#god he's so insufferable but i like it in these small doses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rainguk · 3 years

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perfect pitch | ksj

⁕ summary; your stand partner this year is, to put it simply, insufferable. with a rare sense of perfect pitch and a stunning face to boot, this boy's ego is absolutely off the charts... but you'd be lying if you said you didn't care about him anyway.

⁕ pairing; seokjin x reader

⁕ rating; pg-13

⁕ words; 3.9k

⁕ genre; crack, fluff - stand partners idiots to lovers (with a lil bit of enemies in there), high school au, orchestra au

⁕ warnings; swearing, threats but like nothing violent happens LOL, seokjin's sense of humor: there's like one mildly inappropriate joke (i'm sorry bach), super cliche rain scene i apologize

⁕ notes; this is based off of infuriatingly true events in my life because people with perfect pitch just LOVE flexing it like i'll drop my fork on the table and my friend's just like "oh wow that was a B flat" aaaaggghjsdjsdf anyways... i had a lot of fun writing this and i'm nearing the end of another longer fic i'm writing so please look forward to that :D hope you enjoy!!! + if you ever want me to tag you in my fics just let me know and i will <3 plus this is unedited and disgustingly cringy as it nears the end so read at your own risk

⁕ tags; @imdamconfused @sunghoonight-x @iminchaosnow

⁕ song; butter (bts)

masterlist

You’re teetering dangerously on the edge, a mere few seconds away from stabbing your stand partner in the eye with whatever you can use as a weapon.

“Hey, are you okay?” Seokjin cuts into your murderous thoughts, alarmed. “You look… truth be told, Y/N, you look like you want to kill someone.”

“If you don’t shut up about how flat my A is, that someone might just end up being you.”

“How romantic.”

Your bow slides off your violin with a cadence of squeaky notes. “Can you at least stop flirting with me while I’m trying to tune this thing?!”

He smiles, a bright, brilliant thing that shows off all his perfect teeth. You swallow, heart suddenly racing a thousand times faster; it’s no secret that Kim Seokjin is probably the biggest pain in the neck you’ve ever met, but it’s also true that he is insanely good-looking. And you’re not about to deny it.

“You like it, though.”

Well, shit.

“Not everyone’s head over heels in love with you,” you retort, trying desperately to throw him off your trail. You know what happens with popular kids like him; once it’s known that you have a soft spot for them, everyone pounces on you, bombarding you with questions and snide remarks and rumors.

Of course, it’s complicated — because how on earth could you want to rip off someone’s head and kiss them at the same time?

But you tell yourself that it’s only because he looks like that; not because he easily gets you to laugh like it’s nobody’s business, and certainly not because he looks out for you in the littlest ways; leaving his rosin out on the stand for you to use and lending you a pencil when you need one.

Kim Seokjin is an insufferable little shit, yes. But he’s a friendly insufferable little shit. And you would honestly be so down to hang out with him and get to know him better, save for one little thing that’s been getting in your way.

His perfect fucking pitch.

Being stand partners with someone naturally gifted with such a sense is both a blessing and a curse. Countless times, Seokjin has saved your ass from being questioned by Mrs. Choi by letting you know silently that you’re a little too sharp, or playing in the wrong key entirely. (That last one has happened before.) Sometimes you can’t hear Namjoon, the principal violinist, too well from where you’re seated, so you’ve relied on Seokjin on many occasions to tune your strings correctly.

However, it irks you equally as much when he uses it against you, stopping you mid-piece to let you know that your C# sounds more like a D to him. No one’s perfect, and certainly not you — but you try, and to be shot down every single time by someone who thinks it’s absolutely funny to watch you repeatedly attempt to fix your pitch issues is purely exhausting.

“Hey, Y/N—”

“What?” you demand, sighing as you turn to him.

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“No—”

“Why did Bach have twenty children?”

Your eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god—”

He continues anyway, ignoring your plea with that mischievous grin, “Because he had no organ stops!”

Seokjin is trying his best not to laugh at his own joke, shoulders shaking at the punch line. You can’t help it yourself, a giggle bursting out of your own chest as you cover your mouth.

“That was horrendous,” you tell him once you catch your breath again. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Oh, worry not,” he proclaims, smiling widely, “I can do far better.”

“Wait, no—”

“What tone does a piano falling down a mineshaft make?”

You furrow your brows, thinking. “I don’t know,” you shake your head after a few seconds. “What is it?”

“A flat minor.”

Your jaw drops open as you process it, and Seokjin just watches you in amusement. “You should be banned from making these kinds of jokes,” you tell him. “Seriously.”

“Admit it, I’m hilarious,” he counters. “I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

He did, you’ve got to acknowledge. He always does, in some way, now that you think about it. Whenever you end up coming to rehearsal in a bad mood, it’s always because of Seokjin that you leave the auditorium with a smile on your face.

The realization startles you like nothing else — you hadn’t known before that he played such a role in your daily life.

“Oh, I nearly forgot,” he starts again, “We have a concert tonight.”

“Yeah…” You turn to him, eyebrow raised. “You forgot about the biggest performance of the year?”

Seokjin nods, a faint pink dusting his cheeks. “Yeah. My bad. You’re coming, right?”

“Duh,” you reply, fishing a block of rosin out of your case. “It’s almost half of my grade; no way I can skip. Besides, I like performing.”

“You do?”

“What are you so surprised for?” you ask him playfully. “I do enjoy it. I might not be good — not as good as you — but I like it. I like playing together with everyone, being able to hear every other part fit in with mine perfectly.” You frown. “Now if you asked me to play solo, I wouldn’t do it for anything in the world. Ensemble performances are far better.”

“You’re good,” Seokjin says quietly, looking at you — it’s like he’s taking you in, letting his eyes linger on you for a little while longer. “Don’t think that you’re not. You sound nice, Y/N.”

You hold his gaze for several breathless seconds before scoffing, turning away. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!”

“I don’t need empty compliments fr—”

Your bickering is cut short by Mrs. Choi walking onstage, a stack of sheet music in her hand which is promptly handed to Namjoon for him to distribute to the entire orchestra. You don’t offer your usual smile when he gives you two, and it’s with an impassive expression that you hand the extra to your stand partner.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Maybe you’ve made it more awkward between you two — but what else could have happened? Had you been hoping he’d magically fall in love with you and kiss you and you would have gone on dates?

No, of course not. This is Kim Seokjin you’re talking about; and besides, no matter how much you manage to soften up to him one moment, he’ll immediately make you want to murder him the next.

“Hey, Y/N… um — your D is just, you know, a little bit sharp—”

“Kim Seokjin, I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You, my dear, are just overcomplicating this for yourself,” Taehyung declares after listening to you rant about your problematic stand partner over lunch. “What’s the issue? You like him — don’t you shake your head at me, Y/N, you’re as obvious as an open book — and he clearly likes you. Why don’t you just date him?”

“It’s not that simple,” you grumble, brutally stabbing another piece of chicken. “I can’t just walk up to him and ask him out, Tae. Plus, he doesn’t like me, he just likes flirting with everyone he lays his eyes on.”

“From what you’re telling me, it sure does sound like it.”

“Taehyung…”

“Come on, you can’t possibly be that clueless, Y/N.”

“No,” you insist. “He’s a pain in the ass, and he enjoys getting a rise out of me, and he flexes that dumb pitch power of his whenever he can.”

“But you like him...”

“You’re not helping!”

This is where Jimin decides to intervene, tired of your back and forth arguing. “She has a point, Tae. But,” he says to you. “He’s also right. You need to take some kind of action.”

“Yeah, but what?”

Taehyung claps his hands, a telltale sign of a new idea. “Flirt back!”

“Okay, absolutely not—”

Jimin grabs you suddenly, shaking your shoulders. “Wait, think about it!” he exclaims, eyes wide. “It can work! That way you can see if he actually does like you, and you won’t publicly embarrass yourself by confessing to him, either!”

“On second thought, I’d have preferred to see the public embarrassment—”

“Shut up, Tae, you’re just making her feel worse!”

That makes you laugh; contrary to Jimin’s statement, your best friends certainly have succeeded in making you feel just a little bit better.

“Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual,” you tease. “Maybe I owe him a dose, actually, because I’ve seen firsthand a particularly painful confession back in n—”

“Y/N! Don’t you dare bring that up!”

Amidst the chaos of Taehyung screeching while trying to attack you with a spoon and Jimin holding him back, someone taps on your shoulder lightly; a momentary distraction from this madness, if you will.

“Oh. You,” you respond when greeted with the gently smiling face of Kim Seokjin. “Did you need anything?”

“Nah,” he shrugs, instead showing you his closed fist. “Wanted to give you something.”

“If it’s another one of my strings that you’ve borrowed and also broken, then you can keep it, thanks.”

Seokjin shakes his head, chuckling. “Not that, Y/N. I always throw out the strings I break; don’t worry. I just thought you should have this.”

With that, he places a small wooden box on your lunch bag — at a closer look, you realize it’s a block of rosin. Brand new, too, by the looks of it — when you take off the bright blue lid, there are no scratches on the surface, no sign of wear and tear.

“For me?” You look at him, surprised to be met with a rather fond gaze you’re not used to. “Why?”

“Noticed the one you had was basically falling apart,” he says nonchalantly, attempting to mask the slight tremble in his voice and the blush on his cheeks. “I mean, come on — how are you gonna keep your bow in good shape with those tiny chunks of this stuff?”

“Oh,” is all you can reply, staring at the gleaming black cube in your hand. “I — thanks, I guess.”

“No problem.” He’s back to his bright, grinning self again, all self-confidence and smug smiles. “See you tomorrow,” he tells you, before waving to your friends. “Have a nice lunch, guys.”

It takes Jimin and Taehyung precisely fourteen seconds after Seokjin leaves for his own table to lose their shit.

“Was he looking out for you?”

“Did he actually just give you a new block of rosin?!”

“And you still don’t wanna date this guy?”

“You guys are violinists! Gifting each other supplies is basically your love language!”

You fidget with the rosin, smoothing your thumb over the lid. “No, that’s just how he is,” you defend. “He always lends me rosin when I need it.”

“And you always lend him extra strings,” Taehyung says, a teasing smile on his face. They’re kind of right, you realize when you think about it. Never has Seokjin actually given you a block to keep, and though you might be overestimating the significance of the gesture, it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

“Okay, anyways,” Jimin changes the topic, “How are we feeling about tonight’s concert?”

“I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “We’ve got everything under control — Mrs. Choi was afraid the cellos would screw up their solo section, but they managed to pull it together today and they sounded great.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Taehyung sighs. “Not when the tenors keep screwing up their long note—”

“That wasn’t me! That was Jeon Jungkook!”

“Yeah, sure—”

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Come on, we are not arguing about this right now. I’m sure you guys will sound fine, you always do. Plus, Jeon has a really sweet voice.”

“I guess so,” Taehyung shrugs. “But I think the highlight of tonight is going to be Y/N getting to see her guy all dressed up,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No!” You exclaim a little too quickly, cheeks red. “Why would you say something like that?!”

“Because you’re whipped for him—”

“I am most certainly not—”

Jimin laughs out loud, almost toppling off of his chair. “You know, Y/N, we might have believed you if you weren’t redder than a fucking tomato right now—”

“PARK JIMIN! NOT YOU TOO!”

As luck would have it, you’re a solid ten minutes late.

Call time was at six o’clock, and here you are; slamming the car door shut as you wave a hasty goodbye to your father and run to the main entrance, all the while trying not to get drenched in the rain.

(Your folder and the music inside it are probably already soaked, but that’s an issue for another time.)

You hurry down the stairs, pushing the double doors open with a quick apology to Mrs. Choi, who gives you a stern look but says nothing else. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding as you slide into your seat, already unlatching your case.

“You’re late.”

You twist your neck to give your stand partner a blank stare. “I’m aware.”

“You look really nice,” he blurts out next, blinking faster than usual.

“Thanks?” You try and laugh it off, fastening your shoulder rest to the back of your violin. You’re not wearing anything fancy, just a flowy black dress with your hair tied back, but his remark renders you speechless for a split second “So do you.”

You manage to compliment him nonchalantly, but your heart is beating twice as fast, eyes admiring his parted, fluffy hair, the white dress shirt impeccable on his figure. And his lips…

Shit. You really are down bad, but you don’t have time to dwell on it — Mrs. Choi is starting the last piece already, and you’re scrambling to have your instrument ready by the time the first violins start with their little intro.

Seokjin laughs at you quietly, but inhales sharply when you start to rosin your bow hair. “You kept it,” he says softly, nodding at the block in your hands.

“Yeah,” you swallow, suddenly self-conscious. “I did.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

“I’m not that ungrateful,” you wrinkle your nose at him. “Of course I kept it, Seokjin.”

“Jin.”

“Huh?”

“Jin,” he repeats, flicking a strand of chestnut hair away from his eyes. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“Since when am I your friend?”

“Would you rather not be?”

“Would you rather be?”

Seokjin — Jin, rather — frowns down at you. “Stop asking questions to my questions!”

“You did it first!” you exclaim, laughing. “Hypocrite! Answer mine, then!”

He looks at you for a long moment, like he’s taking his sweet time choosing the right words to say to you. “Since now,” he decides finally, firmly. “You are now. I want you to be mine. My friend,” he clarifies, turning deep red as he says it.

“I thought you hated me,” you muse. “And I was pretty sure you thought I was the lamest kid ever because I couldn’t play a single thing right.”

“Of course not,” Jin shakes his head vehemently. “You’re cool, Y/N. A little tone deaf, but cool.”

“Take that back!”

“I’m sorry, it’s the truth,” he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You send him your best glare, but contrary to your facial expression, it’s nice to laugh with him like this. You’ve been so caught up with telling yourself that you shouldn’t be feeling anything but annoyance when you’re around him that you ignored your blossoming feelings, and now they’ve fully bloomed, leaving no room for that initial irritation you so often experienced.

Friends. It’s not what you most want, but it’s something. You could get used to that.

The concert goes smoothly, and the choir performances were absolutely delightful to watch — but your father is late, again, which means you’re stuck waiting for him out in the rain that hasn’t let up for hours.

You’re about to call him for the fifth time in ten minutes when you hear a set of heavy footsteps behind you, running up the stairway. “Y/N!”

“Jin?” you ask, surprised by the boy making his way toward you, brown hair completely soaked. “What are you doing out here?”

“I lied,” he says breathlessly, like he’s in a rush, and if he doesn’t tell you now, he might never be able to. “I’m sorry, I — I lied, Y/N. I don’t want you to be my friend — God, I don’t think I could live with that. I want you to be more.”

“Jin—”

“I just,” he exhales forcefully, “I want to be able to take you out and hold your hand and hug you and kiss you—”

When your mind finally clears up, you don’t let him finish his sentence, instead grabbing his collar and yanking him down so you can press your lips to his in one swift motion. A quiet gasp leaves his mouth, but he quickly adjusts to the situation, hands dropping his violin so he can gently cradle your face, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. It’s all happening so fast that you barely even have time to think, to properly take it all in.

His lips are cold due to the nasty weather, and you’re both sopping wet — and this is most definitely the worst setting for this to have happened, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“That,” Jin breathes when you finally let him go, pupils dilated, “that was—”

“My first,” you finish. Your prior courage all gone, you’re a bit nervous now, too embarrassed by your bold move to even meet his eyes. What were you thinking? “I-I’m sorry...”

“Sorry?” Jin asks, confused. “Why are you sorry?”

“You know, because… of that.” You can barely speak up, cheeks burning. “I-I don’t know why I did that. Is this — is this a prank or something? Did you plan this? Was I just supposed to laugh it off and threaten to take your eye out with my bow instead?”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, laughing. “Can’t you tell, Y/N?” He lowers his voice to a gentle whisper. “I like you, you idiot. Ever since you waltzed into the auditorium sophomore year and nearly broke your violin falling down the stairs, I never stopped thinking about you.”

“You… you like me?” you ask incredulously, jabbing an accusatory finger at his chest. “Like, for real? You’re not just pulling my leg like you usually love to do?”

“I meant what I said, Y/N,” he tells you softly, fingers intertwined with yours. His voice is genuine, soothing. “I want to do all those things with you, if you’ll let me.”

It takes you a while to reply, but when you do, your heart is pounding so loudly in your chest that you can barely hear yourself. “A-And if I said yes?”

A wide grin breaks out onto Jin’s face as he pulls you into a hug, both your instruments forgotten on the pavement and your head resting on his chest as he holds you close. A few days ago, you would have thought yourself a fool for even thinking that a day like this would ever come; yet here you are, all those daydreams come true.

It’s all so new to you, and you’ll most likely screw up along the way — multiple times. But hand in hand with Jin and his vexing ability to pick out a B from a B flat, things aren’t looking so bad.

You’ll work it out.

Hanging out with your friends is always a chaotic (but fun) occurrence — but when you add your boyfriend’s buddies into the mix, it all goes down to shit.

Actually, it’s all his fault, if you really think about it. Why on earth did he think challenging Taehyung to a baking competition was even remotely close to being a good idea?

“That’s so not fucking fair!” the aforementioned best friend cries, angrily shaking a spatula at a playfully grinning Jung Hoseok. “You can’t just hide the bag of flour! I fucking forgot to put it in!”

“Nothing we can do about it now, Tae,” Jimin sighs, massaging his forehead as the three of you stare at the burnt, soupy mass your team has created. “We fucking lost, that’s it.”

“So,” Jin smirks mischievously, nudging your elbow. “I guess Hoseok and I win this one, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you shove him back, though you’re grinning; a plate with a slice of his impeccably made cake in your hands and a fork lifted to your lips. “You’re good at this and you know it. I knew from the start that you were just trying to fuck around with Tae.”

Taehyung scoffs. “Your evil, demonic, deceptive, satanic boyfriend—”

“Nice vocabulary,” Hoseok comments without looking up, and you’re sure he’s on your best friend’s hit list at this point.

“Well — anyways, he’s out to get me,” Taehyung continues, frowning. “I feel attacked.”

“Yeah, okay, keep saying that several years from now when you’re sitting in a church and Y/N’s walking down the aisle,” Jimin says nonchalantly, causing you to choke on your cake in complete shock.

“What the heck — we’re literally eighteen! You can’t — you can’t just say things like that!” you exclaim indignantly, fork clattering against your empty plate. Jin grins widely all of a sudden, tapping your shoulder all of a sudden.

“Jagi.”

“Hmm?” You turn to him, momentarily forgetting how flustered Jimin’s comment made you feel.

“That was a really nice C# just now…”

Your mouth drops open as you gape at your boyfriend; part of you wants to cry and part of you wants to laugh. You knew when you agreed to make it official that somewhere along the line, you’d have to deal with these kinds of things, but now that it’s actually happening…

You turn to Jimin, patience already running thin from Jin’s antics (actually, you secretly love it, though you’ll never admit it to his face.)

“And you have the audacity to suggest that I’ll actually get married to this man?”

“Y/N? Honey, wake up. I… I just realized something.”

“Oh — Jin? What is it? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s good. You know, I was thinking about it, and I realized that...” Your husband bites down on his lip hesitantly, glancing down at the baby sleeping peacefully in his arms.

“Yeah?” you press, curious.

“When Aera cries — you know, when she’s screaming at the top of her lungs,” he smiles fondly. “It’s always — she always cries in either F# or C#. It’s,” he looks like he’s nearing tears, “the D major key. Y/N, she literally cries in D major. I’m—”

You sigh, smiling amusedly to yourself as you snuggle up to him for extra warmth, holding your baby close. Leave it to none other than Kim Seokjin to analyze his daughter’s pitch — isn’t that part of the reason why you fell in love with him, anyway?

Life with Jin is many things — a chaotic mess that includes the constantly screaming light of your lives, three pandemoniac best friends, and far too many notes for you to keep track of. And though sometimes you want to chuck a blue-lidded block of rosin at his head to shut him up, you’re more than ready for it all.

— feedback/questions/just wanna chat?

thank you for reading perfect pitch! ♡

#applejinie #seokjin x reader #seokjin fluff #seokjin one shot #jin x reader #jin fluff #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts one shot #rainguk #jin high school au #bts high school au #bts orchestra au #violinist!jin

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killed-by-jane-volturi · 3 years

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Cause someone has to fill the huge Volturi void, right?

An extract of the start of who knows what, y’all.

****Jane (and Alec) are aged up to 20 because S*eyer is a gateway pedo and she does not pass the fuckin’ vibe check****

---

@greekmuser

----

“Well, I think that was wonderful. That was wonderful, don’t you agree?” Aro clasped his hands and turned to each of his brothers in delight.

Marcus nodded deeply and slowly, his face not moving from its sunken blood-hound like melancholy. Caius smiled thinly.

This human did indeed have a wonderful handle of the violin trembling against her shoulder, but Aro had been at this for eight days. In a bid to add to his ‘collection’ of art, Aro had decided to reach out to those few hopeful humans who stayed under the Volturi’s employ in search of any with a talent with instruments. Once he acquired a full quartet, orchestra, or god knows what he had his heart set on, he would grant them the immortality they craved in exchange for their eternal service as the castle’s musicians.

No one dared voice how ridiculous a waste of effort it seemed, even when Aro declared he wanted to hear for himself each and every audition, and dragged his brothers into the newly repaired turret room for the occasion.

The young woman with the violin bowed deeply, awkwardly, and then left, only to be replaced by another. This one carried a cello, and froze to her core once she gathered the courage to look at her spectators.

“Whilst we’re still young.” Marcus droned in an unchanging, deadened tone.

Caius’ snort at the humour was childish and Aro glared across the room at him before regaining his whimsical, cheerful facade.

“Go ahead.”

The woman wetted her lips and tried to smile, drawing the bow to the strings. Aro thought she looked like very much like she was in pain.

As the thought crossed his mind, the sound of an enraged scream split through the marble and mortar of the castle walls with such a blood-curdling quality the cello woman almost fainted.

Aro closed his eyes in annoyance, Marcus rolled his tortured gaze on the ceiling and Caius gave the side of Aro’s head a look which could have said ‘rather you than me’ as much as it could have meant ‘I told you so’.

“Excuse me.” Aro said with a sickly sugariness, lips peeled back in a shark smile as a muffled crashing sound resounded from above.

He left the judging to his brothers with a heavy heart, and hoped they would at least allow her to play before they killed her.

Jane’s chambers, of which had been hers and hers alone for over twelve hundred years, were now more of a salvage operation than a rescue mission. She stood still in the rubble of the furniture, of her few possessions and in places, the stonework of the walls, with her back to the door and an antagonised aura about her. Chalky dust still swirled in the air, and smears of powdered granite peppered with splinters decorated her black robes in calico patches. Aro cleared his throat from the doorway and she exhaled audibly.

“Jane.” He prompted, like a school teacher cueing a small child to take their turn.

“Master.” It was polite but she knew she was pushing it. Aro had asked a question with his presence alone, and this was the second time this week that she hadn’t answered it. She didn’t turn around.

Aro stayed silent for long enough to give away that he was calculating.

“Your power grants you a great deal of… privacy. Which in turn demands a great deal of transparency,” His voice stayed light and oddly-pitched. “I trust that I still have your… transparency?” His saccharine tone was straining. She was keeping things from him, and no one kept things from him.

Jane clenched and unclenched her jaw, still rigid. It wouldn’t be long before he worked this out, she knew Caius was already whispering in his ear at every opportunity. She turned very slowly to look at him, and Aro’s features scrunched a little at what he was confronted with. Jane’s face was calm, but there was a crack running along her cheekbone which was healing very slowly, if it was healing at all. Her eyes were flushed black. However long it had been since Jane had drank, it was long enough halt her natural abilities to heal almost to a stop.

She nodded once, knowing better than to speak and risk her words being seized and used against her.

“I do not wish to have to force you to behave appropriately, Jane.” He added with some finality, the threat seeping into his voice. “The Guard do not have personal issues.” He left.

Jane’s shoulders relaxed a little and she glanced towards a god she didn’t believe in before looking around at the room she had destroyed. She swore. She hadn’t succumbed to such a blind rage in centuries, but she didn’t know any other way to handle this new complication.

“Dear me.”

Jane’s head snapped around to regard the new intrusion into what was already a poor day. She growled lowly, fists tightening under her cloak as she felt Chelsea’s thin influence coil around her.

“Temper, temper, Jane.” Chelsea’s pale brown hair was wrapped into a bun that made her sharp features look as though they had been created by the taught pressure alone. She kept a cold, vindictive twist to her thin lips as she surveyed the room.

“Didn’t your dirty peasant mother ever teach you that it’s unbecoming of a lady to throw tantrums?”

Anger simmered under the surface as Jane battled to school her face. In her eyes, Chelsea, for what she could do, was an abomination that should have been destroyed long ago, and the fact that Aro refused to listen to her on the subject gave the manipulator a kind of insufferable glee that goaded Jane to her very soul.

“If you’d like to see a tantrum, Charmion, by all means; carry on.”

Jane lifted her jaw and with some satisfaction saw the other woman hesitate, eyes flicking down and back up again as if somehow surveying a threat she couldn’t see. The eldest of Aro’s daughters despised people calling her by her birth name and anyone else would have paid for their insolence with a hard dose of Chelsea’s most brutal destruction, losing their friends, lovers, even pets on occasion. But Jane’s power was volatile and chaotic in her veins and no vampire so far had been able touch her mind without being brought to their knees in indescribable agony.

In fact, the last time a vampire had gone head to head with Jane’s natural defences— a white-blonde Parisian vampire named Lafayette with an affinity to cause long lasting amnesia— he had simply tried, screaming and straining until he expired. Aro had ordered him killed once it became apparent that the force of what Jane had unwittingly done to him had left him barely able to speak let alone serve. The inner circle had accepted this handicap to their absolute power out of necessity to keep Jane close, but Chelsea had never been able to let it go that Jane went unaffected and unchecked, her mental privacy so absolute.

“Always such an angry little thing,” Chelsea mocked, smirking around at the carnage. “You know, I really thought our time apart would have calmed you down.” Her abilities poked at Jane a second time, just slight enough to be safe.

Late one afternoon in 1740-something, Chelsea had almost died by Jane’s hand when it had accidentally slipped that the older vampire could delicately manipulate Jane’s relationships without torturing herself, though it took a skilful, butterfly application, excruciatingly slow and insidious to evade Jane’s detection and defences, with an end result was pathetic at best. Aro had ordered them apart for ninety years after the fight had been subdued, favouritism Chelsea had branded it when she had heard Jane had survived the transgression (sure as hell nobody else would have), and once they did come back into contact almost a century later the bad blood had only run cold. Her application of it now was just blatant provocation.

“I’ll be calm as I take a long nap at your overdue wake.”

Chelsea sneered suddenly. “Please. I know as well as you do that you’re stomping that foot on ice far too thin to risk adding any bite to your bark.”

It was Jane’s turn to laugh. “You have the natural edge when it comes to barking, Chelsea.”

“Jane.” Alec’s sharp voice cut off the rage her comment had invoked in her antagoniser as he strode past them without halting. “Marcus demands your presence. Now.”

Jane gritted her teeth again and Chelsea was already back to her smug default.

