.

Her eyes snapped open, Kaine was looking up at her. His eyes open wide. Bright and filled with a light that was not human, or divine, something else. She felt the would fall out beneath her, dropping to her knees and scrambling back to the entrance to the tomb. There came a blast of wind as Kaine stepped beside her. The edge of his sword found its way under her chin.

“After all these years, you never visited.” He said, his voice was distant but she could feel it pounding in her head. “I guess I can’t blame you, what with these magical traps. Did you make these, Baltha? Traps always were your specialty.”

She swallowed hard, the edge of the blade biting gently into the skin of her throat. Her body trembled as she tried to lift herself away from the blade. She was so close to the door, to the trap switch, she could still make it out alive. She just needed to buy time.

“Please don’t kill me.” She said, choking back a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

The pressure against her throat lessened. “Oh dear, Baltha. I am not going to slit your throat.” He said and slipped the blade into the sheath at his side. “You’re just following orders.” His eyes danced with fire as he looked down at her. “Another dog of Abigail.”

“Yes,” She said, stumbling to her feet and falling against the door frame, “I was just a pawn. A tool.”

He tipped his head to the side, “Baltha, what are you doing?”

She jammed her hand into the door crack, “I’m putting you back in your box, Kaine!” She shouted and flicked the switch. The magic in the traps began to hum back to life.

“Aha, I see.” He said and smiled. “So that’s where it is.” The hum of the magic traps began to change tone to a rhythmic pulsing in and out. It sounded like a grumbling, gravelly echo. Like someone…snoring?

“You know Baltha,” He said, his form shivering and fading away to show her still standing over the sarcophagus, asleep on her feet. “You really should get more sleep. You’ll get nightmares.” He said and clapped his hands.

Baltha woke up with a start, standing in front of the sarcophagus, looking down into the gaping wound. The empty box presented the lovely interior of the royal coffin. She turned back to the door, to find Kaine standing there. His hand was slipped into the crack in the door.

“Goodbye Baltha.” The clock of the switch rang in her ears before being drowned out by the roar of the magical traps.

At the end of the corridor, the messenger barely had time to dive away from the blast of powerful magic that ripped out of the tomb. He scrambled to his feet and looked down the glassed corridor.

“General Baltha?” He called out.

There came no answer, but there was a whisper that came from behind him.

“You’re a messenger, right?”

The young messenger spun around to see an emaciated and ashen body wreathed in the scraps of tattered regal clothing, a dangerous blade hung at his hip. He placed a hand on the weapon and cleared his throat to insist a response.

“Y-yes, sir.” He said, fumbling to pull a notepad and everink quill out of his pockets.

“Good,” The shambling corpse said, his smile causing cracks to form at the edges of his face, “Tell Abigail I’m coming for a visit.”

The messenger scribbled on the pad. At the bottom of his notes, a flourished blank patch begged a name. He looked up to the imposing threat before him.

“Uh, who–“

“Me?” Said the crackling creature. It’s eyes flashed with a sickly light and his grin peeled back to reveal sharpened teeth. “I’m the Boogeyman.”

#writing #worldbuilding #sevenbladesinblack #fantasy #tryingsomethingdifferent

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advocatewrites-blog · 6 years

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Into the Unknown Part 3 Chapter 2

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers, mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

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Chapter 2

It became clear quickly that Mrs. Babcock was not the only ghost in Blithe’s Hollow. Just stepping out the door, Frisk found themselves in a world of people surrounding in green auras. Most were human. Most wore the signs they carried with them when they died, from skin worn with age or necks still connected to the nooses that hung them. All saw Frisk staring at them and greeted them with a smile and a handshake, especially as Mrs. Babcock approached them.

Most also saw Mrs. Babcock and changed their tone to the kind adults used when they though children couldn’t hear them. Mrs. Babcock responded back and changed her tone to the kind adults used when they were done discussing something and wanted to end the conversation as politely as possible. There was only one person Mrs. Babcock bothered to stop and have a conversation with. It was another ghost that probably was as old as Mrs. Babcock when she died, but her body was far more wrung and frail.

Frisk did not pay attention to the entire conversation. They changed their tone to the kind adults use and children recognize as not worth their time to eavesdrop. Besides, they had found a ghost dog.

There was a skeleton outside the door of the Ruins. This did not surprise Norman as much as he thought it would. Skeletons were more likely to be monsters than flowers or goats. The skeleton was not as scary as he should be, either. No cracks in the skull, or guts spilling from the ribcage…he was even wearing a turtleneck underneath his hoodie.

The skeleton monster actually seemed to be more surprised by Norman than Norman was of him. A world of emotions passed behind the skeleton’s rather expressive eyesockets before Norman could really put together what he was seeing. By the time Norman found himself able to talk again, the skeleton had beat him to it.

“just one of you this time, huh?”

“Uh…yes?”

“great. let’s see if we can’t get one of those other lamps to work for ya.”

In a lot of ways, Frisk could understand why Monsterkind held the Dump in such high regard. After all, where else would the anime end up? It was the only way they had left to see what was happening on the Surface.

What they could not understand was how one managed to live in a house and a dump simultaneously. Even the old house by Blook Acres was in better condition than the one Mrs. Babcock led them to. It sat on the edge of town, far enough away that nobody would think to find it. It barely stood on its own; wood beams falling off and tarps replaced roofing.

Mrs. Babcock appeared to have the same reservations Frisk did. She appeared for just her moment to wrinkle her nose at the things she could not smell, before looking down at Frisk and giving them an encouraging nod.

Frisk summoned their determination and knocked on the door.

There was an audible thud as the occupant jumped at the sound.

“Who’s there!” A grizzle voice called from inside. “I’m warning you, I already withstood a hummus attack! I’m made of steel!”

“Calm down, John, it’s just us!” said Mrs. Babcock.

There was a moment of silence. The door creaked open. Two bright blue eyes, virturally hidden under thick black eyebrows, stared at the two.

“Elaine,” the occupant said. “Never thought you’d be here.”

“Well, never thought I would need to come in,” said Mrs. Babcock. “Now would you let us in? We’ll catch our death out here.”

The eyes drifted down to Frisk. “And what’s that?”

Frisk waved.

“I literally just had a stroke; I don’t have time for this…thing!”

“Listen,” said Mrs. Babcock. “I know how you feel about me, but you’re the only one left who can help them out. I mean look at them! They’re not even Norman’s age yet!”

The blue eyes focused on Frisk closer. The door swung open, revealing the face and body attached. The occupant looked just as old and ghastly as Mrs. Babcock did. The only thing that stopped Frisk from thinking he was a ghost was the lack of green air about him.

“They can see you,” said the man.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Babcock. “We don’t know how yet, but it has to do something with Norman.”

“And where is Norman?” The man asked.

Mrs. Babcock fell silent at that. Both eyes were on Frisk.

Frisk signed gone with a hesitant shrug.

The man looked towards Mrs. Babcock for confirmation.

“Whatever they did to end up here, they think it sent Norman back,” said Mrs. Babcock. “We need your help.”

The man stopped his staring only to dissolve in a fit of coughs that did not sound like they were natural. “I don’t have any time left. If Norman’s gone…then you’ll do.”

Frisk found themself being pulled up into the air and carried into the house. They were put on a desk before they could complain. A book was thrust into their arms.

“At sunset tonight, take this to the place where the Witch is buried,” The man collapsed into another coughing fit. He fell to the floor, and then he stopped moving altogether.

Before they could move, a fog of green formed where the man had stood.

“Ya got that, kid?” The man asked.

Frisk nodded.

“Good! The world’s counting on you! I’m free!”

The house lit up as the ghost of Mr. Prenderghast laid itself to rest.

When monsters died, their bodies turned to dust. Their souls shattered. There was no real mess to have to take care of. Frisk wished they did not know that.

Humans were different. They realized that as they stared at the body.

“He’s the groundskeeper for the cemetery; he’s bound to have made some sort of arrangement,” said Mrs. Babcock, though Frisk could tell she was mostly talking to herself. “You shouldn’t have to be the one to call him in, kid. They’ll find him eventually.”

Frisk had not thought of that yet. Their attention was on the book that had been shoved in their arms. It was even older than the man, and resembled more one of the books Aunti Whispers had. They opened it up, and were surprised to find illustrations inside. Gorgeous pictures, only slightly diminished by the age of the book, of princes and princesses. The page showed the most signs of use, with dog-eared corners and notes scribbled in runes and chicken-scratch notes that Frisk could not read if they tried. It took Frisk some time to figure out the fancy calligraphy of the title: The Tale of Sleeping Beauty.

They switched the book for the notebook and asked Mrs. Babcock where the cemetery was.

“YOU’VE TAUGHT ME A LOT, HUMAN. I HEREBY GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO PASS THROUGH! “ said Papyrus. “AND I’LL GIVE YOU DIRECTIONS TO THE SURFACE! CONTINUE FORWARD UNTIL YOU REACH THE END OF THE CAVERN. THEN, WHEN YOU REACH THE CAPITOL, CROSS THE BARRIER. THAT’S THE MAGICAL SEAL TRAPPING US ALL UNDERGROUND. ANYTHING CAN ENTER THROUGH IT, BUT NOTHING CAN EXIT…EXCEPT SOMEONE WITH A POWERFUL SOUL.”

“Like me?” Norman asked.

“ LIKE YOU!!!” said Papyrus. “THAT’S WHY THE KING WANTS TO AQUIRE A HUMAN. HE WANTS TO OPEN THE BARRIER WITH SOUL POWER. THEN US MONSTERS CAN RETURN TO THE SURFACE! OH, I ALMOST FORGOT TO TELL YOU…

“TO CROSS THE BARRIER, YOU WILL HAVE TO PASS…THROUGH THE KING’S CASTLE. THE KING OF ALL MONSTERS…ASGORE DREEMURR.”

A chill ran up Norman’s back, and he was sure it was not because of the chill of Snowdin. Papyrus’ tone had shifted in a way Norman did not think possible from the happy skeleton.

“HE’S…WELL…HE’S A BIG FUZZY PUSHOVER!” said Papyrus. “EVERYBODY LOVES THAT GUY! I AM CERTAIN IF YOU JUST SAY…’EXCUSE ME, MR. DREEMURR, CAN I PLEASE GO HOME?’ HE’LL GUIDE YOU RIGHT TO THE BARRIER HIMSELF! ANYWAY!!! THAT’S ENOUGH TALKING!!! I’LL BE AT HOME BEING A COOL FRIEND!!!”

Papyrus moved back towards his house in a pattern Norman could not describe with words, laughing along the way. It took Norman a bit longer to process what Papyrus had said and move again.

He would have to fight the King of All Monsters. He was willing to bet it would not be as easy as Papyrus had been.

The new area started abruptly, like he had just stepped into a doorway into another room. It was vastly different than Snowdin, with bare cave walls and an uncomfortable humidity that had him tugging at his jacket.

“hey kid.”

Sans sat at another checkpoint station that looked remarkably like his old one, even down to the snow on the roof. For just a moment, Norman tried to figure out why it was there and how it hadn’t melted yet.

“thinkin’ of headin’ to grillby’s. wanna join me?”

Norman was about to decline when he realized the last decent thing he had to eat was the Butterscotch Cinnamon Pie, and that was a long time ago. If he was going to get close to the King of All Monsters, he would have to eat something.

“Uh, sure…”

“great. c’mon, i know a shortcut.”

It did not really feel like it took them long to get to the cemetery. It felt a lot longer to Frisk.

The Cat was there waiting for them. He rushed to Frisk in a move that looked a lot more like he wanted to get his paws off the damp earth rather than greet them, growled at Mrs. Babcock as the specter took shape, and jumped up onto Frisk’s shoulders. Never once did he speak. Frisk was not sure if they should expect him to, since he only spoke when there was no one else to listen, but it was strange nonetheless. They would have preferred another voice.

It did not take them long to find the graves that Mr. Prenderghast was talking about. It was sunset, time to read the story.

They opened up to the book to the heavily marked paged and looked up. What were they supposed to do? Read it aloud? They knew their voice was not going to work, even if they tried.

“What is it that you’re doing?” The Cat asked.

They didn’t exactly have time to explain. They held the book up for him the way they would their notebook.

“I really don’t read your language unless it’s you trying to say something,” said the Cat. “And I would prefer not to unless you tell me what’s going on.”

Frisk turned around. Mrs. Babcock was not there to read it for them.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and sets of skeletal hands shot from the ground.

Norman was not entirely sure how they had gotten to the bar, only that they were as they turned the corner.

“pretty neat shortcut, huh?” sans asked.

Norman did not have time to answer. Everyone in the bar had taken to greeting sans. He followed sans sheepishly towards the bar and took one of the stools.

“so what sounds good, kid?”

“Uh…a burger?”

“alright. grillz, two orders of burg.”

The bartender, who looked like his entire body was made of fire, gave the two a scrutinizing look before disappearing into the back.

“so, kid…”

The atmosphere of the bar grew heavy.

“do you know anything about a talking flower?”

Author’s Note: I am unusually proud of that anime line. That is the best thing I have ever written.

#fic #Into the Unknown #Undertale #Paranorman #Frisk #Norman Babcock #the Cat #sans #Papyrys #featured

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wolfypuppypiles · 7 years

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Love, Hope, and Misery Chap 2

A portal tore the air apart and Magnus fell through, looking ruffled and panicked as Izzy had ever seen him. He was far from the calm and collected he usually was.

“Have you tracked him? Where is he?”

Izzy nodded, she’d used one of her brother’s shirts to track him and gotten a location a few blocks from where he’d been snatched.

“Yes, but we need to hurry; the other shadowhunters were killed within a few hours of going missing and we still don’t know who’s taking them.”

Magnus shook his head, looking sick as he presented Alec’s bow and quiver.

“I found these not far from my apartment. There was blood on the ground with them, some of it was Alec’s but there was also blood belonging to a seelie.”

Izzy was about to say something else when Jace suddenly let out a scream, one of agony and terror so deep that it made Izzy shiver, and the whole institute go quiet.

“Alec!”

The blonde pressed a hand to his Parabatai rune as his knees buckled, almost sending him to the ground. He leant heavily against a table as Magnus and Isabelle lent their hands to keep him standing.

“What is it? Jace, what’s happening?”

He gasped, eyes wide with fear as he tried to speak through the pain, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“They’re hurting him, his runes are being cut out. Izzy, it hurts so bad, we have to find him.”

Magnus dropped his boyfriend’s weapons and clicked his fingers as he summoned another portal. Izzy wrapped one of Jace’s arms around her shoulders and lead the way, Magnus following close behind.

…………………………………

Alec screamed and tried to allow himself to pass out, as the seelie cut his side in an arc, savouring her task.

It was an agony he’d never experienced before, and it was all consuming. He felt the blade split his skin, and separate it from his body. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling at his restraints, yanking hard as he could, but the pain of his wrists cutting on the leather was a drop in the ocean compared to what the seelie was doing.

He begged her to stop, begged for Magnus to save him, begged every angel he could think of, to just let him die so that he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. But the pain continued and all he could do was scream.

He was so thoroughly blinded by the pain that he didn’t even notice the portal appearing in the room, or the people that spilled out of it. All he knew what that the knife was out of him and the seelie was grabbing a bigger one. He blinked his pain blurred eyes but she wasn’t looking at him. She looked angry and someone was shouting though her lips didn’t move.

He begged her to stop, gasping through his words.

“Please stop, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, just don’t hurt me anymore. And don’t hurt Jace, it wasn’t his fault.”

There was more shouting and then more pain and then all he could see were those beautiful eyes that he’d fallen in love with not so long ago.

…………………………………

Magnus closed the portal behind him and ignited red flames in his hands, curling the magic into balls of concentrated power that he could throw at the seelie girl standing over his boyfriend.

Jace groaned in pain but drew his seraph blade and tried to stand on his shaky legs, feeling sick at the blood pouring from his brother’s side. Izzy let go of the blonde, taking out her own blade as she tried to focus on the threat and not the pool of red on the ground.

The seelie dropped the blade she was holding and picked up a larger one, holding it over her victim’s chest as a threat. Magnus aimed his palms towards her and took a step forward, halting his movement when the seelie jerked the knife closer to Alec’s chest.

