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mournfulmelodysblog · 2 years

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Woodrussy and His Very Long Day

Chapter 10.4: Woodrussy and His Very Long Day

Undead!Gneeze is here….fuck. Only Elle can see into this darkness, only she has Devil’s sight. We all hear “You let me die” furiously on repeat. She sees him grab his hammer and begin to swing. The Captain asks “Elle sweetie, is that Gneeze?”. “Yes honey, and he is really fucking mad”. He leads Elle behind him and goes to Dodge. Gneeze goes to aim at Woodrow and threw Shield up as it connects. Woodrow starts yelling about how crazy this is. Mogo casts Channel of Divinity to get their spell slot back. Elle is up and charges at Gneeze with the Flyxblade. She misses with all three hits, even with high chances none of them hit. She goes to turn back and as she is returning, Gneeze shoots necrotic damage into her. Making her former attached arm fall right back off with sword in hand. She screams “What the fuck, not again. My armmm” and is able to grab her sword with her other arm. Woodrow casts Haste and gets ready for any future attack. “Charlie, do you have Daylight or can you dispel this shit?” Woodrow screams into the void. UwU tries to squeal but it comes out as a hoarse squeak, she needs a cough drop. She tried to use echolocation. Gneeze runs up to Elle and smashes hard into her and slams her into the side. She can’t see him currently and she is badly injured. The Captain fumbles around to push something onto Elle’s stomach. Its a Superior Potion. Gneeze is behind us and comes in overhead to smash Charlie. Woodrow can hear Shield being thrown up but Gneeze is able to break it. Gneeze gets a good hit in and Charlie tries to brace into UwU’s leg. Gneeze goes to grapple Charlie. Gneeze has Charlie pulled up close and Mogo is up. Mogo tries to use Command but it fails because he is immune to Charm. Mogo uttered “Drop it” and made eye contact with Gneeze. Mogo is not seeing Gneeze, it is the shape of Gneeze but to them, it looks like some humanoid creation. It looks very fuzzy and his face is off. It cracks a large unnatural smile. Charlie casts Psychic Bond, he yells that Elle should have done this. He connects all of us. We all keep talking through it. Mogo is explaining that it doesn't look how Gneeze is described, it looks “smokey”. Elle doesnt know what to do and Woodrow says to just lead everyone else since she can see. Elle can see fairly well where everything is. Woodrow asks how bad Charlie is. He says he is okay, on a scale from 1-86 and he's a 66. It could be worse I guess. Elle tells him to aim for the legs, don’t hit Charlie who is grappled. Woodrow goes to swing. Woodrow misses his shots. He's so close but he keeps hearing Gneeze bouncing over it. Woodrow says he is lucky he can’t see. The dog tries to bite Gneeze’s ankle. The dog bites down and Charlie drops but Gneeze is able to catch him. Titan was able to get the first hit. Woodrow tries to use Arcane Jolt but it doesn't work. Mogo recounts to us what just happened.

UwU knows everyone is behind her. UwU is able to punch through but it felt like punching through water and smoke. It just reformed but it was a hit. UwU goes to hit and accidently hits Charlie and he groans. UwU tries to hit again and it evaporates and forms back. Something is definitely wrong here. Gneeze who is still holding Charlie and he is going to make a run for it. He starts trying to barrel through us. Gneeze starts whispering in Charlie’s ear. Woodrow wasnt able to hit. Elle tries to run but she misses, she does only have one hand to be fair. The Captain gets the swing in and we here “Sentinel, Bitch” and hes locked into place. The Captain is able to hit, two miss but one hit. Charlie says “It wants to go home”. Gneeze turns over. Mogo goes to cast Dispel Magic. They are trying to see if Gneeze has something magical wrong with him. It does fail. Charlie goes to reach his hand up and shoots Magic Missile. Elle uses the Superior

potion and prays to Flyx. She starts rambling about everything and her says to name her three biggest issues and he can see what he can do. She says her arm: He says she can fix it herself, she has done it before. She says to restraint Gneeze: He says he could but he wont. She says okay can you help Magical Darkness: He says he could but he wont. She begs him to do anything and he says he will see what he can do.

Woodrow yells and asks if Charlie is okay. He said he is at 60. He yells for Elle and she jus says she is doing rough as hell. He stumbles over to her. He gives her a ring meant for Mikayla and UwU. Mogo gives him a squawk and goes “You promised!”. Its a big ring so he puts it on her thumb. It gives her “Warding Bond” with him. He then yells to open up, the Captain cant see shit but he slowly turns his head to where he thinks Woodrow is. He said that is his line…ANYWAY, he gives Elle a potion. Woodrow goes back to attack and casts Arcane Jolt which also heals Elle again. He yells at her for not to fuck up this chance and use Sneak Attack. UwU tries to hit but misses all of them. We hear a faint conversation between Charlie and something else about “No no I can’t, well maybe”. He yells “Guys I am about to planeshift” and we all panic. The Captain goes to swing on Gneeze. It hits and he is back to being Sentineled. Gneeze says “He doesn't like this very much”. Coming from the darkness, tendrils go to grab the Captain. He pulls him back. He is screaming “What the fuck, What the fuck”. Elle screams that she is going to have to kill a bitch now. Mogo tries to banish Gneeze and it starts wrapping around it and dissolves. The darkness lifts and we can see again. Charlie starts weaving a magic spell. He casts planeshift and Elle tries to cast Counterspell. He dissolves it and everyone rushes in to grab Charlie. The Captain is still restrained. Elle, UwU and Mogo grapple him to go. Elle says he will need support and she can at least teleport back. We all get pulled into his planeshift.