“Oops.” She feigned Aro’s sugar with one hand over her mouth as she followed Alec away, knowing damned fine and happily so that Jane was probably in trouble if Marcus wanted her so suddenly.

#Volturi #Twilight #New Moon #Bella Swan #Jane Volturi #Aro Volturi #Marcus Volturi #Chelsea #Fanfiction #I guess #Please dont eat musicians

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dearlazerbunny · 3 years

Text

Let it Go (Ch. 2 of ?)

Pairings: platonic avengers team x reader, potential background loki x reader

Words: 3000

Genre/Ratings: -WARNINGS- there will be an (unsuccessful) suicide attempt by reader- chapter will be explicitly marked in advance. Drug (pills) and alcohol abuse, lots of negativity and self loathing. There will be an arc, but said arc is going to start in the eleventh circle of hell and inch up from there.

Summary: *not far enough into this one to give an accurate summary, so this’ll have to be updated eventually. enjoy for now!*

He had just gotten used to the noise.

When he first woke up, it felt like he was suffocating him- always there, always cars honking and lights flashing and music playing and people going about their lives- the city that never sleeps. Someone told him that, he forgets who. He figured out what they meant the second he stepped outside for longer than a minute.

Now there’s just the wind stirring up dust, and occasionally toppling over a loose pile of debris. City workers push brooms along the street, trying to clear a path. Machines groan and creak as they haul away pieces of the city- days ago, that window was hundreds of feet in the sky- like its nothing. Another day. Just a little quieter than usual.

t’s hard to believe, even though he has the scars on his shield and healing bruises on his ribs to prove the aliens did, in fact, try to invade New York and take over the planet. Led by a god. And then he’d teamed up with another god- he still wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He’d never been particularly religious, but Bucky was- the insufferable bastard Stark, two assassins and a green giant and became an Avenger of planet Earth.

This wasn’t what he signed up for in 1941. Nazis or aliens, punching them in the face still uses the same muscles. Metal torsos don’t have quite as much give against the knuckles though.

He wanders the streets with no real purpose in mind, other than helping out with lifting here and there where needed. The war roars to life in the back of his mind, overlayed with the eerily calm day. His eyes mark the battle: here, where he launched Nat into the air, her dry words echoing in his ears; here, where Thor had very efficiently covered his back. Here, where for the second time in his life he watched a man who didn’t deserve to fall hurdle towards the ground.

And here- something happened here. His feet remember even if his mind doesn’t- they’ve stopped in the middle of the road. He squints, resisting the urge to cough on a cloud of dust that gets kicked up in his face. Something… his shield, doing far greater damage than his fist ever could, and then someone… screamed?

Her. A girl, in the middle of the road, eyes sunken and skin so taught and paperwhite he’d wondered if the ghosts of this battle were already coming to haunt him before it was even done. She’s screamed at him to duck, and her voice was so raw it triggered something in the back of his brain from basic training and caused him to hit the ground before he fully knew what he was doing. Something had flown over his head- he could hear it cutting through the air- a thunk, a screech that would likely be added to his rotating litany of nightmares- then nothing, save the battle raging behind him. A Chitauri he assumed he’d missed lay twitching on the ground just inches from his neck, and sticking from its chest- ice. Solid ice. So cold that his gloved hand still recoiled when he reached out to touch it.

The irony wasn’t lost on him.

The girl’s face had been a roulette of emotions- a hint of pride, a darkly sarcastic flicker of her lips, and then her eyes widened and- fear. He watched her watch him, clenching and unclenching her fists. By the time he had opened his mouth to call out to her, she was gone, leaving only a trail of what looked to be frost on the ground before she disappeared around a corner- and something that slipped out of her pocket, jostled from her sweatshirt as she made her getaway.

He didn’t have time to think about her after that. A second later, his comm had crackled to life in his ear, and Stark started barking instructions, and Captain America had straightened his spine and grabbed his shield, and got back to where he was needed.

Steve Rogers, though, still has her tucked in the back of his mind.

The frost is still on the ground. Not as white as it had been, but a few grains of ice still cling to the cracks in the pavement. Strange. Magic? After everything he’s seen the past few days he wouldn’t be surprised. He follows the trail, irrationally hoping she’ll still be tucked behind an overturned car or crumbling building corner.

She isn’t. But there is a neon orange bottle tucked amongst the wreckage, and as he reaches for it he has a flash of memory of it falling from your pocket as you run. The contents rattle. A prescription bottle- like the ones medical gives him never get touched and sit collecting dust in a corner of his closet. Neat rows of print declare it Klonopin, 0.5 mg. Take once a day at bedtime, take an additional half as needed. Ingest with food. In the upper left corner is a name and address and phone number- Christian Heysworth.

The girl in the sweatshirt doesn’t strike him as a Christian. He should probably drop the bottle- it’d never be noticed among the rest of the chaos- and walk away. Worry about his own life and his own mess.

He tucks the bottle into his pocket. It might be a place to start.

…

The knock on her door is crisp and succinct, with no room for error. A soldier’s knock. She knows who it is before she turns the lock, because Clint doesn’t bother knocking anymore. When the door opens, she tries not to look as tired as she feels. “Captain.” It’s an easy acknowledgment, and it gives him time to categorize the healing gash on her cheekbone, covered with a butterfly bandage; the bruise blossoming on her collarbone that peeks just far enough above the neckline of her shirt to be seen. She doesn’t need the attention, but he needs a reminder that not everything is different since the forties. Same soldiers, different decade. Despite herself, the corner of her lip flicks up in the tiniest hint of appreciation. It has been a while since someone’s cared. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

Interesting. “With?”

“Something stupid, most likely,” His voice is just sheepish enough to believe him. From his pocket, he pulls an orange bottle identical to the ones SHIELD’s psych department keeps prescribing her and the ones she keeps using for target practice.

Oh. Something deep in her chest softens and clenches all at once. She knows these questions all too well. “Cap. If you need help with- well. I can try my best, but I doubt I’m the best person to-”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Oh, no, these- they aren’t mine.” He hands the medicine over and she appraises it with a practiced eye. Klonopin, schedule IV drug in the United States, dose as low as one milligram to sedate an average adult male within forty-five minutes, effects greatly compounded by alcohol- “I, um. I’d like to track down the owner.”

Her brain is humming. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s a long story.”

Wordlessly, she steps aside, letting him in. “I didn’t have much to do tonight.”

Eventually, there are cups of tea in front of both of them, though she’s only taken a sip and Steve hasn’t touched his at all. He tells her about the girl who leaves frost on the ground in the middle of Manhattan and saves him with a spear made of ice. From the way he speaks, its almost like he isn’t quite sure if she was real or not- just a ghost or a very strange guardian angel. It’s bizarre, but not even on her top ten list of bizarre things in this week alone.

“So. I want to… thank her, I suppose?” He laughs without mirth. “I’m not really sure.”

“Think she’s enhanced?”

“Hopefully not by force.”

It doesn’t even bother her, anymore, the implication. Her breathing becomes more controlled on instinct. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Don’t think about it. “Let’s hope. Is she on anyone’s radar? SHIELD?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to check. And if I did, I don’t have anything to go on.”

Natasha glances down at the bottle of pills. But there is Christian Heysworth. She reaches under the couch cushion she sits on to produce a laptop from the gap. It’s wafer-thin and high tech enough that pulling up something as inane as Facebook looks categorically ridiculous. There’s a few Christian Heysworths, but they’re quickly narrowed down by what little information she has. “Christian Heysworth: junior at NYU, frat boy, wouldn’t be surprised if he’s got a couple of DUIs under his belt paid off by someone in his family-” she glances up, sharp cheekbones illuminated in blue light. “What?”

“I just… what are the odds he’d be in SHIELD’s databases…?”

“Hardly, Cap. Behold the wonders of the internet. So, are we wringing his neck, or were you thinking something more subtle?”

She says it to get a rise out of him and is rewarded by an aghast expression. “I just need to ask him some questions, Natasha, not-” he stops when her quiet smirk lifts a little of the weight from her eyes and laughs with her. “Fine. But I’m doing the talking.”

...

Natasha Romanov has infiltrated thirty-seven countries in as many or more disguises and has never been caught. She is failing miserably at attempting to camouflage Captain America into a generic civilian. There aren’t enough sunglasses and baseball caps in the world to make him a more manageable height and physique, and his t-shirt- at least two sizes too small for him- attracts the eyes of every wannabe pro sports player and every girl and guy hanging off of their arm. Honestly, they expect her to work in these kinds of conditions? Thankfully pulling her top a little lower and batting her eyelashes nets her enough information to direct her to her “absolutely earth-shattering one-night stand.” They climb stairs in a dorm hall that could be nicer than some of the floors in Stark Tower. She has the urge to crack the tile with something sharp.

Heysworth opens his door in boxers and smoke still on his breath. Heavy-lidded eyes barely focus on her face. “Uh, hey. Can I help you?”

Steve comes up behind her. “Christian Heysworth? I’d like to have a word with you, son.”

“I didn’t do nothin’.”

“I didn’t say you did.” Steve’s blue eyes are cool when he takes off his aviators; primly folds them and hangs them on the collar of his shirt. “Recognize this?” He holds out the prescription.

“Uh, I didn’t really-” Heysworth stops. Belches. Squints up at Steve. “I- wait. Wait, holy shit, you’re fucking Captain America! Holy shit man, I can’t even-”

As he rambles, Steve looks over to Natasha, who shrugs. “You must have one of those faces.”

Captain America holds up a hand to the kid’s face. “Just answer the question, son.”

“I, yeah, okay, um-” he turns the bottle over in his hands. “Shit, is this what that bitch stole from me?”

“Language. Who stole from you?”

“I met up with some chick downtown who wanted to buy them, but then those freaking aliens started coming and I- you didn’t hear it from me though, ‘kay?”

Steve sighs. “Do you know her name?”

“Nah, chat rooms and shi- stuff. Sorry. I have her screen name?”

He agrees to trade for a selfie with the Captain, which Natasha promptly deletes as soon as he hands over his phone, transferring data to her own. “She’s communicating from this address,” she murmurs, showing Steve the area it triangulated before wiping that information too. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Uh-huh. Hey, are you-”

Steve neatly closes the door in his face. “I don’t think he looked at your face once.

Oh, Steve. What a pure soul. “To be fair, I don’t think anyone has been looking at yours either.”

Their trail leads them to the backstreets, to an alley so covered in grime it looks like the whole place should be condemned. And many of the buildings are- covered in caution tape, stairwells crumbling, and fire escapes rusted over. Wind whistles through shattered windows. Foundations are rotting. And yet there are a few minuscule signs of life- a door that’s scraped the ground so many times there’s wear on the concrete, a few piles of garbage here and there. “She’s off the grid.”

“Can’t be right. She was a kid, couldn’t have been more than twenty-”

“You do what you have to.” She gives him a look. “You know that.”

His face goes stony. “Let’s just find her.”

Natasha sets off in one direction, Steve in the other. They both know how this works. It’s a practiced dance. Search the bottom floors first, find faults in the buildings and stairwells so you can avoid them the next floor up. She picks a lock that has managed to stay fast despite rusting over, he leverages himself through a windowsill strong enough to hold his weight. Eerily silent save for scraps of trash and the skittering of mice. If you listen closely, you can almost hear the construction in midtown, slowly shoveling away.

Steve’s mark is almost laughably easy to find. There’s a door tucked in a second-level corner whose seams are iced over three inches thick.

Her boots crunch in frost spilling out from under a crack in the door. She punctures the air with a bird call, and seconds later Steve rounds the corner. He reaches down to run a finger through the snow. “it looks the same.”

“Do you want to do the honors then?” He tests the knob once, twice- the metal doesn’t even rattle, it’s too frozen solid. He opts to kick it in with a well-placed boot, wincing at the sound of ice cracking and then shattering into shards.

The apartment is empty. There’s a table along the far wall stacked with a few cardboard boxes to use as makeshift shelves. Packets of potato chips are shoved in one alcove, a few granola bars in the other. Empty soda bottles litter the floor. The table itself is mostly covered with alcohol: a whole skyline of glass bottles glinting in the light from the newly busted door. Some are empty, some are half full, a few have broken necks. An inspection of the crooked drawers attached underneath reveals nothing but a junkyard of pills, none of which are prescribed to the same person more than twice.

Natasha opens a few of the safety caps, rattling them like a scientist with an interest. “There’s enough in here to put even you to sleep.”

“Is she here? She would’ve heard the door.”

“Maybe.” A door leads off to a molding bathroom and a small hall closet. The next, a makeshift bedroom. A grimy mattress sits in the corner, covered in blankets so dirty there’s no telling what the print of them might’ve once been. There’s also a girl. She’s curled up in the center, drowning in layers of hoodies and sweatshirts. The second Natasha steps in the room she can see her breath. Another step in and the air feels like home. Whatever water was in the air has crystallized and fallen to the ground in a tiny hailstorm, surrounding her like a halo.

She also doesn’t move.

The spy moves with ruthless efficiency, ignoring the cold as she kneels by the mattress. Too many layers. Can’t even see if she’s breathing. She tugs her sleeve up over her fingertips before beginning to shove aside tangled hoods and t-shirts, digging for the collarbone.

“Natasha?”

“Here. She’s almost-” she cuts off with a hiss of pain, wrenching her fingers back like she was bit.

“What-?” the girl is still sleeping. Steve only spares her a glance before taking Natasha’s hand in his, checking for damage. There’s no blood, no broken skin. But the tips of her fingers are white and hard, paler than normal and cold to the touch. He recoils on instinct. “Frostbite.”

Natasha is muttering low in Russian, tapping her fingers together to move the blood, and Steve is momentarily taken back to a plane going down in the middle of an endless ocean surrounded by walls of blue. No going back, only going under, and nothing waiting for him but frost and ice and cold-

“Steve!” He blinks. Natasha’s face swims back into focus. “Get out. Contact the tower. We can’t move her like this and she needed medical yesterday.”

“I’m fi-”

“No, you’re not. I can handle this. Russian, remember?” She tries to give him a small smile. He doesn’t return it. “Get out and coordinate removal. That’s an order.”

Orders, some primeval part of Steve’s brain can understand. He turns and hopes he doesn’t run from the apartment, not even bothering to navigate the stairs- just jumps over the balcony to land in the courtyard below, chest heaving. Unconsciously, he glances in a nearby piece of glass, ensuring his breath isn’t fog. He isn’t cold. He isn’t. He’s fine.

He isn’t thinking when he puts a beacon out for JARVIS to trace. He isn’t flexing his fingers to make sure they can move. He isn’t drowning. He isn’t on ice. He isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’t-

In the apartment, Natasha swears and wrings her hand as pins and needles race down her arm. She’s handled plenty of frostbite, but it never gets easier. The girl is still unconscious, heartbeat dangerously slow. Whatever she put in her system, she meant to knock herself out for a long time. Or worse.

And Steve is on the verge of a panic attack and if your heart stops she can’t perform CPR, so she sits on the edge of your mattress blowing on her fingers as you keep causing the air around you to quietly freeze and fall, a tiny secret twinkle of ice in the middle of New York.

#marvel fic #marvel fanfiction #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #avengers x y/n #avengers x reader #avengers x oc #loki x reader #reader insert #Steve Rogers #natasha romanov #tony stark #bruce banner #Thor Odinson #clint barton #Loki Laufeyson #angst

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cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 9: Training

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Once again, all sound ceased as Rowan descended the stairwell and entered within view of the kitchens. Emrys’ soft singing and the mindless chatter from the young male – Luca, he remembered – cutting off abruptly. The girl was hunched over a washbasin, slowly scrubbing at a dish. Just the sight of her was enough to turn his slowly burning fury into a raging inferno.

Rowan hadn’t realized that he’d been hoping to find the girl suffering, moaning and groaning about doing such menial, servant work. But she just seemed to have been steadily laboring, quietly in the corner.

“Let’s go.” Rowan said, his voice hard.

As the princess moved to join him, Rowan caught Emrys looking at him with a new kind of fear in his eyes. A fear for others, for this girl.

Rowan clenched his teeth tightly, grinding them together. Something about Emrys’ worry on the behalf of this arrogant, insufferable, worthless princess was beyond aggravating. She did not deserve any pity, or affection.

Rowan led the girl through the small interior courtyard and out into the forest. It was now nearly midday, but the light and warmth of the sun’s rays couldn’t really pierce through the layers of mist shrouding the moss-covered oaks. It chilled Rowan’s bones, and he could hear the princess’ teeth chattering behind him. Good.

They slowly made their way up the rocky ridge and into the highest reaches of the forest, until the foothills were left far behind them and green fields stretched before them.

After the speed and surety of his flight that morning, treading along at a mortal pace was agonizing. The girl seemed to barely move, their snail’s pace making this short trip into an hour-long slog.

Luckily, the princess kept silent, and they both avoided throwing gasoline onto the flames simmering between them. But not for long.

Rowan was leading them to an old temple of the sun goddess, Mala. It was now a ruin, but he could still feel the warmth of the goddess’ power echoing in the stones below as he crossed over them and paid homage to the goddess who favored him.

Then the girl spoke up from behind him, her voice a crackling whip through the misty silence. “Do your worst.”

Rowan turned and gave her an obvious once-over, cataloguing her mist-soaked clothing, the bruises on her face and body, her loose muscles, the positions of her feet and arms... She wasn’t ready for a fight, and she knew it.

He breathed through the fury. This girl was going to be the death of him. “Wipe that smarmy, lying smile off your face,” he snarled. Rowan had no patience left for her ridiculous antics today, not after the morning he’d had.

She didn’t shift a muscle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If anything, the antagonism in her voice had only increased.

Rowan felt the muscles in his body stretch and expand, filling with a violent intent and a ravenous desire for action. He stepped forwards, his chest now less than a foot from her body, and flashed his canines at her.

“Here’s your first lesson, girl: cut the horseshit. I don’t feel like dealing with it, and I’m probably the only one who doesn’t give a damn about how angry and vicious and awful you are underneath.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t think you particularly want to see how angry and vicious and awful I am underneath.”

“Go ahead and be as nasty as you want, Princess, because I’ve been ten times as nasty, for ten times longer than you’ve been alive.”

Rowan’s words, or at least the aching, primal challenge within them, finally reached her. She pulled her lips back from her teeth in a feral grin. He snarled in response. “Better. Now shift.” Maybe if her pissed the girl off just enough, he could find a way around those iron bars in her mind.

Her voice was vicious. “It’s not something I can control.”

“If I wanted excuses, I’d ask for them. Shift.”

She didn’t even try, didn’t reach within herself. Instead she snarled right back at him. “I hope you brought snacks, because we’re going to be here a long, long while if today’s lesson is dependent upon my shifting.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re really going to make me enjoy training you.”

She plowed on, heedless of the violence promised by the set of his jaw and the shape of his body. “I’ve already participated in a dozen versions of the master-disciple training saga, so why don’t we cut that horseshit, too?”

His fingers twitched, voice becoming quieter, more lethal. “Shut your smart-ass mouth and shift.”

She set her jaw, tensing her muscles. “No.”

And Rowan lunged.

Somehow, she dodged his first blow, sidestepping the fist he sent flying to her face. And then she twisted enough in the opposite direction to blindly avoid his second strike to her left side. But even with her years of training as an assassin, she wasn’t fast enough to evade his third blow, a swift kick to the backs of her legs.

She thudded to the ground gracelessly, slamming her already wrecked face onto the weather-beaten rock. The princess rolled to the side, groaning, her breathing ragged, as Rowan effortlessly pounced and straddled her chest, effectively rendering her motionless.

She tried to unseat him, but her movements were ineffective, fluttery things. They lacked strength, or any real conviction.

“Shift.” Rowan hissed, shoving all the menace, all the anger and hate and vitriol that he possessed into the command.

She just laughed at him, an emotionless, cold thing. Like a dead fish.

It was as if her every action, her every breath, was perfectly designed to piss him off. Rowan didn’t think it would have been possible for him to be more furious, more insanely angry than he had been when he hit her last night, but he had been dead wrong.

“Nice try,” she chuckled. “You think you can trick me into shifting by pissing me off?”

Rowan snarled viciously, his canines inches from her throat.

“Here’s an idea: I’m rich as hell. How about we pretend to do this training for a week or so, and then you tell Maeve I’m good and ready to enter her territory, and I’ll give you all the gods-damned gold you want.”

Rowan nearly exploded with rage. Bribery? The girl thought to placate him with her blood money?

For the first time in two centuries, Rowan was filled with the desire to hurt another being. To make her suffer. To make her feel pain.

“Here’s an idea,” The words escaped from deep within his throat, cracking his ice-covered heart with the fiery hate they were bathed in. “I don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing for ten years, other than flouncing around and calling yourself an assassin. But I think you’re used to getting your way. I think you have no control over yourself. No control, and no discipline—not the kind that counts, deep down. You are a child, and a spoiled one at that. And,” he paused, deliberating, finding the words that would hit her the hardest, “you are a coward.”

The word sank into her like that blade it was, and she struggled beneath him, her eyes alight with fury. He let out a low, malicious laugh.

Then Rowan took the blade and twisted.

“Don’t like that word?” He leaned closer still, now close enough to rip out her throat without barely moving. “Coward. You’re a coward who has run for ten years while innocent people were burned and butchered and tortured because of you. Because you fled, because you abandoned them – ”

Rowan’s voice cut off as he saw the utter, complete blankness in the girl’s eyes. It was like she was dead, like his vicious words had killed her and sent her to the Afterworld.

But her heart still beat and her chest still moved, so she wasn’t dead. She was hiding. Hiding away where the truth couldn’t touch her, where she didn’t have to deal with her reality, or face her fears.

Well, if anger couldn’t bring on the shift, perhaps fear would. The princess could do with a healthy dose of fear.

“Get up.” Rowan stood, setting the princess free. She didn’t move. “Get up.” He snarled more viciously. Slowly, the life returned to her eyes, but she still didn’t move a muscle.

Rowan’s nostrils flared. He reached down and pulled her up by her shoulders, her thin body light as a willow wand.

“Pathetic,” he spat, releasing her roughly. “Spineless and pathetic.”

The girl just looked back at him, her face blank and pale, as he turned and strode into the woods.

···

Rowan led the princess back down the wooded slope and through the oaks, but he was not taking her back to Mistward. No, he was angling towards the barrow field mounds, and the wights that nestled within them.

Rowan knew that this was a stupid, dangerous idea. He was just too furious to care.

He wanted the princess to get a taste of the creatures waiting out there, a taste of the wideness and depth of a world that she had barely seen a fraction of. He wouldn’t actually let them kill her, no matter how much he wanted her gone. He just needed her to get a taste of real fear, of the inescapable panic brought on by powerlessness. Maybe it would even force her around those iron bars. Force her to shift.

Rowan didn’t really care either way. He was so angry at this girl, this child, that he could barely see straight. Yet again, he had surprised himself, Rowan hadn’t wished death on another thinking being so desperately, so violently, since the years after the death of his mate. The years where he slowly took his revenge, and then aimlessly wandered the earth, purposeless.

There was no reason for him to hate the princess that much – no logical explanation for it. It didn’t make sense, but Rowan with still too furious to give a shit. He just wanted the girl to hurt. And to wipe that arrogant smirk off her face permanently.

The pair of them approached the barrows, Rowan drawing his sword and dagger cautiously, then he turned to the girl and spoke.

“I had planned to wait until you had some handle on your power – planned to make you come at night, when the barrow-wights are really something to behold, but consider this a favor, as there are few that will dare come out in the day. Walk through the mounds – face the wights and make it to the other side of the field, Aelin, and we can go to Doranelle whenever you wish.”

Her eyes were cold and hard as she regarded him. She had to know that this was a trap, that there was no way she could face the wights without control of her magic and still live. Had to know that Rowan was using her mortal impatience against her.

The scent of fear drifted from her on the wind’s back, while her posture spoke of a hesitant wariness.

The corners of Rowan’s lips curled into a smile as he noticed her eyeing his weapons. He shrugged his shoulders, “You can either wait to earn back your steel, or you can enter as you are now.”

A quick flash of temper. “My bare hands are weapon enough.”

Rowan’s smile widened as he turned and sauntered through the hills, leading the girl to the center of the field where he knew that a wight had been freed.

Each of the barrows were sealed with heavy, iron doors that were bolted into stone foundations, locking up the beasts within. There were dozens of them, ancient tombs of kings and princes long since passed. And they all breathed – the air around them moving in strange, twisting currents as the creatures within slept.

But as he and the princess walked past, the earth yawned, and the barrow mounds were filled with the rustling of awakening things. But still they walked on, the princess remaining close behind despite the fear steadily pumping its way through her blood and pulsing into the air around them. Her fear excited the wights, pulling them out of their niches and from within their lairs.

They reached the center – the oldest barrow in the field. It rested in the middle of a circle of dead grass, and the stones of its threshold had been broken – torn asunder by the tenacious fingers of tree roots and gnarled bushes. And the iron door was gone, nowhere in sight.

“I leave you here,” Rowan said, carefully keeping his feet outside the ring of dead grass. His smile was deadly. “I’ll meet you on the other side of the field.”

The girl looked like she was about to bolt. To run and run and run until she was as far away from him and this field as she could get. But instead of giving in to the impulse, the foolish girl steeled herself, inclined her head to Rowan, and walked into the dead grass.

She moved slowly, steadily, the way one does when they’re trying not to spook a predator. Not realizing it wouldn’t make any difference.

But for some reason, the wight didn’t attack. It remained hidden within its barrow, completely out of sight as the girl made her slow approach and turned to walk around to the other side of the mound. It was…afraid. But not of them. Wights were not afraid of the Fae, no matter how powerful.

Rowan took off, sprinting to the other side of the field. Could luck, blind, foolish luck get the girl out of this completely unharmed?

Frustration bubbled deep in Rowan’s gut as he reached the other side of the field, eyes searching intently for any sign of the girl or the wight. But when the central mound came into view, only darkness met his gaze.

Rowan stopped suddenly, his whole body tensing yet again. But it was a completely different kind of tension than he had just experienced in his brawl with the princess. Then, he had not actually felt any danger, any threat. The girl was only a mortal – a well-trained one, yes, but a mortal nonetheless. She posed no danger to him or any other Fae.

This however, was something different. Something wrong.

The blackness was not of the wights’ making. It was different. Entirely other. And the creatures were hiding from it.

The darkness cloaked the barrow-mounds like a black cloth, thicker and more impenetrable than smoke. It was like a brick wall of inky night had been erected in the middle of the field, and from within, Rowan could barely sense a thing.

He could just barely smell the princess’ terror and pain, but those scents were almost entirely masked by the overwhelming scent emanating from the dark wall itself.

It was of dust and carrion, and something else – something indescribable. It was almost like the scent that had obscured the body of the demi-Fae male, but different somehow. Shifted. The way scents varied between individuals. But still wholly wrong. Not human, not Fae, and not animal. Not even skinwalker or faerie or dragon. It wasn’t alive, had no pulse or emotion or essence the way all living beings did.