“Drop the knife!”

The girl did no such thing, eyeing the three with contempt as Alec mumbled out pleas. Her eyes found Jace and she smiled in a horrid, anguished way that made Jace’s stomach twist with worry.

“You killed my brother, Shadowhunter, now I’m going to kill yours.”

Izzy let out a yell as Magnus gave another warning.

“No!”

“Drop the knife, or I will kill you!”

But that knife came down with a savage thrust, and buried itself up to the hilt in Alec’s chest.

Jace and Alec screamed in sync as Magnus threw two balls of magic at the seelie, hitting her in the chest and sending her crashing into the wall behind her, before she slumped to the cold ground, dead.

Izzy sprinted towards Alec as Jace crumpled to the floor in pain.

“Alec! By the angel, Magnus, help me.”

The knife was sticking up out of the Nephilim, as he gasped and choked on the blood filling his mouth. Magnus quickly dragged Jace over to the table that his brother was strapped to, and sat him on a stool before taking in the damage.

There was a cut on Alec’s side, about six inches long, as well as deep bruising across his ribs and cheek. And then of course there was the knife sticking out of him.

Magnus could barely stand to look at his loves face, knowing it would be too hard to concentrate on what he needed to, but the shadowhunter was struggling in his restraints and trying to speak as he looked desperately at his warlock.

“M..gnus.” He was choking on his own blood, suffocating, and still trying to get Magnus to look at him. Jace groaned from his seat and took Alec’s hand in his, feeling everything his brother did.

“He’s scared. Magnus, please, talk to him.”

Jace could feel not only the pain and fear, but the longing that Alec had to talk to his boyfriend. He wanted to say sorry for their fight, to tell him he loved him, but all that came out was gasps and coughs.

Magnus tore his eyes away from the bloody mess, as Isabelle began stabilizing the knife and wrapping pieces of Alec’s ruined shirt over his wounds. Magnus brushed Alec’s hair back and tried to sound calm as he met his eyes.

“I’m here love. Everything’s going to be okay, just stay still and try not to speak. We got you, it’s all right.”

The Nephilim forced his words out, tears spilling from his eyes.

“..’m sorry.” He heaved for breath, barely able to get enough air in, and every effort he took only caused more pain. It was if someone was sitting on his chest, and it hurt so badly but he had to tell Magnus, had to make it right.

The warlock offered a wobbly smile and stroked Alec’s cheek with warm fingers.

“Shhh, darling. It’s all alright now. I love you.” He pressed a kiss to Alec’s forehead and tried not to think about how likely it was, that this was the last time he’d be able to say it.

Alec tried to reply but only coughed instead, scrunching his eyes shut at the pain, and pulling at the restraints once more, hoping that they’d be undone.

Jace moved forward to untie the straps holding Alec’s wrists down, but Izzy stopped him.

“I know it sounds awful, but they have to stay on for now. He has a tension pneumothorax and I need to drain and re-inflate his lung or he won’t be able to breathe. It’s going to hurt and I can’t have him moving while I do it.”

Her hands were already coated in red, carefully pressing down on the makeshift bandages around the knife. She used one hand to press Jace’s palms to the pieces of shirt covering the other cut.

“Jace hold this and keep pressure on it, try to talk to Alec and keep him calm. Magnus, I need you to try and stop the bleeding as much as you can. Focus on this knife wound for now, and heal it from the inside; I need to be able to remove the knife without him losing too much blood, so that I can work on the lung. Can you do that?”

Magnus nodded and tried to focus as he held his hands over the knife. Healing wasn’t as easy as clicking your fingers and muttering a spell, although many thought that was all it was. No, healing took patience and practice and skill, all of which Mangus had, but what he didn’t have was time. Healing with magic was as delicate as a doctor healing with tools. Magnus had to find the damage and the best way to fix it, and then concentrate and summon his magic to the parts that needed healing.

He had his eyes closed as he led his magic through Alec’s wound, searching for damage that may have to be fixed quicker. He sealed off blood vessels and healed the veins and muscle that he could, with the knife still inside, slowing the bleeding down.

Izzy’s quiet voice drifted into his awareness. “Did it hit his pulmonary artery?” She knew that if it had, they’d have to seal it or Alec would die very quickly.

Magnus shook his head, fingers curling and uncurling as he commanded his magic. “No, but the knife’s in his lung and blood is filling it.”

Izzy nodded and bit her lip anxiously. “Okay, stop the bleeding as much as you can and keep doing it when I take the knife out. I need to get supplies, Jace hold this.”

Jace had been muttering reassurances to his brother but stopped momentarily to hold the bandages around the knife as Izzy went to fetch what she needed.

She was lucky the seelie liked her medical tools, albeit for the use of torture, because she found needles and towels nearby. She grabbed both and turned back, only for her feet to falter. When it was up close, with her hands and mind focused on what she needed to do, it was easier to concentrate. But now, looking at her big brother strapped to a table and crying, begging for the pain to stop, she couldn’t be impartial. She had Alec’s blood on her hands and on her clothes and his whimpers and choked, gasps of pain filled the room, making it hard for her to concentrate.

She needed to be strong and focus. She needed to save him. The shadowhunter shook her head, as if to clear it, and took her tools back to the tray beside the table.

“Okay, I’ll use the needle to suck the air out of his chest and drain and the blood, while Magnus stops the bleeding and heals the wound. Jace keep pressure on that cut and keep Alec calm, we can’t have him moving.” She was back in control.

She whispered a small apology to her brother and prayed to all the angels she knew the names of, as she prepared to torture her brother. She knew it was to save him but that didn’t make it any easier.

“I’m so, so sorry Alec.”

This was really going to suck.

(chapter 3 is up and There will be more! This as well as the first and third chapter and all my other fics can be found on Ao3 and fanfictrion.net using the same author name as my url on here or through the links on my blogs)

#whump #whump fic #Alec Lightwood #malec #magnus bane #blood #shadowhunters #gore #torture #trigger warning

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fallen029 · 7 years

Text

Remember Me.8

Makarov smiled at the child as she stood next to him. "She's practically as tall as me now, Mirajane."

"Mmmhmm." Mira wouldn't look back at him though as she stood over at the sink, washing dishes.

When the man patted the baby on the head though, Haven giggled and fell back on her butt. Makarov only grinned at her before walking away, over to the table. With a sigh, he took a seat.

"Mira," he said slowly as she continued her refusal to face him. "I know that you might be mad at me-"

"Mad at you?" She giggled, finally glancing over her shoulder at him. "Why would I ever be mad at you, Master?"

"Well, I know you might blame me for-"

"Blame you?" More giggles. He only kept a straight face though. "For what? For sending my husband, your grandson, off to his death? Which you did, mind you, but-"

"Mirajane, he isn't dead. Or at least no one knows for certain-"

"If he's not dead, then what is he, Master? We received word months ago that he completed the job, yet I've gotten nothing from him. I've contacted him through the crystal ball. Nothing. He's just gone." She turned off the sink then, turning to face him fully as she dried her hands on a dishrag. "And I don't care what Elfman says. He didn't leave me. He wouldn't leave me."

"I know that, Mira," Makarov sighed. Leaning forwards, he rested his head in his hands. "I only-"

"And if he didn't leave me, then he's dead. That's the only answer. Freed's looked for him, Bickslow, Ever. Even Elfman. He's just gone. No one's talking about him, there's nothing on him. And unless he's in a seal somewhere for another seven years, in which I've got many more months to go, he'd dead." She went over to her daughter then and picked her up. Haven giggled, changing Mama, but Mira only pressed a kiss against her head. "And I've already mourned, so I wish you would just leave me alone about it."

Leaving him in the kitchen, Mira carried her toddler through the living room and to her own bedroom. Haven was complaining though, as she wanted to stay and play with G'amps, but Mira only went to lay her down in her crib.

"Naptime, silly," Mira sighed, trying to smile at her daughter. It was hard. The last thing she liked to think about anymore was Laxus. It had been a year. Why wouldn't everyone just let it go? She would never admit that there was a chance that he had run off, which only meant he was dead. It had to. Freed and Bickslow had been all throughout the area that he had gone for that job. They didn't find his body or anything, but Mira was nearly certain that he had probably been overpowered in a forest or something.

"Mama?" Haven reached back up for her, but Mira only kissed her head and turned to walk out of the room. "No."

"Yes. Goodnight."

Mirajane heard the front door close then and knew Makarov had left. She felt guilt swirl in her for a moment or two at the way she had treated him, but then she pushed it back. She couldn't help it. She did blame him. She blamed Laxus too, wherever he was. He wasn't just a guy anymore. He had had a responsibility to not only her, but also Haven, to come back. He should have never left to begin with.

When Elfman showed up, Haven was still down for her nap. Mirajane just thanked him though and told him that she had to hurry to get to work on time.

"Did Ever not come with you?" she asked him with a frown as he made himself at home by raiding her fridge.

"Na-ah. Thought you knew."

"Knew what?"

"Her, Freed, and Bickslow took off. To search for…" He trailed of then before saying, "Well, you know, to look for Laxus. So-"

"I have to go, Elfman." She didn't want to hear about that and only gave him a kiss before departing. "Take good care of Haven for me."

"Of course, sis!" Elfman gave her a hug and a kiss. "Won't let nothing happen to her!"

After Mira was gone, Elfman was left to his own devices for awhile. Lisanna said she'd be over eventually, after she got off, but until then, he had some time to kill. Ever had been out of town to look for Laxus for about a week at that point. He'd been so lonely. Spending some time with Haven would be fun, at least.

If she'd ever wake up…

He let her sleep for a few hours, seeing as he'd be stuck with her all day. No way would he want her being cranky. When it was finally time to get her up though, Haven was more than happy to see him.

"Elf," she giggled as he carried her to the living room. "Elf."

"Alright, Haven," he was saying as he sat her down on the floor. "What do you wanna do today?"

Play. That's all she ever wanted. So he got her some of her toys (she really liked her toy dragons) and sat down to play with her. It only took about thirty minutes for Lisanna to show up and ruin it, lecturing him on how little time he actually spent teaching her things. Like reading or teaching her to talk. Those sorts of things.

"She's supposed to have fun, Lisanna," Elfman complained. "You know that."

"I know that, but you just let her play all day and then eat and then go to bed. Right?"

"Well…then there's outside time, of course."

"Of course."

Elfman stared at his younger sister then, who was just standing over him with her hands on her hips, as if judging him. Haven giggled, staring up at Lisanna as well.

"P'ay 'side?" she asked. She heard her uncle mention it a moment ago, after all. Lisanna only reached down though, pushing some of her blonde hair out of her face with a giggle.

"Is that what you wanna do, sweetheart?" she asked. "Huh?"

"Yes." She nodded her head. "Yes."

"Then we'll go play outside." Elfman started cleaning up then. "All you had to do was say-"

Just then, the front door started to open again. Both adults looked up at the sound, but Haven was unconcerned as she went to work cleaning up. Elf had just promised to go play outside with her, after all.

Evergreen walked through the door then which of course got Elfman to jump up to go greet her. She only patted him on the chest though as she held the door open. Not a moment later, Bickslow walked in, helping a very dependant Laxus into the house. Freed was not far behind with his bag.

For a moment or two, Elfman and Lisanna just stood there, not sure what to say. It had been eleven months since he disappeared, after all, and they both had more or less decided he'd run off on Mira, as he had never really seemed to want to have a kid to begin with, or died. Running off seemed more his style though, or so Elfman thought. Seeing the man stand there though, barely able to stand and with a very rough beard, he almost dropped to the ground.

Then his tears started.

"Laxus," he began crying causing Evergreen to groan and shove him back when he tried to rush over to the man. "What are you-"

"Mirajane around?" Bickslow asked as Laxus moved to stand for himself, taking his arm from around his friend. He was clearly kinda wobbly on his feet, but that didn't matter as his eyes drifted around the room.

"Working," Lisanna whispered, still just standing there. Then, slowly, she came closer. "Laxus?"

She about started crying along with Elfman when the man grunt in response.

"Laxus!"

"Careful," Ever said as Lisanna rushed to hug him. "He's still rather weak."

"Not weak," Laxus grumbled as he just let Lisanna hug him. His eyes had fallen lower then though, down to the ground, to the little toddler who was ignoring all of them as she continued to rush and pick up her toys. So Aunt Ever had com to visit? Who cared? Outside time!

Still though, Laxus just watched her. She was so big. He knew that she would be, but still. It was so much harder, seeing her then. She had only been ten months old, after all, last time he had seen her. And now she was nearly two years old.

"I shall go fetch Mira then," Freed was saying then as Lisanna let him go. Not that Laxus cared. The second Lisanna let him go, he began to make his way over to Haven. "Alright?"

"I'll, uh, go with you," Bickslow said, feeling awkward then as he stared at Laxus. "Okay, boss?"

Grunt. He only stared down at his daughter then as he made it to her. She was about done with clean up and looked up at him when she felt the eyes.

"Hi," she greeted before going back to cleaning up. She was a rather bashful child.

Laxus blinked. She…spoke? Slowly, he repeated that word back to her. Now he was bothering her though, as he kept looking at her, and it was causing the twenty-one month old some distress. She whined slightly when he reached down to pat her head.

"Hey, Laxus-" Lisanna started, but he only reached down then to pick her up. That sent Haven into full meltdown mode. Elfman's tears stopped at the sound of his niece's.

"Don't cry, Haven," Elfman said as he walked over. "It's just Laxus."

The man didn't know how to hold a toddler, especially not a crying one. He quickly passed her off to Elfman, who took her easily. Haven only turned in his arms, burying her head in his neck, whining still.

"She doesn't know you, Laxus," Evergreen reminded gently. It was just them then, his supposed family, as Freed and Bickslow were gone. He only stood there though, staring at them. "Not anymore. It's been a year."

Almost. Not completely. Nearly. If he hadn't run into his bodyguards, it might just have been.

"You look like you're going to pass out, Laxus." Lisanna was grabbing one of his hands then, leading him over to the couch. "Come sit down."

He did so slowly, keeping his eyes on Haven the whole time. She had calmed down some and was giving Elfman kisses then.

"She's just really shy," Lisanna told him after following his line of vision. He glanced at her, glad to find a year hadn't changed her much. Elfman either. "You know?"

No. He'd spent all those month, laying there, dying, while clutching that little picture he kept in his wallet, wanting her. Needing her. And now he had her again, finally, but she didn't want him?

Unacceptable.

"Down." Haven was finished with Elfman then, pushing against him. "Down, Elf."

He only kissed her head before following the request. Then, to Laxus' amazement, she toddled over to the front door. She could walk too? Ugh.

"'side," she told them all, looking to Evergreen then. She was the closest. She wanted them to take her out to play, apparently. Laxus only frowned before starting to stand again.

"Laxus-" Lisanna tried, laying a hand on his shoulder. He only gently shoved over off before walking over to his daughter.

"You need shoes, kid," he said, nodding to where they were, next to the door. "To go out there."

"She does," Evergreen agreed. "But you know what you need? To rest. So go sit back down."

"The hell you get off then, Evergreen?" he growled. "I just got home. I can take my damn kid out to play if-" He had to stop himself though, reaching forwards with one hand to rest it against the door as he hunched over and began coughing rather deeply. Haven looked up at him, frowned, and then rushed over to Evergreen for protection.

"What happened?" Lisanna asked slowly then, watching her brother-in-law. When he was done with his coughing, he only lifted his head slowly. "Laxus?"

"Does it effing matter?" he grumbled as he moved to stand up straight again. Then he looked to Evergreen. "Put her damn shoes on. If she wants to go play outside, she can play outside."

Haven wasn't too cool then with Laxus coming with them out there, but once Evergreen sat her down on the front lawn, she was pretty alright. Laxus took a seat on the front porch then, his strength clearly diminishing, while Lisanna rushed back inside to make him some tea. Elfman though only stood with his arms crossed behind him.

"So where were you then?" he asked. Evergreen hit him, but Elfman still only stared down at Laxus. Not that he cared. He only snorted before going back to watching Haven.

She had found a bug or something and was following it around as it moved down the cement pathway leading up to the house. Randomly, she'd look over at Laxus, clearly still weary about him, but then she'd just go back to her bug. He was watching carefully though, not wanting her to eat it.