Mogo is the first one to open their eyes. They hear wildlife in the distance, its humid and they smell wet dirt and forest. They are on their side. They notice they are in an overgrown rainforest type place. Its later in the day and not much longer until night. Melody wakes up flatbacked, she is sleeping under a canopy of leaves and sees the last of the light under the tree canopies. The last thing she remembers is going back to her room and going to sleep. She was startled awake to the sound of an explosion and then went unconscious. Charlie bolts upright and he is in the middle of all of us. We are in a curricular pattern around all of us. He can tell Mogo is awake and can tell everyone elses thoughts. Elle wakes up, laying on Psychic Hand and it looks rough but its there. Woodrow wakes up and his head is thumping. He goes “What the fuckk”. Mogo goes “theres dirt” and he goes “I see”. He takes note of everyone else. UwU is still trying to wake up. Woodrow helps Elle up. Woodrow also notices Melody. UwU wakes up and knows shes woken up in weird places, but never a rainforest. She immediately throws up. Mogo sits up and just bile dripples down their face like a baby. Elle goes to give UwU the neverending water to clean her up. They all start noticing really old scrambled egg in her hair. UwU never noticed and neither did Charlie. Woodrow uses prestidigitation. Melody just says “Hey”, cool as a cucumber. “Are you Melody or are you Melody”? and Charlie asks what does that even mean. Mogo just says “I dont know but there is dirt”.Elle says there sure is. Elle returns the ring. We hear “The Captain” very faintly. Woodrow, Mogo, Charlie, and Melody try to help figure out where we are. Mogo goes that we are in a rainforest and its humid so not the best roll. Woodrow knows we arent in Arteria. Charlie notices that this isn't nature we aren't familiar with, that we could be on another

side of the world. We don't seem to be on an island. Melody notices we are in Kathis, this is her home plane. She doesn’t tell the group she recognizes this location. She knows it is furthest south from when the party originally came to her village a year ago. She does recognize the area. Charlie says he doesn’t know why we are here. Woodrow just explains what happened but Charlie knows he was dominated to plane shift. Woodrow explains the whole Gneeze backstory such as his body changing because of his death and how Mikayla is his daughter. Elle says we don’t need all that right now. Charlie asks UwU if she knew this before getting with Mikayla but she says no one really tells her anything. She then asks what happened with Gneeze? He isn’t here. Mogo and Elle did notice that Gneeze disappeared before plane shifted was casted. We don’t really know all the details, just that the smoke blew away when it was hit with Banishment. Charlie mentions how its really dark and can tell it was really powerful but Charlie has never met Gneeze. He says how could have been killed if he had those abilities? Woodrow explains that we saw him killed by LeStrange, who is a rakshasa. That we saw his soul sucked into a gem. Charlie says that still doesn't make sense what just happened. Woodrow explains that Gneeze was a warlock to that fiend, that was his patron. Maybe his soul is being controlled? They try to figure out answers, Elle suggests calling the Captain to check in on him and also see if Gneezes body is still in the tombs. Woodrow starts ascending up to find where we are. Woodrow is flying through spider webs and notices some familiar things. He isn’t able to find anything super distinct. He does notice we are in a valley with big mountains and rainforest area. Elle suggests someone Polymorph into a bird and scope out the area. Charlie polymorphs into a giant owl to scope out the area. Elle messages the Captain. She asks if he is alive and all good, he says he is but he asks what happened. She gives him the rundown. He says that if she was behind them all going, she really does care. She says not to tell anyone shit about that, he says he wont but he will tell Flyx (who is already listening in and says he knows). He says he will figure out something and to be safe, Elle mentions that she will try not to die and he says dont put that in his head. Woodrow asks Melody if she remembers anything from the night before. He asks if she remembers leaving the comedy show? She does and then he tells her what we found before the Gneeze encounter. Elle mentions it was like a shadow creature that resembles Gneeze. He asks her why she left the show and she said she wasnt feeling it. He asks Mogo what he was able to scry on. He says he heard conflict, like she was interrogating someone. They heard the words “Tell me what I want to know” . Elle brings up that this has to be correlated. One, why would Gneeze want Charlie to come here specifically.? Two, how is Gneeze showing up and Melody having memory lapses correlated? Three, we dont know where Gneeze is and if he even came with us. Woodrow is asking why they would want to break the mirror. Woodrow brings up it could be LeStrange involved since Gneeze is involved. He uses detect magic on her items to see if he notices anything messing with her. He is picking on her magical items, he notices that she is a sorcerer. She is the Divine Soul. That means someone in her lineage had relations with an angel. Woodrow finds it interesting since she is a tiefling. UwU uses Detect Evil and Good. She notices Elle’s aura little fireflies flicking because she is elven, same with Woodrow because he is fey kind. Melody has an aura that is not common. A completely neutral aura, something powerful neither celestial or fiend. Her aura looks unstable and flickers in and out. UwU notices her own aura, she notices this little buzzing firefly because of Flyx. She can also detect everyone's alignment. Mogo is chaotic good, Woodrow is neutral good, Elle is chaotic good, Melody is neutral but sometimes it can be lawful evil. UwU is chaotic