Rowan could just barely hear the girl gasping, “This is not real. This is not real.” Her voice was desperate and panicked, and Rowan was surprised to be feeling…fear. Though the emotion was barely a flicker, it was still there. He was afraid.

Rowan rallied, and considered his options. There weren’t many.

He could either wait for the princess to appear out of the darkness, for the black curtain to dissipate on its own, or he could enter into the black void and discover for himself what was within.

His entire being shied from that path. The darkness and whatever created it was wrong. Not of this earth. And…when he looked too long in its depths he could see things…hear Lyria’s screams…feel her body in his arms…

And then the princess was running, lurching and stumbling and falling over herself. Desperate to get away, to escape the blackness and whatever lay within it. Rowan moved forwards to meet her, to pull her away from the void, shoving that aching, screaming part of himself deep inside and locking it behind walls of ice.

A gasping, shrieking noise was leaking from somewhere deep in her chest. Her face was bone white, and her clothes were soiled, covered in vomit and piss and bodily fluids.

She stumbled and fell at his feet, still retching, though now only a small stream of bile trickled from her mouth, her stomach emptied.

Rowan gritted his teeth. No matter the ferocity of the darkness, or the strength of the malice it radiated, the girl should have more discipline, more self-control than she was currently demonstrating. The princess was weak, and self-indulgent. She had no control over her emotions whatsoever, and instead gave herself to them, letting them do what they would.

The terror and grief and pain coming from her was so strong, so intense that he could taste its metallic tang on his teeth. It coated his mouth like bile.

And then, finally, she began to shift – the fear so strong and all-consuming that she was forced through those iron bars and into her other form.

Maybe this had been worth it.

But there was only a flash of canines and pointed ears and then she groaned, returning to her mortal form – but there was another flash of light and the girl shifted back to immortal, her face contorting in agony.

The shifting was completely uncontrolled. Her flesh rippled like water as she flipped between her two forms, mortal and immortal, fast as the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. She was stuck in the place between, tangled up in those iron bars separating her from her power.

The girl’s magic surged around her, cradling her in its blanket of fire. But instead of relaxing into its embrace, she choked on it, gasping, screaming –

And then she passed out.

Rowan sighed in exasperation.

While he had been focusing on the princess writhing on the ground before him, the darkness had slowly dissipated, leaving behind no trace of its existence, or of what had created it.

The wind whispered to him of a fast-moving body, some kind of creature, whipping through the tree branches to the southwest.

Rowan longed to go after it, to track it back through the barrow mounds and into the forest beyond, to follow it back to its lair. But he couldn’t leave the girl at his feet on her own, alone and weak and vulnerable in the middle of a field of wights. Wights that were quickly recovering in the absence of the dark creature, and stirring once more in their hollows.

Rowan groaned his frustration, and then gingerly grasped the disgusting girl’s shoulders and dragged her into the safety of the forest at their backs.

He dumped her a few hundred feet into the safety of the canopy, then sprinted back towards the barrows, shifting midstride. He circled the fields and the surrounding woodlands, scanning for any sign of the darkness or anything that could possibly be the otherworldly creature that had created it. But there was nothing.

Nothing strange, nothing that stood out. And no trace of that awful, wretched stench.

Rowan curved back to return to where he’d left the princess, fuming. If only she had more self-control, if she could have run into the safety of the trees without completely losing it, he could have gone off and pursued the creature. Maybe even discovered what had killed the demi-Fae male, and removed a threat from Doranelle’s lands. Protected the fortress.

But the spineless princess had prevented him from doing so.

Rowan sat on a rock next to her prone form, waiting for her to return to consciousness. He idly threw a dagger as he stewed, his anger slowly bubbling and murmuring in his blood.

Eventually, the girl awoke, her eyes slowly sliding open, sore limbs stretching.

He didn’t wait for her to recover. “No discipline, no control, and no courage.” She turned to look at him, eyes glazed over. “You failed. You made it to the other side of the field, but I said to face the wights – not throw a magical tantrum.”

Her fury blazed to life, overwhelming the exhaustion and lingering fear. Rising to match his own writhing temper. “I will kill you. How dare – ”

“That was not a wight, Princess.” Rowan interrupted, his well of patience dangerously close to running dry. He definitely didn’t have enough left to listen to her go on another arrogant tirade. He barely had enough to speak at all.

Their eyes met, and he mentally shot towards her, That thing should not have been there.

Then what in hell was it, you stupid bastard? she shot back, without hesitation.

Rowan clenched his jaw. Even completely silent, the girl’s tone reeked of arrogant disdain. “I don’t know. We’ve had skinwalkers on the prowl for weeks, roaming down from the hills to search for human pelts, but this…this was something different. I have never encountered its like, not in these lands or any other. Thanks to having to drag you away, I don’t think I’ll learn anytime soon.” He looked pointedly at her deplorable state. “It was gone when I circled back. Tell me what happened. I saw only darkness, and when you emerged, you were – different.”

She looked down at herself, frowning in disgust. “No. And you can go to hell.”

He pressed. “Other lives might depend on it.”

“I want to go back to the fortress,” Her words came with a very great effort, her breaths shallow and labored. “Right now.”

Anger burned even higher within him, reaching to claw at his throat. Selfish brat. “You’re done when I say you’re done.”

“You can kill me or torture me or throw me off a cliff, but I am done for today. In that darkness, I saw things that no one should be able to see. It dragged me through my memories – and not the decent ones. Is that enough for you?”

The girl’s voice was different, altered by her encounter with the creature. This time, her ferocity didn’t come from arrogance, or aggression, or narcissism. Instead it was the sound of a desperate, small, trapped person. Someone who had run from pain for so long, that they no longer knew how to face it any other way.

Rowan spat out a sharp sound of frustration and anger. Nothing could excuse her refusal, her unwillingness to provide potentially crucial information. He was right, the girl was a coward – through and through.

Rowan stood, and led her through the woods and back to Mistward, completely failing to ignore the fury pounding its way through his limbs as he brooded.

The iron bars in her mind were made of fear. A terror so large and great that she allowed it to control her, to cripple her and prevent her from being herself. From accessing the other half of her identity – her Fae form.

The princess would have to overcome her own fear and cowardice in order to learn control. The question was – how to make a coward face their fears?

They arrived back at the fortress, the girl turning away from the entry guards as they passed, trying to hide the horrific state she was in. They noticed anyways, disgust and anger and fear wafting from them as they took in her rank stench and beaten body. And the sentiment was reflected by all of the many workers and soldiers they passed, though none voiced their worry or discomfort – all too intimidated by the force of Rowan’s presence, or by the girl’s own hostility.

He knew the reputation he already carried with the fortress residents, as well as the wider world. Knew that this would do nothing at all to endear them to him. Would maybe even make the girl a figure of sympathy.

He didn’t care. There was nothing to be done about it regardless.

Rowan was desperate to leave, but before he dumped her, he managed to say, “These are the female baths. Your room is a level up. Be in the kitchens at dawn tomorrow.”

And he strode down the corridor without a second glance – relieved to escape the fiery torrent of her presence and fall back into the waiting arms of his cool, icy indifference.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

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summahsunlight · 4 years

Text

Worth the Risk, Part 3

Rating: T

Word Count: 1668

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe. After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

Warnings: Little bit of angst, but it’s mostly fluff

Taglist: @fanfic-addict-98, @thescarletknight2014, @blushingwueen, @americasass-romanoff

Here is the third part❤️ Taglist is open! If you would like to be added you can always message me, leave an ask, or comment here☺️ I did my best to proof read this and try to stay as historical accurate as possible.

“That Army pilot was asking about you earlier.”

“Which Army pilot?”

Rey placed her hands on her hips and looked at you, incredulously. “Y/N--the only Army pilot currently here--Captain Dameron.”

Silently you looked up at her. Rey had come to the hospital a year ago; she was young, no more than nineteen years old, but after surviving the German Blitzkrieg of London, she left home wanting to help. “What did Captain Dameron want to know about me?”

“He wanted to know why you hadn’t been by to check on him,” Rey replied, sitting on the edge of the empty cot you were standing near. “He looked pretty disappointed you hadn’t come by to see him.”

“I’ve been busy today,” you answered her, honestly. “Those new recruits arrived and I had to get them situated, plus trained before the end of my shift. I’m sure Captain Dameron can do without seeing me.”

“I don’t know--according to Jess, he looked like he was pouting.”

“Pouting? Really?”

Rey smiled. “Okay, maybe not pouting but he did look sad that I was the one checking his vitals and dosing his medication, which by the way, he insists he doesn’t need. Anyone looking at him move can see he’s in a lot of pain.”

You sighed and nodded your head in understanding. “He doesn’t want to appear weak, it’s a pride thing, Rey. Did he take the medicine?”

She chuckled. “Begrudgingly.”

Smiling at this, you said, “Well, maybe if he knows Doctor Hux wants him to try to get out of that cot and walking, he’ll feel a little better.”

“Maybe you should pay him a little visit before you leave today?”

“Just because he was sad I didn’t check on him?”

Rey titled her head, grinning at you. “Come on, Y/N, you have to see the way he looks at you. The sun, the moon, and the stars rise in your eyes to him.”

Of course you had noticed the way Poe looked at you--it made your heart flutter with little butterflies every time you saw it. But this was war, and this was not the place to entertain thoughts of romance. The war had already taken one man that you loved away, you weren’t sure you should risk it taking away another. “He’s drugged up on morphine; he’d look at a sheep that way.”

She laughed. Rey was smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for; she knew that the way Poe Dameron looked at you was not because he was doped up on morphine. “If that was true he’d look at all of the nurses that way--he only looks at you that way. Call me crazy, Y/N, but I think our Army pilot has a crush on you.”

A lot of the other nurses had mumbled those same words to you, or in hurried whispers as you passed them, but you didn’t dare to dream that Poe had feelings for you. After all, you’d only known each other for a couple of weeks and you wanted to call her crazy--but that would be a lie. “I need to file these reports,” you mumbled, ducking out of the room and heading towards the main office.

On your way, you passed the wing that Poe’s bed was in and you hesitated to continue to the office. Biting down on your lower lip, you stepped inside the wing.

Poe was propped up against the pillows, writing yet another letter home. He’d made it a point to write to his father at least every couple of days. His face did look a little sad, you noticed, but when he caught sight of you, it immediately lit up upon seeing you. He shifted on the bed, even if he was in pain, and smiled at you.

You couldn’t lie--his smile made you feel weak in the knees--and you found yourself smiling in return. “Rey says you were a little sullen earlier. I hope you didn’t give her too hard of time.”

He grinned, boyishly, which showed off his good looks. “Only a little; she’s a sweet kid, I like her. She already gave my medication...are you here to check on me, Lieutenant?”

“I was...I was on my way to file my reports. I thought I’d...say hi.”

“Hi.”

The way he spoke, the way he smiled at you made your cheeks flush--and he smiled even more. “Good news--the doctor thinks you should get up and go for a walk tomorrow.”

Frowning, Poe furrowed his brow. “I hope I don’t have to go with him. He’s kind of an insufferable bastard. Although, some sunshine might be good for that pasty white skin.”

Laughing, you shook your head. It was true--Doctor Hux was insufferable at times and often times you wondered if his brilliance effected his empathy. He left most of the beside manner to the nurses. “You could walk with me; I’d like to think that I’m not so insufferable.”

As you spoke, you vaguely became aware that your fingers brushed against Poe’s and before you could pull away, he wrapped his calloused hand around your soft one. “I’d much rather go for a walk with you, Y/N.”

Looking at your joined hands, you heard a tiny voice in the back of your head screaming don’t do it! But it was too late, you were already falling for him and quite frankly, you didn’t care to catch yourself.

Poe was too proud to admit that the act of simply standing was painful for him. Even when you told him that you could stop and try again another day--he was determined to get on his feet, to go on that walk with you.

Meanwhile, you were fine with just sitting in the small courtyard in the sun. Poe had made it that far, that was good in your book considering just a few weeks ago he was knocking on death’s door. But Poe seemed to want to push the limits, not that this surprised you. “Captain, you can sit in the wheelchair--I’ll push you--or we don’t have to go any further--let’s just sit here in the sun for a while.”

“No...no...I want...I want to walk,” Poe argued.

“Captain, you’re in obvious pain,” you countered, softly.

“I’m fine.”

“Say that to me without grimacing.”

Poe sighed and gave into defeat. He lowered himself into the wheelchair you had brought along just in case he grew tired. His head dropped and his shoulders slumped, “I should be able to walk further than out the door.”

You pulled a chair up next to him and sat down. Gently, you placed your hand on his knee. “You didn’t just fall and scrap your knee, Captain Dameron--you crashed into the ocean; you have broken ribs, lost blood, and were exposed to the elements. I’m not sure anyone excepts you to bounce right back.”

He sighed, frustrated. Raising his rich brown eyes, he looked at you, intensely. “I need to get back out there--in my plane--I’m no use to the Army here.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you snapped, “You’re no good to the Army dead, either. Which if you rush back into things, Captain, is how your story is going to end.”

“If the Nazis get control of England, of America, then we’re as good as dead.”

“The fight will still be there when you fully heal. More soldiers and pilots are going to die. Why do you want to rush back into all that?”

Poe watched as a tear streaked a path down your cheek. It had not occurred to him what the cost of the war was for you. Instinctively he reached out with his thumb and wiped the tear away. “Why? Because I see people hurting and I want to help; I see people suffering, I see evil that needs to be dealt with--that’s why.”

It was hard to ignore your heart racing at his touch and you leaned into it, yearning for that physical contact. His thumb swept over your cheek, rubbing comforting circles into your skin. You wanted him to kiss you--desperately--you had never wanted any man to kiss you so desperately before.

His lips quirked into a little smile, like he knew what you were thinking, what you wanted. His fingers laced through yours on his knee, he nudged a little closer, his nose brushing against yours. “Lieutenant... can I ask you something?”

“Yes, of course, Captain.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes...”

Cupping your cheek in his hand, Poe closed his eyes, bring his lips close to yours and then he sighed, “As soon as I can walk again without pain... I’m going to kiss you.” He pulled back, letting go of your hand, lowering the one that was touching your cheek. He smiled. “Consider it my inspiration to get better, faster.”

Blinking the confusion from your face, you stared at him. “That’s risky, Captain--what if I won’t let you kiss me the next time?”

“I’ve never paid much attention to risk, sweetheart.”

“Clearly.”

“Something tells me you’re still going to want me to kiss you when I ask again.”

“Oh, so you not only ignore risks, you’re cocky too. Okay, hotshot--what tells you that?”

Poe grinned, his eyes sparkling, dimples deepening.

You swallowed, nervously--God, he did things to you...

“I know,” Poe broke the silence, “by the way you’re reacting.”

“Oh?” You said, nonchalantly. “And how am I reacting, Captain?”

“Cheeks flushed, breathing a bit heavier, eyes dilated...”

“How do you know I’m not ill?”

The two of you exchanged an intense, longing gaze... until a nurse burst through the doors, shouting for you--there was incoming wounded and Doctor Hux needed you back inside. Guiltily, you looked at Poe, who smiled gently. “Go, sweetheart--you’re needed to save the Army. I think I can figure out how to wheel myself back inside--I fly planes after all.”

#star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #1940s AU #worth the risk #poe x reader #poe dameron x you #poe x you

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freyfall · 4 years

Text

bagel

rating: M

warnings: cult trauma, alcohol mention

(dreamswap - creepypasta squad // @onebizarrekai)

Hacker knew his morning was going to be hell as soon as he woke up with a skull-splitting headache. Groaning softly, he sat up, throwing the covers off and rubbing his temples. He needed an aspirin. He also needed a time machine so he could tell his past self not to get shitfaced on a night when both Randy and Bobby would be home the next morning. That way, he wouldn’t have to face them with a terrible hangover.

Bemoaning his terrible decisions, Hacker shambled into the kitchen and threw open the small medicine cabinet. He snatched the bottle of aspirin and shut the cupboard, prying the little bottle open as he went to go make himself some coffee. He popped a dose in his mouth as soon as Bobby entered the room from the left.

“You smell like shitty alcohol,” Bobby complained as he passed him.

“You smell like teenage sweat,” Hacker fired back.

"I haven't fucking showered yet, give me a break," Bobby huffed. "You, on the other hand, have zero excuse for the way you smell like sex and nightclubs."

Hacker made a face at Bobby as he grabbed his coffee and went to sit down at the table. He took a sip of the piping hot drink, barely even fazed as it scorched his tongue and throat. God, what even was last night? He didn't remember any hookup, so was Bobby just saying he smelled like sex out of needing insult material, or did he actually fuck - or get fucked - last night? His ass wasn't sore, so he assumed if anything, it wasn't the latter.

"Hacker, where'd you put the bagels?" Bobby asked, flat voice grating on Hacker's ears. "Are we out?"

Hacker winced. "No, we shouldn't be out, there were like three left. They're by the tortillas." He took another sip of coffee, then pulled out his wallet from his jeans, which he'd fallen asleep in. A quick peek inside told him that he wasn't missing any condoms, so no sex last night. Bummer.

"The tortillas are right here, and there's no bagels," Bobby said, turning and glaring at Hacker, who winced yet again at the way Bobby's voice did absolutely nothing for his headache. "Hacker, if you're hoarding the bagels again, I swear to god-"

"I'm not hoarding the fucking bagels," Hacker said, letting his eyes fall shut and rubbing his temples. "The raisin bread, yes, but the bagels should be there. You guys didn't buy cheese bagels or anything, it's not worth it."

"You're hoarding the raisin bread?" Bobby said, though it sounded more like a screech. Hacker grit his teeth.

"Bobby, can you shut up? I'm just trying to drink some coffee." He looked up at Bobby, regretting his word choice almost instantly. Hacker didn't really know why, but Bobby hated being told to shut up, and always reacted badly whenever he was told to. And not just in an annoyingly insufferable way, in a kicked puppy sort of way. As much as Bobby annoyed Hacker, he didn't really want to see Bobby like that.

"Don't tell me to shut up," Bobby said after a moment's pause. "I want to know what happened to the bagels."

"Maybe Randy ate them, I don't know," Hacker said, losing any opportunity to apologize as Bobby kept going on about the bagels. "You know him, he forgets to eat for the whole day and then eats three cups of yogurt and a quesadilla at eleven pm. Maybe he just ate three bagels and half the container of cream cheese. Check the trash bin for the bagel bag." Hacker sighed and closed his eyes again as Bobby went to go do exactly that. Hacker brought his mug of coffee up to his lips, now at a comfortable enough temperature that his throat didn't burn as he drank it. Hopefully that aspirin would kick in soon.

"There's no bagel bag in the trash!"

Hacker visibly flinched this time, clenching his jaw. "Maybe Randy took out the trash."

"Randy makes me take out the trash, and I only do it every four days!" Bobby fired back as he stormed back into the room. "Where are the bagels?!?"

Hacker inhaled sharply. He opened his eyes and glared at Bobby. "I don't fucking know, okay? I just woke up and I have a splitting migraine. Just shut up and have some regular fucking toast."

"I said don't tell me to shut up!" Bobby snapped immediately this time, face contorting into something different from his usual anger. "I'll speak if I want to!"

Every logical brain cell Hacker had was telling him to not blow up at Bobby, but goddamn, was he making it hard.

"Doesn't mean your words aren't fucking useless," Hacker grumbled in reply. "Undignified screeching won't bring your stupid bagels back."

Bobby was visibly trembling, but Hacker didn't quite register that fact. Between the headache, the sudden intake of caffeine, and the aspirin trying to kick in, he couldn't really focus on much else besides trying to turn Bobby's volume down. Bobby stepped forward and gripped the edge of the table across from Hacker. "I know you're lying, asshole! Stop hoarding the bagels!"

Hacker set down his cup of coffee rather harshly, spilling just a tad over the edge onto his hand, the handle of the cup, and the table. "I don't have the bagels, Bobby. Eat something else."

"Liar!"

Hacker slammed his other hand on the table. "Goddamn it, Bobby, when will you learn to lay off?"

"When you stop being a dick and give back the bagels!"

"I don't have them!"

"Liar!"

Hacker stood up suddenly, towering a good half foot above Bobby. "Just shut the fuck up, Bobby! I don't have the bagels, you're being a pain in the ass, and all of this could at least wait until my goddamn meds have kicked in!"

"I said don't tell me to shut up, asshole!"

"I'll say shut up if I want to, 'cause the world would be better if you did!" Hacker shouted, fingers digging into the wood of the table. "If you didn't open your mouth ever again, this house would be so much better off. You know, free from your stupid shrill voice that isn't even useful half the time."

The room fell quiet. Hacker suddenly realized Bobby was crying.

"Bobby, I'm-"

"You fucking piece of shit!" Bobby screamed, louder than anything he'd ever screamed in the past by a shockingly large margin. It made Hacker's ears ring and he stumbled backwards at the sheer volume. Before Hacker could regain his bearings, he had the wind knocked out of him, and realized Bobby had straight up tackled him. He fell to the floor with Bobby on top of him, reeling his arm back to throw a punch right at Hacker's face. Bobby's fist collided with Hacker's nose, and only then did Hacker snap out of his shocked state and start to try and shove Bobby off of him. Blood from his nose dribbled down his lips and chin, and it smeared over Bobby's fist as Hacker tried to grab his arm and shove it away.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Hacker gasped, wheezing as Bobby's full weight pressed down on his torso.

"You wanna see what it's like? You want me to rip your fucking vocal chords out?" Bobby screamed, wildly throwing his fists around in the hopes he would land a punch. And he did, a couple to Hacker's jawline and a solid hit to his sternum. Hacker wheezed softly, struggling as best as he could with a furious Bobby beating the shit out of him. With all of this going on, he didn't even register Randy running into the room until he was wrestling Bobby off of Hacker’s beaten-up body.

"Stop! Stop it, stop it!" Bobby yelled, kicking and screaming within Randy's arms. "I'm not shutting up! I'm not shutting up ever!"

"You - ngh!" Randy grunted as Bobby elbowed him in the stomach. "You don't have to shut up, you just have to calm down. Bobby, you don't ever have to be silent like that again, I promise."

Maybe it was the way Hacker's head was spinning, but he felt like he was missing a lot of context.

"But - but," Bobby gasped, sobs catching in his throat as his flailing turned from violent thrashing to squirming around. "But Hacker said-"

"I don't care what Hacker said. He's not your father," Randy said, firm and clear.

"He said - he said if I didn't - if I didn't talk ever again, the world would be better off!"

"And what he said isn't true. Your voice adds value to the world, just as much as anyone else's does." Bobby's squirming stopped and Randy sat him down in his lap. Bobby turned around and clung to Randy's shirt, sobbing and hiccupping. Randy soothed him, gently patting his head. "Now, care to tell me what got the both of you so riled up?"

Bobby sniffled, then lifted his head to glare at Hacker. "He stole the bagels," Bobby mumbled.

"...I didn't, actually," Hacker muttered, holding his sleeve to his bloody nose.

"On that front, Hacker's right," Randy said gently. "I'm sorry, I hid them because I wanted to make sure you all got some. Do you want me to get them?"

Bobby shook his head, clinging tighter to Randy. "No. Stay here."

"Of course." Randy shifted around a little to make things more comfortable, then held Bobby a little tighter.

Hacker looked up and down between Randy and Bobby. "...I know I caused the whole issue, but-" he said nervously, "-I think I'm in the dark here, just a little."

Bobby lifted his head up and cast his gaze over to Hacker, and then up at Randy. "You didn't tell him?"

Randy shook his head. "It was private, and I didn't want to violate your privacy. I figured you'd tell him when you were ready."

"Tell me what?" Hacker asked.

Randy looked down at Bobby. "You can tell him," Bobby said.

"Well," Randy said, looking up at Hacker, "You know how Bobby and I came to be living together, right?"

"Yeah, you both broke out of JR," Hacker said.

"Bobby was from a group of kids that JR had recently rescued," Randy explained. "Specifically from a cult."

"And in that... cult," Bobby said, hesitating to even call it that, "No one could talk. Ever. Except the leaders. And the leaders told you what to do. And you did it. The only time we opened our mouths was to eat, or to chant, or to say death prayers."

Hacker stared, dumbfounded. "...Death prayers?"

"A prayer to the sacrificed," Bobby said, expression looking a little more vacant than usual. "People died, Hacker. Every week. Sometimes every day. From outside and within us. We... they sacrificed people over the same bloodied altar. People who they didn't like. People who talked, people who disobeyed. They were made examples of."

"I'm so sorry," Hacker said. "...I didn't know."

"Yeah, well, now you do." Bobby sniffled, shakily getting up from Randy's lap. "I'm going back to my room. I'll eat later." Taking one last glance at Hacker, he left the kitchen.

There was a pause before Randy spoke. "Well," he said, "Have you learned your lesson?"

Hacker felt sick to his stomach.

#dreamswap #creepypasta squad #ds randy #ds bobby #ds hacker #yay writing

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magicalforcesau · 3 years

Text

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 10- Year 1: May

(ao3 link)

“Professor?” Anakin tentatively pushed the door open, he’d been in Professor Palaptine’s office a handful of times this year, but it was still a little unsettling to see jars of eyes and toes dotted around the room.

“Anakin, my child,” Palaptine smiled turning from where he was browsing the spines of old texts in the corner of the room, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Well,” Suddenly he wondered if this had been a good idea after all, but his professor was still smiling at him, waiting for an answer so Anakin just walked further into the room letting the door fall behind him, “I guess I wanted to say thanks, for saving me from Win- the kidnapper,” He figured it was always best to start with a heavy dose of flattery, “I bet you could have won,” Palpatine sat down behind his desk gingerly, likely he was still feeling a twinge or two of pain.

“I believe you’ve already thanked me, my boy,” He smiled and waved towards the ornate chair across from him. Anakin scrambled to do as he was asked and he was rewarded with a soft chuckle, “I appreciate such kind words, but you should never underestimate your adversaries,” He seemed to speak from experience, but it was hard for Anakin to imagine such a sweet professor ever having too many opponents, “Now, I believe you’ve really come for another map,” Anakin’s eyes widened and he leaned forwards on his chair.

“How did you know?” He gasped and then rather excitedly continued, “Do you have another?”

“I’m afraid not,”Anakin felt himself frown, perhaps he’d permanently lost the most important item he’d ever been given, besides his wand of course.

“Great, and I doubt the Headmaster’s keen on returning it,” Anakin grumbled.

“Never fear,” Palpatine just reached towards the drawer on his desk, “There’s no real loss, perhaps combining our efforts, we can make a new one,” Anakin leaned forward curiously as Palpatine spread out a piece of parchment on his desk. It was blank which was disappointing, but Palpatine just pulled his wand out and tapped gently in the center.

“If you know how to make them, why not make more,” Anakin looked up curiously, “You could sell them and make money,” Palpatine only smiled and shook his head.

“It’s dangerous for everyone to have such knowledge of the castle,” He explained, “Plus, nothing truly comes without cost, you must learn this,” And Palpatine tapped his wand to the side of his head pulling out a strand of silver, a memory or a thought perhaps and dropped it onto the page, it seemed to dissolve into the very paper and it formed shimmery silver lines for the castle walls.