Then he heard it. Someone was coming. Running, really. He only sat there though, waiting until she was close before standing. He wasn't so sure that was a good thing though, as he was nearly certain she'd knock him over, but whatever.

And she almost did. Mirajane. When she saw him, she only ran faster, right passed Haven who was overly excited by her return, and to him on the porch. If he didn't reach out to grab the handrail, he'd have fallen on his ass.

"Laxus!" Mirajane held tight to him though as she closed her eyes, tears escaping anyhow as he wrapped his other arm back around her. It took all his strength then, after finding his balance, to lift her up in the air, but he did.

"Hey, Mira," he mumbled. "Stop crying, huh?"

"I can't help." When he sat her down, she let go, though she just as quickly moved to grab his face. Ever and Elfman were above them on the porch and Evergreen was smiling, watching, but Elfman was trying to look anywhere, but at his big sister. It was awkward for him, seeing her like that.

"You're really here. And with a beard," she whispered finally after just standing there for a moment or two, searching his face. He reached up with his own hands and grabbed her little wrists in them.

"Yeah." He grinned then as one of her hands moved to stroke his beard. "I am."

She kissed him then, though just as quickly she moved to bury her head in his chest and start crying. Laxus only leaned down to nuzzle her head. She smelled so good. Like home.

Home. He was home. Finally.

"Is it good?"

"Fucking great," he said which made Mira laugh. She was seated in his lap cross ways and hadn't been very far from him the entire night. It was Lisanna that cooked that night, which she was fine with. It was clear that there wasn't much Mirajane would be able to do at all.

"Better than that mush they fed me," he added. Lisanna, who was still over at the stove messing with something, glanced back at him.

"You still haven't told us what happened, Laxus," she reminded gently. Evergreen, who was seat at the table to, had already heard and started to protest for him. He only held up a hand though.

"There's not much to tell," he admitted. Mirajane only kissed his cheek.

"Then don't. We can talk tonight," she said. Elfman was seated with Haven in his lap, watching as she ate her own dinner, and frowned slightly.

"I'd like to hear," he said softly. When Ever sent him a look, he only shrugged. "I would."

Laxus looked across the table then, at Haven, who seemed happy with her meal and paid the rest of them little mind. She seemed to be adjusting well without him. After a moment, he gave Mira her own kiss on the cheek before speaking.

"I completed the job as asked by Gramps," he said slowly as he sat his fork down. "It wasn't hard. I would have been home right on time. But then…"

"You don't have-" Mira tried again, but he started up once more.

"I took a shortcut," he admitted slowly. "Through this valley. And while I was camping out one night, I got bit. They were some sort of bugs that are native to out there. Deadly. I didn't wake up. Their venom or poison or whatever was in my bloodstream and was killing me. I could hardly even walk.

"I collapsed, out in a forest near there. I would have died, probably, had a tribe out in those parts not found me. A group of hunters, I think. They took me back. Knew exactly what was wrong with me. Their doctor took care of me. This old woman. Worse than Porlyuscia, this woman was."

Mira nuzzled against him then when he started frowning. "For a year though, Laxus?"

He sighed. "It wasn't so simple, saving me. Did a number on my nervous system, apparently. I was out of it for most of it. They almost lost me a few times. I don't even remember all of it. I just remember feeling cold and sweating and…"

"That's enough," Mira decided then, getting out of his lap suddenly. Haven, who was finished eating, giggled when her mother came to lift her up. "Are you happy now, Elfman?"

"Well, I was only curious," he mumbled. Evergreen stared at Laxus for a moment before getting to her feet too.

"Unless you two need anything," she said then. "I think we should get going. Or would you like for us to take Haven home with us tonight, Mirajane?" She looked between her and Laxus. "I figured you two would like to-"

"No," Laxus said without looking up from his food. "Haven stays."

Mira sat the little girl down then with a sigh. Then she looked to Evergreen. "Thank you, but I think we'll be fine."

"Of course." She nodded her head then before pushing her glasses up her nose slightly. Turning, she said, "Elfman. Come now."

"But I didn't even get to eat yet," he complained, though he stood. Quickly he went to give each of his sisters a kiss as well as his niece.

"You know where to get us if you need us, Mirajane," he told her then.

"Of course. And thank you, Ever, for bringing Laxus home."

"Oh, honey, he was practically here by the time we found him," she told her. "We just helped him along a bit."

Lisanna left not soon after. Not before hugging the crap out of Laxus and proclaiming her love of him. He only grunted and, very softly, admitted that he was glad she had been around while he wasn't, if only to help Mira and Haven out.

Then it was just Laxus and his true family.

"She walks really well," was the first time Laxus said when it was just them again, Haven was toddling around, bored, while Mira only stood there, staring at him. He could tell the whole thing was still throwing her off. "And talks."

"Yeah," Mira said softly as Haven finally just came over to her, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. "She's grown a lot, huh?"

He only stared longer. "She doesn't…like when I touch her."

"You gotta let her warm up to you, Laxus. I mean, right now, you don't look too approachable."

"What do you mean?"

She gestured to him. "You have facial hair that's wild, you keep scowling at nothing, and I'm sure your scar isn't too appealing-"

"Haven loves my scar," he insisted then. She did. She-

"When she was a baby, it was familiar to her, sure, but she's not a baby anymore, Laxus."

Hmmm. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"Then I'll go shave. And I'll…well…I'll be happier. 'cause I am happy, Mirajane. You know that."

"I know."

"I…I love you guys. And I fought to get back to you guys. I gave it my all to be here, Mirajane. So if it's a fucking beard keeping me from Haven now, I'll take care of it."

He was glad, when he got into the bathroom, to find that he did still have a fresh pack of razors. Not that that would have stopped him. He'd have used a knife to shave, if need be.

"Sorry, Laxus, but Haven needs her bath," Mirajane apologized a few minutes later when she came into the bathroom, the little girl toddling behind. When Haven saw Laxus, she reached out to grab onto the back of her mother's dress, though Mira didn't seem to notice.

"Gotta get us a bigger house," he grumbled as he watched them in the mirror. Haven was clearly curious as to why all the other guests left, but he was sticking around though when Mira began to undress her, she stopped paying him as much mind.

By the time he finished shaving, Haven was in the tub, giggling as Mirajane bathed her. He smiled at the sounds before turning to look at her. Walking over to the tub, he stood over Mirajane, who was down on her knees, staring down at his daughter.

"You like me now, kid?" he asked. "Huh, Haven?"

She looked up at him, then, tilting her head back to stare at him. No difference. She went back to splashing in the water.

Mira laughed though when she looked at him. "When I saw that beard, I was afraid you'd be keen on keeping it."

"Nah. It was just a product of me not having any razors." He ran a hand over his cheek, still staring down at his baby. That surreal feeling that he'd formed when he walked into Magnolia hadn't faded in the slightest. It felt like another one of those fever induced dreams he'd had when he was dying. Could it be true? Was he really home?

"Laxus," Mira said as she slowly stood. "You don't look too good. Go lay down, huh? While I finish up her bath? I'll bring her in there to see you before I go to bed."

He didn't want to, but went ahead and headed out of the room. And, oh, did his bed ever feel so nice. It had been so long. Too long. He fell asleep practically the moment his head hit the pillows.

"Laxus?"

And far too soon yet not soon enough, Mirajane was climbing into the bed with Haven. The little girl was dressed in pajamas and had a little doll clutched in her right hand. His doll. The one that he had given her, all that time ago. It felt like forever and a day ago.

He blinked in surprise.

"You wanna tell Daddy goodnight, Haven?" Mira asked the little girl, who only sat there between the two of them, blinking at him in surprise. He was sure, in all her recollection, there had never been a man in her mother's bed. He was no doubt throwing her off. "Look at him. He's missed you. You know that? Tell her, Daddy."

He blinked again. Then, slowly, he laid on his side, staring at her while trying to find words, any words, that might make her understand.

"Hi," was the only thing that came to mind. Haven sat there for a moment, staring back at him, before turning to climb up on Mira.

"Haven," her mother complained, but the little girl only snuggled up near her breasts, watching Laxus wearily.

"It's alright," Laxus said slowly as he rolled back onto his back. "She doesn't have to, you know, want me just yet, Mira. I wouldn't want her to. You know? Just let some random guy come up to her and hug on her and stuff. She's gotta be tough. Smart. She'll warm up to me. I ain't going nowhere."

So they laid there, not talking much. Haven fell asleep eventually, her little doll clutched in one hand, as she snuggled against Mirajane. She was the next to fall asleep. And Laxus, he just laid there, eventually turning back on his side so that his chest was against Mira's arm. He just stared down at her and Haven, because it didn't seem real yet. It wouldn't either, he was sure, for a few days.

As he laid there though, watching, he saw slowly that Haven wasn't fully asleep. She opened her eyes at one point, blinking in the darkness, before they settled on him. He was afraid she'd start crying, but luckily she only laid there, staring. The more he stared, the more he started to feel sad. Because he was alive, fine, and he was there, fine, but he couldn't ever get back those months. They were just gone. And she was talking then, without him. Walking without him. And he'd never get to feel that. The happiness over seeing that. The joy over hearing that. It was just all gone.

And then he was crying. Not sobbing or anything. Nothing that would wake up Mirajane, but he did have some tears streaming down. 'cause he was sad. And upset. And hurt. And disappointed. And it wasn't fair, to miss all that time. It wasn't right.

Then, suddenly, Haven was reaching out. Not for him. That's the first thing he realized, instead, she was reaching with the hand that wasn't clutching her doll at him. He was close enough that she could reach his eye, his scarred one, which she put her hand over, making him shut it. And she just left it there as he laid still, as not to disturb her.

Haven closed her eyes then, keeping her hand pressed against his eye as she went back to sleep. And he didn't dare move until her hand fell a few minutes later. Then he just gently tucked her hand back by her side and didn't cry again. Because she didn't want him to. His baby didn't want him to.

"Everyone's talking about you around the guild, Laxus."

"Oh yeah?" he grumbled as he poked at his eggs. His body wasn't wholly back to normal yet and he wasn't feeling too hungry.

"Uh-huh," Lisanna said, nodding her head. "Especially Natsu."

Snort. Mirajane, who was sitting next to him, giggled which made Haven giggle, almost chocking on her own eggs in the process. As Mira reached over to pat her gently on the back, Laxus got up.

"Your eggs are good, Mira, but I ain't too hungry," he said as he headed off to the living room. "I really want a shower right now, honestly."

"Take your time, Laxus," she said with a sigh. "After sleeping next to you last night, I know you need one."

With that in mind, he headed off. Not that he stayed in there too long. He was still super psyched about being home. It was just…he was kinda tired. It had taken a lot out of him, getting back to Magnolia and he needed to rest up. The lady that nursed him back to health told him not to overdue it, but he had to get home. Now that he was there, he'd hole up for awhile probably. Keep everyone out except the girls, Elfman, and Ever. He'd never show his face at that guild in his current state. No way.

When he finished up in the bathroom, he found that they had a new visitor.

"Gramps," he grumbled when he found the man sitting down on the floor with Haven, letting her wave some of her toy dragons around his head. "What are you doing here?"

"Had to see it for myself, my boy," Makarov said, though he didn't get up from where he was sitting. Haven didn't seem to want him to anyhow. "That you were home and safe. I come by most days anyways, to check on Mira."

She was sitting over on the couch though and looked probably the saddest he had seen her since he got back. She was staring at Makarov too. Something must have happened between them.

"Yeah, well, I am here. And Mira's fine now. So you can just go."

"Laxus," Mira said softly. "Don't be rude."

"I made tea," Lisanna announced loudly then from the kitchen. "If anyone would like any."

"That's my cue, child." Makarov patted Haven on the head who only giggled. "Maybe we can play again another time, hmmm?"

With that, Makarov headed off into the kitchen, leaving the three of them. Laxus stood there for a minute, narrowing his eyes after his grandfather, before looking to Mira, who was standing.

"What's up?" he asked. "He do something to you?"

"Nothing, Laxus." She tried to walk passed, but he caught her arm. "Lax-"

"What happened?" He wouldn't let go until she turned to look at him.

"Nothing, Laxus. I'm being serious."

"Then why-"

"I just…I was upset with him, alright? I thought…that you were dead," she said slowly then, watching his face. He gave nothing away. "Everyone else thought that you had just, you know, run out on me. Left me. But I thought that you had died. And I thought…that it was Makarov's fault. For sending you off on another stupid job. That's all. And he felt bad, I guess."

He hugged her then, without prompting for once, and just let her rest against his chest. Because even though he wasn't strong yet, he'd feign it for her.

When he let her go, she only kissed him quickly before heading into the kitchen. He knew that she must have been mighty upset with Makarov to blame him for something. She usually kept him in high esteem (except for when he was perving).

"What's wrong, kid?" Laxus turned his attention to Haven then, who had stopped playing and was just sitting there, staring at him. "You scared to be left with me?"

She kept watching him, but he only went to lay down on the couch. His head hurt.

"Oh, Laxus, here."

Suddenly, Lisanna was in the room. She came over to him and laid his headphones on his chest.

"I was doing your laundry and found them in your duffle bag," she said with a shrug. "Can't believe you went all of yesterday without them."

She had no idea, of course, how long he had gone without them. When he was laying there dying, they were the last thing on his mind. Honestly, he was glad when he turned them on then and found that they even had any power left in them.

Then he was dead to the world as he shut his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He probably would have too, he was so beat, had he not felt a little hand press against his side.

Glancing to the side, he saw Haven there next to the couch, staring at him. Her eyes were just as blue as ever though her hair had darkened some. It was long though and at the moment pulled back into a pony tail. When she opened her mouth to speak, he counted a few teeth.

"'side," she told him before pointing to the door. "'side."

"Outside?" He blinked. Why would she think that he would control if she went outside or not? Of course he knew he did, because he knew who he was to her, but he also knew that she had no idea who he was. And though he knew the night before, she had been a little more open to him, he wasn't foolish enough to think that she was truly comfortable around him yet. She must have been using the day before, when he yelled at Ever, as a reference point and decided that meant he controlled who got to play outside and who didn't.

"Haven," he heard someone call then from the other room. Mira. "Are you bothering Laxus?"

No. He wanted to tell her that. She wasn't. But at the sound of her name, the baby giggled before heading off, out of the living room and into the kitchen to see what her mother wanted, giggling the entire way.

It was just as well, Laxus decided. He hadn't really felt up for going outside anyways.

That night, Haven slept in her crib. Laxus went with Mira, who took off for a few days, to do it. It involved a lot more than just laying her down though. Mira told her stories and sang to her until she got sleepy. Then she'd press a kiss to her head and tell her that she loved her. Laxus held off on touching the baby though, as he was afraid it'd set her off again, though he did wave at her and silently agree to the same things as Mirajane.

"So, Laxus," Mira said after they closed the door to her room and started back down the hall. "How does a bath sound? I'm sure it'll do wonders for your muscles. Not to mention, I bet bubbles would be-"

"Mira."

"I know you don't like them, Laxus, but-"

"Mira."

The second time he said her name, she turned to glance at him. He was just staring at her though. She smiled then, slowly, at the look and then he grinned too. For all intents and purposes, after all, it had been a year.

So in the end, Laxus and Mira ended back up in their room for awhile. Some how though, he wound up hungry at around three in the morning though and left to go find something to eat. While he was in the kitchen, making a sandwich, he heard it. Haven.

She was whining.

Gulping down his sandwich, Laxus rushed to go check on her, partially because he didn't want her to awake up Mirajane, but mostly because he wanted her to get that he was there for her. That he could care for her.

"What's wrong, kid?" he whispered as he walked into her bedroom. She was standing up in her crib, gripping the side, while whining. He didn't smell anything and he knew that they had just fed her before she went to bed, so he figured she had had a bad dream or something.

Not that seeing him helped that. She started whining louder then, but he didn't know what to do other than pick her up.

Haven didn't like that.

She wiggled against him, trying to get away. Not wanting to drop her, Laxus went over to the rocking chair that Mira kept in the corner of the room and sat down.