good but she also jumps through chaotic neutral. She looks at Charlies and it is borderline Neutral good and lawful good. Charlie says up north that there is a village and that we could get there in an hour or two. That we need to move before the darkness. He thinks we should just make our way there. Woodrow says if we fly, he can carry Mogo and Melody and Charlie can Polymorph into birds and carry everyone else. Melody still has not mentioned that she knows where we are at and there are creatures that will give us a disadvantage. Elle brings up how come she didnt mention it before and then where exactly are we. She doesn't answer the first question but she says this is her home, Cathis. Woodrow and Elle recognize it from the time we came here with Akira and where she first became a patron. She says that there are creatures that can fly after us so our idea isnt the bed. On foot would be the best idea. She said she doesnt feel like dying. here are a lot of creatures that can cloak like flying snake creatures and on foot, there are huge creatures that are nocturnal. They are insectoid and alot in number. She asks if we want to be safe in the village or die out here, she is offering to teleport us all. Melody casts teleport and sends us to the village. We teleport a large stream, not large enough to be a river. Theres a fog rolling in so we dont see the village at the moment. Melody is leading the way with Elle in the back. She is looking for it but she isnt quite seeing the village but her foots hit something solid. She notices she is walking on charred ash colored planks. It throws Woodrow off guard who is following behind her. Woodrow notices that it should be wood but something is off. He tells Melody to back up slowly and that we all should. Elle starts walking backwards and Elles foot hits something solid too. She relays the message and slowly turns around. It is a perfectly cylindrical thing, it is a deck. We see side railings and see it disappear into the smoke. Elle turns on Ghostly Gaze and just noticed how big it is. Elle tries to walk around the ship. She sees the full ship, about 20 feet apart. She notices alot of masts with many crates. She sees that everything there is completely solid, even the crates and such. Woodrow goes to fly up but not too high because of the creatures. He flies up looking for a flag.He notices it all looking charred and black still. It looks familiar and Woodrow and Elle figure it out. It is the Lionen ship. That ship was half eaten by the mimic ship and the other sank. Mogo and Melody dont move and UwU says “what the fuck is wrong with all of this”? Charlie asks us if we are dead, Elle says she highly doubts it. Elle hears a loud thumping sound and starts frantically looking around. She can hear heavy footsteps of seven distinct people. She hears scraping sounds and heavy footsteps getting closer. She can see coming from fog and from the outline is a large Lionen. Another member, another, a goblin creature. They are slowly walking towards the party. We hear three more. Woodrow says to try to talk to them.

Elle starts saying “Hey hey chill out, what’s up guys?”. They all stop in unison. Melody knows who it is, it is Captain Lenwood. The man who gave her a job on the ship. Melody almost goes up to him but Elle stops her. Melody notices that nothing about them looks natural and the details look wrong and off. He is completely black, the same color as the ship. Melody relays the info to everyone else as she backs up. Woodrow says we should fly away and Melody says that isnt a good idea. Lenwood says in a super raspy scary voice: “Where is the woodrow?” Mogon casts Command “I would put that down if I were you” but it doesn't work. He cracks an unnatural smile and lowers the sword. Glenwood rushes forward to hit Elle and gets two good hits on. Woodrow flies down 30 feet. Woodrow casts False Life, the dog jumps in at Glenwood. It hits but it dissipates and reforms back, same to the Gneeze we just fought. Woodrow uses the last

he can to heal. Another crew member aims for Elle and hits her again. Charlie claps his hand together and casts Haste on Elle. Melody used Inflict Wounds. Another crew member goes to hit Elle and both hit, it is so bad right now.UwU tries to use Fury Of Blows but misses all of her hits, these ones are just as hard to hit. One keeps looking for Woodrow. Elle gives herself the superior potion, she calls her Fey. She tries to make it hit but it misses. She aims and hits it successfully. Mogo casts Spirit Guardians and they look like little poop emojis but it misses. More of the members hit Elle and slowly aim for her HP. Woodrow was able to magic missile all seven but the dog missed. Charlie also was able to magic missile five of them. UwU misses her hit. Elle misses her first two hits but hit again with the Feyblade and cuts fake Lenwood’s face off. Mogo goes to heal Elle and helps her out, she was at 3. One of the members hits Woodrow and another small hit. He is currently grappled but the rest are prone because he fell down from the sky to get closer to everyone else. He is able to get some shots in. Another member goes after Elle and gets another hit in. Charlie uses a magic missile and is able to hit all three. Elle gets hit again and now she is down. Melody tries to pour a healing potion down her throat. She uses a superior potion. Melody also casts Cure Wounds to help give her more back.