“Woah!” Anakin picked it up and turned it every which way, “It’s an exact match, besides the color! But, where’s the people? We should be there,” He set the map back down and pointed at Palpatine’s office.

“As I said, my boy,” Palpatine just smoothed the map back out and smiled at the boy, “Nothing comes without a little sacrifice. I sacrificed a memory of walking through the castle halls,” Anakin frowned, he didn’t know he was asking his professor to give something like a memory up for him and then it dawned on him what likely Palpatine was insinuating.

“I have to give up a memory?” Anakin hesitated, “What if it’s something I want to remember?” It would likely have to be from his year at Hogwarts since the map was inherently part of the school, and despite the transgressions that befell him, he didn’t exactly want to forget anything.

“Correct, you’re a very bright boy,” Palpatine nodded towards the paper, “Don’t fret, it’s easiest to pick a simple memory, something you needn’t miss. Something unmemorable will do as long as it holds impressions of your fellow students and professors,” Anakin considered his options. His first thought was a Quidditch match, but he quite liked those and didn’t really want to forget about them, but one of his classes seemed too small.

“What about a dinner in the great hall,” Anakin asked and Palpatine nodded.

“That would be a wonderful choice Anakin,” He picked up his wand and Anakin did the same, “Just think about the memory you chose very hard and channel its energy towards the tip of your wand,” Anakin moved to copy Palpatine’s pose, “And say, memoria recepta!”

“Memoria Recepta!” Anakin called, slowly he drew his wand away from his head, a silver string following his movement. It was an odd feeling to remove a memory, it reminded him of peeling the glue off his fingers in school only to feel such a thing in the mind was entirely different. He admired it in the air, following his wand like a magnet, it was beautiful as he felt a person's memories should be.

Finally, he let it fall from the tip of his wand. It hit the parchment and feathered out. As the silver thought dissolved impressions of people began to pop up around the map. He looked and sure enough he and Palpatine had appeared in the office just as they should.

“Excellent, my child!” Palpatine praised him, he tapped his wand to the map, “Mischief Managed,” It faded back just as the original had, “Now see to it that you don’t lose it again, I may have plenty of memories to spare at my age, but you don’t have quite as many,” Anakin laughed gleefully, taking the parchment from Palpatine’s outstretched hand.

“Don’t worry I’d really rather not lose this again!”

***

Cody burst through the Great Hall doors with the glowing enthusiasm that only held one true reasoning. Usually, his two best friends were quick on the uptake to his excitement, but when he shoved himself between Breha and Bail to position himself across from them, neither seemed to even notice.

“Good morning, Cody.” Despite her greeting, Satine had the disposition that it was anything but good.

Deciding to lean towards the air of cheerfulness, Cody beamed, “That, it is, Satine. That it is.”

“What’s got you so peppy?” Kenobi yawned, though regardless of the bags under his eyes and the slouch in his posture, Cody could tell he was at least trying to take the bait.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He pointed at the jersey he donned every post-Quidditch Sunday.

Both sets of blue eyes scrutinized him and then the jersey a couple of times before Satine’s eyes widened suddenly and Kenobi dropped his fork, “Oh no.”

Now, it was Cody’s turn to be shocked, “Don’t tell me you missed it?”

Seriously, leave it to him to find the two people in all of Hogwarts that didn’t care much for Quidditch. Had he turned to any other student in the castle, he’d receive the shared hype that he so passionately felt.

“We were up studying all night!” Kenobi hastily explained, “Truthfully, I don’t even think we left the library until Qui-Gon quite literally sought us out and sent us to bed.”

“We’ve really gotten behind with the pending investigations and increased patrols.” She added, “I’m not even sure how we missed it.”

“Me neither.” Kenobi sagged a bit and fixed him with a sullen stare, “I’m sorry, mate.”

“I feel awful.” Satine rubbed her tired eyes and then frowned, “Some friends we are.”

Cody frowned and tilted his head at the two before it dawned on him and he barked out a laugh, “You know it was Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, right?”

Just as they had before, the two prefects had to double-take for a second; this time taking in the vibrancy of the entire great hall before slouching forward in shared relief.

“Oh, thank God.” Satine breathed and then flared at Cody, “Why, pray tell, didn’t you start with that? I thought we missed a match that matter-“

She winced as she finally caught Breha and Bail’s sharp stares.

“Mattered to Gryffindor.” She quickly amended and avoided their gazes as she turned back to Cody, “Who won?

“First of all, all Quidditch matters to Gryffindor. Because had Slytherin not pulled back in a surprise upset, they’d be a laughing stock.”

Breha, who was easily Hufflepuff’s one and only star player, grunted something under her breath about cheating Slytherin and Cody gave her a sympathetic look.

“Hey, don’t think I missed that killer head block you made. Not sure how that didn’t knock your lights out completely, but if not for you it would have been a bloodbath.”

That seemed to placate the Hufflepuff even if only slightly and she played with her French toast on her plate, “Honestly, knowing Ventress, that was probably her intent.”

“Slytherin is playing meaner than usual this year.” Kenobi agreed and Satine seemed to stiffen at that.

“Which will make their defeat for the cup all the sweeter.” Cody clenched his fist triumphantly, “Now that we’ve got Anakin back, there’s no stopping us against you nerds.”

Kenobi nodded,”I’m sure Anakin will appreciate the distraction from recent events.”

“And you two will too!” He encouraged and stuffed some eggs into his mouth, “Which is why I’m going to break down the entire match for you. Play by play.”

“I think I’ll sit this one out.” Breha said as she pushed to her feet, “As much as I’d love to relive such an upset, I have patrol. There’s always next year, I suppose.”

Bail smiled and nodded at them before dutifully following his girlfriend.

“It’s amazing we have other friends.” Satine commented with a smirk, “We are quite insufferable.”

Cody shrugged, “If they can’t take the heat, they better stay out of the kitchen. Anyway, let’s first start with how lop-sided Hufflepuff’s lineup is…”

***

The Ravenclaw table was louder than usual and Satine tried to turn away from them so she could continue reading out of the massive tome she’d dragged down from the library. So much of the year was being spent on misadventures and uncovering crime and she felt that if she wasted even a single moment outside of school work or prefect business, she was going to fall behind in her studies. O.W.L.s were just a month away and she was determined to pass with the highest grades possible. She may not be competitive on a level that Cody was, but there was always something so satisfying about seeing how she measured up at the end of the year.

“Satine!” Aayla Secura sat down with a thump in Ben’s usual spot, which did give her enough of an excuse to let her eyes stray from the text if only for a moment, “Come on, it’s a Quidditch day! You can study after the game,” She gave a half hearted attempt to tug the book away from her, but it was weighty enough that it hardly budged.

“Oh right,” Satine gazed around the room, noticing the Ravenclaw team wearing their Quidditch jumpers discussing tactics in whispers and the Gryffindor team egging on the Fett twins as they tried to see how many pieces of bacon they could fit in their mouths at once.

“Don’t tell me you forgot, Kenobi’s been glum all week,” She joked as she pointed to where he stuck out like a sore thumb, one spec of blue in the sea of Gryffindor red. Aayla frowned, “He better be over there gathering intel and not spilling our secrets.”

“I really doubt he’s over there for either,” Stass squeezed in between Aayla and Satine. She scrunched her nose up at the book in front of her, “What even is this? Is this written in Latin?”

“No,” Satine rolled her eyes, “It’s just old,” She turned to look at Ben, he was sitting a few seats away from Anakin, likely not trying to crowd him, but he definitely looked concerned. She wanted to chalk it up to the fact that Anakin had only recently been let out of counseling, but as if he could feel her eyes on him, he looked at her with a sort of concerned, questioning look.

“Oooh! He caught you staring!” Aayla cackled.

“He’s coming over,” Stass stood, pulling Aayla up with her, “Guess we’ll leave you two, alone.”

“No need for your dramatics,” Satine rolled her eyes and didn’t mention that she often felt like they were alone when they locked eyes.

Satine stood and met him halfway between the house tables, before turning and walking with him out of the great hall. If something was bothering him this severely, she’d rather like to speak to him without the audience of the entire student body. Though in the hallway was a similarly concerned looking Qui-Gon Jinn and Satine pulled gently on Ben’s arm to slow him to a stop.

“I’m missing something here, what is it?” She looked between the two of them.

“Well, Anakin could be in danger,” Ben pointed out.

“Is in constant danger,” Qui-Gon amended.

“You don’t think the suspect would be brave enough to try something at the match, do you?” Satine caught on quickly, “They’d be outed rather quickly.”

“He likely didn’t think that his kidnapping plot would be uncovered,” Ben countered, “I’m worried he’ll be desperate enough to try.”

“So what do you need me to do?” Satine asked, “I assume Qui-Gon will be watching Professor Windu from close quarters?” Qui-Gon nodded, but didn’t get a chance to speak on the matter.

“If you helped Qui-Gon keep an eye on things I’d really appreciate it,” Ben looked at her with grateful eyes and she had to nod to break through the trance they put her under.

“Of course, as long as you pay enough attention to not fall out of the sky again,” She chastised and he looked offended, but Qui-Gon laughed.

“Well my students,” He pushed them gently moving their little group outside, “I suppose Satine and I should go select our good vantage points.”

***

Obi-Wan was already pushing his way past his teammates the moment he saw Anakin peer into their locker room with nervous eyes. Even if he hadn’t almost expected something like this, he was getting used to spotting Anakin’s messy hair from halfway across the school.

“We’re still having a meeting here!” Was called after him, but frankly he couldn’t bring himself to care about such trivial matters like Quidditch. If Cody was going to steamroll them, then it would happen, as it had many times before.

“Anakin, what is it?” He whispered frantically the moment he was out from under the soundproof charm, “Did something happen?”

“You don’t have to treat me like a child!” Anakin complained, though it was hard not to when Anakin was yet to be close to any sort of growth spurt, “I just. What happens if he tries to attack me? He could enchant my broom like Krell did to you, or get a bludger to follow me around, or do that chain magic and drag me off my broom-” Obi-Wan put both his hands up.

“Anakin, calm down,” Though it was hypocritical given how Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped having the same concerns the whole morning, “We’ve got Satine and Qui-Gon in the stands keeping an eye out, if Windu so much as moves Qui-Gon will be there. As for the field, I’ll be up there and if I see something go wrong… well, you’re more important to me than the match, alright?” Anakin nodded, but still didn’t look very convinced, still Obi-Wan started to walk him back to the Gryffindor locker room.

“I don’t even want to play,” It was said so quietly Obi-Wan was sure it wasn’t meant for him to hear.

“If you’re really that concerned, I can talk to Cody,” Obi-Wan suggested, but Anakin shook his head. He wasn’t sure then what else he could do to fix the problem. Anakin just brushed through the entrance to the Gryffindor locker room without another word. Obi-Wan hesitated a moment, before sticking his own head inside.

It was practically the same as the Ravenclaw team’s except rather obviously the color. Cody was giving more of a pep talk than a tactics meeting, but stopped near instantly when he realized he was being watched.

“Oi! Coming to spy Kenobi?” Cody spun on him faster than he’d expected, but rather than indulging his friend’s competitive spirit he fixed Cody with his firmest glare.

“A word, Captain Quidditch?” He swept a hand towards the field and Cody eyed him with a rather ridiculous amount of scrutiny before nodding to Caleb Dume to take over, “Was that show really necessary?” Obi-Wan complained as they walked a little ways away for some better privacy.

“Had to let my team know I’m not trying to swap secrets with the enemy,” Cody pointed out with a grin, “Which I’m not if that’s what you’re here for,” Obi-Wan rolled his eyes.

“Cody, I’ve been one of your best friends since first year, they’re aware,” He reminded him, “I’m here about Anakin,” Cody’s easy smile fell into a troubled frown.

“Is everything ok?” He asked and Obi-Wan gave a hesitant shrug.

“He’s afraid somethings going to happen at the match,” He explained, “I’ve got Qui-Gon and Satine planted in the stands-”

“So you think somethings going to happen?” Cody looked more concerned at the thought.

“I’d rather be prepared,” Obi-Wan sighed, “I’m going to try to keep an eye on Anakin from my end of the field. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate as captain-”

“I’ll have none of that,” Cody interrupted, “A good captain- no, a good teammate looks out for his mates. I’ll keep an eye out,” Though Obi-Wan wanted to thank him for it, he knew Cody wasn’t much for such things.

“Go easy on him,” He said instead, before moving to head back towards the Ravenclaw section, “And good luck.”

“You’re the one who’ll need the luck, Kenobi!”

***

Anakin was flinching at everything. Had he not been high up in the air it would have been less of a problem, but at this rate he was going to be the cause of his own fall rather than anything Windu might try. He’d missed nearly every shot he’d taken and he half expected that Cody would have taken him out of the game already, but his captain only glanced at him occasionally and focused on calling things out to his fellow chasers.

He was determined at the very least to make some sort of redeeming shot, though he was sure Cody wouldn’t kick him off the team for this, even if just as a favor to Obi-Wan. He scanned the field and looked for an opening. The chasers were fighting for the Quaffle in the middle of the field, which meant targeting his mentor was out of the question, and he really couldn’t get a clear shot on the enemy team. Ravenclaw’s seeker was hovering a little too close to the Gryffindor hoops for Anakin’s liking. In fact, he seemed to be drifting to the left steadily. Anakin frowned, he wasn’t an expert on seekers, but it seemed like a weird position for them to be in. If they weren’t very lucky they could even get pelted with the quaffle or accidentally cause a foul.

Then he saw the glimmer of gold, about 2 feet away from the Ravenclaw seeker and Anakin realized what was going on. Frantically, he turned to look for a bludger, but panicked as one was already pelting straight towards him. He hit it hard, eyes closed, and flinched at the sound of sudden cheering.

He slowly opened his eyes. Blue and Silver confetti was raining down on the field. The Ravenclaw seeker was holding up the golden snitch with pride and the rest of the Ravenclaws were cheering with a feriosity. Anakin felt guilt well up inside, he couldn’t even look at the rest of his team, just descended from the air like a bullet.

They may have lost, and it was a rather sour defeat, but Anakin was ready more than ever to catch Windu in the act. Even if only to allow himself to exist with a little more piece of mind.

***

Upon hearing of Anakin’s reasoning for being so afraid during their Quidditch match, Obi-Wan instantly knew where to take that information. His own fears dissolved as he entered Qui-Gon’s office without knocking- a clear indication that he was too focused to worry over decorum. This wasn’t lost on his favorite professor and mentor as he looked up to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze with equal parts concern and curiosity.

“Obi-Wan, what do I extend the-”

“-Something must be done about Windu.”

Any calm disposition dropped from Qui-Gon instantly, “What happened?”

“Nothing. Yet.” Obi-Wan was sure to emphasize this with great intensity, “And seeing as I don’t want to allow another step of misfortune to bestow him and I don’t believe you do either, I think we must take matters in our own hands as clearly the Headmaster is not going to.” He said, raising his chin as he said it to deflect any possible argument, though none came.

“I see.” Qui-Gon leaned his chin on folded hands as he considered this, “I still cannot see Mace doing such a thing.”

“Clearly, it’s someone from within the castle.” Obi-Wan insisted, “A powerful wizard, at that. Who else could torture and maintain the Zillo Beast for all this time? Plus, we can round up all the evidence in the world and it still doesn’t stop the fact that for as long as we let this person go-”

“-You mistake my comment as a dispute. I, too, hold your belief that we can no longer ignore Anakin’s theory. After all, he is still the only person to spend extensive time with this mysterious foe.”

Obi-Wan released a sigh, feeling his shoulders relax from gripping onto tension he didn’t even realize had built up since his conversation with Anakin.

“I’m sorry, Qui-Gon.” He took a seat across from him, folding his robe beneath him, “It’s possible I am also still riled up from his kidnapping.”

“Perhaps you could also use counseling.” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully.

Obi-Wan shook his head adamantly, “Let’s please focus on Anakin, for now. He’s the one who endured such a traumatic experience. I’d just really like to be proactive in preventing the next one.”

“I would too.” Qui-Gon admitted and then smiled, “But we all need a little help every now and then.”

“Which is why I came to you.” Obi-Wan asserted. “I could never stop an evil wizard on my own.”

“You're stronger than you believe, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon smiled, but moved to stand, “However, I was not solely referring to you. I think we could benefit from having a second set of eyes, particularly a set with ample amounts of experience detecting dark magic.”

Obi-Wan had naturally (and wrongfully) assumed that Qui-Gon meant Headmaster Yoda. In spite of his small stature, the little green wizard was the only one amongst them to have fought a sith in his lifetime. However, they walked swiftly past the entrance to the headmaster’s office and onwards. He guessed it would be too simple to involve the most powerful wizard in the school.

Then again, Yoda was quite close with Windu. Surely, Yoda couldn’t be involved. Right?

“What would he want with Anakin, anyway?” Obi-Wan asked finally. “He’s just a boy.”

When he received no answer- not even a spew of philosophical theories that he’d come accustomed to- he looked up and over at his mentor. His face was set in a focused frown and his eyes were staring straight ahead as though he intended on piercing whatever crossed him.

Whatever it was, Obi-Wan had already deduced it wasn’t good, but the thought still plagued him.

After all, Anakin had mentioned that his kidnapper drew blood from him. To what purpose could that fulfil?

His second suspicion had been Professor Dooku’s office, which of course, was where they ended up. Dooku was easily the second strongest wizard in the entire school- only second to Yoda, himself, and had spent many years as an Auror and then professor. Not to mention, as head of Ravenclaw house, it did seem pertinent that he at least be a little involved if they were to come up with a plan.

His door was already cracked open and the traces of dim lighting echoed off the pale stone walls that lined the small corridor that would eventually lead into the main room. While Obi-Wan would never enter Dooku’s office without knocking, Qui-Gon held no such qualms of doing so and marched ahead without hesitance.

Upon entering and reaching the end of the small corridor, they immediately noticed they were interrupting something. Specifically, an unpleasant meeting at that. Obi-Wan could have guessed this solely by the only other person in the room being Asajj Ventress, but there was also the clear displeasure that was written over every one of Dooku’s hardened features.

“I strongly advise you to hesitate before making such a frivolous mistake again, Miss Ventress.” He said thickly, “Lest there be stricter consequences.”

“My sincerest apologies, Professor.”

Even more shocking, Ventress actually looked guilty at his words and sagged her shoulders a bit. This display of vulnerability did not lessen the discontent of his stare.

It was only then that Qui-Gon decided to knock. Though there was no door or frame to do so, which resulted in the borderline comedic display of Qui-Gon gently tapping his knuckles against a marble bust.

“Qui-Gon! Obi-Wan!” If Dooku cared much for having his meeting interrupted, he didn’t give any indication of this. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He seemed to perk up at their intrusion rather than recoil. Perhaps it was Qui-Gon’s being there, because while he never felt disliked by Professor Dooku, he never imagined seeing him so pleasant at his arrival.

“Dooku!” Qui-Gon smiled jovially and took two long steps forward to lean over the desk and grasped his welcoming hand in a firm shake. “So sorry to barge in without notice.”

“Oh, posh.” Dooku waved his other hand dismissively and then side-eyed Ventress, “I was just finishing up.”

Ventress turned her head sharply to the side before taking that as her cue to leave, but on her way out, was sure to purposefully shove past Obi-Wan with enough force to send him to the side.

“So, that’s where Skywalker learned to take a hit.” She taunted before storming the rest of the way out of the office.

“That’ll be 5 points from Slytherin for that display.” Dooku called after her with indifference before turning back to Qui-Gon, “So, how may I be of service?”

Qui-Gon paused by giving Obi-Wan a silent look to ask if he was alright and then sighed, “As always, I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Surely, we’ve had some good times.” Dooku jested dryly, “I reckon I’ve had a good laugh while reeling you in from your latest conspiracy theories.”

“And you may have to draw me back from another.” Qui-Gon winced, “Because I have strong enough reason to suspect that Mace might not be completely forward with his intentions these days.”

Dooku raised his eyebrows and stroked his snowy beard thoughtfully, “Is that so?”

“Anakin has firmly stated on multiple occasions that he believes his captor, the Zillo Beast imprisoner, is Mace Windu.” Qui-Gon kept his voice low, “And as much as I do not want to believe that a colleague and friend could be behind this, what other choice do we have when someone is clearly targeting the boy and we have been unable to protect him?”

Dooku flickered his dark eyes to Obi-Wan, considering him for the first time during their exchange, “And you share these thoughts, Obi-Wan?”

“I share the belief that it’s possible.” He said, trying not to sound stupid in front of his head of house. Despite knowing that any friend of Qui-Gon’s should be trustworthy, there was always something intimidating about Dooku. “And that Anakin deserves to have his fears investigated properly.”

“I agree.” Dooku said, “Perhaps keeping a firmer eye on Windu could be useful. It’s only a matter of time before a monster such as this feels the need to strike again. I’m sure he’s quite bitter that he failed the first few times.”

He then tightened his fingers in a fist, “Anakin, thankfully… Is a very slippery little boy.”

“And powerful.” Qui-Gon said with a nod, “Which is why my other beliefs still stand.”

“In due time, Qui-Gon Jinn.” Dooku sighed, “For now, I believe it is wise that we construct a specific plan on when to perform this stakeout.”

“Every night, I’d think.” Obi-Wan interjected to his own surprise. “Otherwise, we’re not going to know when to catch him in the act.”

“Anakin should be there.” Qui-Gon said.

“Involving the boy could be dangerous.” Dooku said.

“It’s already dangerous, Dooku.” Qui-Gon shook his head, “Besides, if you think he’s not going to go right ahead and do it anyway, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I suppose you have a point there,” He said tightly. “Figuring out this attacker's motives with the boy would likely prove to be unpredictable.”

“It has to be the workings of the Sith.” Qui-Gon said quietly. “Who else would be so adept at working in the shadows? It’s the prophecy, I tell you.”

“What prophecy?” Obi-Wan asked eagerly.

“You know I share your interest in the fixations of the future.” Dooku ignored him and stood to polish the long golden sword with a ruby hilt that hung beside the bookshelf in front of him, “But a true Sith would never act unless the opportunity presented itself. You would not be able to properly supervise Anakin should you want to draw him out.”

“I cannot risk that. He will be my primary responsibility,” Qui-Gon said with placating hands raised slightly. However, this gesture didn’t seem to relax Dooku in the slightest.

“Very well.” He practically forced out, “That is how it will be done then. I will observe the tunnels to ensure no one gets in. If there’s one sith temple beneath Hogwarts, surely there are other hidden nooks and crannies.”

“I appreciate your help, Dooku.” Qui-Gon said kindly, “I know we don’t always agree, but your guidance and insight has always been valuable to me.”

“You’re a good man, Qui-Gon.” Dooku said firmly, “Our main priority is to keep our children safe.”

“And what of me?” Obi-Wan asked.

“You have enough to worry about.” Qui-Gon said.

“OWL’s are approaching, young man.” Dooku added.

“I am fully capable of doing both.” He said indignantly.

“Capable, perhaps, but also unnecessary.” Qui-Gon said sternly, “You will not be tagging along when you have enough duties to tend to. In fact, you should be heading to bed now, last I checked.”

He looked between the two of them like he was begging between two parents, but then remembered he wouldn’t even be doing that with his own parents. Also, while the wisest, both wizards were increasingly more stubborn with age.

“Fine. I won’t tag along.”

But he would possibly start his own investigation.

***

Anakin was never really that fond of waiting games. He considered himself much more of a man of action. However, he knew that to catch Mace Windu in the act, waiting around would be the only way. He hadn’t revealed himself at the Quidditch match and although Anakin was happy to have made it out alive, he knew this meant that Windu was trying to hide again. This time though, he had real back up. He and Qui-Gon had spent plenty of time in the halls after hours, trying to catch him sneaking around. Professor Dooku was helping out too, he took watch over the tunnels very seriously, in fact, Anakin hadn’t seen him around for a few nights. Rex, while discouraged from tagging along, had his back when it came to charms classes, glaring rather purposely at Windu every time he looked over to them. Still, the night was quiet and Anakin was bored.

“How long is this going to take?” He complained under his breath, and though he hadn’t been expecting Qui-Gon to answer the professor looked over at him in amusement.

“We’ve barely been at it three days, Anakin,” He reminded him, “Mace tends to keep to himself, so it’s not surprising we haven’t seen him leave his office yet. In due time, evil will be revealed,” Whether that was a one off comment or another casually quoted prophecy, Anakin just shrugged.

“Obi-Wan said you wouldn’t let him come,” He asked, not wanting to lapse back into silence.

“He’s in his fifth year,” Qui-Gon pointed out, “He needs to focus on his O.W.L.s.”

“In case you forgot, Obi-Wan’s pretty much the smartest guy in the school,” Anakin grumbled, “I’m pretty sure he could get straight O’s in his sleep,” Qui-Gon smiled rather fondly at the statement.

“Maybe so, but he still needs some time to study,” Anakin didn’t quite agree, plus Obi-Wan had been involved in this investigation from the start. He wondered how long it would take before the prefect showed up of his own accord, but maybe he respected Qui-Gon too much to break the rule. He found his mentor hard to read.

Anakin was about to come up with another possible topic of conversation, when they heard the creaking of an opening door. Qui-Gon quickly put a finger to his lips and a hand on Anakin’s shoulder as a quiet request to stay put. Qui-Gon himself stood up and walked around the corner like he hadn’t been planted there for the past few hours.

“Mace! Lovely to see you this evening,” Though he couldn’t see the exchange from around the corner, Anakin could imagine it. No doubt Mace was unhappy to have been caught so quickly in whatever he’d been attempting to do. It did make Anakin think, how were they to truly catch him in the act if they couldn’t even subdue him fully in the forest. Still, this time at least they were at the school where surely they’d be able to find more wizards if needed.

“Qui-Gon, you’re out rather late this evening,” Mace spoke it as a question, though Anakin wasn’t sure Qui-Gon ever actually slept.

“I see Qui-Gon’s planning to talk his way through this investigation,” The deep tone from behind him made him jump, but as he turned around it was only Dooku looking as stony faced as ever.

“Well, Windu hardly ever comes out of his office,” Anakin pointed out after getting over his initial fear, “We need to make the most of what we can,” He had to resist the urge to peer around the corner, “Plus, if he can get close enough, he can tag him with a tracker,” Anakin showed Dooku the small sticky piece of parchment that Qui-Gon had whipped up for them.

“Perhaps,” Dooku answered simply, “I’ve only come to let him know the tunnels are secured for the evening, tell him when he gets back from fraternizing,” Dooku let a heavy hand sit on Anakin’s shoulders. Through his shirt he felt the cold of a ring and suddenly felt his body buzz with adrenaline. He looked over very slowly at the hand, there was a heavy looking ornate ring, one that looked eerily familiar.

“Where are you going?” Anakin managed to ask, “I thought you were supposed to monitor the tunnels.”

“Prior engagement,” Dooku answered stiffly, “It’s not the business of a first year,” But perhaps it was his business, because as Dooku removed his hand and walked back the way he came, Anakin realized that Mace Windu had never worn a ring, he wasn’t much one for such material things, but Dooku seemed to think much the opposite by his office alone.