"Let it out then," he sighed as she continued to whine, calling out for her mother. Maybe her bad dream had been about him or something. He only stroked her head though. "I know. I'm not a great person, kid. Just get it out. I'm your nightmare, huh?"

Eventually, she finished crying and just laid against him, whimpering. She thought Mira hadn't come, he thought she hadn't come, too exhausted and finally content in his return, but suddenly, he noticed her presence in the doorway. She was just standing there in the darkness, watching.

"You know," she said slowly as she came forwards, wearing only his shirt from the previous day. "There's only one remedy to this."

Somehow they ended back up in their big bed, the light turned on, as Haven giggled and laughed at her mother, who was seated up on the bed as well, playing her guitar.

Laxus only laid there though, watching Haven, who forgot all about being upset then as Mira sang to her. It clearly was something the two did often. Sometimes Mira would glance at him and smile, but he only laid there, watching. He was an outsider and would be for a few weeks. It was her job to teach and his job to listen.

"So, Mira," he asked eventually, as she took a break. Haven was calming down some then and was up near him, trying to go to sleep. "What happened to not keeping the baby up passed her bedtime?"

Mira only smiled at him for that, not even missing the reference, they were that in sync constantly, before standing to go put her guitar away.

"Well," she said as she walked off. "Sometimes it's just unavoidable, I've found."

"Mmmm."

Haven looked up at Laxus at the sound he made, but he only smiled at her. Really smiled. He was so sleepy. And still a little hungry. But he wasn't leaving that bed for the life of him.

It took Mira awhile to get back, but when she did, she came bearing, lo and behold, a plate with some sandwiches on it. She only grinned at him when he saw them.

"You looked hungry."

Because a year away made no difference. She was still Mirajane and was always looking out for him like he was a little kid or something.

They settled down then, Haven between them, falling asleep all her own then, as they only laid there silently. Laxus ate in peace while Mira gently rubbed their daughter's stomach, about to fall asleep herself more than likely.

"Laxus," she whispered at one point. When he glanced over at her, she only said, "Who had it worse? You or me?"

"Hmmm?"

"I had no idea where you were. I had to wonder, guess. Even assume you were dead and try to move on," she said. "You though, knew we were here, waiting for you, but you couldn't get to us. You thought you would die without ever getting word to us. Which is worse?"

He thought for a moment before saying, "Sometimes, Mira, neither is worse. Neither is better. They just both suck. And that's all that matters."

"Mmmm." She kissed Haven's head, staring over at him. "I think all that matters is that you're home now."

His smile couldn't be helped then as he sat his plate on the side table next to the bed before turning onto his side to stare over their daughter at her as well. Giving Haven's head his own kiss for the first time since getting back, he grinned at her before nodding his head.

"I'm home now," he agreed, nuzzling gently against Haven who only wiggled in response. And there was no place he'd rather be.

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#Miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Mira Strauss #Laxus #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction #Elfever #Thunder Legion #8 of 10

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not-close-to-straight · 7 years

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Appointment with Loki (Part 4)

MASTERLIST HERE *************************** Loki’s assistant Darcy is really just the sweetest person in the world. She has helped you with the four dresses Loki had chosen for you, had pointed out in a soft tone where an extra stitch needed to added or taken away, had great suggestions for accessories for the clothing. Really, really just the sweetest. And you feel terrible because you haven't been listening to her at all.

You are up on that stage in the back room, in front of all those mirrors, and she is chattering about how this particular shade of blue must be her favorite on you, but you are watching Loki watching you, because he hasn't looked away once this entire time.

When you had arrived for your six o’clock appointment, it had been Darcy that took you back, who had pulled the items to try on, who had helped you in and out of every dress, had complimented you non stop on how pretty you were and how the dresses were just perfect.

And he had watched. When you got undressed the first time, his expression hadn't even changed, he’d just shifted to lean against the wall. Darcy had asked suddenly if you were comfortable having him there, because after all, he needed to see the dresses on you, but he could wait until you were dressed, and she was terribly sorry for not asking first, she had just assumed you were fine with it and you had met his eyes in the mirror and just shook your head that yes, he could stay.

The second time you changed dresses, his hands clenched at his side a little, but he still didn't say anything, still leaned up against the wall as if he saw this everyday, which he probably did but it still made his lack of reaction a little disconcerting.

So when Darcy held up the third dress, you smiled and bent over at the waist to step into it, and grinned into the mirror when his eyes widened and he took a step forward before stopping himself.

The fourth dress is your favorite, a floor sweeping gown with delicate off shoulder sleeves, in the most astonishing shade of blue you had ever seen, and you can't believe the girl in the mirror is you.

“So this is glacier blue.” Darcy says proudly. “We had it dyed specifically for this gown. And I have to say it's just about the loveliest color I think I’ve ever seen! Really this it--”

“That will be all for the night, Darcy.” Loki finally interrupts. “I'll finish up with any measurements or alterations.”

“Oh are you--”

“That will be all, Darcy.” he repeats, and she just nods and basically runs from the room.

He doesn't say anything for a long time, and honestly you’re content to stare at your reflection for a few more minutes before you have to take the gown off because damn you look good.

“What a sweet torture this is.” he finally says and his words are low and soft and velvet and you can't help your shiver. “I honestly had no idea what you would do to me tonight. I'm afraid I was entirely unprepared.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, and he pushes himself off the wall to move towards you, never taking his eyes off your reflection.

“You have looked so lovely in all these dresses, it's almost a shame for you to take them off. But knowing what lies beneath the dress is enough to drive me to distraction. And watching you dress and undress all evening has left me in quite a state, my dear.” He steps up behind you on the stage, his hands running lightly over the silk, down over your waist to settle on your hips. “Do you feel what you do to me?” his fingers curl around you and pull you back to him and oh god as he rocks against you. “But to see you in this dress… I confess to feeling uncertain of myself.”

What? You ask yourself, because how could he be feeling uncertain, when you are probably one more sentence from making an absolute fool of yourself. “What-what do you mean?” you ask nervously, and his grip tightens just enough to make you gasp, as he leans to whisper in your ear.

“What I mean to say, darling, it that I rather can't decide if I want you wearing the dress and spread out on the floor beneath me, or if I'm willing to ruin the dress by ripping it off you and taking you against that wall.”

A tremor racks your body, and you can't stop a moan, and the smile he gives you is really more of a leer. “Which idea did you like better, pet, the floor, or the wall?” and you really want to demand both but that might seem greedy, so you take a deep breath and try to tamper your libido just a bit.

“You haven't even kissed me yet.” you say with a short grin, somehow coming off much smoother than you are feeling. “What kind of girl gives it up without a kiss first.”

He laughs, green eyes sparkling. “You are delightfully funny, kitten.” he says. “And of course, let me correct my error.”

He turns you in his arms, before stepping back off the platform, and suddenly you are eye level with him, perhaps just a shade taller, and it's such an interesting position, because you can run your fingers through his perfect hair, and he sighs a little when you do, so you do it again, harder this time, pulling until his eyes flash and he jerks your hips forward and takes your mouth in a hard kiss.

“Open for me.” he says hoarsely. “There’s a good girl.” because the second he asked you were letting him into your mouth, letting his tongue taste and tease you, and every time you try to match his movement, he bites down on your lip, so you just sigh and open wider and let him do as he pleases.

Then his hands are running down your back, pulling the zipper of the dress along with them, and you jerk away when the silk falls off your shoulders and down to your waist.

“Yes.” he is staring, panting and places your hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat. “Yes, darling, you are perfect. Please, could I--” and he is tracing a fingers over the soft curve of your breast, under your bra, and then just heat when he pulls it down with one quick jerk to cover you with his mouth.

“God.” You’re hands are buried in his hair again, holding him tight against you and when he moans, when his teeth scrape over you, your whole body jerks and then he seals his mouth around you to suck and pull, and pleasure races down you, and you didn't think that your knees would actually go weak, but fuck and maybe if he keeps doing just this, you could come right here.

“I know darling.” he stops just long enough to pant. “I am very nearly there as well.”

“I said that out loud?” you ask, instantly self conscious, and he is standing back up, framing your face with his hands, kissing you desperately.

“It's lovely, my pet, perfect the way you say what you are thinking. Especially now, especially when we are like this.” You can't answer because he is inside your mouth again, aggressive now so you can barely breathe, but his hands are pushing the dress farther off your hips, climbing your back to unclasp your bra and toss it away, and just before you can reach to help with the little bit of cotton masquerading as your bottoms, he breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he stares down at you.

“What- what you do to me, love,” he stammered, “ it's nearly too much. But you know, don't you? You must know. You must know, darling.”

“I'm learning.” you admit with a shy smile, because you still can't believe this is happening, and perhaps it's a little hard for you to believe that he wants you like this, but he shakes his head and pulls you flush against him and you aren’t sure which of the two you cries out louder, but he draws you into another kiss and argues,

“There is nothing to learn, sweetheart. Just know it. Just know, my love, that I am quite lost on you, and there is nothing I would ever want to do about it.”

You just nod then, too caught up in the way his eyes are blown so wide, and the way his chest is heaving beneath that soft blue shirt, and how much of him is pressing against you, so you just nod, and his eyes spark a little dangerously and he leans in to rest his forehead on yours, to trace over your jaw and lips with his thumb.

“You'll have to forgive me for rushing things tonight, but I have to have you now. Would you please-- oh darling say you understand. I'm not sure if I can wait much longer. I had such lovely, romantic plans for tonight but I--”

“Yes.” you interrupt. “Yes, god, please.”

He mumbles something you can't quite catch but it sound like darling and my love and perfect but you can't think about it for too long because he picks up right up, wrapping your legs around his waist and spins to take the few steps to the wall and “Loki!” you can't help gasping his name when he nearly slams you against it and his voice comes through like a growl when he says your name back.

He pins you there, one hand keeping you steady, and with the other, he reaches down and shreds your little thong, just rips it right apart and you want to scream at how hot the whole ripping thing is, but then you hear the clink of his belt as he drops his pants then he is pressing against you, between your legs and you take a deep breath in because suddenly it seems impossible for him to fit inside you, not without any preparation.

But when he leans close and croons in your ear, “Are you wet for me darling?” if you hadn't been before you certainly are now, and he laughs quietly because he knows.

“Can I have you here, darling?” he asks, sliding himself up and over you, not inside, not yet, not without your permission. “Just like this? Can I take you against the wall like this? Will you give yourself to me?”

And all you can do is tremble and whisper yes yes yes over and over, until he is pressing inside you, and thrusting inside you and then you are calling out for him, scratching your nails down his back, and he is apologising because “My love I just won't last like this, you are too much for me, but please come for me darling, come around me just like this, how we were last time, let me feel you when you find your pleasure.” So you push back against him until he shifts and the feel of him is perfect, and the way his eyes glow when you lay your own hand between your bodies to bring yourself to your edge, makes it even better. Then you are dropping your head back into the wall, and everything is heat and tight and so good and he is saying your name like a prayer, until he is pulsing inside you, forcing you harder into the wall, his whole body shaking, his breath coming like sobs.

And like you have done it a thousand times, you wrap your arms around his shoulders to keep him close, until he lifts you from the wall, and sinks down to his knees, easing from you so you can sit on the floor.

“Just a moment, kitten.” he whispers, and is gone and right back with a soft towel, and his jacket. Without any effort at all, he lifts you right onto his lap, the towel beneath you, and wraps his jacket around you and pulls your tight against him.

You just sigh and lay your head on his shoulder, lips close to where you can still see his heart pounding in his neck, and you smile because you know you have never been with anyone like this, and you are starting to think you never will be again.

“I did have plans for us tonight.” he says after a while, and when you try to look up at him, he just presses your head back down, his other hand running soothingly up and down your thighs. “Romantic ones, too. I'm afraid I quite lost my head.”

“Are you apologizing?” you ask, wanting to roll your eyes and he hesitates.

“I will, if you would like. I realize that being taken against a wall is--”

“The hottest thing I’ve ever done? Maybe my new favorite thing in the world? Making me reconsider wearing dresses, because if this is how you react to them, then I will need dozens.” you interrupt, and you can feel his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Such a delightful little minx, you are. So funny.”

“Yeah, well I'm here all summer.” you yawn a little, and he scoots you even closer.

“I rather wish I could see you sleep.” he says quietly, absentmindedly, and you wonder if he knows he said that out loud, and then you wonder if it's a bad sign that you don't think that was creepy at all. “Might I take you to lunch this week?”

“Really? Like a date?” you absolutely look up now, and his green eyes are so soft and open it just about takes your breath away.

“If you would let me.” he nods, and runs long fingers through his fantastically messy hair. “We could do something other than fittings and--”

“Don't say and sex, because if that's off the table, I won't say yes.” you warn, and he bursts into laughter, and tilts your head up for a long kiss.

“You are extraordinary, darling.”

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

#loki #loki fic #lokixreader #tailor shop au #he is the best tailor ever

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imagine-it-like-this · 7 years

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Title: Burn the Witch Characters: Rowena, reader Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance Warnings: Whump

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Rowena and you have been through it all in your two years of knowing each other, but never, in a million years, would you have thought a bunch of religious nuts would kidnap her and attempt to burn her at the stake for the horrible crime of being a witch.

You made your presence known by blasting the door clear off its hinges with a simple glance. You were in no mood for pleasantries, and considering these people wanted to kill your lover in one of the worst ways possible, they were lucky you didn't set them on fire on sight to give them a taste of their own medicine.

Rowena was tied to a wooden stake, her wrists bound behind her back. Straw and firewood laid beneath her feet, waiting for the torch the old guy (whom you assumed was their leader) held to light it.

"Drop it!" you ordered, your tone leaving no place for argument.

Rowena stirred up, startled by your voice, and turned to look at you. Noticing a dark purple bruise around her eye, you clenched your fists in anger. They were going to pay for that. They were going to pay for everything they'd put her through.

The fanatics, all five of them, pointed their rifles at you, and you barely resisted a chuckle. As if those things could hurt you. Ever since Rowena had gotten you a Resurrection Seal of your own, there weren't that many things that made you fear for your life.

The sixth one, the guy holding the torch, smirked at you smugly. He was enjoying this more than he should have. You made a mental note to make sure his death was the worst.

"And why should I?"

"'Cause if you don't, something really bad will happen to you."

Correction: something really bad would happen to them either way, but if they stopped what they were doing, you were willing to make it hurt a tad less. It all depended on how much they pissed you off, and right now they were treading on a dangerous line.

"You're unholy," one of the rifle holders, a bearded man in his mid thirties, said.

"You need to be cleansed," a blonde woman whom you assumed to be his wife, judging by their matching bands, added.

That was rich, coming from people who couldn't take Rowena on without drugging her first. It must have felt great to beat on and tie up a helpless witch who couldn't even defend herself. Whatever they'd given her was strong; you could tell she was struggling to keep her head upright.

Your anger burned stronger. Oh, how you would make them scream! Forget mercy – they deserved nothing but the worst, and that was exactly what they were going to get.

"It's okay," the torch guy said, nodding to his comrades before turning back to you. "I'll do what you asked."

And with that he dropped the torch onto the straw, and in a split second a large fire burned up, finding its way over to Rowena's feet.

Fuck!

Bad choice of words.

Rowena's eyes widened in fear. She struggled against the restrains, trying to free herself, but all attempts were futile. The ropes around her wrists were too strong.

"You will pay for that, you bastard!" you snarled, eyeing him and the rest of his merry group as you readied the very first incantation your girlfriend had taught you. "Impetus bestiarum! Occidete invicem!"

One by one, the fanatics began to scream, their eyes turning blood red as animalistic growls ripped from their throats. Just as you ran over to Rowena, their eyes found one another and soon enough they were at each other's throats, quite literally, ripping and gnawing at fresh flesh.

"Rowena!"

Her dress had caught fire, flames eating their way up the left side of her body. She screamed out loud as pain ripped through her leg, the fire licking at the sensitive skin.

Your eyes welled up in tears and, feeling helpless, you let out a barrage of curses. What was the spell to put out fire, again?

"Exstinguere," you exclaimed, hoping you got it right. Latin wasn't one of your strong suits.