Another crew member drops on Elle and since she is prone, it takes an attack. Her spirit guardian disappeared because it needs concentration. Mogo, UwU, and Charlie see it come down and then it stops before hitting Elle. It cuts back and starts aiming for UwU. UwU goes to hit and gets one in. He evaporates back in right after. Elle gets back up and starts going in with the Feyblade. She gets three solid hits on it but misses with the Hexblade. It goes after Woodrow and gets a hit in. Mogo tries to hit by misses. UwU gets targeted by another member. Woodrow goes to use Arcane Jolt on UwU. We all keep trying to whittle them down. UwU got one down. Woodrow got another one down. Elle tries to but misses alot.Melody shot Firebolt hurtling towards the last creature and as it hits and evaporates. Everything around her starts disappearing and she is left alone in this large expanse. Fog is everywhere and she is by herself, she can see her breath fog up. It is cold with black marble. She doesnt know what to do, just stands there.

Everyone else sees her shoot with three eldritch blasts while dropping her staff. It then evaporates and the construct around us starts becoming black smoke. It starts settling around us. It looks like darkness around us. The fog has lifted, we are in the middle of a village. It is empty and abandoned. We start looking around and there have been no signs of life for a very long time. There is growth everywhere. Woodrow starts looking around and realizes that we have been here before. It is the village where we were previously with the Akira incident and meeting Brick. We also saw Melody here for the first time but we didnt get to know her until the ship. We see that it seems there hasnt been life here in a very very long time. We all just stand here unsure what to do next.UwU asks Melody why she isnt more concerned about her village and when she answers, Elle can tell right off the bat that isn’t Melody we were just fighting with. She answers that with the stress of everything, there is alot to unpack. Elle cuts off her Psychic Whispers link and tells everyone that she thinks Melody is doing the thing again. We notice Melody start becoming visibly annoyed so Woodrow deflects and starts outloud asking everyone if they need helped. Mogo goes up to Melody and asks if she needs to be healed, they are not sure why the link ended for them (lying, what a king). They offer their hands out and Melody

puts her hands in there unsure what is happening. Mogo casts a calming spell to help her seem less irritated. Woodrow keeps thinking and we all start to bring up how this makes no goddamn sense because we were just at this village not super long ago. Even if time moves differently in this dimension, it doesn't seem right because Melody is the same. We even saw Brick like a few days ago. Charlie starts piecing together some information and all the clues we have. He says that it has been mentioned before about Ancient Tief, this very old ancient language that is basically incomprehensible to understand. Its the same writing on the necklace Woodrow has of his brother. He says Ancient Tief is a language connected to a group he believed to be a myth. The Banished. The story goes that there was this group that was incredibly advanced, decades before anything would even follow. They had more powerful magic then is even possible currently. Ancient and strong but one day they did something to anger the gods. So they were wiped from existence and nothing was to be left of them. We start theorizing its possible this village is connected to the Banished but how does Melody fit into this? Time could move differently in this dimension but that would make her millions of years older and that doesnt seem to be the case. All of this is linked to LeStrange who we last knew took Gneezes soul into a necklace and stabbed through his body. Also the ship and crew mates were something of Melodys past. We also are able to feel a connection, weak but still, with the Captain. How far could we really be from our dimension?

Going back to Melody. She hears footsteps approaching her. It is Gneeze in a clean white linen shirt (very off brand). He looks at her and says “We have a lot to talk about. Follow me” and she decides to go along because what else is there to do? We see it is getting darker outside and realize we all need to rest because everyone is out of spells and low as hell on health. We start heading for the houses to lay low for the night and to barricade away from whatever creatures could try and attack us. We dont notice but Melody slipped away somewhere.

#dnd dndshenanigans

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tanyawritesstories · 3 years

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Frozen Miracles | The Mandalorian x reader

My first Din piece! I wrote this awhile ago before season 2 ended and only now am publishing it. Hope you enjoy 😊

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, pregnant reader, detailed descriptions of birth, Din frustration, the child isn't chaotic for once

•••

He stood watching the Krayt Dragon meat roast, waiting for Peli to get done talking to his informant. He shuffled around impatiently, watching as the child stared longingly at his dinner.

Needless to say, Din was frustrated. The only lead he had on finding others like him had evaporated the second that marshal removed his helmet. He knew immediately that all the time and energy he spent getting to this point was a waste. By the end of that journey he had: saved a community, restored peace between cultures, slain a dragon, and acquired the imposter’s armor to return it to it’s rightful owners. It was by no means an unsuccessful mission, it just wasn’t the outcome he expected.

He was snapped out of his reverie by Peli shouting at her droid. She approached, telling him about the nearby covert within the sector. He absorbed her words, committing them to memory and hoping that this lead was more promising.