Dooku had been at the Christmas party when he’d been poisoned and Dooku had known enough about the Zillo Beast to help stop it. Dooku had never shown any particular favoritism or lack thereof like Windu had, but he certainly had been at all the right places at all the right times. Still, it felt like it was quite a leap to take, especially since Qui-Gon had trusted him with their plans, or perhaps Dooku had tricked them into trusting him so he could continue to weasel his way out of their suspicions.

Anakin ran.

He pulled out his map, tapping it until he could track Dooku’s footsteps. He stayed back, not wanting to be caught prematurely, until Dooku entered his office. Anakin crept forward enough to listen and looked through the keyhole. Dooku reached into a silver ornate vase, grabbing a handful of dust and stepped into the fireplace. He tossed it down without a moment's pause and called for the Ministry of Magic.

Anakin practically fell into his office the moment the professor disappeared. He didn’t have a lot of time to waste, he only knew he needed to follow Dooku. If he was right about this, who knew what sorts of things he was out doing. Thinking faster than he normally would have, he grabbed some poor students' homework and flipped it over.

‘Followed Dooku, Ministry of Magic, he’s the bad guy!’

And he stuck the tracker Qui-Gon had given him to the corner of the page. He hoped it would be sufficient, but he didn’t have time to consider anything else. He grabbed a handful of powder and tried to copy how he’d done this with Qui-Gon for winter break.

“Ministry of Magic!”

***

With the lifting of student curfews so that everyone could have more time to study, it was fairly easy for Obi-Wan and Satine to remain unnoticed by professors and ghosts at such a late time of night, especially since they were currently positioned in their usual seats in the library. When the prying eyes of younger students passed and everyone tended to their own business, Obi-Wan finally felt safe enough to pull out the roll of parchment he’d been saving. He left it rolled beside him.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re doing this in the library.” He said.

“Not really. This is where we usually are.” She shrugged and he tried not to notice for the millionth time that evening that she wasn’t dressed in her usual Hogwarts uniform, but a comfortable t-shirt and jeans. Briefly, he felt out of place for dressing so formally to study, but she hadn’t commented on it.

He leaned in, keeping his voice at whisper-level, “Qui-Gon doesn’t know we’re doing this so I wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible.”

She matched him and whether she did so to tease or to genuinely emulate him remained to be seen, “I figured as much.”

He sighed and paged through one of the books he’d laid out for them, “They want to see if they can catch Windu in the act, but Dooku isn’t so sure that’s possible.”

“And neither are you from the sounds of it.” She commented.

“How do you know?” He asked, defensively. He’d intended on building up to his reasoning, but was always jarred to have himself so easily read.

“Because otherwise, you wouldn’t feel the need to be doing this.” She gestured to the books all around them. “And really, how would one catch Windu being a Sith lord in the act? If he goes off on some senseless monologue?”

He shushed her, which enacted a reasonably annoyed look, but he couldn’t help his paranoia, “Wizards don’t usually go around throwing the term “Sith” hither and yon. It’s hardly ever spoken of, actually.”

“I’ve noticed.” She said, “Though I’m not sure what denying that a dark part of history ever happened is going to do for anyone. How are we supposed to prepare if they truly are coming back as legend states?”

“Some say it’s legend, others say it’s prophecy.” He said in a low voice, “And until this year, I’m not sure which side I would have fell on or if I’d have a strong opinion at all, but with the combined events of this year, I would be a fool to deny that it very well could be happening in our own school.”

“Well, is it not fabled that Salazar Slytherin was a Sith?” She asked. “That makes Hogwarts’ history embedded in it.”

Obi-Wan paused as he considered this, “I wonder if that means there are relics within the school that could be hidden in plain sight as Sith heirlooms.”

“To channel dark magic, you mean.” She bobbed her head as she thought this over, “Kinda odd since Windu is such a minimalist with his office. There’s barely anything in it at all aside from the replica of the Sword of Gryffindor that hangs on the wall.”

“Godric Gryffindor was many things, but a Sith, he was not.” Obi-Wan pointed to a picture of Gryffindor, himself, using the glimmering sword of Gryffindor to ward off several Sith, who’s sword glimmered a rustic yellow color in this printed book.

“Let me see that,” She didn’t wait for his answer as she slid the book closer to her to read the text aloud, “The Sith saber is forged in an enchanted gold with a red hilt. Only when the Sith lord has struck down their desired foe does the blade glimmer a permanent red.”

“Aurors apparently used to wield blue or green ones of the same make.” He said excitedly, “Without the blood-requirement of course. This was until everyone realized using wands was less barbaric and easier.”

Obi-Wan would not admit to picturing himself swinging around a glowing blue or green sword of his own. He never glorified violence, but it was truly something special to behold when presented to the right wizard.

“Well, I imagine they wouldn’t really have to use such medieval methods anymore now that the Sith have been gone for as long as they have.” She noted, “I feel as though I have seen one of these before, though.”

Obi-Wan leaned forward. The picture in the book wasn’t exactly a diagram by any measure. All it provided was the fuzzy-looking outline of a warrior with an even less descriptive depiction of the blade they swung. However, even as he was taking another glance, he remembered where.

“Professor Dooku has one in his office.” He said, “Amongst many different trinkets he’s collected over the years from his time as an Auror.”

To prove his point, Obi-Wan stood up in search of the yearbook from the previous year and added it to their collection of long volumes to peruse through. He paged through until he got to the Ravenclaw segment of the book. Under normal circumstances, Satine might point at their moving portraits and either complain about her yearbook photo turned out or tease Obi-Wan for how serious he looked in his. Instead, he turned the book back to her when they got to Dooku’s section, which was a portrait of him leaning on the desk of his office.

He pointed at the bookshelf and she frowned and shook her head, “I don’t see a sword, Ben.”

He twisted the book back around and examined the entire image, taking in every single trinket and item exposed to them and leaned back, “You’re right.”

He got up and tried for a few other yearbooks and still, to no avail. Instead of the sword he’d recognized, there was a plain silver scabbard in its place.

“Maybe it’s just not in the frame? Or perhaps you’re mistaken.”

“Or maybe he didn’t have it yet.” He cocked his head to the side, “Still, he hasn’t been an Auror for well over 30 years. How would he come to possess something like that now?”

The question hung between them for a long moment, each clearly following the same hauntingly suspicious line of thinking before Obi-Wan shook his head, “It’s got to be a coincidence. Dooku was teaching during our confrontation with the phantom in the woods. He can’t be in two places at once.”

Satine blinked and her frown deepened, “Except… He wasn’t teaching the entire time?”

Obi-Wan’s nerves spiked, “What do you mean?”

“DADA was interrupted that day.” As she was saying it, he could hear the rising anxiety in her voice that matched the thrum of his quickened heartbeats, “Ventress came in with a note from Palpatine and Dooku said it was urgent and told us to study amongst ourselves.”

“Palpatine came alone to save Anakin.” Obi-Wan said slowly, “So, where did Dooku go?”

“He was at the Christmas party.” Satine answered instead, “When Anakin was poisoned.”

Obi-Wan’s mouth felt incurably dry, his mind connecting dots that seemed to appear from thin air and it seemed the same level of panic was seeping through Satine from just across the table, “And on Halloween, he knew exactly how to stop the beast.”

“But he didn’t check out the book. Windu did.” She grasped for reason, which was unfortunate since either outcome was equally terrifying to be considered true.

“Why would you need to look up a book on Zillo Beasts when you already know how to handle one?”

“You mean,” She gnawed on her lower lip, “If you were already holding one captive.”

His head was full of lead as he nodded slowly at her. As a head of house, Professor Dooku shared all the same clearances and responsibilities as Windu. The only difference was that he distanced himself considerably from Anakin and kept himself impressively neutral. Because maybe, it wasn’t a passionate attack at all.

“But… Why?” Obi-Wan found himself asking, even if he wasn’t sure he even wanted such answers. How could someone Qui-Gon trusted so desperately be the person behind all of this? It didn’t make sense after all this time for him to fall dark. Or maybe, he didn’t want it to make sense.

Then again, his hesitance to accept Qui-Gon’s plan to have Anakin at his side was making an increasing amount of sense.

“I don’t think we have time to consider that.” Satine said urgently, “You said you and Qui-Gon discussed the plan with Dooku.”

“And Dooku said he was going to be guarding the tunnels. I highly doubt that’s true. He must be planning something.” He smacked his forehead, “We’ve got to find them.”

“But how?” She asked. “We have no idea where in the castle they even are.”

He glanced towards the rolled piece of parchment on the table and gave her a curious look. “Ready to put your enchantment skills to the test?”

***

“This thing is hideous!” Satine complained as Obi-Wan unrolled the scroll, “Were you blindfolded when you drew it?”

“It was initially meant as a sketch to try and better understand the tunnels.” He hissed, “Not some grandiose work by Picasso.”

“And the color choice was necessary, how?” She implored by pointing to the crayon-etched scribbles that were supposed to mark down each house’s common areas. Even Obi-Wan had to concede that he didn’t pick the most flattering versions of blue, red, green and yellow.

“I didn’t want it to be bland. Now, are you quite finished insulting my artistic abilities?” He asked, “We’ve sort of got more pressing matters.”

“If you say so,” Though he didn’t miss her giving the map another concerned glance, “We’ll need to work at the exact same time if this is going to remotely work. And you did not do us many favors by drawing this so haphazard.”

“It wasn’t meant for anyone outside of myself.”

“You should know by now that there is little you can keep from me.” She sighed, but extended her wand towards the paper and fixed him with a cautionary glance, “Ready?”

They started with the homunculus charm, which required the both of them to pour forth a great deal of individualized focus, especially since this was not a charm taught to them thus far. Sometimes, it paid to read outside the realms of their required assignments. Or for Obi-Wan and Satine, that meant reading just about every single book they could get their hands on.

When his eyes flickered open, where there had once been blank spots, there were now various little ugly named smudges.

“Don’t say anything,” He rolled his eyes, predicting Satine’s annoyance with ease. Sure enough, she had also rolled her eyes.

“I think it speaks for itself.” She said instead, but leaned forward across the table to try and figure out where Qui-Gon and Anakin, or worse, Dooku, was. “How are we supposed to identify what any of these landmarks are when they are just blobs of colorful scribble?”

“I can tell what they are, thank you very much.” He scanned the map as quickly as he could to desperately try to find Anakin and Qui-Gon, who he desperately hoped were separate from Dooku.

“Qui-Gon’s with Windu near the green house.” He frowned, “Where the hell is Anakin?”

Satine stood closer to him, her chin brushing against his shoulder as she peered as close as she could, “There! He’s moving…”

“Towards Dooku’s office.” Obi-Wan panicked, “And Dooku is moving there too. We’ve got to stop him.”

“Should we get Qui-Gon?” She immediately picked up stride and followed straight behind him as he dashed out of the library and through some eager first years that were very confused by the sudden energy burst from their esteemed prefects. Obi-Wan didn’t have the presence of mind to care about anything aside from saving Anakin.

“No time!” He called over his shoulder while he ran ahead.

Though he didn’t love the concept of admitting Satine was right about his map, he had to admit it was a bit dodgy to follow in a pinch. Then again, reading anything was difficult while running with the full weight of your mentee’s life weighing on your shoulders (again). Luckily, he essentially had the non-secretive parts of the school memorized entirely.

“We’ll have to take a shortcut!” Satine cut through his thoughts with the accuracy of someone who may know him a little too well at this point in their friendship, “Or else we’ll never make it.”

Thinking quick, he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the main entrance of the castle, knowing from extensive research during Anakin’s kidnapping that the closest means to Ravenclaw tower (and Dooku’s office by default) was through the tunnel that began behind one of the tapestries donning the walls.

However, they were surprised to find that none other than a very sweaty Cody Fett was emerging from the large doors- broomstick slung over his shoulder.

“Cody?” Satine beat him to his incredulousness, which allowed him time to tear the tapestry off the wall, “What are you doing?”

“Practicing for Quidditch!” Cody beamed.

“You're supposed to be using the lack of curfew for studying,” She put her hands on her hips. “And Quidditch is over!”

“Satine!” Obi-Wan gestured towards the now-open entrance, pleading for her to do this at a different time and she immediately turned on her heels to follow him.

“First of all,” Cody began hotly as he followed them wordlessly down the dark alleyway, “Quidditch is never over! Let’s get that straight right now. Secondly, THIS DOESN’T LOOK LIKE STUDYING TO ME!” He began to shout as he picked up into a full sprint after them, still not quite asking what they were doing.

“Dooku’s the bad guy and we’ve got to stop him! That reason enough for you?” Obi-Wan countered.

“Actually… Yes.”

***

It had been easier than he had expected to find Dooku once he tumbled out of the fireplace. The ministry was empty save for a line of sooty footprints leading towards what seemed to be a lift. He brushed himself off, drew his wand and inspected the lift. Instead of numbers at the top there were letters and odd symbols, but the one it was currently stopped on was ‘M’ which gave him not much else to go on, except for which button to hit when the lift finally made its way back up to him.

He stepped inside and hit the button, expecting a descent... Not to be rocketed backwards. He got knocked to the ground, wand skittering out of reach. It stopped suddenly and Anakin tried to push himself up when suddenly the lift dropped like a stone. He wasn’t too sorry he had been on the ground when it did because he managed not to be knocked around too much at the shaky descent. Then it stopped once more and the doors swished open. Anakin took very little time grabbing his wand from where it was precariously perched over a gap in the floor and stepped out on the cold black flooring. He took a minute to collect himself, wizards really must not have the kind of safety standards that most muggles did. He decided to stuff his wand back into his robe, not wanting to lose it as he looked around.

It was rather dark down here, and it was giving him an odd sense of deja vu. He could no longer see Dooku’s footprints, so either he’d cleaned himself up during the ride, or they blended right into the floor. He felt some sort of presence behind him, but all that was to his back was the wall. He took a cautious few steps forward and when nothing happened and no one jumped out at him he continued onward.

The hallway was lined with doors, but they had no doorknobs. He tried his hand at opening one, but no matter which way he pushed or pulled it held fast. At least, he figured, that gave him less of a chance of getting lost. The whole thing was uncomfortably familiar as he walked carefully along. There was little else to stray him from a straight path and he felt it was the correct way to go anyways.

Then he saw it: the door at the end of the hallway, and he was reminded of a few of his dreams. They were hard to remember beyond fragments, but he recognized it as the one he was always reaching towards before falling back to the Zillo Beast chamber. Though the unlikeliness of that happening while he was awake was minimal, he still held his breath as he reached his hand out to grasp the doorknob. Nothing happened except for a whoosh of cold air that blew past him as he pulled it open.

The door closed behind him, leaving him in a space with 12 doors, which formed a rather impossible circle around the door he just entered from. Anakin didn’t have much of a clue where to go from here, having never gotten here before in his dreams and not seeing any footprints on the ground. So, he did what any young Gryffindor would do and approached one at random. He turned the handle, locked. He moved to the next, this one did open and he moved through the door cautiously.

It looked to be a classroom, not unlike the ones at Hogwarts, but the blackboards were unreadable with symbols he’d never seen before etched onto them. Each desk helped form a semi-circle, with the same odd symbols written in nearly the same way on every single one. At the center of the room was a large metal tub. Though he likely shouldn’t have approached it, it was all so strange he felt inclined too. They looked to be odd fish, swimming around in something that seemed just a little too thick to be water. He leaned forward to get a better look.

Brains. Wrinkly and pink swam around with some sort of tendrils. They seemed not to see as they bumped into each other, their membranes squishing from another.

“Oh gross!” Anakin yelled and he moved swiftly in the nick of time as one of the tendrils lashed out right where he’d once been standing. Anakin held his breath as the slimy pink appendage slid around the edge of the tank, searching for the disturbance, before slowly falling back into the not-water with a plunk.

He stayed frozen for a few minutes before he slowly turned to leave and select a new door that would hopefully take him to a much less disgusting room, but the door he’d entered in was gone. He gasped in panic, which in turn made the brains in the tank splash around trying to catch the intruder, but he wasn’t planning on letting them. Another door was at the front of the classroom and he launched himself towards it, hands over his head in case they could reach him at a distance. He didn’t even think to check what was on the other side.

He was floating. Hair rising at the lack of gravity and he did remember this feeling from when he used to do it by accident. In fact, he wondered if he had done it by accident before looking around.

This room seemed infinite. Twinkling lights going on forever in each direction, stars, he had to assume as his eyes caught on the scale replica of the planet earth. In fact, all the planets were present, and orbiting around the brightest light in the room was the sun. Anakin tried to take a step and ended up flipping completely over, floating over the sun, so close he could almost feel that it was giving off enough heat to singe his eyebrows off. The next door came into sight shortly after and he barely managed to catch the door frame and lower himself enough to open it for himself. He tried not to think about what would have happened if he’d just kept going.

The next room looked like the potions storage, nothing really unique when you considered the brain room, and the room that was outer space. This room though was loud as there was a rather wide display of clocks. Everything from cuckoo clocks to hour glasses lined every wall and shelf in sight. The whole room seemed to shutter every second as if there was a clock resting in the very walls, which was rather plausible given everything else he’d just witnessed. Anakin took a moment to catch his breath and look around. The next door was just to the left past a shelf with a rather handsome series of pocket watches. It seemed too easy, but Anakin couldn’t complain.

That door led into a room that could have been a warehouse. Tall shelves lined with oddly glowing spheres. This room seemed to whisper to him and he felt his feet moving down the center aisle before he could fully register it. It felt like there was something here that was his, that he’d been missing and if he just could touch it he’d feel complete.

What stopped him dead in his tracks though, was the flash of a purple spell that hit him at full force.

“You’re rather lucky that you’re wanted alive,” Dooku’s voice echoed around the room and Anakin worked hard to shake off the low level stunning charm, “Because I really ought to kill you for interfering in my work,” He managed to sit up though, his legs still felt frozen and his heart caught in his throat as Dooku glared down at him.

“It was you! This whole time,” Anakin managed as his teeth unstuck themselves, “Not Windu!”

“You were quick to suspect Mace,” Dooku’s wand twitched, “It was so easy to go along with,” Anakin glared, trying and failing to stand.

“But why?” Anakin growled, “I never did anything to you.”

“Not everything is about you, Skywalker,” Dooku explained like this was any old school lecture, “There are things bigger than you in the works,” He looked down at Anakin with distaste, “much bigger.”

“And? Clearly I am involved since you tried to murder me multiple times,” Anakin pointed out, “What’s stopping you now anyways?” Dooku’s nostrils flared at the annoyance and he pressed the tip of his wand very purposely into Anakin’s forehead.

“Nothing. Nothing is stopping me from ending you right now,” He warned, “Your involvement is unfortunate, but it is foretold,” Dooku flicked his wand up, a gesture to stand and Anakin was prodded as they moved further into the room. Despite the danger, Anakin could still feel that call, that something in here was meant for him and with each step they seemed to get closer to it. Until they approached a row of orbs and Anakin was certain it was here and right above them.

And Dooku was reaching for it.

Except, he didn’t. The orb Dooku reached towards was the one next to his. He grabbed it tightly, body tense as if he expected something to happen, but nothing did. Dooku gently pulled the orb down, rubbing it a little to wipe off the dust.

“What are these?” Anakin couldn’t help but ask. Dooku looked at him in mild annoyance, but it seemed being a professor didn’t wear off so easily.

“These are prophecies,” He explained, “They’re recorded in books, yes, but they’re stored here for their chosen one to find them,” Anakin glanced at the orb that started to glow as he drew nearer to it.

“So that one’s yours?” He pointed towards the dusty dull prophecy in Dooku’s hands, he wondered then, if Dooku’s looked liked it was glowing to him.

“Yes, this is the prophecy of how to thwart death,” He held it up for Anakin to see, “With this, and your eventual sacrifice, I’ll be able to steal back what death has stolen from me.”

“So what? You want to be young again?” Anakin couldn’t really see the point, but Dooku was getting up there in years, maybe he’d feel the same when he was older.

“No you insolent child,” Dooku tried rubbing the prophecy again, “Death stole away my sister and I will save her, even at the cost of the lives of others.”

“Oh,” Anakin could kind of understand that. He didn’t have much family, but should anything happen to his mum he’d probably do anything to get her back.

“So perhaps you understand,” Dooku nodded, “It’s prophesied that you must die. I find the waste of human life distasteful, but when the situation calls for it, I’ll do what I must.”

“So what was the point of the Zillo Beast,” Anakin cut in.

“The Beast itself was another avenue for another means,” He answered cryptically, “But the sword in the temple was meant for you,” Anakin shuddered at the sensation of ghost chains wrapped around his wrists, “And when the beast broke loose the plan had to-”

Anakin frowned and tried to think of why Dooku had stopped speaking. He’d been so previously animated in the midst of his speech while holding the dim orb that it was strange for there to be nothing but silence. He almost wanted to challenge the recently proclaimed Sith lord, but didn’t because it seemed the voices that spoke to Anakin were finally loud enough for Dooku to bear and see.

To his upper left, just within reach, the orb that called to Anakin illuminated a loud electric blue that spoke to Anakin without words, but with feelings. It called to him like sirens singing their alluring song to draw in their prey. It was telling him to reach out, to grasp his future in his hands, to accept what so few could even dream of.

But how could any of that be real? Anakin held no true understanding of this place, but knew it was not meant for nobodies like him. It was for heroes and great conquerors of history. How could someone who knew so little become anything to anyone?

Still, he closed his hand around the orb and the moment he made contact, words poured from him in a voice that was not his own.

“Anakin!” He was vaguely aware of Obi-Wan’s voice and presence, but didn’t dare move as he spoke and felt the great prophecy wash over him. This tucked away room in the Ministry of Magic faded into nothingness and instead, he was on a white plain of existence where it all seemed to make sense.

***

It only took seeing the glowing orb in Anakin’s hand for Obi-Wan to understand why the boy seemed to enter a mysterious trance. It was unfortunate timing, of course, because Dooku, who seemed to see this as his ample opportunity to strike Anakin down, was firing bursts of light at them, nearly landing a blow if it were not for Cody throwing Anakin over his shoulder with ease.

“What’s wrong with him?” He yelled.

“It’s a prophecy!” Satine and Obi-Wan shouted at the same time all the while sending their own retaliation back at Dooku, “Stupefy!”

“Silly children,” Dooku taunted, “Do you truly believe you actually have what it takes to resist the unyielding power of the dark side?”

“It can’t be that strong,” Obi-Wan said, “We’re not the ones fighting children in this scenario.”

“Easy now, Kenobi,” Dooku’s attacks seemed almost effortless. Almost. Obi-Wan could spot the sweat beginning to glisten at his temples. He didn’t want to fail again. “Your family would benefit greatly when the Sith take back what’s rightfully theirs.”

His eyes were forced to shift to Satine, who was thus far the closest to hitting him, “I cannot say the same for you, Ms. Kryze.”

“I wouldn’t want to be a part of whatever world you’re conjuring anyway.” She argued.

“That goes second for me.” Cody used the hand that was not holding Anakin in place to cover for her.

They all danced like this for a minute, parrying and attacking while defending the other, all the while essentially playing hide and seek through the never ending lines of shelved prophecy orbs. Obi-Wan knew it would not be able to go on forever. They needed an escape plan since beating Dooku head-on was simply not feasible, especially not with Anakin presently unconscious.

Unfortunately, it never came as Anakin began seizing up and skittering off of Cody’s back and onto the floor with a thud that made Obi-Wan’s heart leap in his chest. While Cody and Satine immediately prepared themselves to defend Obi-Wan as he slid to the floor alongside Anakin, he really tried not to think about how horrible this was looking for them.

“Anakin, get up.” Obi-Wan begged as he shook him slightly, but the boy was limp in his arms. When he looked at his hand, it was clear he still gripped the glowing orb tightly. Even if it went against any divination class he ever took, he reached out and touched the orb, thus essentially sharing Anakin’s vision.

Without volition, he repeated the words that harmoniously flowed through him.

In the ashes of hypocrisy… the lords of the Sith return,

Opposed only by a Boy born when two worlds cross.

Granted with power his enemies cannot learn,

The Hero will bring balance at the hand of great loss.

Muggles and wizards join in one common goal,

To foil the Father of Revolution’s blood-driven lie.

At the most desperate hour a betrayal will cut whole,

And for the Hero to live, the Father must die.

When Obi-Wan came to, he half-expected to already be dead by the onslaught of Dooku’s wrath, but found that not only was he alive, but being essentially cradled in Satine’s lap as she looked down at him in a mix of horror and confusion. She’d been patting him on the cheeks, obviously, trying to bring him back to a state of wakefulness.

He didn’t even have time to be embarrassed by it, because before he knew it, she was yanking him to his feet so fast that it caused a headrush.

“Where’s-” And once again his thoughts were interrupted and this time by the sight of none other than Qui-Gon Jinn warding off Professor Dooku, not even bothering to look back at them as he stood confidently against his mentor. Obi-Wan’s heart briefly hurt for him, but he couldn’t allow it to last long, since he just realized that Anakin had also snapped out of his state of ambiguous consciousness.

“Run!” Qui-Gon ordered.

One more look at the venom that poured from the dark wizard across the way caused each of them to listen.

***

Qui-Gon Jinn fully believed in the prophetic abilities of their ancestors. It was not a belief shared by many and was simultaneously misunderstood by most. He knew what even some of his friends thought of this interest in premonitions. They thought he simply kept his head in the clouds and looked for every literal meaning of the prophecies of old and new. They assumed he was starry eyed and wanted to know the future for his own self-gain. While, yes, he was fascinated by the brilliant minds of the past and how they were open to such premonitions, he was never narcissistic enough to believe he could control the fates to his own self-gain. In fact, he did not want to under any circumstance. Such an obsession led to darkness.

One had to remain in the present, consider the past, and be mindful of the future.

That was a lesson taught to him by his mentor.

The very same mentor who saved his life on multiple occasions, usually from his own shortcomings, and sagely shared his pastime of analyzing prophecy with him.

And yet, here they stood, magical currents clashing evidently not for the first time- once again after he’d tried to kill children. He supposed it was the cruelest form of irony in a sense. Here he had even come to see blips of the future and while vague, resonated with him profoundly. He’d shared whatever he could with Dooku, including his belief that the chosen one was approaching. After all, he’d been seeing him long before in brief dreams- always surrounded by the feeling of absolute balance.

It was an experience that Dooku had been very interested in since it began a few years back. He’d warned Qui-Gon on countless occasions that the chosen one’s appearance would yield forth a darkness that would leave scars beyond repair. Qui-Gon didn’t realize he’d meant like this.

“I’ve taught you well, Qui-Gon.” He remarked, “It does not have to end in unnecessary bloodshed.”

“I agree.” Qui-Gon gritted, “Lower your wand.”

He chuckled as if Qui-Gon had merely bested him at a game of chess and not as though they were currently out for each other’s necks. “You and I both know I cannot do that. That boy stands in the way of everything I’ve worked hard to create.”