Luckily, your magic heard your call and the flames died down in an instant, leaving behind a cloud of dark smoke. Breathing out in relief, you went to free Rowena's wrists and your heart swelled with sympathy as you took in the state of her injuries. The ropes, thin and razor sharp, had cut into her skin. Blood was pouring out the cuts, fresh and warm.

She yelped when you started fiddling with the ropes. "It's okay," you told her gently. "Let me take them off. It'll only hurt for a moment."

As soon as she was freed, you took her into your arms, holding her tightly against you. She held on to you as if she hadn't seen you in centuries, burying her head in the crook of your neck.

"You're safe, sweetheart," you whispered. "I got you. Come now, let me take you home."

Home was a small apartment you owned. It was far from the glamour of the five star hotels the two of you were used to, but it was cozy and had a homely feel to it that no luxury could replace. Rowena would never admit it out loud, but she loved that tiny place. She felt safer there than she did anywhere else.

"I can't. My leg…"

You carefully sat her down, pushing up her charred dress to examine the extent of her injuries. A large, nasty looking burn spread from her ankle all the way up to her thigh. The skin was raw, an ugly bright red that looked awful and hurt even worse.

"Damn it!" you swore. "You can't walk at all?" You hoped with everything you had that she could.

"I could try, but I don't think we'd get far. It hurts, and also, they injected me with somethin'. I feel strange." She looked you in the eye. "Ye should leave. Don't worry about me."

"Never!" you fired, outraged at her suggestion. How could she even think you'd ever leave her? "You hear me? Don't even think that! I don't ever want to hear you say that! Have I made myself clear?"

"So dramatic," she teased, pulling on a small smile.

"When it comes to you, always." Being dramatic was the only way you could get through to someone as stubborn as her. "Listen, the car is just around the corner. It's not a long walk. Wanna give it a go? I'll help you."

"Alright," she reluctantly gave in. "I'll try."

You let her throw an arm around you, yours in turn wrapping around her waist for support. She limped and hissed all the way over to the car, but managed to pull through without much trouble. You made sure to compliment her on her strength; after everything she'd been through in the past few hours, she deserved a little praise.

By the time you reached your apartment, the drugs had worn off. Rowena was still weak; her injuries hurt like hell, but she was able to use little bits of magic and her head had gotten somewhat clearer.

As per her request, the first thing you did was run her a hot bath. You wanted to take care of her injuries, but she was adamant that she get clean first – she wanted to get all the filth off herself as soon as possible, even if it meant enduring a little bit of pain.

You helped her out of her tattered dress by ripping the ruined fabric apart and letting the pieces slip to the floor. Once she was naked and you could absorb the full extent of her leg injury, you wondered how the hell she withstood the pain she certainly must have been in. If it had been you, you would have curled up on the floor and cried out incoherently until the pain meds you most certainly would have taken started working.

You led her into the bathtub and positioned her to sit between your open legs, careful not to disturb the painful-looking deep purple bruises on her abdomen. Those fanatics had beaten her good. Rage swelled up in you from even the thought of how much they had to have pounded on her to cause that kind of damage.

Rowena seemed to be taking it well. She hadn't protested much, and save from a few hisses and yelps, the water, as well as the warmth and safety of your arms around her, seemed to have relaxed her.

It was when you poured some shampoo into the water that she stirred, after moments of just laying in your arms, and let out a pained moan.

"It burns," she said, motioning to her raw wrists and burned leg.

"It's the shampoo," you explained, feeling guilty for causing her unnecessary pain. "For your hair. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "It's fine," she said, thought her voice told you it was anything but fine.

"I'll be quick."

You gently massaged her scalp, smiling as she relaxed once again under the softness of your touch. After you were done with her hair, you made sure to scrub away all the dirt and caked blood glued to her pale skin; you realized how dirty she really was once you exited the bathtub and glanced upon the brownish-pink water going down the drain.

After getting her a set of clean clothes (an old tank top and soft shorts you had outgrown back in junior high school) and blow-drying her hair, you sat her next to you on the couch in the living room and, having prepared the bandages and healing salve she'd made for you weeks ago following a nasty encounter with a werewolf, started working on her injuries.

"Tell me if I hurt you," you told her, carefully taking her hand so you could inspect her wrist. It had stopped bleeding, but the wound was still open, very obviously painful.

Rowena smiled through the pain. "Don't worry, dear. I've been through worse."

What could have possibly been worse than this? You didn't dare ask. The situation was depressing enough as it was. "Wanna talk about what happened?"

"There isn't much to say. Ow!" she yelped as you applied the salve to the open wound. That thing had an unfortunate side effect of causing pain before speeding up the healing process.

"Sorry," you said guiltily, tenderly wrapping the bandage around her wrist before reaching for her other one. "They did horrible things to you. I can't even imagine–"

"So don't! Let us not dwell on the past."

"Alright," you gave in. You didn't want to pressure her into doing something she wasn't comfortable with. Heaven knows she'd had enough of that for one day.

"I'm fine. Honest," she said, seeing the worried look on your face. She pulled on a small smile. "What's a little beatin' and fire for an ol' witch like me?"

"This isn't funny, Rowena! You could have died!"

How could she joke at a time like this? You had been scared to death that you would lose her, that she would die without a goodbye and leave you all alone in this world you already despised enough with her in it. You didn't know what you would have done had you not been able to see her again.

"You're bein' dramatic, Y/N," she said, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Dramatic?"

Gritting your teeth in anger, you tightened the bandage, causing her to let out a pained groan. Good, you thought. You hated the thought of hurting her, but if she had to learn the hard way what her attitude was doing to you, so be it.

"I've been worried sick ever since you disappeared! I almost went to the Winchesters for help. The Winchesters, Rowena! Hunters! It's fine that you're so casual about this, but newsflash, sweetheart – I love you, and the thought of you being in pain hurts me! You're free to get yourself into all kinds of fucked up shit, but not on my watch. You hear me? 'Cause as long as I'm here, I'm gonna worry about you!"

She stared at you, her expression softening at the concern that washed over your features, prompting a single tear to slide down your cheek. You weren't certain what went through her head; you could see your words impacted her, shook her to the very core, but reading her actual feelings was mission impossible.

Rowena wasn't used to people caring about her. All her life she'd only had herself to depend on, herself to trust. Everyone she'd ever crossed paths with had either betrayed her or abandoned her. You were the first genuine thing she'd had in centuries and she didn't know how to deal. She trusted you, immensely, truly, but the experience was still foreign to her. It was almost like she'd expected you to betray her, expected you to sell her out to some hunter and leave without ever coming back.

She was a mesmerizing tragedy. Even with all the scars and bruises, both physical and psychological, she was gorgeous, a beautiful disaster you loved more than anything in the world.

"How could ye love someone like me, after all I've done?" she asked suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between you.

Loving her was far from easy. You knew what you were getting into from the very start. You'd witnessed firsthand her manipulation tactics. How she'd play the Winchesters even when they were the ones keeping her chained up. Hell, she'd even tried to manipulate you while you were doing your best to make sure they wouldn't hurt her while they held her captive. She'd given up once she realized you were on her side, but still, she never completely stopped being her worst self.

Hearing her say she would never love anything broke your heart into a million pieces. That had turned out to be false, however, those words still hurt, having to listen to them while, head over heels by now, practically begging Castiel and Crowley not to hurt her.

You had almost called it quits when the whole thing with Lucifer happened, but watching her die made you realize you weren't ready to let her go. She had become a constant in your life, a part you couldn't imagine living without.

"I just do," you replied. You didn't really have a reason. Rowena was beautiful, powerful, dangerous, a force to be reckoned with and, once you got to know her, the biggest sweetheart you could ever meet. She was just Rowena, and that was enough for you to love her. "You're Rowena fucking MacLeod. Isn't that enough?"

That prompted her to chuckle. "I appreciate everythin' ye've done for me. I'm sorry if I came off as ungrateful. I love ye, Y/N. I guess I'm still strugglin' to accept that someone could love a person like me."

"You're very lovable." Finishing her wrist, you brought her hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Don't ever think that you're not." You glanced down to her abdomen. "Your ribs okay?"

"Aye. It's just a few bruises. I'll be fine."

"And your face?"

"Same."

"God, Rowena, I hate this." You cupped her cheek so you could inspect the deep purple bruise around her eye. "I hate them for doing this to you."

"I'll live. They won't." She gave you a proud smile. "That was quite an astonishing feat, my dear. I'm impressed."

You blushed at her praise. You could win a Nobel prize, and not even that could compare to the joy of having her respect. "I learned from the best."

"You flatter me," she said, smiling brightly. She loved compliments as much – if not more – as you did.

"Put your leg up," you instructed as you got up and pulled over a nearby chair to sit on.

Rowena obeyed, letting out a groan at the outburst of pain caused by the sudden movement. A string of empathy pulled at your fast beating heart. You hated seeing her in pain, and loathed those who'd caused it. A small part of you took solace in the fact that they paid for it with their lives. However, their death, as horrifying as it was, didn't make her pain go away.

You would have gladly taken all her suffering onto yourself, if given a chance. Anything, just so she wouldn't have to suffer.

"This is going to hurt," you told her as you prepared the salve. By your estimate, her burn was somewhere between first and second degree; while it was nowhere as bad as it could have been, it was still nasty and touching it would hurt like a bitch.

"It's alright. Just do it," she replied calmly, though the dread that crossed her face gave her away. She was scared, deadly so; scared of more pain, of torment that didn't seem to end no matter how much time she gave it. In the end, something would always happen and regress all her progress back to zero.

It wasn't fair, you thought. Rowena may have been bad in the past, but she was trying her hardest to be a better person. She deserved a chance.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," you whispered, getting up shortly just to give her a kiss to the forehead. "I'll be gentle."

"I know, darlin'. Do what ye must do. I'll be fine," she assured you, forcing on a smile to placate you.

Taking a deep breath for courage, you started rubbing the cool, creamy salve over her burn. The moment your hand touched the soft injury, Rowena let out a hiss, her face twisting into a pained grimace.

"I'm sorry," you said, your sympathy-filled eyes welling up with tears. You were the one hurting her now, and you hated yourself for it. It was to help her, yes, but the fact remained that it was because of you that she was in so much pain. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I can stop if you want."

"Keep goin'," she insisted. "I'll be alright."

"You sure?"

"Aye."

"Okay. If you need me to stop, let me know."

"Just get it over with."

The following twenty minutes, which was how long it took you to finish up her leg, had been hell. Despite all her attempts to keep quiet, a few screams that sounded like they came straight from nightmares had managed to tear from Rowena's throat. You were glad the apartment had been magic proofed, otherwise the police would have been called the very first time your touch to a particularly sensitive place on the large wound have caused her to shriek like a banshee.

You begged her to let you stop for just a bit, but she was adamant that you finish what you started. She may have been in unimaginable pain, but Rowena sure knew how to be intimidating. You didn't dare go against her pointed glare and sharp tone.

Once the salve had been applied and all the bandages were in place, you let out a breath you'd been holding for a while, happy to have finally finished the difficult task. It wasn't that you minded taking care of Rowena; nothing could measure with joy of being trusted enough for her to let you see her at her worst. To help her you had to hurt her, and that, despite the positive results, made you hate yourself more than anything.

She was still shaking like an addict craving a fix when you let go of her leg. You remembered that feeling well from the time that werewolf attacked you and she'd applied that very same salve to your deep scratches. It was some old recipe she'd found in one of the books she'd acquired over the centuries. In order for the wound to heal faster, the salve had to irritate it, and that tended to go as far as doubling the pain.

You recalled shaking the very same way, on that very same couch, crying into Rowena's chest as she held you and murmured soothing words. You'd spent the entire night like that, wrapped in the safety of her tiny arms.

You'd only managed to fall asleep in the early morning hours. When you woke up a few hours later, you'd found her bent over a stove, making you soup mixed with some potion she'd claimed – which had later proven to be true – would help keep your mind at ease for the rest of the ordeal.

It took almost two days for your scratches to stop hurting. You shuddered at the thought of Rowena being like this for the next forty-eight hours.

"This bloody hurts!" she whimpered, desperately reaching for her bandaged leg in hopes of easing the pain. The moment her hand pressed against the wound, she let out another scream. Tears she'd been holding back for hours finally spilled down her face, turning her naturally rosy cheeks a deep shade of red.

Your hands balled into fists in anger; anger at the people who'd done this to her and at the salve for having this horrifying side effect.

It was when she started scratching at her wrists, which, despite not being as affected, still hurt like hell, that you rejoined her on the couch and wrapped her in a tender, loving embrace.

"Don't do that," you told her, clasping your hand over hers to stop her from picking at the bandages.

Letting out a soft groan, she nestled into you, leaning her head against your chest.

"I don't think I can take this much longer."

She was full on crying now, pressing her lips into a firm line to suffocate the sobs that threatened to rip from her mouth.

You could tell she hated uttering those words, hated herself for showing vulnerability so openly, and it broke your heart to see her like that; broken, on the verge of a breakdown.

"Yes, you can," you told her. "And you will. If anyone can do it, it's you. If you need to scream, do it. Holding it in isn't healthy. Just let it go. I won't think any less of you." Your grip on her hand tightened in reassurance. "I promise, sweetheart. Whatever you do, I won't judge you."

So she did. She let it go, let the sobs and screams and shrieks roam free until her throat grew sore and she had no other choice but to bury her head in your chest and cry inconsolably.

Your soul hurt at the sight of her, so fragile, so vulnerable, but the only thing you could do was hold her and rub soft, soothing circles across her back.

"You're my strong girl," you murmured in an attempt to console her and get her to keep fighting for the only person who could truly get her through everything that awaited her was herself. "I know you can do this."

"I can," she agreed, her voice a tad more confident than before. It wasn't much, but it was progress. "I survived the British Men of Letters. I survived the Grand Coven. I survived Lucifer, and he actually killed me. I can do this."

"That's the spirit!"

"Thank ye, Y/N. Ye've been nothin' but kind to me. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. You did the same thing for me when that werewolf hurt me. You've stayed awake for two days to watch over me. Now it's time for me to return the favor."

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head, nuzzling her hair like a puppy in need of cuddling.

"I'm not going to leave you. Whatever happens, I'm here. I love you, Rowena. Seeing you like this hurts me. And I will do everything in my power to make you as comfortable as possible."

"That's nice of ye to say."

"And I mean every single word. You're not alone in this, honey. Not anymore – and never again. I promise. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

She chuckled at the last part. "I love ye."

"You better," you teased, diving for another kiss, this one to her cheek.

It took a few hours for her to finally drift off to peaceful slumber. You followed right after her, holding onto her as if she were a plushie you used to sleep with as a child.

And, just as expected, two days later she was as good as new. The wound had still not properly healed, but most of the pain was gone and your girl was back to being her confident self again, the side of her you never, until now, thought you'd miss more than anything in the world.

CREDITS: Editor: @apritelleorai Latin: @oswinthestrange

The bathing scene is @apritelleorai's idea. She was kind enough to allow me to borrow it.

These two beautiful ladies have my utmost gratitude!

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena imagine #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #rowena macleod #rowena macleod imagine #spn #supernatural

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princelesbian · 7 years

Text

Sidlink Fic: Connecting Chapter 2

Ao3

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

“It is good to see Link again. After all these years it seems he is still the same, reckless as always. It seems that he is happy.”

Mipha turned to face Zelda, her features soft and kind. She rested a hand over the Hylian princess’ own.

“He has been taken care of, yes?” Mipha looked down. “Not to say that I do not trust you. I worry about him, I cannot heal from such a distance. He was always one to get hurt due to his need to be heroic.” Mipha dropped her hand, smiling softly.

“I fear he does not like me very much, Lady Mipha. He has spoken not a fair word to me since our meeting though he has saved my life. I understand that I was cruel, but despite my efforts nothing has changed.” Zelda sighed, leaning against the brick of the wall. Although she had not known the Zora princess long, she had seemed to emanate a comfortable aura. It was refreshing to meet a friendly face amongst all those who sought to only oppress her and use her as an item of a long foretold legend.

“He has a good heart. If your intentions are true, then give him time.” Mipha touched the Hylian princess’ arm lightly before turning to leaving as she came; on an air of grace.