“I just have one favor to ask,” Peli added. Din merely turned his head towards her to show he was listening. “There is someone who needs a ride off this planet.”

His hands returned to their place on his hips, “What’s that gonna cost me? I’m not a taxi service.”

“I know, I know,” she said, “But they’re willing to pay you to take them to the nearest civilized planet.”

He sighed softly, looking at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“No hyperdrive.”

His helmet snapped to look at her. “No, that’s a deal breaker. Hyperspace is the only thing keeping me safe. I can’t do it.” He gestured.

Peli sighed right back, putting her hands on her hips. “Look, the nearest habitable planet isn’t far away. Surely you can manage that? They won’t be difficult.”

“Why no light speed? What’s the reason for it?”

Peli turned and beckoned whoever this passenger was to come out from her office. Din didn’t know what he expected but it certainly wasn’t who came walking into the hangar.

A woman stepped out into the sand, looking cautiously at the two of them. She looked young, quite a bit younger than him. She was dressed in tan clothes, a floor-length skirt and a poncho that looked a few sizes too big, it hid the outline of her frame and made her look like she was drowning in the clothing. A thin sheet of cloth was draped on top of her head, falling over her shoulders like a veil, tied loosely under her chin, leaving her collarbone exposed and some of her hair visible.

Peli waved her over and the young woman slowly approached. Peli put her arm on the woman’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Her husband died eight months ago and she wants to get off Tatooine and start over somewhere new,” she explained.

“Why me? There are transports that can carry passengers,” he replied.

“She doesn’t trust them and she said you seemed safe,” Peli answered for the woman, who still hadn’t spoken a word.

Din’s silence left an unspoken question lingering in the air. What makes her think I’m safe? The woman seemed to sense this and began signing with her hands, using hand signals that Din could decipher.

I’ve read about Mandalorians before, and you have a child. You seem trustworthy.

“She says you seem trustworthy because you have a child with you,” Peli translated, “And she’s read about Mandalorians before.”

“Why can't she talk?” He asked.

“She hasn’t spoken since her husband was killed. I’ve known her for years, she used to talk all the time, she was really happy,” Peli said, a sympathetic expression coming to her face. The young woman looked at the ground, her face was emotionless and cold. She looked void of all happiness, empty and hollow, her lips set in a straight line that hadn’t curved into a smile in a long time.

“You never told me the reason for no hyperdrive,” he restated.

Peli and the woman made eye contact and the older woman nodded to her. The younger woman slowly lifted the bottom of her poncho to expose her swollen stomach. She was pregnant.

“Hyperspace could harm the baby, even kill it. She just wants to get off this planet, too many memories of her husband," Peli explained for the woman.

Din turned away, contemplating and weighing his options. The sound of credits jingling together made him turn to face them again. The young woman held a small, worn leather pouch out to him. He took it in his hands and opened it, revealing a large amount of credits.

"How much is this?"

The woman began to sign and Peli watched in order to translate, not knowing Din already knew what she was saying.

It's 5,000 credits. It's all I have.

"Five thousand credits," Peli said, "It's all that she has left."

He looked between her and the pouch of credits, closing it and tucking it into his belt. "Alright, let's go."

The young woman turned to Peli and gave her a quick hug before walking up the ramp into the Crest.

Din watched her as she disappeared within the metal hull of his ship.

"Hey."

Din turned back to Peli, who had begun gnawing on a piece of meat.

"Take care of her," the older mechanic said, "She's been through a lot. Don't get me wrong, she's tough, but that baby is the only good thing in her life right now."

He nodded, letting her know he had heard her words. He turned again to look at where she had entered his ship, wondering what he had just gotten himself into.

~~~~

He settled the Razor Crest into space and set a course to the nearest safe planet, a moon called Nexlar. Despite it being close it would still take several hours to get there, especially without the use of hyperspace.

His passenger had decided to wander down into the hull as soon as the ship was stable. He tried to stop her but it was of no use.

He climbed down the ladder and turned to face his bunk, pressing the control panel letting the door slide up.

"Kid?"

He turned around to look for the little green troublemaker, only to find him standing on a crate next to which their guest was sitting on the floor. Her back was to Mando as he watched her feed his miniature companion pieces of a juicy pink fruit. He took silent steps towards them and observed their interaction.

The child cooed and giggled happily with each morsel of food she fed him. He always ate so much, Din swore his stomach was a bottomless pit.

He watched the expressions on her face, however small they were. She didn't look as helpless or as sad. She almost looked happy and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch up when the child reached out for her.

She continued to feed him until she didn't have any more, holding her hands up to show the youngling that she was empty handed. The child made a sad whining sound, his ears drooping in disappointment and her eyebrows reacted with sadness at seeing him upset. She reached out and pressed a feather light touch to his little green cheek before picking him up and setting him down on the floor.

She must have seen Mando’s boots when she put the kid down, as she jumped back in surprise, a little gasp escaping her lips.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he said calmly. Even with him being slow and calm she still pushed herself away from him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” It took him a second to realize that she might think he doesn’t understand her. He didn’t exactly make it known that he knew her every word back at the hangar. So he took to her form of communication, signing with his hands as well.

Thank you for feeding him.

He could see the gears turning in her head through the expressions on her face. Starting on shock going to realization then to relief and maybe something akin to thankfulness.

You are welcome. I read that that specific fruit was healthy for children. She signed back.

“What’s your name?” he asked out loud. She signed individual letters until it spelled her name. “Y/N, is that right?” She nodded, the corner of her mouth turning up into a small smirk again.

“I’m going to hit the rack, why don’t you head up to the cockpit and try to get some sleep. That chair is much comfier than the floor.”

She began to get up but with most of her weight in the front she was having trouble. Din bent and reached out, grabbing onto her elbows and helping her to stand. She grunted with the effort of trying to stand while being pregnant. She held onto her stomach when she had made it to her feet, wincing in what was either pain or discomfort. Din made sure she could stand on her own before letting her go and watching to make sure she got up the ladder alright. He retrieved the child and set him down in his hammock before crawling beneath his hanging bed and laying down to get some rest himself.