“And what is that?” Qui-Gon fired back, intensifying the force of his attack, slightly dominating the violet beam that erupted from Dooku’s wand.

As quickly as he’d gained the advantage in their tug of war, he hastily lost it when Dooku flared with an emotion he’d never seen before from his former mentor. So much so, the purple lightning bled into a violent red.

“Peace… Justice… Revolution.”

“Peace and justice for whom? Purebloods? The Sith?” Qui-Gon needed to buy the kids time for their escape. There were normally many powerful wizards in the Ministry of Magic, but at such a late hour, it was only occupied by overnight guards and they would be of little use to this present situation. Who they really needed, was Yoda.

Qui-Gon knew he was not powerful enough to best Dooku in a straight duel. He could only hold him off for long-enough to allow the kids to get safely back to the castle. And then what? He was unsure.

“Your lack of foresight disappoints me, my young protégé.” He said in what Qui-Gon could now see was mock-pity. He avoided the urge to kick himself for not seeing it sooner, “Corruption lines the walls of your precious ministry and Hogwarts too. It will be their downfall in the end.”

“And yet, you’ve blinded yourself into believing you could stop fate?” Qui-Gon smiled, “Anakin is the chosen one and he will save us all. You heard it.”

“To what end, Qui-Gon?” Dooku shoved forward, pushing Qui-Gon to the point where he could feel his feet sliding backwards against the smooth floor. He clenched his teeth and tried to use every ounce of his strength to not make an easy end of it.

He was so strained in his defense, he could not articulate a response, but Dooku didn’t wait for one anyway, “When have you ever known the heroes from legend to ever survive beyond their great purpose in life?”

He refused to accept that, even if the evidence of the past said otherwise. It was clear to him now, in the midst of the onslaught that rang his muscles and mind drained, that his former mentor and friend had fallen beyond the point of saving. And there was once a time that Qui-Gon believed anyone capable of redemption.

“Anakin will. I’ll see to that.”

“Now, who’s trying to belay fate?” Dooku’s smile was so foreign on his face that Qui-Gon almost didn’t recognize him. “Let go and join us. Open your eyes to the hypocrisy overlooked by your Minister of Magic, by Yoda, by the world.”

“I will never join you, my friend,” Qui-Gon swallowed and tightened his grip, well aware that the green fuse of light that burst from his wand was weakening the more intense their bonded beams got at the center, “I’m deeply sorry that it’s come to this.”

“No more sorry than I, Qui-Gon Jinn.” And for just a minutia of a moment, the older man seemed sincere, “Together, we would have been unbreakable.”

What wasn’t unbreakable were the thousands of glass orbs that lined every shelf that surrounded them. This, while not entirely lost on Qui-Gon and more or less simply on the backburner of his thoughts, became impeccably obvious when all at once, the orbs rose from their positions on the shelves and began flinging towards Dooku, shattering on the ground as one narrowly missed him.

Others did not miss, and broke the Sith’s focus. Glass shattered everywhere, but before Qui-Gon could so much as blink and process how this was happening, the shelves beside them started to dramatically cave in all the while the orbs were pelting Dooku at an increasingly fast pace.

“What the-” Dooku immediately directed his wandwork to deflect the glass hurtling towards him.

As Qui-Gon ran, retreating down the way he’d originally come, he was joined soon by Anakin and then Obi-Wan, Satine, and Cody, who all continued to fire backwards as they ran like spitfire machines. Each looked quite smug for committing extensive vandalism.

“I told you to run!” He yelled over the mass destruction all around them, “Not destroy the Ministry of Magic.”

“You didn’t say where to run.” Obi-Wan laughed.

“I thought that was obvious.” He said and turned to the laughing Anakin, who was still cradling the glowing orb that had chosen him to fit the grand prophecy, “And why do I feel like this was partially your idea?

“What gave it away?”

“I’m the one who set the shelves to fall!” Cody bragged triumphantly.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Satine added.

Dooku, finally understanding what was happening, began to fire back and it was in no time that the orbs were rewired to follow them as he thundered their way.

“Grab hands!” He shouted and without hesitance, the children followed his lead. Qui-Gon closed his eyes and they stopped in one place. Despite the swirl of emotions that begged way for release, he forced himself to a steady calm and successfully transported them out of sight just as the bookshelf to their left was about to collapse against them entirely.

They all tumbled onto the floor of his office in a pile of limbs, each trying to scramble to their feet. Anakin, despite the record breaking amount of near-death experiences he’d tacked up this year, was the first to pop up.

“That… Was TOTALLY AWESOME!” Anakin cheered and then immediately went into repeating the events of the night as if all present company hadn’t also lived it, “You two were all like pew pew pew… Buzz… And we came in with the crashing shelves and the shattering glass! And then he was all AH! Then the orbs came back at us and you whipped us through time and space!”

Regardless of his own weariness and his knowledge that he wouldn’t be sleeping properly for a long time, Qui-Gon couldn’t help the authentic laugh that bubbled up from a hidden spot in his chest, “Something tells me that won’t be the last adventure you experience here, Anakin.”

“I sure hope not!” He cheered, “That was way cooler than anything I’ve ever seen on TV.”

Satine seemed to internally debate this while Obi-Wan just looked intrigued by the mention of television. Cody could only laugh along with him. Qui-Gon felt himself mentally retreat, both from exhaustion and concern. What would become of Anakin now that it’s been confirmed that he is, indeed, the chosen one?

“I suppose this means we’re out a DADA professor.” Satine said.

“That’s your takeaway from all of this? More school?” Cody groaned.

“Qui-Gon, when you were dueling Dooku… He asked you to join “us” when asking you to drop rank.”

“Ridiculous of him to think Qui-Gon would ever,” Satine rolled her eyes.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Satine,” Qui-Gon smiled sadly, “But it takes constant diligence to reject darkness, for once you even consider that path, you cannot turn back.”

“That’s awfully cheery.” Cody muttered.

“What I mean to ask,” Obi-Wan interjected again, “Is who is Dooku working with?”

“The Sith have always had followers creeping in the shadows.” Qui-Gon said, “Though it should always be considered that typically, Sith lords traveled in pairs of two- no more, no less.”

“And they’re all going to keep coming after me?” Anakin asked in a small voice that was much less excited than previously.

Qui-Gon turned to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, “Darkness will always try to battle the light, Anakin, but you are not alone. I think we made that clear tonight.”

Qui-Gon waved the little note he’d found near Dooku’s fireplace- the one Anakin had scrawled out to indicate that he was following Dooku to the ministry of magic.

Anakin looked between all of them with bright eyes and puffed his chest out, “I can do it. I’ll grow up to be big and strong and I’ll stop Dooku!”

Qui-Gon didn’t doubt that for one second. However, he just prayed that just this once, the hero got to live to see the happy ending.

#Anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #anidala #star wars #clone wars #tcw #commander cody #satine kryze #captain rex #padme amidala #magical forces au

6 notes · View notes

missorgana · 4 years

Text

maybe

pairing: han solo/lando calrissian

fandom: star wars (solo movie)

rating: teen and up

word count: 1547

warning: swearing

summary: Lando hates Han. Or maybe he doesn't.

(wrote this just before pride month ends yes!!!! this is for @swcreators pride event 💖 uwu. also this might be a hot mess cus it’s not beta read, please let me know of any errors!! also i miss these space husbands. hope you enjoy!)

read on ao3

“You love me.”

“You wish.”

It’s like this, since the very beginning.

It’s like, ever since Han made his way into Lando’s life, and challenged his way into that game of sabacc, he’s made it his mission to get on his nerves.

Well, Lando doesn’t mind it all the time.

Maybe.

Honestly, Han seems more of a womanizer than anyone he’s ever met, surely, the smirk gives him off immediately.

Which is why his surprise is so imminent when the other man calls him darling.

Lando Calrissian’s not a blushing damsel in distress, that’s for sure. Just shocked, that’s all.

He does suspect L3 doesn’t like Han, well, he doesn’t blame her, only that when they fight for, what, the fourth time of the stupid mission he has stupidly dragged Lando along on, she tells them to “Quit your flirting and get on with it!”

Han may very well be flirting with him, but he surely isn’t flirting back.

Maybe, he just likes these quips of theirs.

Maybe, this mission isn’t only stupid, and maybe Han isn’t a complete idiot, some of the time.

Usually when he thinks this, the other man does something stupid, yet again, to prove him wrong. Or right, really. Whatever.

Maybe, he does surprise Lando with his wits, and honestly, he’s so smooth, he can outsmart his opponent out of most situations.

Maybe this business is cut out for Han Solo, too.

As long as he doesn’t steal any of his own business, maybe, Lando doesn’t mind that much.

But the thing is, after Han's watched his girlfriend, who was kidnapped, now she's one of the bad guys, apparently, he had to challenge Lando again about his ship, and he fucking beat him.

Honestly, he's furious, but he can't even be that when he took that trick right off him.

Guess Lando's impressed, or something. Maybe.

It's still his ship, gonna remain his ship, be damned.

Lando prays to whatever that Force is that this idiot doesn't return it like a pile of junk.

Oh, he'll return it. It's not like he wants to see Han again, he just needs his ship to not be destroyed, because, well, he's seen his pilot work, and that, not super impressing.

Maybe Lando would be willing to teach him a thing or two, but it's not like he asked.

This asshole also got his arm broken, if borrowing, that’s right, borrowing his ship wasn’t enough.

And Han, when he decided to finally leave him alone, Lando, of course, didn’t have much to say. He sure as hell won’t miss him.

But the man put his arm around his shoulders, and now his hand is resting on his collarbone, Lando hates it.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

And he doesn’t miss the hand when it disappears, or the warmth on his side. Not at all.

Their last words certainly weren’t desirable.

But that doesn’t matter, because Lando’s glad to get rid of him. Well, he still has to get his ship back.

So maybe he’ll look forward to that.

Not look forward to see that pain in his ass, no.

Surprisingly, two years pass by before he sees his ship again. It’s not like he’s counting them.

L3’s news of Han landing boggles him, because why does she think Lando cares? She doesn’t even care.

Figures she wants the Falcon back, too, this stand-in ship certainly isn’t doing the job, despite being in good shape.

“Your boyfriend’s back.” she tells him, at the same time he observes Han fucking Solo step out, smug as ever, his furry monstrum of a second pilot behind him.

Lando opts to give L3 the silent treatment, and greet the man instead.

“Don’t glare at me.” she adds, which he wasn’t, why does she think she knows everything?

And oddly, Han’s eyebrows shoot up nearer to his hairline, almost like he didn’t land where he knows Lando resides.

Surprise and smirks go together for this man, apparently.

“Hey, darling.”

That nickname was quick to resurface, Lando notes, which he doesn’t care about, he hates that name.

“My ship still working, Solo?”

“My ship’s doing fantastic.”

He has to laugh in annoyance.

Maybe he’s missed this banter. It’s because it keeps him on his toes, really, L3 is just sick of him and it isn’t the same.

It’s still a pain in the ass.

Han Solo’s the kind of man to be taken in small doses.

Maybe, they could be friends, if he didn’t have a personal mission to get on his nerves. But he’d be miserable being friends with that dumbass, completely.

Of course, when Lando doesn’t answer his quip, Han takes it as his time to speak, once more, “Like what you’re seeing?”

This might be a new height in cockiness he’s reached here.

Maybe Han wouldn’t be insufferable if he stuck around, Lando wonders. Not like he’s been thinking about it the last years.

This is another thing L3 thinks she’s a genius for telling him.

Okay, so, maybe the man isn’t unattractive. It doesn’t make him less annoying.

In fact, maybe this fact adds to Lando’s annoyance, because really, he can’t remember the last time he’s met someone this stupid and this hot.

“Would just further burst up your ego if I told the truth, wouldn’t it?”

Han smiles. And strangely, like the universe is turning sideways, he doesn’t smirk, but he nods.

“You’re right.”

“I typically am.”

“Alright, who’s the cocky one, now?”

Maybe these chuckles they share are not too bad, either. Lando finds himself saying ‘maybe’, a lot.

“I missed these talks of ours.”

Is Han Solo getting sentimental? If so, Lando’s really seen everything. He’ll be proving both himself and L3 wrong, as well, in that he’s actually capable of being serious about anything.

Strange. Too strange to be real.

With a scoff, Lando dodges another of Han’s stupid utterances, “Don’t you have some irrational, too dangerous jobs to take care of? Why are you even here?”

“I told you why.”

Okay, he really thinks that works on him? That what he tells all the women in the bars? The ones he saves?

Lando certainly doesn’t need saving.

Contrary to this fact, Han’s stepped closer to him. Lando could reach out and touch him from this distance, not that he wants to.

Chewbacca makes an impatient growl behind Han’s shoulder, and the man shrugs.

“You should probably get going.” Lando tells him. Which would suit him fine. “I’m sure your furry friend makes for better company, anyway.”

Han really does laugh a lot, doesn’t he? Is he mocking him?

“Maybe so. You like watching me better than talking, don’t you?”

It’s incredible, how he beats his own stupidity every single time. What an absolute pain.

And Lando, maybe, wishes he wouldn’t miss him.

It was a minimal amount of missing, of course, he certainly didn’t miss Han’s stupid pick up lines, or his irrational thinking, or him biting the inside of his cheek.

Truly, Han might be the biggest pain in his ass, yet. And it’s not because he doesn’t care, but because, maybe, he cares. Not as much as about his ship. Maybe.

“Not watching you go, I don’t.” he finally replies.

It’s like, this whole conversation built into nothing, and Han raises his eyebrow at him like he’s stupid, which he is, and doesn’t see what he’s alluding to.

Lando hates him because he’s this goddamn slow. Dammit, if he wants to flirt, he could be a little more direct, couldn’t he?

“Darling, you could’ve just told me you’d miss me.”

And instead of another one of his well thought, well rounded quips, much more logical than any of Han’s, Lando grabs the lapels of his stupid, hideous jacket, and pulls the idiot enough into his space that he can put his lips on his.

And it’s not like he likes breathing the same air as Han, or anything. Maybe he just needs to get this over with, because maybe he’s thought about it, and now, they can leave it be.

After all he won’t see him for a while. It doesn’t seem like he’s about to give him the ship back, anyway.

Han’s quick to smirk again, of course he is, and quick to swallow whatever words Lando would break it with, and deepens the kiss impossibly more.

Maybe he doesn’t taste of smoke, like Lando imagined. Not that he’s imagined this, ever.

Han’s hand only settles on his collarbone again, when they finally, after what seems like forever, break apart. Perfect, really, not like Lando wanted it any longer. Would be a nuisance, anyway.

And for the first time, he thinks, Han looks at Lando with some unbelievable, unfamiliar sincerity.

Maybe, he doesn’t want Han to take his hand back as soon as he does. Maybe this was the key to their strange relationship, which sounds like bullshit, so in the end, Lando still doubts it.

Still does when he looks at him one last time, thank God, Lando thinks, and reenters the ship with another chuckle, “Can’t wait for next time.”

Good riddance. But maybe, Lando’s missing the satisfaction of getting rid of him, from last time.

Maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind there being a next time. Whatever.

20 notes · View notes

desperatefrenchwriter · 4 years

Text

Sola Gratia (7/?)

Rating / Warnings : General audiences, no particular warnings.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 7/? (2219 words)

Author’s notes : Rated A for Angst

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Won’t you invite me in ?”

I slowly turned my head to face him, the tip of my nose touching his for a second.

“Do you think this is how it works ?”, I whispered. He inched back, probably picking up the anger I tried to conceal in the softness of my tone. “Do you think you, who has haunted my every nightmare, every dark corner, every space behind my back, for months-” I took a shaky breath. “Do you think you can invade a place I feel most safe in, threaten my dearest friend, threaten me, and hope a gift will make up for it ?”

I clenched my jaw. His expression, as he has leaned back into his seat, was unreadable.

“I have spent days in the hospital, terrified that you would find me and finish the job. And I couldn’t tell- I couldn’t tell anyone why I felt so unsafe because frankly, who would believe me ?”

Tears welled up in my eyes, still he said nothing. Had he spent so much time apart from any humans he forgot how to understand emotion ?

“I am terrified, right now, because I know you could… snap my neck, or bleed me dry, and I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything about it !”

I started to cry silently, unable to stop the flow of tears running down my cheeks. He seemed almost paralyzed. I took the chance, and got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. Fumbling for my keys, my fingers were so shaky I dropped them. As I picked them up, I heard the other car door open, and froze, slowly turning back to face him. He circled around the car, but kept a distance between us.

“I cannot begin to imagine what you went through because of me.” He looked and sounded completely serious, which was a strange color on him. “There is nothing I can say that would be close to an acceptable apology, but I do want to make amends.”

He handed me the box, keys still on the lock. The chain glimmered under the streetlamp’s lights.

“I won’t invite you in”, I maintained.

“And I will not insist.”

I hesitated a little, and first pulled the key from the lock, slipped it into my pocket. As I took the box, my fingers brushed against his, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Are you cold ?”

I could have a fire lit, if you want.

“I’m fine”, I replied, once again having no time to protest as he put his jacket on my shoulders. “I’m literally ten feet from my door, Vlad-”

“Hah, she called me Vlad !” A semi-triumphant look plastered on his face.

“This doesn’t mean I trust you, or like you, for all that matter”, I snapped at him.

“And I will make my peace with that.” He put a hand over his heart. “For now.”

“You are insufferable. I’m going to bed.”

He still had a somewhat… sheepish look to him, head slightly tilted to the side, like a grounded puppy. Still. I couldn’t move past the flashes of teeth, blood and feral growls layering over his face. I suddenly had to inhale a sharp gust of air, and turned back, the box held against my chest by my injured hand, the other looking for my keys. I turned back, and climbed the short flight of stairs to the entrance of my building.

“Sleep well, Lady Cetero.”

Can’t promise anything. I buzzed myself in, and hurried to the stairs without a second look behind me, turning all light on as I went by. As I climbed the steps to the fourth and last floor, I felt like my heart was about to jump out of my chest. Not only because those stairs were a nightmare, though. On the doorstep, the meowing on the other side of the door had me smiling. That little monster was going to be unbearable.

Giving the usual kick to the door panel to get open, it creaked on its hinges, yet the incessant yelling of the hairball at my feet covered most of the noise.

“Hey, shut it, dumbass, you’ll wake the whole building”, I told him, locking the door behind me.

Following his little strut to the kitchen, I gave him his much expected dose of kibble.

“You fat idiot, you need a diet. I love you so much. Babie.”

He purred hysterically as he ate, and I kept on my incoherent baby talk for a while, mindlessly running my hands through his shaggy fur. God, what a day. I sat on the floor, removing my heels, and resisted the urge to throw them out of the window. Gift from Leah, gift from Leah, I muttered under my breath as I put them away in the hall closet.

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Leah’s number, who picked up before the first ring. I reassured her, told her I was home, safe, and tired. As soon as she started taking her usual gossip-y tone, asking about Vlad, I bid her good night, and hung up on her crystalline laugh.

I dragged my feet to my bedroom, throwing the jacket on my desk chair. I grumbled as I tried to unzip my dress. God, who decided to make clothing you can’t take off by yourself ? Rich people, probably. Or people in a relationship. As I finally succeeded to pull the tab down, I heard knocking on my window. A panicked scream escaped my mouth as I noticed the dark silhouette standing on the emergency staircase, outside. Him, again. I sighed, and climbed over my bed to open the window a crack.

“What the hell do you want now ?”, I barked at him.

“You forgot your briefcase”, he told me, holding it up for me.

“Oh. Thanks.” I hesitated before opening the window wider. “This is not an invitation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it”, he smiled as he passed me the worn leather bag. “Although, if you still need help with your dress-”

“Get out of my balcony.”

I could swear he winked before he disappeared. By that I mean, literally vanished. I leaned out of the window, and felt a soft stroke against my cheek, and a bat, flying off. Well. Something to add to the list. I closed the window, and sat back on my mattress. Sleeping was going to be a challenge, tonight.

~ - ~ - ~

The sound of my alarm dragged me from sleep. Buried in my thick duvet, head incased in my pillows, I groaned for a good minute before I found the energy to set my phone off. Outside, everything was still dark, which made getting up that much harder. Zardoz meowed in indignation when I had the nerve, the hubris to move him from my legs, where he’d spent the night.

My hand felt sore, and I figured I had to redo the bandages, if only to assess the damage. It wasn’t too bad, two cuts to my palm, and one across my thumb, the rest being small, superficial scrapes. I disinfected the whole, and carefully placed fresh bandages, making sure I’d be able to actually use my hand this time.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, and the sacrosanct bean juice machine. It did make disgusting coffee, but then again, I was very much used to it. As it rumbled, having the whole table vibrating, I served His Royal Majesty his morning dose. This time, I set it into a training ball, so that he’d have minimal exercise. God, I could barely picture the sorry state I’d found him in. A small, half dying kitten, at the corner of my building, now a year and a half ago. His harrowing mews of distress attracted me, and after a significant amount of vet bills, he was mine. Leah had the idea for his name, as we were in a weird movie binge-watch party, and Sean Connery’s red underwear made some lasting impression of us. By that, I mean she almost choked to death laughing.

Bringing my cup back to my bedroom, I threw some clothes on, and slipped my feet into my boots. Thursdays were usually not that busy for me, but my absence during the seminar meant I had to catch up on some classes, both to my dismay and that of my students. I finished my coffee with a wince. The things we do for energy. At least, wasn’t coke. I checked the contents of my briefcase, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and was out, but not before a final kiss on Zardoz’s belly, who endured with minimal complaints.

Greeting Mrs. Mills, checking her mailbox way too early as she always did, she asked if I had any breakfast, and cursed at me when I answered by the negative, as she always did. And as I always did, I wished her a good day, before storming out. I climbed down the stairs, checking my watch for the next train, and froze as soon as I raised my head back up.

“What the hell are you still doing here ?”, I exclaimed, my voice coming out a bit more squeaky than I would have liked.

“Good morning to you too”, the Count cheerfully replied, handing me a paper bag.

“What’s that ?”

“Oh, don’t sound so suspicious, it’s breakfast”, he sighed.

Squinting at him, I took the bag, and peeked inside. Warm, buttery looking croissants.

“I didn’t know what to pick, I went for ‘timeless classic’. Is that alright ?”

He seemed to genuinely care. I sighed.

“What isn’t alright is you standing at my front door at six thirty in the god forsaken morning. The croissants are fine.”

“Well, perfect then !”, he exclaimed. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

He opened the passenger door once again.

“What do you mean, you’ll drive ? I’m going to class. I don’t have time for whatever shenanigans you have planned.”

“I know, I’m driving you there.”

Knowing I wouldn’t win this argument, being still half asleep and on an empty stomach, I threw my head back, sighed, letting out a “FINE” that seemed to satisfy him, as I slipped into the car. He sat behind the wheel, my university’s address already in the GPS. Worried me a little. How much exactly did he know ? Was it all in my blood ? Gods, that would be very telling of my academic situation. I leaned back onto my seat, deciding that if I had to put up with him, I didn’t need to make conversation.

“Are you angry, for some reason ?” He really did seem puzzled.

“Dear Lord, you actually have no idea, do you ?”, I sighed.

“I thought it would be gallant.”

“In the twenty-first century, waiting for a woman you barely know, whom you tried to murder a few months ago, is considered a bit creepy, my guy.”

He remained silent, excluding an outraged mouthing of “my guy”, which almost sent me in a fit of laughter.

“Maybe you will have to ‘update’ me on your modern manners, then”, he proposed after a short silence.

“Yeah, maybe.”

What in the goddamn fuck was happening. Three days ago, I had nightmares about the guy, and he was now my glorified chauffeur. Well, not that it really did much for the lingering feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“So, did you just wait in front of the building, hoping I’d come out eventually ?”

He laughed. “Would you call me a stalker again if I did ?”

“Obviously.”

“Then no.”

I had to say, he was a little funny. Not that I would admit it under torture, but still. The sky started to take a pink color, lighting the few clouds in bright orange.

“You don’t burn in the sunlight. What’s up with that ?”, I asked.

“I don’t sparkle either, if you want to know.” He didn’t let me enough time to react to the terrible implications of that sentence. “Maybe it’s easier to believe you are only unsafe in the dark.”

I sat back, watching the first rays of sunlight come through the windshield, giving his eyes an almost silver color. I noticed a soft smile form on his lips. He wasn’t horrible to look at, when he wasn’t in a bloodthirsty frenzy. A sharp profile, that commended authority, high cheekbones, and a strong jaw. His hair was still long, in controlled, soft waves, mostly slicked back, except for a few strands, falling casually in front of his face.

“Lady Cetero, you will have me blushing soon”, he teased.

Ah. Fuck. “I don’t like you clean-shaven. It looks weird.”

He laughed, and I turned my eyes to the road, trying to ignore the rising heat to my face. Curse me for blushing so easily.

“I’ll let it grow back, then”, he told me, almost apologetic. Soft.

I shifted further into the leather seat, a smile forcing its way to my lips. “Hrm.”

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder

#dracula x oc #dracula x human #vampire x human #vampire #Sola Gratia #Sola Gratia part 7 #dracula bbc #dracula netflix #dracula bram stoker #dracula castlevania #slow burn #angst #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #dracula fanfiction #dracula fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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xpouii · 5 years

Text

Tentacletober Day 19

Yes it’s late! Yes I skipped Day 18! Yes I’m very tired lol. This day is a sequel to Day 12--which is a sequel to Day 9. SO if you want to read the full series from the start, 9 then 12 then 19!

Prompt: Protective Tentacles

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Roman, Virgil, Remus

Warnings/Tags: SFW, Swearing, sleep issues, sleep deprivation, mentioned bulimia, mentioned seizures, mentioned hallucinations, mentioned sleepwalking, drug use, prescription medicine abuse, kissing, fainting, brief mentions of therapy, hospital stay and psychiatric evaluation. General apathy and sympathetic Remus

Logan grabbed the doorknob and heard the maid shout his name; he winced and turned, “Sarah, I really don’t have time to-“

She held up the dropper with a look of longsuffering. Logan opened his mouth and took the drops of CBD oil under his tongue before rushing out the door. He spat into the bushes, taking a sip of water and rinsing out his mouth as he crossed the large lawn, punching in the code to open the gate as he spat again. He climbed onto the bus and sat down, taking out his phone and checking the school’s portal. Mr. Stevenson still hadn’t graded the Calculus exams, and Logan grit his teeth, shoving his phone into his pocket. Even though his parents would never ask, Logan liked to have his grades updated and ready to show them when they came in on Wednesdays for dinner. He was starting to feel slowed, and he checked the time, firing off a text to Roman as he swallowed his last stashed Adderall, hoping his friend would have more today.