Zelda closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the watchful gaze of her knight return. He was ever-present, and silent as the wind. To the expressive princess, it was disconcerting.

There was a light tugging at her sleeve.

“Hey Princess!” A Zora child bounced up and down in front of Zelda, grinning broadly. She recognized him as Mipha’s young brother, Sidon.

“Yes?” Her brows furrowed as she recognized what he held.

“Princess! I hope you don’t mind but I looked through your things because it’s all really really cool! I found this book, is it your diary? You write really pretty. Mipha has a diary too, how come you both talk about Link so much, huh? Sister says says I shouldn’t-”

“Give me that!” Zelda grabbed the book quickly, holding it closely to her chest. Her cheeks flared an embarrassing shade of red as she hunched into the book as if trying to encase it in her body.

“Are you upset? I just thought maybe-” Sidon began with widened eyes, fumbling slightly over his words. The Hylian princess stormed away in a flurry, chewing on her lower lip and fuming.

Sidon stared after her, a confused expression crossing his features. The Princess’ knight lingered back with the young Zora. He came forward from the wall he had watched on from, kneeling in front of the Prince to match his height a little better.

“Link? Link! It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen you! Do you wanna play?” The young prince completely lost his confusion, full attention now on the Hylian Champion. Link shook his head, and Sidon’s expression dropped.

“Awe, why not?” He pouted, arms crossed.

“You really hurt her feelings, you know.” Link said, looking in the direction Zelda had left in. Sidon’s shoulders slumped, and his gaze fell.

“I did? Oh no! I just wanted to be friends with her! What did I do!?” Sidon snapped up, frantic.

“You really shouldn’t look through other people’s things. It’s not very heroic.” Link rested his hands on the Zora’s shoulders, assuring.

“It’s not? Link, what am I supposed to do!?”

“Apologize to her when she’s calmed down.” Link said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Sidon nodded vigorously.

“I wanna be a hero, just like you, Link. One day I’m gonna be big and strong and I’m gonna be just like you. I’ll help lots of people and I’ll fight for my people, and I’ll be a nice king.” The Prince balled his fists, eyes sparkling. Link chuckled, standing.

“You want to be a hero?” He asked. Sidon nodded again, determined.

“Of course I do!”

“You need to remember one thing while you’re fighting for what’s right, Sidon. You need to in order to be a brave hero for your people and your sister.”

“What’s that? Anything, I’ll do it.”

“Show the enemy no fear.”

~*~*~

“Firstly, the remaining camps will need to be cleared. If not by the Zora warriors then by some other means.” Zelda frowned, still displeased with the outcome of the council.

“We cannot afford the labor, we need the Zoras.” Impa tapped her chin lightly, gazing tiredly at the fiery princess.

“We will find a way around it.” Zelda huffed.

“Very well then. We will also need the Gorons to help restore the remaining foundation of Castle Town after the camps are cleared.” Impa noted. Zelda nodded, jotting something down with her pen.

“I will write to Bludo promptly, then. We should also recruit the Rito to carry materials over water and across towns. The Gerudo women may be of use to provide supplies, material, and general craftsmanship. Many however will not appreciate the weather.” Zelda spoke absently, writing in her book. Impa leaned back slightly.

“And what of your findings with Vah Ruta?”

“Vah Ruta was not functioning as reported. I am working towards discovering how to get it working once again, although I suspect it may have something to do with inner damage to the orbs on it’s back from the force of the blast it gave to Calamity Ganon. I would not be surprised if similar reports were made on the Divine Beasts, but I will do my best to properly restore them.”

“Very good, Zelda.” Impa nodded approvingly. Zelda smiled slightly at the praise.

Link entered almost silently. The Hylian princess looked up.

“Oh, Link, I need to ask you a favor.” Zelda spoke, burying her hands into her pile of papers.

“What is it?” Link asked, nodding to Impa in greeting.

“I need you to deliver this letter to Prince Sidon at Zora’s Domain.” She adjusted the stack, handing Link a creamy envelope sealed red with the symbol of the Hylian royal family. Link studied it for a moment.

“Did you decide how you were going to respond to his offer?” Link furrowed his brows. Impa sighed as Zelda whirled around, expression nearly furious.

“Yes, I did. I decided to tell him that I would not and never would marry him and especially not for convenience. After all we’ve done for them, they can’t even show the slightest hint of courtesy. I swear to Hylia that the next monster that appears I will personally send it upon them with my own fury. And marriage! What is he thinking! I have my freedom at last, I cannot afford to be tied down as a dainty wife. I have a kingdom to build, not a husband to coddle. Stuck up, inconsiderate people like him make it an embarrassment to be royalty. There must be another way around this, I will make sure of that!” Zelda fumed, clenching her fist tightly. Her cheeks were dusted rosey as she turned back to her notes, scowling.

“I - okay, I’ll just deliver this letter than.” Link held his hands out in defense, eyes wide. Impa looked on apologetically, waving him out of the room before he could cause another outburst.

~*~*~

As Link settled onto Ayla’s saddle, he sighed contentedly. The familiar scent of leather and hay lingered, and he found that he had missed riding the past days he had been stuck in Kakariko. He was glad for an excuse to be back on the road, despite having to camp out the nights of the long travel.

Arrangements for his departure were made the day after the Princess’ request, and he had spent the day packing supplies. The journey would not be a long one, but a vigorous one nonetheless. Link patted down the saddlebag making sure that he had enough food, flint, and wood to last the nights. The letter was tucked securely into a pocket of the bag.

Over the course of the next three days, he had traveled across bridges and ruins, through forests and around lakes. Link had most of all missed relying on horseback rather than the Sheikah Slate to travel. While the device was useful for it’s purpose, he had no real need of it with the threat of Calamity Ganon no longer lingering. It was tiring and it always took longer, but the scenery and ride was always worth it. Winding down the trails and caves, Link made no haste, rather basked in the surroundings of one of his favorite places in Hyrule. Zora's Domain.

Ayla’s hooves clicked over the smooth stone of The Great Zora Bridge, alerting the guards of their presence as they neared. Link dismounted, giving Ayla a pat and slipping her an apple. He turned to Rivan.

“Master Link! We were not expecting you back so soon!” The Zora guard started at the sight of the Hylian Champion, a smile growing nonetheless.

“Zelda asked me to deliver something, but it’s always nice to be back.” Link smiled back, handing Ayla’s reigns to the Zora. Rivan nodded, a happy expression in place.

“Of course, you're always welcome here. We’ll be happy to take care of Ayla for you.” Rivan nodded, taking the reigns. Link gave him a nod before turning his attention to the Domain itself, scanning the ethereal river kingdom for a certain red-scaled prince. When his sight didn't catch the Prince, he entered the Domain, letter clutched in hand for fear of losing it.

Link wove around his old friends and acquaintances, tired from the journey and not caring much for excitable conversation for the time. Up the steps and into the throne room where King Dorephan always sat imposing and regal, a watchful gaze cast over the entire court. His stern expression loosened at the sight of the Hylian Champion.

“Ah, Link!” His voice boomed throughout the room. “It is unusual for you to make several visits in such a short span of time! I imagine it has something to do with the Princess’ request?” The King leaned forward on his chair, smiling greatly.

Link nodded, holding up the letter. “She asked me to deliver this to Sidon.”

“Of course. He should be in his study, you know where it is.” The King said with a wave of his hand, leaning back. Link bowed forward slightly before making his way to a door tucked away off to the side behind the throne room.

He paused in front of the door he knew to be Prince Sidon’s study. He knocked on the door, and stretched his aching limbs as he waited for the response.

“Come in!” The Prince’s muffled voice rang out from inside the room. Link pushed the door open with little resistance. It seemed almost strange to see the large and energetic prince seated still at a desk, papers and books spread before him yet neatly arranged. Link didn’t even try to stifle the chuckle that escaped at the sight.

“Oh yes, laugh it up Mu-” The Prince began, eyes stilled glued to his work. As his eyes trailed up, however, he choked on the word. He stared at the champion, mouth gaping for a moment.

“L-Link! What brings you here so soon?” Sidon jumped up from his chair, knees knocking into his desk and hands splayed flat. Despite the fact, a broad and bright grin stretched across his lips.

“Zelda asked me to deliver this to you.” Link said, grinning himself. The Zora prince’s happiness was always infectious. He outstretched the letter in his hand. Sidon paused, excitement faltering.

“Oh, yes… Thank you.” He stared at the letter for a moment before taking it from the Hylian gingerly, meeting Link’s gaze as he tore it open deliberately.

As the Prince scanned the contents of the letter, his expression sobered. A long sigh escaped him as he slumped back into his chair. Link watched him, surprised. He’d never seen anything get to Sidon, his expression always a happy one.

“Sidon?” Link asked quietly, peering up at the Prince. Sidon looked at him crestfallen, his eyes deep with worry. Link felt a pang in his heart.

“I… do not know what to do.” He said, his frown deepening. “This was the only way I know to unite our people. The elders will not sway, and now I fear Zora’s Domain will only suffer for it.”

“Zelda will find another way.” Link said firmly, placing a hand delicately on Sidon’s arm. Sidon shook his head.

“Any document she needs will surely be destroyed or outdated. I thank you for your support nonetheless.” The Prince made an attempt of a smile, facing the Hylian fully. Link looked at him, dispirited and somber. Link thought frantically for an answer, anything to restore the happiness he had come to grow used to. He was never good with politics, but seeing the Zora prince in such a state was almost painful, and he was willing to do anything to put a smile back on his face.

“I’ll do it.” Link blurted suddenly, not really registering what he was saying. Sidon looked up, confused.

“You’ll do what?” he asked.

“I’ll marry you.”

“Oh! I’m flattered, truly... but what will this accomplish?” Sidon tilted his head. Link thought for a moment, unsure how it would himself. Suddenly, the Prince gripped Link’s shoulders, eyes widening.

“Wait a moment. As Princess Zelda’s personal knight you are from an esteemed family of royal knights, yes? That would make you at the very least a minor aristocrat. But not only that, you are a Champion, which makes for even closer connections to the royal family. My people value you greatly, and trust you not only as the Hero who saved us from Vah Ruta and defeated Calamity Ganon, but as their revered friend.” Sidon shook the Champion's shoulders slightly, smile growing with each point.

Link looked up, surprised. “And what does that mean?”

Sidon stood up quickly, looking down at the Hylian Champion brightly.

“It means this might work, even better than the Princess herself I daresay. You'd do this, Link? You'd do this for me!? Ahah! You truly are my most treasured friend, you do not cease to amaze me!” Sidon gave an airy laugh, pulling Link off his feet in a hug. He spun him around the room, clutching him tightly close. He set Link to the floor after a few moments, smiling apologetically. Link stumbled on his feet, the floor moving beneath him.

“That’s good?” Link said, unsure and wobbling. Sidon nodded enthusiastically.

“I must present this idea to my father. We have no rooms prepared for you, you would not mind staying at the inn tonight, yes?”

“Of course not.”

“Excellent! Come, come. We must make haste.” Sidon grinned, ushering the Hylian out of the room. He gave Link a bright smile. “I will come for you tomorrow. For now, go rest. Truly Link, thank you.”

Link nodded, fuzzy. What exactly did he just offer?

~*~*~

Sidon stood upon the petitioning dais before his father, hands folded behind his back as he stared up, a stoic expression in place. King Dorephan watched him curiously, leaning on the arm of the throne and tapping his cheek lightly. The elders of the council sat before as well, Muzu standing post as head of the council. All but the King himself seemed unsure of the situation.

“My son, you have called for council. I presume it is to do with the return of the Hylian Champion and the letter you had received this morning?” The King asked, looking down. Sidon squared his shoulders, tilting his chin skyward. A low chatter broke amongst the council members.

“Yes, Father. I have received a letter from Princess Zelda regarding the unity proposal. She firmly refused, and insists on finding another way. However I do not think she will find another feasible solution.” Sidon began, speaking detached and to the court.

“Then she will not have her agreement, it is simple, Your Majesty.” A member of the council, Seggin, spoke quickly. Sidon shook his head, turning directly to face the council.

“I am afraid it is not that simple. For the past century, since the first appearance of Calamity Ganon and fall of Hyrule, we have been on a decline. In order to return Zora’s Domain to it’s former glory, a unity with the Hylians is essential. They were before and once again will be the center of commerce, and the correlation between their success with ours will be undeniable. Our resources as a majorly isolated kingdom are limited as they are currently. It would be wise to form this connection if we are able.” Sidon spoke, loud and unwavering. King Dorephan took on almost a pleased expression, while the council members grumbled amongst themselves in distaste. The information wasn’t news to the council, though it had not been brought up in detest for the Hylian race.

Trello stood from his seat in the council, expression twisted bitterly.

“My Prince, while this may be true we cannot simply ignore tradition. We have been doing well as a race thus far, and to throw away thousands of years worth of tradition for such a thing would be foolish. If we must, we will find another source of trade.” The elder Zora defended his position feverently, nearly shaking where he stood. Sidon nodded along to the spiel, knowing full well they would not find another source of trade as they hadn’t in one hundred years. The Hylians were vital to the economy, that much was true as could be seen by the lacking within the past century.

“Your highness, it seems we are at an impasse once more as when Princess Zelda stood in our court not a week ago. Continuing like this does not seem to be doing anything for the matter.” Muzu spoke up, irritated.

“Ah, Muzu, this is where you are wrong. While in my study this morning, the Hylian Champion Link delivered Princess Zelda’s letter. We spoke about the matter, and he came up with a marvelous idea to create that connection between our kingdoms.” Sidon said, a glimmer appearing in his eye as he spoke. King Dorephan leaned forward curiously.

“Go on, Sidon.” The King nodded, a gesture for him to continue. Sidon bit in inside of his cheek, it was now or never. He breathed in deeply, smiling for confidence.

“There is another better suited to be wed to me.” He said, a little too quickly.

“And who might that be?” The King asked, though a sort of understanding appeared on his features as he leaned back. Sidon’s eyes flicked to the door.

“Link. Not only was he an aristocrat of sorts before Hyrule had been destroyed, he is a Champion. As such, his connections with the royal family are clear. He is a hero who has saved not only us Zora, but the every other race as well. Our people love and trust him as a treasured friend as it is. I would argue that he is a better choice than the princess herself.” Sidon gave strongly, his head held high.

“An aristocrat, you say? In such a case he may very well be in line to take the throne after Zelda, as all known royalty and descendents were destroyed during the Calamity.” King Dorephan pondered, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair.

“Have you forgotten something, my liege? A throne needs an heir to sit upon it.” Seggin huffed once more, his voice haughty. The King remained silent, and Sidon mentally berated himself for not thinking of such an issue sooner. He grappled for anything that came to mind, searching frantically for a solution.

“Surrogacy?” The Prince cleared his throat to hide the desperation in his voice. The court remained still, though the more time stretched on the more valid an answer it seemed. “It is not an unheard of solution, though not ideal. I am sure there is record of the Royal Family using surrogate mothers due to infertility.” Sidon added.

A low hum of voices echoed throughout the hall as the council debated the subject. King Dorephan sat back in his chair and smiled. Many of the council members aged faces were lined heavily with distaste. Muzu looked at Sidon curiously.

“It seems to be a valid solution.” He said. The King nodded.

“The court is dismissed for now. We will discuss the possible arrangement of this at a later date.” King Dorephan boomed. The council members stood to leave, grumbling. “Sidon, stay. I wish to speak with you.”

Sidon stood still at the dais, staring up at his father. King Dorephan remained silent until the throne room was empty.

“My son. We were faced with a delicate issue, and you solved it in stride. You took great care of the opinions of the council and traditions of our people, but Sidon. Are you sure you want to go through with this? It will be a political marriage.” He said, his rough tone softer than usual. Sidon took a deep breath and conjured an image of Link in his mind, lopsided grin on his face and mirth in his eyes. Sidon smiled softly, posture relaxing.

“I am sure. It is what’s best for our people. I am confident in this unity.” Sidon told his father, looking him in the eye with an overflowing confidence. The King watched him for a moment intently, before his expression changed and he gave a nod.

“I am proud of you Sidon. You will make a good king one day.”