~~~~

Din was woken up by the blaring alarm sounding from the cockpit. He rushed out of his bed and up the ladder, planting himself in his chair and flicking off the alarm. He turned to see the woman- Y/N - with a concerned look on her face, staring out the viewport. He followed her gaze to see the two X-wing fighters on either side of his ship. They were comming him.

He answered reluctantly, giving them the information they needed and hoping they would then leave him alone.

They didn't.

He was doing his best but wasn't good at lying under pressure. There was still some hope he could get out of this confrontation. That was until they asked about the prison.

Din forced the Crest into a dive towards the unknown planet they were currently above. He heard her gasp from behind him and brace herself against the walls. He was trying to lose them, he knew he couldn't outrun them.

"Hold on!" He said, veering towards an opening in the frozen cliffside.

He shot around the corner and disappeared into the cave, praying that the X-wings didn't see him. One of the engines hit against the side of the cave as it got narrower. He was going to have to put it down, there was no other option. The keel of the ship hit the ground and they slid, spinning until they were facing the opposite direction. Din was trying his best to get the thing under control but he was losing fast.

The Crest went over a rut in the ice and was launched several meters high before it crashed down to level ground again. Finally stopping when the stern collided hard with a solid wall of ice. They were all jolted forwards in their seats and their backs hit the chairs as it stopped.

Din rapidly hit switches and pressed buttons trying to discover the state of his ship, he got no reaction from his vessel but continued to try regardless. The woman groaned and he turned to look at her. She laid her head against the wall, her face contorted into an expression of pain. Both her arms were wrapped around her enlarged middle, her hands trembling.

The open comm crackled as the faint voices of the X-wing pilots faded out of range. Din tried more controls, failing to notice that his passenger had unbuckled herself and moved to try and check on his child.