Logan had a schedule, just enough Adderall to last him until Wednesday, then he’d leave his new batch in his locked cello case until Thursday when his parents would no longer be home all evening and search his room. Then he hauled the cello home for his weekend lessons and used the school loaner on Friday. His mother would bring him on Monday mornings so he could bring the cello back and store it in the band room. Or Tuesday, if his mother was busy with meetings, like this week. Anytime Roman didn’t manage to palm enough Adderall—which was often—Logan would turn to the three other rich kids with prescriptions that were willing to sell—or trade for pot; Logan would take several pills a day, as many as it took to keep withdrawals at bay, unless he actually managed to run out. Logan’s parents were scientists, but his mother had gone on a natural medicine kick when the therapists had given up. So now he had a weed card, and a mother obsessed with monitoring his sleep—very unnecessarily. Logan had done plenty of research on the best ways to skip sleep, and other than days when his parents—or the maid—would watch him to make sure he didn’t spit out his treatments, or when his mother decided to try some new pot baked goods or when his father would smoke with him in some odd attempt to make Logan feel like they were bonding as men.

As infuriating as that was, it didn’t hold a candle to the way his mother would wail and beg him to sleep on the weekends. Ever since his first seizure she had been insufferable, unbearable in her smothering. Logan tried to be more careful now, keeping track of the Adderall and the CBD and the caffeine and the sleep he’d actually given in to. The seizures had been the first symptom of critical systems failure, but certainly not the worst. The hallucinations were bad, auditory worse than visual because Logan had a harder time dismissing them. Worst of all were the episodes where he’d black out, but his body would keep going. He’d broken through his bedroom window and rolled off the roof, falling down and cracking his left shoulder. Thank god for your mom’s azalea bushes! Sarah had shouted at him, watching him writhe in pain in the grass. The time he’d managed to scare her had been his most frightening time as well.

Logan had come to in the kitchen with a knife in his hand. Sarah was curled on the floor between the island and the oven, screaming for him to stop with the kitchen phone in her hand. He dropped the knife and started crying. He wanted to go to her for comfort. Sarah had raised him, after all, and Logan was six before he’d finally learned not to call her mommy. He was the monster, though, the bad thing he was scared of—and she was even more scared than he was. So, he turned around and went to his room, crying at his desk until the police and paramedics showed up. He’d spent a week in the hospital under strict psychiatric observation then. Logan had slept for 36 hours straight, and woken up with tears in his eyes. Both of his parents had been there, the whole time, and even now Logan’s heart would tighten at the warmth of the memory, waking up to their hugs and kisses and smiles.

Logan was pulled out of his nostalgia when his phone pinged. His mother’s contact photo popped up on his phone over the text Have a good day, sweetie! See you tonight! I’m making dessert!

Logan’s lip curled and he quickly checked his homework schedule, moving things around. His mother would definitely dose him tonight, which meant he’d sleep, and run behind. He would have exactly three hours from arriving home until his parents came in for dinner at 7 pm sharp. He could finish almost all of his homework, but the extra credit for Calculus 3 would have to wait until Thursday evening, pushing back his homework he planned to finish early in order to take a few hours off to watch Nasa’s livestream of the upcoming meteor shower. He swore under his breath. He hated missing the livestreams, especially when his parents would be bothering him about watching it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t fathom it now.

He jumped when the bus stopped short and he had to throw out his hand to save his face from hitting the seat in front of him. He straightened his glasses and scowled up at the man in the mirror. Behind him a rowdy pair of girls started shouting obscenities, blaming the driver for interrupting their impromptu makeup session. Logan rolled his eyes, reminded of Roman and Virgil. The thought of his friends brought a genuine smile to his face. Although Logan was put on edge by the mere thought of sex, romance or—god forbid—love, he did wonder when his friends would admit their feelings for one another. Even his own mother had noticed their shameless heart eyes for one another during their last concert. Logan had tried to stop her from calling Virgil’s dads, but the woman never listened to him no matter how loudly he shouted. It was one of the biggest reasons Logan didn’t bother getting angry anymore, especially with his parents; it accomplished nothing and it wasted precious energy.

A jab to the back of his head made him turn around, that well-hidden anger bubbling to the surface, but it dulled when he saw two of his usual suppliers had moved to the seat behind him. He glanced back to the usually inattentive driver and then dug in his backpack, producing the small parcels he usually divided his stash into for economical reasons. He set two between his feet and nudged them backwards, his eyes glued on the driver. A second later, the parcels were replaced with a pill bottle and he grabbed it, taking visual inventory of the total pills inside before shoving it into his backpack and zipping it. The two boys did the same, disappearing back into the proverbial crowd. The school was two stops away, and Logan had already gone back to calculating his homework time, and whether it would be worth skipping lunch or not. He decided against it—Roman probably wouldn’t eat, and Logan usually tried to get extra food for him at lunch, passing it to him during band and hoping Roman could end up trapped long enough to actually absorb some nutrients before purging everything again. It usually didn’t work, but sometimes the director was in a bad mood and he’d make Roman wait. Logan knew manipulating friends was technically wrong, but guilt wasn’t really something he participated in.

The hours went by fairly quickly until lunch; Roman had another Adderall for him and he saved it, swallowing it during third period Calculus when he decided to try and cram his extra credit in between taking lecture notes. Unlike the day before, Roman and Virgil attended lunch rather than smoking in the parking lot. Roman got a salad and a water while Virgil and Logan went for the cheeseburgers that were probably not made from actual meat, but they tasted brown, and they had cheese on them, and that was enough. They sat down at their table—avoided by most of the other students due to Logan’s snippiness. He was halfway through his food when Virgil choked on a bite, “Jesus L! Is that your heartbeat?”

Logan looked down where his heartbeat was causing his shirt to tremble in time, a bit elevated, but not that bad for him. He scowled and moved his drink—a large canned energy drink—in front of him, “What about-what are you doing?!”

Virgil had stood and pressed two fingers to the pulse point on Logan’s neck, “Hold still and be quiet.” He watched his phone timer until it beeped, “Two hundred bpm!”

“No it isn’t,” Roman said, standing up to check.

Logan sat sullenly as they double and then triple-checked their results, “It really is two hundred. Logan that’s too fast!” Virgil said. “When’s the last time you had an Adderall?”

Logan opened his mouth, but he couldn’t remember, so he scoffed, “Stop overreacting. It’s no big deal anyway.”

His throat was dry, and he tried to clear it, taking a slow swallow of his energy drink and waving them off. “Logan maybe you shouldn’t be-“

“Just shut up, Roman!” Logan sniped, then he closed his mouth and pinched his nose shut, trying to force air out of his lungs. After twenty seconds, Logan moved his hand and let out a long, slow breath, smiling, “There, nothing a vagal maneuver can’t fix. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve lost my appetite.”

Logan stood up and—without any warning—fainted.

Logan winced against the bright overhead lights, trying to blink away the blurriness, but he didn’t have his glasses. He could hear voices, distant and muddled. ”…-es, ma’am. His two friends are beside themselves. If it’s going to be a while would you mind if th… alright. Yes ma’am he’s asleep now, but unfortunately I can’t administer anything you haven’t given me here… CBD oil? No Mrs. Berry we don’t… yes ma’am I’ll tell him.”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed as the curtain around his cot rustled and the nurse checked on him. “I know you’re awake, Mr. Berry. Your mother said your friends could come and sit with you until she gets here. The band director already gave them a pass. Feel like visitors?”

Logan nodded, “’s bright.”

“That’s what happens when you do whatever shit you’re doing and then wake up with a hangover in the nurse’s office,” the nurse said. “But, I’ll turn half the lights off. Just try not to get rowdy some of us still have to work.”

Logan sighed, but he did smile a bit when the lights went out, only to jump as Virgil and Roman crowded in beside him, “Fuck, Logan you scared the shit out of me!” Virgil scolded.

“How are you feeling?” Roman asked.

“Mom’s on the way,” he rasped.

“I got it,” Roman said. “I already took it all out of your bag.”

Logan looked to see the nurse, but her desk was empty and she was standing in the hallway. Virgil glanced over, “She didn’t hear y-“

“Give me one,” Logan said.

Virgil shook his head, “Logan no fucking way! You just fainted!”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, “Please, I’m gonna have to go all week… maybe longer, please! Roman? Please?”

Roman glanced at the nurse, then pulled the curtain, fumbling in his jacket pocket.

“No!” Virgil hissed as Roman pulled out the bottle and offered it to Logan.

“I c-can’t swallow it,” Logan said thickly. “Not whole.”

Roman met Virgil’s eyes and ignored his expression of horrified disappointment. He popped two of the pills into his mouth and chewed it, wincing at the taste—though it was nothing compared to the things that he tasted on any given day. He gathered as much saliva as he could and then bent over Logan, pressing their lips together. Logan wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck to hold him in place, and he licked the Adderall out of Roman’s mouth like a dying man. The kiss was slow at first, mechanical, but it became something else as they stayed close, and soon Virgil was checking the nurse’s whereabouts again as the other two made out, Roman letting out little pleasant moans against Logan’s lips.

Virgil cleared his throat loudly when the nurse returned, and Roman straightened, fixing his shirt. Logan closed his eyes again and waited for the meds to kick in a bit more. “How long til she gets here?”

“Nurse said an hour,” Logan said. “Or that’s what I think she said. Mom’s got clinical trials today so it’s not something she can just leave.”

“They should have sent you to a hospital, not left you here with your dealer,” Virgil growled, glaring daggers at Roman.

Roman sighed as he pocketed the pills, “Look, I’ll keep these in my bag until I get to come see you, ok? Then I’ll leave them behind that loose siding under your window. Just don’t be stupid. Maybe this is a good opportunity to quit.”

Logan wanted to argue, but his lips were still kiss swollen and the taste of Adderall soothed him, so he just nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

“I love you,” Roman said, lifting Logan’s hand to kiss it, then he ducked out.

“He’s just as bad as you are,” Virgil said. “For enabling you like that. I can’t stand it, Logan. I can’t stand what you two do to each other.”

“Are you jealous?” Logan asked; his words were cold, but so was he, and the last thing he needed was a lecture.

Virgil winced, “Fuck this,” he muttered. He turned and pushed the curtain out of the way, leaving the office—and Logan—in buzzing silence.

Logan woke up on Friday, late in the evening. His parents were home, judging from the voices downstairs, and he could remember faded scenes with them over the past two days. He’d missed school, missed band practice, missed the meteor shower and—judging from the raging head and body ache—enough Adderall to start withdrawal. He sighed and slid to the edge of the bed, sneaking over to his window. He’d just reached to open it when something grabbed his ankle in the dark, pulling him. He hit the carpet and was dragged, scrabbling uselessly at the carpet until suddenly he was on his stomach on smooth, cold stone. He squinted in the low light as he stumbled to his feet, until someone—or something—handed him his glasses. He quickly put them on and found himself standing in front of a stranger, “Hello?”

“He was finally awake!”

Virgil and Roman stepped out into the light and Logan took half a step back, “I’ve never hallucinated these two before,” he muttered to himself.

“We aren’t hallucinations, Logan,” Roman said. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake up all week.”

“I didn’t really get the chance to tell you about Remus because you fainted at school and… well I took off. But he’s my friend.”

“Our friend,” Roman said. “He’s been keeping us up all night pretty regularly. You should love him.”

“By the way,” Remus said. “Whatever they have you on, those brownies are delicious. I stole five while waiting for you to wake up.”

Virgil rolled his eyes but it was an affectionate gesture, “Glad to see you again, L. I’m… sorry I… whatever, I’m sorry.”

Logan opened his mouth but Virgil stepped forward and hugged him, and as soon as Logan felt him, he knew he wasn’t hallucinating. “Virgil… I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have-“

“Yeah what did you say to him?” Roman asked. “He was mad the whole night!”

“Mind your business,” Logan said when Virgil’s cheeks turned red. “So um… Remus, huh? What is he?”

“No idea,” Virgil said. “A monster from under my bed, but he said he can get us into the amusement park through the staff emergency sleeping quarters.”

“Theoretically,” Roman reminded.

“Close enough!” Remus said, clapping his hands together. “So, Logan, would you like to come on some potentially life threatening rides with us, without any security or safety measures taken?”

Logan smiled when Virgil nudged him, “I guess so, as long as I don’t break my glasses.”

#tentacletober #logan sanders #sympathetic remus sanders #fanfiction #parasomnia #not safe for sanders

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maximumcatfeels · 4 years

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So, this will eventually be a finished story, but for now… It’s Halloween. I’m excited. I just redid my icon and my header picture. And I just wanted to share this small piece with you guys.

It’s not Beta’d yet (obviously) and I’m hoping I can get the actual story done by New Years… but I don’t have high hopes for that time line :S

There is some bad language in it so far, so uh be aware? (Moira is cranky AF)

As for pairings : Currently it’s Pharmercy and Sigmoira – but it’s more that everyone thinks Moira and Sigma are together and they both dance around the issue. Also the Pharmercy is SUPER unhealthy. 0/10 do not model any relationships off of it, guys.

Anyways, enjoy.

________

Moira O’Deorain had troubling remembering things before her death. To be fair her death had probably been very traumatic, if the shackles on her wrists and ankles were any indication. That and typically one didn’t turn into a banshee if you happened to pass on peacefully. (Actually, she didn’t know anyone that turned into a banshee after death besides her, but that was neither here nor there.)

That being said, Moira did remember a few things. She had been a witch in a small coven in the woods outside Aldersbrun. She used to have two dogs and a pet rabbit, plus a small hutch of rabbits she kept for meat and … magical experiments. Her little cottage near a large pond was dilapidated now, but it had been quite cozy when she had been alive.

She also knew - like she knew her own name - that the Witch of the Wilds, otherwise known as Angela Ziegler, was a massive winged cunt.

A massive winged cunt who was currently knocking on the rotted remains of her cottage door.

“Sod off!” Moira yelled through the door, rummaging in a ratty torn bag, checking that it had what she need to check her snare traps. She didn’t have time for this, she needed to get out and (hopefully) get some rabbit meat for dinner.

“Oh Moiraaaaaaa,” the literal witch sing-songed, apparently ignoring her, “is that anyway to talk to an old friend?”

“If you were an old friend, you’d know that is how I talk to everyone, now feck off!” Moira yelled over her shoulder, stuffing her favorite skinning knife in the bag. Thank the moon and stars she had a ward on the door keeping the bitch out.

“You didn’t use to be like this,” lamented Angela. Moira looked over her shoulder and noted the blue eye of the witch looking at her through one of the many holes in the door. Did this witch know no boundaries? “I would know, you know. Since I’m an old friend.”

Moira resisted the urge to poke the witch’s eye out with a long clawed finger. She was pretty sure that Angela couldn’t break the ward as long as no part of her got through the door. Sadly, if Moira poked her eye out, she’d probably get some blood on her claws and then Angela would be able to get inside. Pity.

“I don’t have friends now, and I doubt I changed that much from when I was alive. Now leave!” Moira barked out as she slung the bag over her shoulder. She needed to get going, the sun was rising and she had shite to do.

The blue eye that had been peering through the hole in the door retreated. “But wouldn’t you like to know for sure?” came the purr of a determinedly persistent witch. “I could restore your memories, you know. And your house.”

Moira mouthed the next words sarcastically as Angela said them, “I would only ask for a very small thing in return.”

Every single time, this is how the conversation between them went. Moira was tired of it. Maybe being blunt would help get rid of her. She didn’t want to open the door with Angela right there. Bitch might take it as an invitation to come in.

“No. I’ve seen what you ask for in return! Quite frankly, I don’t even know if I have a soul anymore, so stop asking!”

“It doesn’t have to be your soul…” Angela purred. Moira could see that she had plastered herself, well-endowed chest first against the door, a half lidded blue eye peeking through a hole. “Your mind or magic will do…. Hmmm, maybe even your bod-“

“No!” Moira was not going to play those games! Especially not with her! “Don’t you dare even go there! I am done with this conversation! Now leave before I start screaming!” She would start doing her banshee wail, if that’s what it took to get rid of this witch on her doorstep, but she’d rather not. She’d probably wake half the forest, and Akande, the fish monster living in the pond, did not appreciate that.

“Wait!” The witch sounded genuinely panicked. She had also stumbled away from the door a step or two, just in case of screaming. “I just wanted to beg a favor of you!”

Moira scoffed. That wasn’t new either. “Let me guess, you got bored with your latest conquest and ‘accidentally’ did them a mischief?”

“No!” Now Angela just sounded indignant. “Fareeha is doing just fine!”

Moira rolled her eyes. How well could anyone be after having their soul stuffed in enchanted armor and their original body possessed by another spirit?

“What I need from you, my beautiful banshee,” Angela continued in her sultry you-definitely-want-to-take-this-deal tone, “is help me and my servants in assaulting the Castle this year. It happens tomorrow night, and I believe with you on our side, we can have the upper hand for sure.”

Oh bollocks, it was that time of year again, wasn’t it. She had finished her warding preparations last week, but she needed to stockpile a few extra days of food, too. Moira sighed, she had to get rid of this witch, now, or else everything would be behind schedule.

“No. I’m working.” That was… not the best answer, but it was fairly accurate. Angela didn’t need to know what the work was exactly.

“What do you mean working?! You’re dead!”

Maybe a dose of truth would get her to leave, Moira thought as she snapped back, “Every single fucking year, you either win or you lose your fight with the castle defenders with minimal difference either way, but the rest of the fae and supernatural folk suffer. When you win, the humans send more hunters, who tear up the forest looking for you but finding the rest of us poor sods. And when you lose, there’s a power struggle between idiots until you reform.”

The witch was silent for a moment. Moira hoped that she would take the hint and leave now, but sadly, the brat then asked, “And what does that have to do with you?” and Moira’s already thin patience frayed even more.

“I sodding live here, you insufferable harlot! I have to deal with the aftermath!”

“Harlot?! Harlot?!“ Ah, shite, now the witch was pissed off too. “How dare you! Like you’re one to point fingers! I bet you’re just going to go disappear for a few days with your own man whore, the astro-mancer who lives on the edge of your territory!”

Oh. That. BITCH. That was it!

Letting her fury take over, Moira threw open her door and screamed right in the stupid witch’s surprised face.

The force of her scream forced the witch to topple backwards and be dragged by the sonic blast along the gravel laden ground of the walkway.

“Ugh. I don’t know why I even bother!” The witch huffed as she got up; reaching for her fallen hat and tugging her rumpled clothing back into place. “I’m just trying to help you!”

“I don’t need your help! Now begone!” Moira screeched, no longer caring about the neighbors.

The witch plopped her signature hat back on her head, hopped on her broom side-saddle and flew away with only a “hmph!” thrown over her shoulder in lieu of a goodbye. Which was fine by Moira.

“Good riddance.” She muttered under her breath.

She stepped outside (finally!) and shut the door behind her. But as she turned back to start down the gravel path, a new visitor zipped into view. Oh god, it was that annoying will-o-wisp, Lena. What else could go wrong today?

“Yes, Lena?” Moira sighed.

The Will-o-wisp rocked back and forth on her heels, mischievous smile plastered on her face, “Sooo, I couldn’t help but overhear part of your row with the Witch…”

Moira dug her claws into the strap of her ratty bag. “Get to the point,” she growled.

“You ARE going to the astro-mancer’s house instead of helping her, aren’t you?” Lena asked, cocking her head to one side.

Moira counted to ten in her head, then exhaled. “Yes-“

“And you ARE setting up wards at his place to keep her out, right?” Lena interrupted.

Moira blinked. She set up those wards to keep the bitch out, and keep her from bothering poor Siebren yes. But why was Lena asking this now? “Well, yes but-“

“AND you ARE setting up protections to keep hunters away too, right?”

Moira was still confused as to where this was going. “Yeeessssss….” She answered slowly. “But what does-“

“Do you think Emily and me can spend a couple of days crashing at his place, too? I helped defend the castle last year, (and they don’t need me this year thankfully) but I think the witch is pissed off at me. And yeah, she can’t do nothin’ to me, but she might target my new girlfriend Emily. Well, I say new – but is it really new if you were already dating in a different dimension? Anyways, have you met Emily? She’s a doll! Best human I’ve ever known! We need more humans like her! She doesn’t even ask about how I technically don’t exist in this plane or why I’ve got a pumpkin shackled to me chest-“

Moira blinked a few times at the sheer amount of word vomit Lena was spewing in her direction. But eventually her mind caught up and parsed the first question.

“Lena!” She said sharply to get the will-o-wisp to shut up for two seconds. “It’s not my house. You’d have to ask Siebren if he would allow it.”

“But what about your wards?”

Moira furrowed her brow. “What about them?”

“Don’t you have to let us in or else I’ll get poofed?”

“No? That’s not how they work. Who told you that?”

“Sombra! You know, the new bride of Junkenstien’s monster that actually doesn’t want anything to do with him? Anyway, Sombra said you had to uh…’white-list’ us to get in through the wards or else we’d be poofed!”

Moira had NO idea what the hell Lena or Sombra were talking about. “Look, Lena, the only people who can’t go near Siebren’s house are the Witch of the Wilds, her known cronies, and hunters. Everyone else can go into his house as long as you politely ask Siebren, the actual owner of the house. So go ask him, not me!”

Lean’s face lit up. “Everyone can go?”

Moira froze. Oh shite. She should not have told Lena that. “Now, Lena, wait! Hold on a mo-”

But it was too late, the seed had been planted. Lena started babbling again, “Oh oh oh! We could make it a party! We could invite all the fae and supernaturals of the forest! Like a giant feast and slumber party! Oooooh! We could do party games! Like bobbing for eyeballs! Or pin the tail on the hellhound! Ahhh! This is the best! I’ll go ask him right now!”

Moira called out, “Wait, Lena!” but Lena just chirped “Thanks luv! Hope to see you there!” and zipped away like a hyper active flea.

Moira stood there in silence for a second, her mind reeling. The wards were done and so were the protections to keep nosy hunters away, but she didn’t have nearly enough food for a party much less several days of waiting out hunters with that many mouths to feed.

“Well,” came a low smooth voice behind her, “you know your soft hearted idiot mage is going to say yes to her. And yes to anyone else that asks.”

She turned around to see Akande, the fish monster, resting his head on his arms on the shore of the pond, webbed feet kicking lazily behind him.

“Good morning, by the way,” he added with a small wave of his webbed fingers. ”It’s always so lovely to be woken up by a screaming match between two magic users before the sun has risen. Especially when you are nocturnal and trying to fall asleep.”

Moira sagged her shoulders. “How can I make it up to you this time?”

Akande smirked. “Make sure there’s a tub of water filled for me at your precious Siebren’s place. I’ll come by and ask for his official permission tonight.”

She groaned, and pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, but nodded.

“Oh and don’t worry, I’ll make sure to get the word out that the guests for this particular party need to bring their own food provisions. I sincerely doubt you’ve got enough stashed away for that many people. Besides, you’ve only been hoarding human food, have you not?”

Moira felt a surge of gratitude, “Yes, all the food has been for him, so I don’t have to leave and restock it.”

“And what about for you? Do you have some food for you tucked away?”

Moira shook her head. She trod a weird line between fae and undead, so her sustenance needs were tricky. If Siebren remembered to put out offerings of milk and honey, she’d be fine, but usually he forgot and she’d have to sneak in eating the life force off a passing bird or another small creature while he wasn’t looking. “I’ll be fine.”

Akande raised one fishy eyebrow, but didn’t call her out on it. “Well, at any rate, I’ll bring in something as payment for the hospitality.”

Ugh, every time Akande brought her food it was a large stinky fish. Only now it would be several large stinky fish. Great.

“You better get going; the sun’s rising. And I know you don’t do well in the noon-day sun. See you later tonight, Moira.” And with that, he pushed himself back into the pond and disappeared into the water.

Moira sighed one more time for good measure and then set off to go find some food for the upcoming “party”.

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batsareprettycool · 5 years

Text

T-Shirt

Fandom: Red Hood, Batfam

Characters: Female!Reader, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Relationships: Female!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary: Reader’s day off + Jason’s Shirt + Drugged up Jason

Warnings: None

Word Count: 553

It was your day off, and you thanked God because of it. You couldn’t deal with those annoying customers at the small diner, you were a waitress at, any longer. The week had been full of lots of homework and long shifts, and you were so happy that you didn’t have to wake up early that morning to go to classes at the university you were studying at, and then rush over to the small diner you worked at until it closed.

So knowing it was your day off you decided to sleep in. When you did finally wake up it was close to nine in the morning. You hoped you would be able to sleep in longer to catch up on your much-needed rest, but it wasn’t going to happen. You reached towards the other side of your bed, hoping your long-term boyfriend Jason would be there and felt the cold, empty part of the bed. You assumed he probably just crashed at Wayne Manor, a common occurrence. You knew he worked at night as Red Hood, and you figured out the rest of his family were vigilantes as well, so you just hoped he just crashed there and not seriously injured.

When you finally decided to roll out of bed, you grabbed some leggings, a bralette (because decency), and one of Jason’s shirts from your dresser. You slid the clothes on and then poured some cereal in a bowl and noticed that your apartment was getting kinda messy, it didn’t help you never had any time to do anything, and you decided you were going to clean with your time off, after breakfast, of course. So you started vacuuming and dusting the entire small space with your favorite moving blasting in your earbuds.

Then you heard one very loud wolf-whistle coming from the entryway of your apartment. You had hardly even noticed the neckline of the shirt slowly shifting, revealing more and more of your shoulder as you kept moving. You glanced towards the door and say your boyfriend and Dick. You pulled your earbuds out and greeted both of them, “Hey Jay! Hey Dick!” You walk over to them and give Jason a quick peck on the cheek and give Dick a hug. You noticed Jason was unresponsive, making that stupid face he made when he had a crush on you and didn’t have the balls to talk to you, and Dick was quietly chuckling. “What did you do to him Dickie Bird?”

“Nothing Y/N this is all on you.”

“What do you mean Dick?”

“Whelp last night he got a big dose of pain killers, and he became hella needy for you so here he is. Have fun." He started opening the door making a break for it.

“Great” you muttered under your breath. You then felt Jason arm’s wrapping around you.

“Hi, Babe.” You struggle to turn around. “I like you in my shirt. I’d like it even better on my floor.”

“God Jay, are you always this insufferable?”

“I dunno ask my girlfriend.” He rested his chin on your head, holding you even tighter. He then pulled you towards your bed and started spooning you.

“Whelp, guess I’m not going to finish I wanted to do today.” You stated as you snuggled closer into your boyfriend.

#Jason Todd x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #shirt stealing

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 44

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 11. Go to previous. Go to next. Stir that pot, Sticks. Stir it up good. TWs: Mental break, mention of past assault.

_________________________________

Sticks came out of the kitchen carrying two steaming hot bowls, one in his right hand and the other balanced on the fold of his right arm. The ghoul set one in front of ‘Choly and one where he’d sit on the other side of the booth. In his left hand he’d carried in a sizable greyish egg slightly larger than a coconut, and he cracked it stiffly into ‘Choly’s bowl with a mindful deadpan. The egg was mostly whites, with a walnut sized yolk. He produced flatware from an apron pocket, and stirred the addition in to create egg ribbons in the opaque pale stew.

‘Choly could identify carrot and corn in the bowl, but little else. He decided not to comment on the one elbow-high leather glove Sticks wore on his left hand.

“What... is this? I know there’s no milk anymore, and it looks so creamy.”

Sticks cleared his throat and straightened, to project an exaggerated Boston accent.

“Squirrel chowder.”