“You mean it..? Thank you, Father!” Sidon jumped up, excitement from the praise rising in his voice. King Dorephan laughed, his deep voice booming through the hall.

“Of course, my son. I will send for Princess Zelda immediately. You are free to go.” He said with a gesturing wave. Sidon bowed forward before walking out of the throne room with a newborn fire. As soon as he was out of sight from his father, his walking turned brisk as he made his way towards Seabed Inn, a skip in his step.

As he spotted Link in front of the inn with Kodah, a wide smile stretched across his lips with barely contained happiness.

“Say hey there!”

Chapter 3

#sidlink #botw #link #sidon #myfic #connecting

39 notes · View notes

lisatelramor · 6 years

Text

Not Left To Stand Alone Ch25

By the time Saguru got in touch with Aoko, the body on the news had been identified as Ichiyose Gen, a supposedly mild mannered accountant for a law firm just outside of Tokyo. Ichiyose had been much less inconspicuous once his apartment had been searched. While the apartment proper was clean to the point of barrenness, the police had found a hidden compartment in the closet with rifle shells, indicating that Kudo’s hypothesis that the man was the mystery sniper were correct. Of course Aoko wasn’t supposed to have shared any of this and the whole thing was being hushed up. As of yet, there were no clear connections to anyone or why Ichiyose had been left in Kid’s costume.

The law firm wasn’t connected to anything that Saguru could see in the greater picture they were building. Ichiyose had just been a man. A hired killer, most likely, but not anyone important, a contract killer with a front job to maintain, no clear motives, no trail of his history to lead back to other targets or anything. There had been no papers in the apartment of use, no mysterious bank statements with suspicious influxes of cash, no digital trail to mark how he kept in contact with potential clients. It was all a blank slate, like anything beyond the rifle shells had been removed. Even the gun wasn’t there.

It added up to a frustrating amount of nothing and very little for the police to work off of except looking to the law firm as a possible shell company with whom Ichiyose could have met targets. Or, of course, the rifle shells could have been planted, the presence of the Kid costume left merely to confuse, and everyone could be devoting effort and resources to something that had nothing to do with Kid or the group they were after at all. Or it could be a distraction by them and Ichiyose an unfortunate victim. There were too many loose ends and uncertainties to say for sure, and Saguru didn’t have the authority to look into it closer.

“I’ll let you know if anything comes out of it,” Aoko had said before she hung up his call.

And so Saguru was left grasping at air for leads again. It was terribly frustrating. The documents Kid gave had names and people and companies, but unless they were caught in the act on things, there wasn’t much way to bring them down. And even then, it would be a matter of striking the right place; strike too low and you caught a handful of people who only knew the periphery of what was going on. Attempt to strike too high, and there could be positions of power to cover things up, shove aside your efforts or spirit people away. Timing would be everything, and that kind of timing required a good deal of effort made across the board to synch up everyone involved to hit as broadly and effectively as possible. It was the ones in the police and legal systems and those high up in corporations and politics that would be the hard ones to hit. The ones who had lawyers to stall and misdirect and drain resources. The ones in positions of power that could halt everything or call it all a hoax to ruin their name.

They would need people in high places to help. Unfortunately, it was hard to know who could be trusted.

Meanwhile, Aoko was stretched thin investigating the bomber, Kid’s disappearance, the sniper, and now this latest body. Saguru made a mental note to check in with his father; despite being retired, he’d likely kept up with who was in charge, and could probably give a decent theory on who was more likely to be trusted. Add that to Kuroba’s notes, and maybe they would finally get somewhere. What they needed most was an opening, catching someone in this massive group in the act. If they could manage to trace any actions that happened after, figure out who covered things up or find other links...

Easier said than done though. There were no leads on the bombs and the sniper was most likely dead.

Saguru rejoined the others in the kitchen and found Kudo heading out.

“I think it’s time for me to do a bit of legwork,” he said. “I’m going to get any information about Ichiyose that I can, and hopefully find some clues that lead somewhere. Then I figure I’ll check out the buildings near the cosmetics company. Going to the building itself might tip them off, but maybe looking around the area would help.”

“I’ll go through more files.” Bit by bit they were gaining a concept of the group’s structure. It was only a matter of time and effort before it all began to pull together. When he could, Saguru was cross referencing things to information Aoko and Nakamori had given him, fitting cases to faces and tracking who had most likely redacted parts of the files, who would have had the influence to seal them away. This was vital evidence for cleaning up the poison in the police force. It was also the most tedious part of it all. He missed the days where legwork hadn’t been too physically demanding for him to do much of.

***

Saguru woke with the mild confusion of someone finding themselves in a room they were unfamiliar with, with the hazy uncertainty for why he woke in the first place. Kudo’s guest bedroom was more comfortable than the futon Saguru was currently used to sleeping on, but the walls had unfamiliar shadows and an unfamiliar ceiling. He stared at it blearily, no street light from outdoors radiating through the blinds to throw black against the white, just gray fading into darker gray.

Then a soft scuff against wooden floors jolted him awake; he wasn’t alone. Saguru shot upright, hand grasping for something nearby to use as a weapon and only coming up with the book he’d been reading before bed.

The person in the deepest shadows of the room paused.

Saguru slumped in relief when they moved into the dim light coming through the window. “Chikage-san,” he said. Kuroba Chikage, Kuroba’s mother and someone he had only seen in photos and interacted briefly in phone conversations. His relief didn’t last long as the strangeness of it all caught up with his tired brain. “What are you doing here?”

“Saguru-san,” Chikage said. She didn’t look much older than the photos of her at thirty-four had looked, a few more lines around her eyes and a streak of gray in her hair the only signs of age that Saguru could pick out in the dark.

“Kuroba’s in the room down the hall,” Saguru said as she leaned against the windowsill.

“I saw him already,” she said. He had the unsettling feeling of being weighed by her stare. “You and Kudo-san are leading the search for the organization.”

“...Yes?” She’d chosen a spot that put half her face in light, but it put the other half in shadow, much like Kid’s face was forever shadowed, only vertically instead of horizontally. There was the same promise of motion that Kuroba had in how she held herself, ready to flee or dodge or attack the way someone was when they were forever targeted. It was clear that whatever Kuroba Chikage filled her time with abroad, it wasn’t the safe, quiet sort of activities one would expect from a retiree. If he remembered correctly, there had been a rumor—or was it fact?—that Kid and the thief Phantom Lady were related. Phantom Lady had vanished from the public eye not long after Kid’s first appearance, interestingly enough. In fact, the two of them had even met at the same heist if Hakuba was remembering the details correctly. In France, during one of Kuroba Toichi’s world tours as a stage magician.

“You’re going to need proof of what they’re doing.”

“...Kuroba has provided a good deal of that,” Saguru said.

“For the companies in Japan,” she agreed. “He never did much with Kid’s reputation as an international thief.”

Kuroba Chikage, if Saguru remembered correctly, had spent a good deal of time abroad in the United States and Europe while Kuroba was a teenager. There was nothing to say that she hadn’t continued this, her absence when Kuroba was injured only adding to the assumption that these trips had continued. “Chikage-san, are you offering proof?”

Her smile in the dark wasn’t Kid’s smile that invited you to share in his mischief. It was a much darker smile that would be better fitting on a crocodile right before it snapped. “I’m sure as someone raised around police, you know how long it actually takes to get a proper arrest and sentencing sometimes. Finding proof when it’s been purposefully obscured and destroyed, getting a confession when they don’t want to confess... I think Kaito would be satisfied to take out their presence in just Japan at this point. But you can’t just kill the pests in your home if they’re all around waiting to fill in whatever you flush out. Power vacuums mean something fills it, right, Saguru-kun?”

The less switch in honorific made his tired brain pause. “What do you have?” He focused on the glint of her eyes and the silver curve of her smile in the dark.

“Financial records,” Chikage said. “Voice recordings. Surveillance footage that was supposed to have been erased. Research notes confirming unauthorized and illegal human testing. Locations of bodies gone missing, details of backdoor transactions, evidence of weapon smuggling across country and continental lines.” Saguru felt his eyes go wide as she listed things on her fingers. “Over two decades is a long time to put yourself in the right position and gather up allies.”

If that was true, ever since Toichi’s death, Chikage had been playing the long game, having a public and private persona and digging in deep to the criminal underworld. Saguru shivered. She’d let her son play target and lure and used his distraction to accomplish what he couldn’t. “Even with all of that,” he said finally, throat feeling tight with the enormity of it all, “to catch a group of this size...”

“They’re big,” Chikage acknowledged. “So when this breaks, it will have to be equally big, big enough that it can’t be buried. Bigger than Kudo’s takedown. You light up the world so there’s nowhere left to hide and make all their dirty laundry visible.”

“What are you planning?”

“The internet is a useful thing,” Chikage said. “A wonderful resource that’s only truly come into its own the last few decades. It’s hard to cover up anything that’s been leaked there...”

“An info dump,” Saguru said, understanding. “You plan to leak everything you’ve compiled so that the people involved can’t hide, air everything for the world to see.”

Chikage’s smile was predatory. “Of course it will work best if it’s coordinated with a police effort at the same time the dump happens. We’ve always needed to have more help from the inside, but it’s a bit hard when you’re working with criminals to get them to trust the police and vice versa. I had hoped it would be Aoko, but that opportunity was lost a while ago.”

Saguru looked at her. Her hair was neat, her face deceptively young, but she still looked like someone’s mother. Unassuming. No one would ever guess what lurked beneath that exterior or the quick mind that had to exist behind her brown eyes. He hadn’t realized in the messages they’d exchanged about Kuroba what lurked in her. He felt infinitely lucky that she seemed to have decided he was an ally instead of a threat. How close had he come to being under her watch as a teen? He surely would have been seen as much more of a threat. “It will still take a bit of time to organize things,” Saguru said.

“What is a few months compared to years.” She stepped forward, in shadow again and far too close to Saguru. He was uncomfortably aware of how sheets were still tangled around his legs and that there was nowhere to go to should she decide to turn that reigned in aggression on him. “You’ve insinuated yourself into my family’s lives pretty deeply in the few months I’ve been gone,” she said. Her face was entirely unreadable; Saguru didn’t know her well enough to pick up little tells like he could with Kuroba. “The phone conversations we’ve had led me to believe you care about Kaito’s wellbeing. Your actions so far have backed that up.”

There was an intense weight of judgment in how she stood over him, but this wasn’t the first time Saguru had been judged by someone’s parent, and compared to the contempt Mel’s parents had shown him for years after they’d been his in-laws, this wasn’t quite as heavy. He’d never felt like he might have to worry about getting stabbed by Mel’s parents though.

“He trusts you,” Chikage said after a deeply unsettling silence. “I am not sure I understand it but so long as you keep putting his safety first, I’ll trust you as well. Kaito is rarely wrong in where he places his trust.”

A light knock on the doorframe broke the stifling intensity of the room. Both of their heads turned toward the sound.

Kuroba, dressed in one of the various yukata he’d been in since he was first brought to the Kudo home, leaned along the doorway. It was meant to look casual but it was a far cry from his usual poker face. He was too pale for one. “The air’s so thick you could cut it,” Kuroba said, voice light.

Saguru was half out of his bed a half second later as the surprise wore off. “Kuroba!” He brushed past Chikage, stumbling toward Kuroba. “You’re not supposed to be up!”

“I am capable of walking to the bathroom,” Kuroba said.

“This isn’t the bathroom and no, you’re supposed to be on bed rest!”

“That sharp tongued doctor is going to yell at you,” Chikage sighed. She didn’t sound surprised though, walking past Saguru to get to Kuroba first and offer a shoulder in support.

“I’m healing fine. Better than fine, ask her.” Kuroba accepted his mother’s help while Saguru could only stand and feel useless.

“Be that as it may,” Saguru said, “please don’t aggravate your wounds.”

Kuroba rolled his eyes. “The world needs to stop treating me like glass.” And yet he made no move to refuse a helping hand and his face was still too pale. Saguru itched to guide him to the nearest flat surface—even if that flat surface was Saguru’s own bed. “And Kaa-san, you need to stop threatening people.”

“I have to test the detectives in your life,” Chikage said, “after all you can’t do much to defend yourself right now.”

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t need to defend myself then.” Kuroba leaned against his mother with a tight smile. “Don’t let her lead you into a plan you can’t handle.”

“Would I do that?” Chikage said. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who plans impossible things.”

“We’re magicians, we live to make the impossible a reality,” Kuroba said with a judicious sniff. “Hakuba’s not a magician, he just deals with regular old reality. No one is making any stupid, life threatening plans, okay?”

“Noted,” Saguru said. “Not that I planned to risk any more than is already implicit in any of this. Now could you please return to your room and rest?”

“And I took the time to come and see you,” Kuroba said, with a put upon and overly exaggerated sigh.

“I’m touched,” Saguru said. It was slow going back down the hallway, slow enough that Saguru wondered how the hell Kuroba had managed on his own let alone silently enough to surprise them. Kuroba was right about always pulling the impossible. He shouldn’t be able to walk at all yet. Chikage was terribly gentle with Kuroba as she helped him back into bed. Saguru held back sheets to let Kuroba get comfortable but Chikage was the one to pull them up. It was a reminder that Kuroba was someone’s child, like Saguru was Mum’s son, like all of them were all children for someone, and it gave him a glimpse at what Kuroba’s early childhood might have been like. Chikage gentle but not taking any of Kuroba’s complaints or protests that he could settle himself back into a bed just fine. Joking back that he could say that as soon as he was able to walk without hiding his pain. It wasn’t the sort of exasperated doting that Mum would have done. Too efficient, but there was care there. Care that a younger Saguru had wondered about when he learned that Kuroba spent most of his time alone, and that Saguru had compared to his life in Japan with his father who always worked and a governess as his usual meal companion and had concluded that both of their lives could be lonely. Whether Kuroba Chikage cared about her son wasn’t a question anymore.

Saguru met Chikage’s eyes over her son and they had silent agreement; he’d work with her and her plan and they’d crush the organization as much as possible. For Kaito’s sake.

#detective conan #magic kaito #nltsa #not left to stand alone #my writing #fanfiction #bit shorter chapter but there's another extra soon

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giant-spider-boyfriend · 7 years

Text

Acrid

George had been settled in, in the middle of moving his life out of the Swedish apartment and back to his family home in Michigan...and then the call back came. He knew he wasn’t getting out of there that easily. There’d always be another mission, and another, the Big Guy was just one of those difficult to replace agents. He limped over to the com and activated it. “I’m coming,” he said in response to the calling.

He pulled a jacket on and gathered his kit. Strapping the Colt 45 to his hip and rolling his shoulders. George briefly caught his image in a mirror, god he looked old didn’t he? He was only 53, hardly that old. Hard life, hard lines his father had always said and he’d embraced the concept. It was just strange seeing himself as an old man.

Not too old to go to work.

Even if he wasn’t feeling up to seeing the man who’d called him in. He caught the bus to the headquarters of Overwatch, the peacekeepers of the globe. He stepped out to see the Strike Commander standing there with a distinctly severe expression on his face. Something tragic had happened, and it had something to do with his men. George recalled making that expression back when he was in the Seals and an op was going pear shaped.

“Jack.”

“George.”

The uncomfortable silence followed and the Strike Commander wordlessly motioned for George to follow. They moved through the headquarters, there was a lot of fallen faces, Ana especially had that hard look she used to hide the real feeling beneath. So it was serious he had to assume. Serious enough to bring out the controlled disaster.

The pair stopped at the Commander’s office, and Jack paused for a moment. “The reason I called you back is because we’ve hit...possibly the worst disaster of Overwatch’s life,” he said looking up at George who stood nearly a head taller. “I know you know the risks of covert operations and intelligence work. Our Blackwatch unit is in the middle of a disaster zone.” He was being rather vague.

“Disaster zone, can’t you fish them out then? Did they cause it?” George asked, the door to Jack’s office was opened and they stepped inside. Only after the door lock clicked, did Jack decide to spill all the details.

“No, they didn’t cause it, Blackwatch were observing a cult group, some kind of omnium worshipping group. They were not to engage until they had enough info to strike at the core of the group and dissipate them…” he started.

“Things went pear shaped.”