The Crest lurched forward as the ice underneath it gave way. She stumbled and was thrown into the back of his chair, in turn making him jolt forwards. The entire ship began to move as the ice broke and soon it was falling through. Everything seemed to slow down as the Crest descended into a chasm. It hit the floor with astounding force and noise. It’s occupants were thrown around hard and the last thing Din remembered was the sound, before he was thrown forward and knocked unconscious.

~~~~

He came to, slowly moving his head a little, then his arm, then his whole body. Feeling returned to his limbs as he woke up. How long had he been out? It was freezing and frost had accumulated on his armor. He tried and failed on the controls, the Razor Crest wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

In his haste to figure out what had happened and attempts to find a solution he had forgotten about his passenger. A low groan reminded him that she was there. He turned around in the chair to see her body limp at the foot of the door. The tip of her nose and fingers were tinged a light blue and he noticed the draping had fallen off her head. Her clothes weren’t cut out for the cold, they were thin to combat the hot Tatooine temperatures, she would no doubt freeze to death if she didn't warm up soon.

He only had to take a couple steps to get to her, crouching down and shaking her gently. She opened her eyes and he grabbed under her arms, lifting her up. Even with his thick gloves he could feel how cold she was.

"You're freezing, we need to get you warm. Stay here, I'll find some blankets."

He set her down in a passenger seat and dropped down the ladder to inspect the damage. Luckily, the kid had stayed in his hammock, Din grabbed him and all the blankets he had and returned to the cockpit. She was shaking from the cold and had one hand pressed to her temple the other on her belly.

Din set the kid down in his chair and draped a blanket around the woman. She winced as she pulled her hand away from her head, blood covered her palm.

"You're injured.." he said. "I'll get a medkit, stay there." He dropped into the damaged hull once more, retrieving the medkit and crouching in front of her to check her wound.

"Let me see." He gently pushed her hand away to reveal a cut on her left temple, going into her hair. He inspected it, thankfully it wasn't deep and she appeared to not have suffered too much damage.

She pulled the thin shawl off where it fell on her shoulders and wiped her bloody hand on it. She held it out to him and motioned to her head. "Ok," he said, taking the cloth and carefully wiping away what blood he could. He cleaned her wound before applying a small bacta patch.

"That should do it," he said. He packed the medkit back up and tossed it behind him. She still looked to be in pain, now both her hands were on her stomach. "Is the baby ok?"

She moved her hands around, sighing in relief shortly after, then nodding.

Just kicking. She signed.

Before Din could do anything she took his hand and placed it on her belly. Through her layers and his gloves he could feel the small jolts from the life growing within her. There was something so intimate about it. He felt like it was something he shouldn't be witnessing, it was too personal and he was a stranger. She let go of his hand to sign.

Can you feel it? She asked with a smile.

"Yes," he answered, "that's amazing." Despite having let go of his hand, Din kept it in place, feeling as the rowdy little one settled down.

"I need to patch up the hull, I'll be right back," he bid.

I'll watch him for you. She signed, pointing to the child who was playing with a switch.

"Thank you."

Din set about fixing his ship as much as he could, it was in worse shape than he thought. What felt like a couple hours passed and he stopped to take a break and warm up inside. As he walked back around to the front he noticed footprints in the snow leading towards an opening in the cave wall. He looked inside the ship and saw that the kid was sleeping soundly in his bed, wrapped in blankets. She was the one who had left.

Din followed the footsteps into a path of ice tunnels, looking around cautiously. He touched the side of his helmet whenever he could no longer see her tracks. His HUD illuminating her imprints in thermal colors. He continued to follow for what felt like a long time, how far in here had she gone? He hoped nothing had happened to her.

That hope disappeared when he heard a yell come from further in. Din broke into a run, sprinting towards the noise. He rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

Y/N was sitting waist deep in a small pool of steaming water. She had stripped off her skirt and was only wearing her shirt which was off white and wet to above her stomach, nearly see through. She was in immense pain, her face contorted into agony. She leaned against the edge of the pool, her head resting on the cold snow. One hand gripping the edge so hard her knuckles turned white, the other on her stomach, which looked to be the source of her pain.

He rushed to her side and kneeled in the snow. "Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, looking her over frantically.

She didn't sign, just put her finger on her stomach then dragged it down and pointed out. It suddenly became obvious what was happening to her.

She was in labor.

Din tried not to panic but he was having a hard time. He had no idea how to handle this situation.

“Uh, what can I do?”

She signed quickly and her hands moved so fast and were so shaky that Din almost couldn’t understand her.

I can do this. I just need you to do one thing.

“What, what do you need me to do?”

Her response was clear.

Catch.

She shifted herself and Din helped her so her legs were pointed towards him. “Uh, um, ok. I think I can do that.” He hoped his voice didn’t come through the modulator as shaky and nervous as he felt like it sounded.

She continued to groan and shout in pain and Din wished he could do more. He hesitated to touch her but wanted to support the woman and give her strength, he gently placed a hand on her bent knee.

"C'mon, you can do this. Remember to breathe," he encouraged.

He also didn't want to look down. The water was murky but shallow and he had briefly glimpsed her lower nudity when she turned towards him. Knowing that he would have to reach down there and literally catch her child soon was making him sweat underneath his armor.

Catch, he was going to have to use his hands. He looked at his gloved hands, the gloves had been everywhere and were no doubt dirty and not safe for a newborn. He couldn't touch her with them. Din took a minute and shucked off his gloves, setting them beside him. He reached over to her pile of discarded clothes and grabbed the blanket she'd had around her, setting it between his legs to place the baby on right away.

He made sure to keep his own breathing steady as he looked down, seeing the head of the baby slowly coming through her opening. He took a deep breath and urged her on, watching in mild horror as the child came through more and more.

Din put his hands into the water and helped get the baby’s shoulder through, as she had instructed him. Part of him wished he hadn’t taken his gloves off as his hands were now coated in slimy liquids.

With a last strong push her baby came all the way out and into Din’s hands. He gasped on reflex, it was smaller than he thought it would be. He quickly raised the baby out of the water and wrapped it in the blanket. He pulled his vibroblade out of his boot, about to cut the cord. He looked to her for permission, getting a nod and a warm smile from the exhausted woman.

He broke through it, finally severing the connection between mother and child. She sat up all the way and reached out to him, Din put the babe in her arms and sat back in the snow, almost as exhausted as her.

He looked over at the woman, cradling her baby against her chest, a huge smile on her face. She looked at him, signing.

It’s a girl.

“Congratulations,” he replied.

Thank you, for everything.

“You’re welcome,” Din sighed. “What are you going to name her?”

The woman thought for a moment before looking at him with a smile.

Mandi, after you.

Din’s eyebrows raised under his helmet. “Me? Why me?”

You helped deliver her. It's the least I can do.

Din stared and she paused, both of them thinking.

I will get you more credits when I'm settled, I know this wasn't part of the deal.

He sighed again. "Don't worry about that right now, we need to get you two back to the Crest." She held her child out to Din and he carefully held the tiny girl in his arms the way she showed him. He turned his back to her so she could dry off and dress, meanwhile also becoming enamored with the baby in his arms. Her small pink face peeked through the warm confines of the blanket, eyes closed, peaceful. It all suddenly became real to him.

This was another man's child that he helped bring into the world. A tiny human that he physically saw come to life in his hands. He felt honored, this experience should have been for someone else, the man she loved. But he was gone and Din was, for now, his replacement in a life changing event. Din reached a bare hand up to touch her cheek. The newborn stirred but didn't open her eyes. He held her tighter, having a sudden urge to protect her and keep her warm and safe. She was only about 20 minutes old and already had Din wrapped around her tiny fingers. This must be the same thing that happened when he'd found his child. Almost like a kind of hypnosis, drawing him in, bringing out a side of him he hadn't known he had.

He heard a pained groan and snow crunching and swiftly turned around, finding the woman was fully clothed and had fallen. She was still recovering and her body was too weak to walk just yet, she had tried and fallen when her limbs gave out. He kneeled beside her and she held his gloves out to him. He thanked her and took the gloves, transferring the child back into her arms. He donned his gloves and tugged off his cape. Since using her blanket for the baby, Y/N was left without anything to keep her warm. Din wrapped his cape around her and picked her up like a bride, carrying her back to the Crest.

Thankfully, his own little one had stayed put the whole time but was now awake and rummaging about. Din set her down on his bed and got her more blankets. He wagered he could get some more repairs done and wandered outside again.