‘Choly did his best not to make a face at the source of the small darkly color meat nuggets.

“...And the egg? That was not from a chicken.”

Despite what Olivia had advised, ‘Choly struggled not to stare at Sticks as he sat down opposite him, between his features and his familiarity. The ghoul still had most of his head of blond hair, though it had thinned out a good bit, and he still could grow facial hair contrary to being covered in what looked like deep wiry burn scars from his radiation exposure. The missing chunk of his upper lip exposed the incisor and canine near it. His dark-sclera eyes glanced off to the side, likely misinterpreting ‘Choly looking restlessly between him and the food as ‘Choly distrusting the food.

“Radscorpion. Wasteland remedy. Perfect for hangovers... and coming down from God knows how many consecutive doses of Day Tripper.”

“A scorpion egg. One. Help me, I don’t know if I want to--” He trailed off in a sputter. “Day Tripper. No wonder I couldn’t even hold up a combat helmet.” He finally held up a spoonful to blow on it, and try it. He appreciated the savory mouthful with a slow nod, brows raised. “Not bad.”

“Used to be one of the only chems I’d touch back in the day. Skate through dicey deals on a rough day. Don’t really touch the stuff at all anymore. ...You know, mouthwash does wonders for a nasty bite like that.”

‘Choly didn’t notice how much he’d been fidgeting and stirred his stew more diligently to cool it.

“I’d sooner pour vodka on it.”

Sticks chuckled.

“If memory serves, you’d sooner pour vodka on just about anything.”

Angel opened the front door, and poked its sensors around it.

“Pray I’m not intruding, but I just wanted to check on you gentlemen.�� It rushed in once it saw the food on the table. “Why, you’re not eating the MREs Miss Olivia gave you! Did you forget about them, Mister Carey?”

“Oh, no. No, Sticks insisted on being the hospitable one.” He broke down into snickering. “I’m sorry. Sticks. Sticks?”

“What about it? Sticks set out some hardtack in a kerchief. He soaked a chunk in his stew, and offered some to ‘Choly, who declined it. “Nothing wrong with a ghoul livin’ on the river...” He trailed off to lyrical effect, with a long pause.

“Oh, you nerd. I’ve thought it was S-T-I-C-K-S all this time.”

“It is.” Sticks smiled to himself while he kept the hardtack sunk with the back of his spoon. “...Y’know, this isn’t even close to how I thought I was going to spend my day.”

“And how’s that?”

“A pot of stew, and then work on my refurb project some more.” The ghoul eyed Angel. “Those had better not be off Little Boy Blue.”

“My word, no,” Angel interjected. It proceeded to idly polish at the countertops.

“I could never--!” ‘Choly stuffed his mouth full of poached egg. “What are you restoring?”

“Usually my days are packed with maintenance and repair on my mirelurk traps, but I was gonna kick it easy today and try again to get a car running. I try every few years. Not without its risks, but it’s less dangerous now, being a ghoul. Cracked engines don’t risk a suntan anymore.”

So ghouls were resistant, or immune altogether, to radiation after all. For some time, ‘Choly worked on downing the meal.

“Mirelurk?” the chemist finally asked. “I thought they were called Merrilurks.”

“Oh, it’s like how a wolf spider’s a kind of spider. They’re particularly gnarly as far as Commonwealth crustaceans go. Lowell’s factories and mills used to dump directly into the Merrimack and Concord. And Deenwood, too, of course, but you lot couldn’t just dump straight from your backyard. Pipelines. Nasty stuff.”

‘Choly numbed to having had a source put to the mutated wildlife. The flavors of the stew clung to his mouth and he ran his tongue over its roof repeatedly.

“Are you trying to tell me that something Deenwood made, created those... things that attacked me and Angel?”

“Duller than a spoon.” Sticks clicked his tongue. “You think the base disposed of their waste safely? In war time? The mills were getting converted over to fabricating military textiles like QUARPEL, too, the year the bombs fell. Deenwood kept dumping for decades after the world ended. Wouldn’t be surprised if the General still dumps her project waste.”

‘Choly picked at the morsels in his bowl.

“...You go by Sticks now. I go by Melancholy now, for my degree in opiates. Do you... do you remember the Melancholia? Did I ever make any around you?”

“What, that stuff you drank instead of eating?”

“Yeah, I...” His throat choked him. “I thought maybe you’d remember what went into it.”

“...Melancholy, it’s been two hundred years since I last saw your face. You think I’d remember your recipe just from observing you make it a few times? I’m sorry.” The ghoul took a big bite and patted the table to stand, then held up his hands to suggest ‘Choly stay put. Once he could swallow half of it, he started, “I might not have that, but I do have something else.”

When Sticks vanished upstairs, ‘Choly looked to Angel.

“Oh, Sir, don’t look at me. I haven’t a clue.”

The ghoul returned with a jewelry box. He picked through it and produced a velvet drawstring bag, which he set beside ‘Choly’s food before sitting again.

“Before Gene dragged me out of Sanctuary Hills--the Vault-Tec guy--I took what valuables I could scoop together from the house. Including your stuff. I wanted to be able to liquidate easily. I sold off most of it, but something about selling off those just felt... off. It would’ve been like selling off your--” He stared at ‘Choly’s bars, realizing he still had them, and quietened himself a spell with another mouthful of stew. “--Your uniform.”

“I was just as surprised as you to find it hanging in the Walden Drugs mud room, still in the bag, after all these years.” He sat back to empty the bag into his hand, and the breath fell from him at the sight of his red enamel cuff links returned to him. He turned them in his palm. “My remembrance poppies. I did forget them that morning, didn’t I? J-- Sticks. You... said you took two things. What was the other?”

Sticks gave him a raunchy sneer.

“The lingerie catalogue. You remember, right? Duchesne?”

The two exchanged an ugly laugh.

“No wonder I couldn’t find it.” The chemist grinned insufferably.

“--You looked for it!” The ghoul slapped the table and guffawed.

Because the Pip-Boy forced one rolled cuff, he couldn’t wear both cuff-links, but ‘Choly threaded one poppy through his left cuff buttonholes with a fading smile. Memory of Duchesne from the nightmare the other day elicited a flinch. He started sobering from the chem that had likely been in both his breakfast and his early morning cocktail, and he rubbed at his forehead attempting to draw his eyes back into focus. His head picked up, his jaw askew. “--Wait. If you’re-- wHO DID I FUCK--”

Sticks choked on his food and laughed even harder, punctuating ‘Choly’s meltdown.

“Mindy, you fucked a FERAL? And you thought--” He could barely breathe he was in such stitches.

“I-- I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“No, no. Go on. This is the most entertaining company I’ve probably kept in fifty years or more.” He wiped away tears. “...Christ, I’ve missed you.”

‘Choly could feel himself trembling. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and his ears rang dully. His nostrils tasted like metallic dust filled them. He tries to steady his breathing.

“...You haven’t even the first idea how much I’ve missed you. I haven’t been adjusting well to waking up to all this. I’ve self-medicated with just about everything I’ve put my hands on. Essentially sampled the whole Wasteland... You’re sure you don’t remember what went into my meal replacement drink?”

“Ohhh, if you’ve only been defrosted a few months, you haven’t sampled shit. You wanna fool around with that junk, I can tell you what all to keep your eyes peeled for. And no, Mindy, no. I don’t. I’m surprised you never wrote down something you considered so important.”

After a long pause, Angel piped up.

“Mister Carey has sworn off chems.”

Sticks and ‘Choly made surreptitious eye contact like they always used to, and went back to finishing their meal. Both of them grinned that for as much as everything had changed, the knowing glance of scheming caprice still came as familiar as ever.

They headed out once Sticks shoved the bowls in the sink. He loaded up with canisters of flamer fuel strapped to his legs and back, and strapped a bandolier of Molotov cocktails across his chest. ‘Choly would have never recognized him under the ushanka and welding goggles.

“Hope you don’t mind that we’re going on foot,” the ghoul commented as they continued East on Pawtucket Boulevard. “I haven’t had a car running in years, and your guess is as good as mine whether the river locks even work anymore.”

“After our run-in earlier, I don’t think I’d trust the waterways. ...Man, I just can’t believe you really live right on the water. By all those things.”

“They know to leave me alone.” He shook the nozzle of his flamer. “They hate fire.”

They passed through the intersection for O’Donnell Bridge and continued along the river instead.

“I know it’s cutting it real close to the C.I.T. ruins, but O’Donnell’s always crawling with Merrilurks and hermit crabs. I don’t trust the vehicles I saw. They weren’t there last time I came this way.”

‘Choly’s ears were still ringing, but he’d begun evening out well enough. He steadied his syringer rifle with one hand on the handle, to rub under his visor at his eye sockets.

“Yeah, Olivia mentioned the crabs. I’m not understanding what vehicles have to do with it.”

Sticks held up a finger to hush him, and they crossed the next bridge down, Howe. Once they stood on the Southern intersection across the Merrimack, he pointed to the parking garages.

“Big crabs move into big shells. The tectonic activity from the bombs flooded the hook down into campus. The bottom story of a parking garage like that is perfect for them.”

‘Choly squinted at the building.

“Are you trying to tell me that the crabs are as big as Little Boy Blue?”

“A lot of them are bigger. Saw one take a freightliner trailer once.”

The chemist paled, but the ghoul didn’t laugh at him.

They crossed a single-lane bridge from the Acre into Downtown. ‘Choly had been watching the tick on his Pip-Boy’s map in comparison to their location, and hemmed when they didn’t cut straight East to the next nearest bridge.

“Why not Oullette?”

“It’s out. Cox or nothing.”

They turned right from the ballpark then took an immediate left, and followed the street until they hit a roundabout with a post office. With another left, they traveled down a single street for a ways, crossed into the National Historical Park district proper, packed to the brim with Federalist architecture both industrial and residential.

“Not to beat a dead horse,” Sticks started, his mouth difficult, “but that night, when I pulled a knife on you... I was scared. Like I’d misjudged you. You had a moral compass. Limits. That’s the last thing I expected from a Deenwood chemist. I think I took it, that you were trying to be the better man. The day of the bombs, I really believed you were. My brokering habits have made it hard to cultivate much of a compass of my own, really. I still broker chems in Goodneighbor and Diamond City when I get restless and have to get out of Lowell. To be fair, a lot of the history I’ve got with the Furriers involves chem trafficking, too.”

“I don’t think arguing the morality of things really has a place in the new world order anymore. At least, not the morals of the world that came before this one.”

One couldn’t say he was sorry. The other couldn’t say he forgave him.

“...You’re partly right. The way things have changed, different things take priority. Friends and security are still big ones, though.”

“As ever, I’m sure the big thing is what company one keeps, and how one achieves that security.”

“Amen.”

“Cheers!” Angel agreed. “It’s so good to have the two of you reconciled at last. ...I told you that feral ghoul wasn’t Mister Hawthorne, Sir.”

When Sticks burst into another peal of raucous laughter, ‘Choly flushed and sank down atop Angel with a frown.

They turned onto Bridge Street, and passed the long brick red textile mills to the left.

“I don’t doubt your navigation, Sticks. But if we’re taking Cox, why didn’t we just cut straight down Fr. Morissette? Or Hall?”

The ghoul shrugged.

“Well, I took you a way without any parking garages, didn’t I?”

“You mean all p--”

“--Yes.”

They stepped onto the pale green hybrid truss-cantilever bridge. ‘Choly looked North along the river and could tell the previous bridge across the waterway had in fact fallen out. Angel also looked every which way, and ‘Choly got paranoid when even Sticks felt on edge.

“My sensors indicate we’re being observed,” the Handy informed.

“Yeah, they know we’re coming. That’s fine.” Sticks sighed. “Mindy, let me do the talking when we get there, all right? They know me.”

‘Choly remembered that Jacob had always been the one of theme who cut their deals, and he nodded with a swallow.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” He held up his gloved hand. “Don’t touch them.”

They get to the other side of Cox Bridge without further comment. The entire area felt like another world, the closer they got to the designated marker on ‘Choly’s Pip-Boy map. The architecture didn’t look like it belonged in this landscape, let alone in the United States. Bizarre organic shapes jutted from the earth, a mixture of earthen material and warped sheet metal. Once they arrived in Voire proper, Sticks waved ‘Choly to dismount Angel, and the chemist walked by cane the rest of the way.

The deeper into the settlement they traveled, they began to notice people in fur and leather garments milling about their daily activities, which included skinning and butchering, weaving, cooking, and the like. They didn’t seem to mind the visitors much, though it looked as though Voire didn’t get many owing that everyone dressed so similarly. Sticks had dropped his guard, carrying his flamer more than wielding it at the ready, so ‘Choly put up his rifle as well.

It didn’t sit well for the chemist, that every single Furrier he’d laid eyes on so far wore Halloween masks. And he didn’t feel confident in his ability to read their silhouettes beneath their large, long coats.

Go to Next »»»

#fallout 4 #fo4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #sole survivor #furriers #sticks #melancholy #angel #voire #lowell #the anatomy of melancholy #centralville

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theangriestpea · 5 years

Text

Mercy Killing

TW: sexual assault mention, violence

A/N: Not a lot of SP in this chapter but it was necessary to build up the relationship between Lav and the other serpents. Next one will have a big reveal of something that happened between Pea and Lav in the past. Also it's 20 fucking 19 and friends can cuddle in their underwear if they want to.

Chapter Three: Nightmares

Lav woke up to the sound of screaming. It felt so foreign and far away that she didn’t even realize it was coming from her. Strong hands were gripping her shoulders, shaking her with great restraint. They didn’t want to break her even more than she was already broken, but honestly the feeling of being held down by some unseen force made her even more hysterical.

Her eyes focused onto a tattoo of a double-headed serpent splayed out on a tan neck. He was saying something but she was too dazed to make it out. The hands left her shoulders and she heard him speak again but this time it was to someone else. “What do I fucking do, she won’t stop screaming?!” A familiar gruff voice shouted into the receiver. He hadn’t even realized that she had actually gone quiet. He seemed just as frantic as she was. Her body shook and she turned to the side and promptly emptied what little contents of her stomach there were onto the floor at his feet. Sweet Pea cursed, jumping away from her quickly to avoid the back splash. A string of foul language exited his mouth into the phone as she dry heaved, a ripple of pain tearing through her ribcage. There were tears in her eyes as she finally laid limp, head hanging off the side of the bed in case she had anything else to puke onto the floor. He left. She didn’t look up, however she could hear his heavy footsteps walk out and she heard him gagging in the other room. Chinese had been a mistake as he tasted his crab rangoons come back up. At least he made it to a trashcan unlike Lav who had just effectively evacuated her stomach acid onto her carpet. The back of her throat burned, her eyes stung with tears, she looked up and fiddling with one of the medicine bottles on the nightstand. She took out a dose of Zofran and put it in her mouth to dissolve. God bless Lorraine for telling her how to take it. There was a few minutes of heavy silence in the trailer. Lav glanced at the clock to see that it was three in the morning. She heard the sound of water running in her bathroom. There was a brief ghost of a smirk on her lips as she realized that the hard ass known as Sweet Pea was a sympathy puker. Served him right. There was a tap at her front door but before Lavender could lift herself to try and make her way to it, Sweets briskly walked over to the worn wood. He swung it open, relief flooding his features as he saw a very sleepy Toni Topaz on the other side. “Why does it smell like vomit?” SP gave her a frustrated look, “she puked.” Toni tried not to smile, “so that means you puked too.” “Shut up,” He said, trying not to pout. Toni was the only other person that knew this about him. She discovered it because he helped take care of her once when she was sick and had witnessed it herself. The pink-haired girl flitted past him and into Lav’s room where she cut on the light to at least see what the hell kind of mess she was walking into. Toni gave her a friend a sympathetic look as she walked over to her and sat down on the side of her bed. She brushed Lav’s hair back out of her face. She didn’t ask if Lav was okay because she knew that she wasn’t. They had a brief text conversation earlier that night where they had decided that Toni would help Lav get cleaned up the next day…which was technically now. “Let’s get you to the bath, okay? My cousin broke his arm once and he wrapped it up in plastic bags so the cast didn’t get wet. I’ll have Sweets grab some for us. I’ll be right back to help you.” Toni’s voice was soft as she continued to play with the strands of her friend’s purple hair. “Can I call Cheryl to come help?” Lavender just nodded her head weakly. She honestly loved both Toni and Cheryl and was so happy when they got together. She grew up with Cheryl on the Northside but became fast friends with Toni when she moved to the other side of the tracks. Plus she wasn’t sure if Toni could help her to the bathroom by herself with her equally small frame. Toni disappeared into the living room. “I’m not even going to bother asking you to clean up the puke while I help her take a bath.” “She can’t take a bath.” Sweet Pea said, looking up from his phone. He had tried texting Fangs, but he was asleep and that boy was sometimes impossible to wake up. The smaller girl gave him a baffled look, “why the hell not?” “The nurse said so, here.” He flipped through the pages of instructions and handed the corresponding page to Toni. “It’s been twenty-four hours so she can take a shower but it’s underlined that she can’t take a bath. Honestly, she could barely stand on her own so I don’t know how you’re going to do it.” Toni was already texting her girlfriend, asking for help. “I’m so glad school is still out.” She said with an exhausted sigh. “It’s going to be a long day.” Sweets nodding in agreement.

*~~~~~~~~~~~*

There had been a compromise. Lav sat in water about two inches deep with her knees curled up to her chest so that the water couldn’t soak her stitches. Her head was resting on her arms that were on top of her bent legs. There was a plastic grocery bag wrapped around her cast, taped up with an exuberant about of medical tape. Cheryl was keeping her company while Toni cleaned the carpet. She was scrolling through her Instagram feed while Lav seemed lost in thought. “Want to talk about it?” She asked after hearing another sigh escape the bathing girl’s lips. “Not really.” Lav muttered. This had all be very difficult for her. She thought cleaning herself would help her mood but it didn’t. Cheryl had to repeatedly grab her hands to keep her from scrubbing her stitches off in a frenzy to try and get clean. But she couldn’t get clean. It was impossible. No matter how much soap she used it was like their touch just couldn’t be wiped off. It left her feeling hollow inside. Empty like an egg without a yolk. Cheryl glanced at her, taking in the injuries for a moment. “Those dim-witted vertebrates didn’t bother you, did they?” She asked in a sharp tone. Lav knew she was talking about Fangs and Pea. “I don’t know why FP assigned them of all people to look after you. He should have asked me and TT to do it. We’re much better at it.” Lavender smiled, ignoring the sinking feeling in her stomach. “You are.” She said, though her thoughts went back to how Sweet Pea had treated her wounds with such delicacy. “But they’ve been really good.” She ignored the look on Cheryl’s face. “Even the jolly green giant?” It wasn’t a secret that Lavender and Sweet Pea didn’t get along. Everyone knew it. Everyone felt the tension between them. They mixed like oil and water. She was just a Northsider to him. It was infuriating. “He dressed my cuts earlier…” Lav admitted to the red-head. There was a flash of pink growing on her non-bruised cheek. A look of fury passed Cheryl’s features, “if that pervert laid one misplaced finger on you-“ Lav quickly cut her off, “no, he was really…sweet? But he kept getting angry and I don’t know why. He called me a dumbass.” That didn’t sit well with Cheryl. She felt like an idiot after Nick. She understood some of the vulnerability that Lav was feeling. “You’re not stupid, Lavie. You hear me? This was not your fault.” The tone of Cheryl’s voice startled Lav. It was sharp and laced with loathing. Lav gave her a pleading look, lifting up her head, “But-“ “No buts!” Cheryl chastised, “Those insufferable mongrels did something horrible to you, Lavender. Something absolutely atrocious and you didn’t ask for it and you surely didn’t deserve it. You are not stupid.” Lavender was quiet then, looking down at the bubbly water. “Can you help me wash my hair…?” She asked timidly, not wanting to upset Cheryl again. Girl was more terrifying that Sweet Pea when she was angry. “Of course!” A smile broke across her face and she put her phone down to help Lav with her hair. Hours later when Fangs came in he found all three girls half naked in Lav’s full sized bed cuddled against one another, sleeping soundly. He smiled at the sight, the moment only being ruined by the loud snore that came from Sweet Pea in the living room.

*~~~~~~~~~~~*

“Your hair is so soft, Lavie.” Fangs commented as he ran his fingers through the purple waves for the hundredth time. Lav mumbled something incoherent in response. The pain medication made her drowsy and though she had been fighting sleep since she woke up around seven, Fang’s touch was making her lose that fight. “What was that?” “Cheryl washed it for me.” She said a little louder, her eyes opening and her head lifting a little to look at him. “She massaged my scalp and everything.” “Lucky.” Fangs said, pouting slightly, “I want Cheryl to give my head a massage.” Lav laughed lightly, her eyes glancing over to Sweet Pea who looked more miffed now than he did before. “Get a room.” He said hotly. She shifted in Fangs’ lap so he could tell that she was looking at him. “Jealous?” Lav asked, a playful note in her voice. “You want to run your hands through my hair too, SP?” He shot her a glare, “as if, Rhodes.” He said back with venom, however Fangs just laughed at his reaction. “You can do better than some Northsider, Fogarty.” He added. “Nah, this Northie is pretty hot.” Fangs said with a shrug, earning a smile from Lavender. She let out a small giggle as he smiled back at her. Sweet Pea stood up from the couch, not being able to take it anymore. “I need a drink.” He said before storming into her kitchen to raid her fridge. “I’m out of beer.” She called out to him, shock ebbing onto her features as he came back with a bottle in hand. He opened it and took a swig. The look on his face smug for proving her wrong. She looked at Fangs, “you brought booze?” Fangs’ eyes looked over to Pea’s tall form. “Not exactly. Sweets did some grocery shopping since you had no food.” Lav scoffed, “I had plenty of food.” “Noodles and Swiss rolls are not food!” Sweet Pea bit back, “I got us real food.” She suddenly felt bad that he had spent his money on food for her. Well, not exactly for her per se. It was for her house at least. “I’ll pay you back.” “Yea, you will.” Pea said pointedly, sitting back down. “Later.” He added after taking another sip of beer. The lack of annoyance in his tone surprised her a little. She looked at Fangs as if to get confirmation of what he just said. The teen was just smiling in response as his hand snaked around her waist, careful not to touch her bruised ribs. Sweet Pea was doing his best not to stare at them. He didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. Normally when Fangs was hitting on a girl or being overly affectionate, he rooted his friend on in his quest to get laid. He concluded that he was just annoyed because Lav was from the Northside and he still saw her as a Northsider despite the fact that she was a serpent. Betty had done the dance too after all and she still wasn’t really a serpent either. Playing both sides. Pea figured that’s what made him so irritable around her. He didn’t know what side she was truly on. A silence fell between the three of them as Lav rested her head on Fangs’ shoulder. Fangs finally asked a question that he’d been wondering about since he got Pea’s desperate messages on how to console screaming, hysterical girls. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked gently, as if the question would upset her. Lav didn’t answer right away. “Yes.” She finally mumbled after deciding it was best to answer him. “I had them in the hospital too but I was too doped up to react to them.” “Did you have one when you were sleeping with Cheryl and Toni?” He wondered out loud, knowing he hadn’t heard so much as a peep from her until after she woke up. She shook her head, “no, I guess them both holding me helped.” It was cute to see the purple haired girl in a sandwich between the happy couple. Both of their arms wrapped around her protectively. “Okay but why were all three of you in nothing but underwear?” Fangs asked with a laugh, wondering if that was actually necessary though he didn’t mind the visual at all. Lav’s face flushed but he couldn’t see it since it was in his neck. Sweet Pea looked over at Fangs with an offended look, “you saw them in their underwear?” “I wanted to take a picture but Toni would have probably ripped me a new one.” Fangs said. “The door was wide open, you didn’t see?” “I saw plenty last night.” Sweet Pea replied, making Lav even more embarrassed. “I’m not into mummies.” She frowned, anger creeping up her spine. Fangs was about to make a comment when there was a knock on the front door. Sweets got up and answered it, showing Jughead. Jughead looked over at the scene of Lav sitting on Fang’s lap, head on his shoulder and face in his neck. He could tell she was looking at him through an aggravated side-eye. “We need to talk, Lavender.” Fangs unwrapped his arms from around her and sat back so she could get up. Luckily today she’d been able to move a little bit easier than the day before. Her muscles were still store but the Oxy seemed to be helping more now that the worst of it had passed. Lav stood up, taking her time as to not put any unnecessary strain on her stitches. “Let’s go to my room.” She said, not really having an idea about what Jug wanted to talk about but she already figured that it should be a private conversation.

Jughead followed her into her room and he shut the door behind him. She crossed her arms over her chest as if trying to shield herself from him. “What is it?” He gave her a sympathetic look, putting her on edge. So many of her friends had been looking at her like that. Their eyes reflecting how bad they felt for her. The last thing Lav needed was a pity party. She just wanted to move on with her life even though she had basically holed herself up in her trailer all day keeping Fangs and Sweet Pea hostage there. “I need to know what the used.” He said vaguely. Lav knew exactly what he meant. The Ghoulies had used an object to defile her instead of their own bodies. It cut her up pretty bad in the process but luckily she didn’t need any stitches there. Lav turned away from him, her arms tightening around her. “No, you don’t.” She muttered, trying to will away the memory of them raping her. She had to concentrate hard to keep from falling apart at the thought. Jughead held back a sigh at her stubbornness. “We need to know, Lav. We have to know for sure that it was the Ghoulies.” “They were Ghoulies, Jug!” She snapped back, loud enough so that the boys in the other room could hear. “Why don’t you believe me?” There was an ounce of hysteria in her cracking voice. He wanted to console her but he honestly wasn’t sure how to. “They’ve done this before to two other Serpents. They used the same object, I just have to know what it was so that we’re one-hundred percent certain before we plan an attack.” Lavender let out a harsh laugh, “so my word doesn’t hold much in the court of Jones, huh?” She asked, choosing to meet his eyes. There was a fire ablaze in her gaze. The weakness seemed to dissolve as she stood up straight, turning towards him fully. “Fuck you, Jug. Not you or anyone else needs to know!” The truth was she was too embarrassed to say. She was too humiliated. Telling them what the Ghoulies had used was like admitting that it even happened. Her denial was clearly evident in how she was acting. Jughead had a twinge of guilt in his chest for upsetting her. He didn’t even want to have this conversation but his father had insisted that he make sure. That he covered every inch of this investigation with a fine-toothed comb. Too bad Lav was a knot that just wouldn’t give way to the plastic teeth. “If that’s all you came here to ask me, then just get out of my trailer.” Lavender seethed. Jughead took a step back from her to give her some more space. He shifted uncomfortably under her glare. “I’m sorry, Lav. You need to talk to someone about this eventually. I’m here for you when you decide the time is right.” Her response came in the sound of an angry huff. Jughead knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere else with this so he turned and opened the door to the room. He gave her one last worried look before opting to leave. Lav stayed in her room, gripping her arms tight to her chest as she shook with a mixture of anger, regret, and despair. She didn’t even see Fangs pop his head in to see if she was okay. “Hey, baby girl, just forget him.” He said. “Come on, let’s get wasted.”

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