“Yes, very. The cult got some kind of tip off that Blackwatch was among them, they captured the operative and accelerated whatever plan they’d been cooking up. The group stormed an old nuclear site, and within hours they’d caused a meltdown of spent fuel rods, we’re talking thousands of pounds of nuclear waste washing into this town,” Jack continued, his voice held as steady as he could. “Evacuation went well with the help of military police and Overwatch...but our team, hasn’t made it to the LZ, and we only got one message before we lost contact.”

Jack pushed a button on his desk. The voice of Reyes spoke: “Three critically injured, requesting support, McCree, specifically is in bad shape. I think he’s going into shock…” Static cut off the rest of the message.

“McCree, oh your cowboy, the kid;” George said with an understanding look. “You want me to go save your black ops team then?”

“That’s the idea, radiation in the intervening area is too high for anyone else to pull them out and we need to level a lot of buildings to bury the Radiation as much as possible. Hephaestus is listed as impervious to radiation poisoning, and he’s a helluva wrecking ball,” Jack said trying not to make a personal appeal. That ship had well sailed, this was just him asking for the favor he was owed. “You’d be doing me a helluva favor.”

“I’d be doing my job, Commander.” George crossed his arms over his chest. “All my gear still here?”

“Yes it is. It’s waiting in the hangar.”

“Right, gimme the coordinates. Where do you want me to take your boys to?”

“Anywhere outside the radiation zone is good enough, can you manage to find a path through? We can hook you up with a Geiger counter?”

“No, Hephaestus will just short it out, he can find a path I just don’t make any promises on whether he’ll do what you need…”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter. They’re dead if they stay, and I don’t have any other options on who to send...George, I’m...sorry. This isn’t exactly how I’d hoped we’d be meeting up again,” Jack said carefully.

A shrug of his shoulders is all George gave in return. “I have to go get ready,” he said and left the office with Jack watching him go and sighing.

“Helps coming Jesse...please just hold on,” the Commander murmured to himself.

The hangar was full of activity, medical teams shipping out to assist with injured and help with relief efforts. Loads of equipment being loaded onto ships, and then being flown out with haste. Overwatch watchpoints nearby would also be shipping out. George furrowed his brow; he didn’t know the extent of the disaster, but from how much manpower was being dedicated to it, he was starting to get the picture.

“You George?” someone said from the prep stations. “Your gear’s over here, you’re going to be on my ship. I’m doing an airdrop since we don’t have sufficient radiation shielding to get in too close. You alright with that?”

“Yeah, done it before…” he said limping to a secluded spot to pull on the special clothing. It didn’t look particularly odd, a tank top and pair of loose looking pants but within the fibres they held special purpose. The woman looked skeptical as George limped back.

“...I can’t help but notice your limp,” the pilot mentioned as she pointed at his leg curiously. He shrugged, picking up the hefty looking hammer of sorts. “Parachute?”

George just smiled and shook his head. “He doesn’t need one, and I’m not the one who’s doing the work, you just get us there ma’am and we’ll do the rest,” he said and nodded as he walked over to the vessel, something stirring in his mind. A sleeping dragon.

“Right, okay, checks are done moving out.”

The vessel was off the ground and they were headed out for the disaster zone. It wasn’t long before they were over the flaming remnants of the city. High temperature waste had ignited gas lines, burst pipes and sewage. George took a deep breath, and stepped to the open door, wind whipping at his hair. “Ready for deployment.”

“Jump now,” came the answer.

And he leaped, closing his eyes, and fading away.

The ground came fast, feet to the ground smashing into the pavement body moving to a crouched position. A surge of static crackled along the ground, and over the man’s form. Someone new had landed in George’s stead. He stood up to a full height of 7 feet, hair being snatched up by the raw static that clung to him. The hammer at his back lit up, the lightning rod for the unhinged power.

He stepped from the impact sight, looking around, a rudimentary HUD and heat mapping overlay his vision. Unique features of the nanite construct. He reduced the range, zeroing in on the human body’s signature. Then the coordinates, there you are. “Hmmm,” came the noise as bare feet slapped on the pavement. He started into a swift run, hammer pulled from his back he discharged a raw bolt into a bit of the surrounding refuse, buildings already charred started to fall. It was calculated. No sign of the Blackwatch unit no need to worry about whether one of these buildings was where they hid.

The coordinates led him to a centralized spot, radiation levels seemed to be mildest here, interesting. His swept gold eyes around. A huddled group of human figures stuck out among the radiation and flooding. Several seemed quite cold, corpses perhaps?

The door of their sanctuary had a broken lock, so it was kicked down with unnecessary violence. The group looked up aiming weapons at the creature that stepped from the smoke. There was a few moments of fear.

“Hello, do not be afraid, I’m the rescue,” came a voice that was human, albeit that voice seemed to lack much in way of correct expression. “Which is closest to death?”

Reyes cleared his throat. “Hephaestus, right, they would send you. We have 2 dead, one in critical condition;” he said. “Is there a ship coming?”

“No ship, too much radiation. I’ll be your guide,” again it was nearly there, nearly friendly almost pleasant...but inherently wrong. “We will be leaving the dead behind, they may be collected after radiation has be buried sufficiently.” He stepped over to the Blackwatch commander kneeling over the barely conscious McCree.

“Right. Men, leave unnecessary gear behind, we’re going light we have to go quickly,” Gabriel explained and like the well trained men they were, they dropped weight. Rations, ammunition and even their kevlar. If it wasn’t required for running it was lost. “We need some kind of cot for McCree it’d only slow a man down to carry him alone.”

“No need, he will not slow me down,” Hephaestus replied, putting his hammer on his back and hoisting the injured man up. “Are you ready to leave?” Reyes raised a brow.

“Men?”

“Yes, sir,” came a combined affirmative.

“Lead the way.” Gabriel watched Hephaestus turn his back to them and start back out into the ruined block.

Jesse was only barely aware of everything happening, when he’d seen Hephaestus approach him he’d been sure it was some angel or demon come to take his soul away. Must be surely. He could tell he was being carried but maybe he was flying.

It must be a demon holding him, as it tried to smile...it all felt so wrong. Hair flickering like fire in tones of red and yellow, the inhuman eyes, surely it was evil. He had no power to fight it’s hold.

Each time he closed his eyes he felt he was getting closer to hell. A Metallic taste in his mouth, the heat of flames. His hazy grasp of the world. Ruins of civilization and he swore he could hear screams, there must be screaming. The damned. That’s what they were, that mad man had said as much. The taste started to fade away but his teeth hurt, he felt itchy, his left arm was asleep. It was itchy, he wanted to scratch it.

He couldn’t move it.

Then he blacked out.

And when he was conscious again he found himself lying in a ship, someone snoring next to him, some old man. He closed his eyes and fell unconscious again.

Flashes of activity followed his long darkness, voice of people; some he recognized, others he didn’t. Many pokes, many prods, and the itching that just wouldn’t go away. His left arm was still numb, and yet it itched. He couldn’t find a way to scratch it. He’d just fade back away for a while, hovering in between awake and asleep. He thought of the monster, was this the hell he’d been brought to? Asleep, yet aware.

It seemed like an eternity, as he finally opened his eyes and was blinded by fluorescent lights in the ceiling. He felt dizzy, and sick. He coughed, and that caught someone’s attention.

“Jesse?”

Who was that? He furrowed his brow and turned his head to see. Commander? “...Jack?” was all he managed to rasp. His throat felt so dry, he tried to sit up only to find himself too weak to do so, how long had he been in bed like this?

“Hey take it easy, you’ve been through alot, you’re okay though,” Jack said in a calming tone, putting a hand on Jesse’s his right one. “Are you thirsty? I can sit you up.” McCree nodded to the question. The bed moved rather than him putting him into a sitting position. “Can you move your arm for me?”

Jesse took a few seconds then moved his right arm up, squeezing his fingers closed and then opening them. They were stiff, his arm was stiff all of him was stiff. “Stiff…” he mentioned.

“Yeah well you’ve been laying in bed for a while, are you in pain at all?”

“A little.” He looked to the glass of water Jack had in his hand. He reached out for it, nearly dropping it when the glass was transferred to his grasp. He sighed and did his best to be careful with a sip. A few swallows and he seemed to feel better. “I can’t feel my left arm...I think it’s asleep, but it’s itchy…”

Jack got a funny look on his face. One Jesse couldn’t parse. The commander seemed to be avoiding something. “I’m...I’m sorry Jesse, there was nothing we could do,” he said vaguely. This made McCree’s blood run cold. For some reason he just kept avoiding looking over at his arm. Like everything in his brain was telling him not to.

“What do you mean?” he asked, slowly letting his gaze turn, he had to know. He didn’t want to know. Nothing. There was nothing there, it was like someone had just deleted half of his arm. A pit made it’s place in his stomach. “...but...it itches...I can…” He could feel it.

“I’m sorry…” Jack repeated.

“I...can I...alone?” Jesse finally asked. He just needed space to think.

“Yeah, of course, all the time you need,” the Commander replied standing and briefly putting a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Buzz the nurse, and I’ll be right back if you need.” He stepped back and away from the younger man, closing the door when he left.

Jack was heading for his office, head focused on the ground, nibbling his finger out of habit. He ran hard into something, a person he had to assume as his head wasn’t aching from contact with something more solid. He looked up uttering an apology quickly before he too real note of who he’d ran into. “Oh...George…” he said and sighed.

“Commander, how’s the kid?” George asked taking a few steps back. Jack frown a bit and gave a vague shrug.

“He’s, alive. Thanks to you, I owe you…” the commander said softly as he rubbed his chin, taking a deep breath. “I know this really isn’t my place to ask but...would you...could you talk to him?” That cause George to raise a brow curiously.

“Why do you want me to talk to him? I don’t really know him,” George asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Jack seemed to hesitate with the explanation, eyeing the prosthetic that had replaced George’s right arm at the shoulder. No sense tiptoeing around it he had to just come out with it. “Cause, he’s lost an arm, and I don’t really know what that’s like. I don’t know how to talk about it, or help.” Finally George seemed to understand. “I know, I really don’t have a right to ask…”

“Fine. I dunno what you want me to say to him, but what harm can it do?” George said raising his hand to shut the stuttering blond up. “How old is he anyway?”

“21.”

“Lemme fetch something, and I’ll talk to your cowboy.” With that George stepped around Jack and headed for the exit.

It’d be an hour or so till George returned, with a messenger bag, and new fresh clothes. He headed for the medical wing and managed to avoid pulling any suspicion as to what was in his bag, knocking on the door to McCree’s room.

“I’m not hungry,” came a call and George snorted. Nurses, and their resident doctor could be a bit...overbearing. Ignoring the dismissal the big man pushed open the door, and stepped inside letting it close behind him.

“Don’t worry I don’t have any food,” he mused as he grabbed a chair and set it up backwards, sitting on it the wrong way around.

“Oh...uh, do I know you?”

“Nope, well, not really anyway; Heph saved your life though,” George set the bag down, and it made a noise like glass clinking. “Not that you probably remember much of that, you were pretty gone. But, Jesse McCree’s your name right? Mine’s George Pickford, formerly Lieutenant Colonel.” He offered his right hand for a shake, Jesse sort of stared at it for a while.

“Right…” he put his hand in the metal one and they briefly shook. “Nice to meet you I guess, so uh whats the story for you visiting me? You’re not Blackwatch.”

“Be honest I was asked to, cause we’ve both be in similar situations,” and George held up his arm again. “What with losing our arms in the line of duty. Guess it’s been uh tough, itches doesn’t it?”

Jesse furrowed his brow, George’s accent lended this sort of easy, fatherly vibe; but his words hit McCree a bit hard. “I...I’m trying not to think about it too much, but...yeah itches like the devil.”

George nodded as he reached down into his bag pulling out two glasses and setting them on the little tray next to the bed. Then he set down a bottle of Tennesse Whiskey and Jesse glanced at the door. “Would have been in sooner, but figured you could use something a little more potent than hospital jello,” he offered as he popped the cap off and poured enough to fill each glass about a third of the way.

“Where’d you even get this outside the states?”

“That’s Classified.”

Jesse was patient as George set the bottle back away in the bag, lest some nurse come in and attempt to confiscate it. “You on pain medication?” he asked.

“Little bit, I don’t...I don’t honestly feel much of anything.”

“Burns’ll do that to ya, I didn’t feel much but that ache, like the pins and needles when your foot wakes up,” George replied as he handed over the glass.

Jesse observed it for a few seconds, it smelled good, reminded him of home. He sighed and took a small sip, watching George take a more generous helping. “Will it...will it always do that?” he asked softly, feeling the warmth of the drink after another sip.

“Yep.”

“...oh,”

“Now I don’t mean to be depressing about it, you get used to it, you forget about it; the metal ones help but your brain will always be looking for what you’ve lost; there’s nothing you can really do about it,” George said with a bit of a smile. “Life goes on, they’ll get you fitted up with something like I’ve got. You stop thinking about it after a while.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better,” Jesse replied taking a longer sip.

George shrugged. “It is what it is, I dunno what else to say about it, you can’t dwell on it; it’s gone. It doesn’t come back,” he said as he took another drink. “All I can say is what not to do. Don’t get angry, don’t get bitter; you do that and you’ll start to give up. Not your fault, not anyone’s fault it’s gone.”

McCree gave a shallow nod, looking into his cup. “I just...I dunno, I guess…”

“You figured you were invincible.”

“I- no...well…” He went quiet.

“You’re 21, in some gang for years, then you join the league of heroes, I mean why wouldn’t you think that? Sure, you know there’s danger and maybe you’ve even figured that you’ve accepted your mortality. Then it happens,” George went on finishing his glass and setting it aside. “You bleed. It’s okay, kid; it’s okay to be scared, to wonder why, to hurt. It’s not easy really facing that and coming out with that reminder.”

Jesse sniffed and rubbed his face. He’d managed not to cry, but it was starting to hit him. Really shaking him up. He put the glass down and reached over putting his hand on what remain of his left arm. “It all just feels like a bad dream, like it didn’t happen to me...it happened to someone else,” he said and swallowed.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” George said and reached his hand over putting it on McCree’s shoulder. “Listen, you got lots of good people around you, they want to help. Just remember that. You’re not alone.”

McCree and George settled in, for a while talking about a lot of nothing. McCree found the older man good to listen to, he didn’t fool around, kept things simple. After a time George was getting ready to go.

“Hey, would you mind me holding onto the glass? I’d like another but I’d hate to keep you if you gotta go,” Jessy asked, raising a brow. George hummed.

“Sure, I already broke up the set, wife took one, just one I think to piss me off; I’m getting out of here in a few days, don’t plan on being back, so you can hold onto it,” George replied and poured a bit more whiskey into the glass. “Everyone needs a good glass for good liquor. Keep your chin up kid.” He tossed the bag back onto his shoulder and started out. “Oh...hey you know what, hows about I leave this with you. I just thought about it.” George turned back around and wrote up a number on a napkin. “There, you need something, I don’t know an ear to talk in, you take that and give me a ring. I don’t know how much good it’ll do ya, but my best friend from back in the day gave me a paper like that same deal...so I’ll pass on the favor.”

“Oh...huh thanks are you sure? I mean…” Jessy fumbled, little taken back by such /easy/ kindness even after 4 years. “I...hey, thanks. I’ll do that, if you don’t mind I mean.”

“Don’t bother me none,” George replied. “See ya around kid. Good luck, don’t let Gabe work you too hard. Don’t do anything you don’t believe in.”

And he walked out the door. “Adios, George…” Jessy mused taking a sip of his refilled glass with a smile.

Finally home, George took a deep breath, setting his bag aside and falling onto the couch. “Welp...buddy, looks like we’re finally retired,” he murmured to himself, glancing at his reflection on the TV. A figure stood behind him, Hephaestus, though it was all in his head. “Sorry, I’m...not up to it anymore. You did your best, you did enough. Don’t worry about it.” He leaned back and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, we did alright. Time to go to sleep Hephaestus...for a while.”

…’sleep?’

George leaned back. He closed his eyes. “Yeah, sleep.”

‘Okay.’ The figure disappeared from the screen.

#Overwatch #overwatch fanfiction #fanfiction #mc76 #soldier 76 #mccree #george #OC

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