~~~~

The sun was going down and it was getting colder than it already was, Din stepped inside and sealed the ship as well as he could for the night. He walked to his bunk to check on his passengers. He found her laying on her side, fast asleep. Mandi laid in front of her, also asleep. He also found his own son, asleep, on the other side of Mandi. Y/N had an arm lightly wrapped around both children, each of them had ahold of one of her fingers. If it wasn't so cold, he might've melted at the sight. It was so pure, so domestic. Something he never thought he'd see in relation to him. The thought of them all belonging to him passed through his mind briefly. He knew that could never be a possibility, especially for him.

He grabbed some food for himself and made his way up to the cockpit, finally intent on eating something. As soon as he made it up there, he heard a baby crying from below. He quickly made his way back down to find Mandi crying and wiggling around in her mother’s arms. Y/N stirred in her sleep and Din carefully scooped the baby into his arms, not wanting her tired mother to wake up, she needed sleep. Din could watch the baby for a while, he could deal with his child, and he was much worse than Mandi. Din rocked the little girl in his arms until she stopped crying, which wasn’t long. He carefully climbed back into the cockpit and laid the baby in his son’s crib. He wasn’t using it right now. He rocked the floating bed and Mandi’s face softened into calm.

“There you go, all better,” he said softly. He took one hand out of his glove again and ran his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin was smooth and warm against Din’s blaster calloused hands.

“You need some sleep, tiny one, so does your mother. So you’re stuck with me right now.”

Din continued to talk to the tiny girl until he was sure she was sleeping. He then removed his helmet and was finally able to eat. He was nearly finished when he turned to reach across the controls and bumped his helmet, causing it to fall and hit the floor with a loud clang. Mandi was immediately woken up and began crying. Din reacted fast and took the baby into his arms, rocking her again.

"Shh, shh it's ok. I'm here, you're safe."

Din allowed a smile to spread across his exposed face, able to see how precious she was without his helmet in the way. He simply couldn't resist the sight of this perfect little one in his arms. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Just as he pulled back, the little girl opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was shocked for a moment, this was the first time he'd seen her open her eyes and she was looking at him...without his helmet.

Din looked around to find it lying on the floor near his feet. He wondered if this was technically breaking the Creed since he knew the baby would never remember what he looked like. But nevertheless, he picked the Beskar barrier up off the floor and set it on his head. For once, he was hating having to put it back on.

~~~~

Din didn't remember falling asleep in his chair in the cockpit, not to mention with little Mandi cradled against his stomach, also asleep. He looked around, how much time had passed? He wasn't sure. He thought he heard a faint sizzling sound and his helmet enhanced his hearing. It sounded like someone was welding.

Din got up and set Mandi back into the crib without waking her up. He climbed quietly down into the hull and found the kid asleep in his hammock, but the woman was missing. The sizzling sound was louder and came in increments. Din exited the ship, following the noise to the other side of the ship. There he found the woman kneeling in the snow, tools in hand, repairing his ship. He was stunned, she had just given birth not even 24 hours ago and here she was fixing his ship, and doing a great job as well.

He cleared his throat to get her attention and she looked to him and smiled.

"What're you doing out here?"

Fixing the ship.

"I see that," he replied, "You should be inside where it's warmer."

But I can help, Peli taught me everything she knows. Let me help you.

Din sighed. If this woman was right and she could help fix the Crest then he wanted her help, but he also wanted her to stay safe. “Alright, I’ll start on the other side. If we work together we might get this done before nightfall.”

The woman nodded and got back to work, Din grabbed more tools and started on a different part of the ship. They worked, taking breaks when too cold, and made huge progress on the Crest’s repairs.

~~~~

“I think that’s all we can do with the tools we have,” Din surmised, “We need to get to a hangar and have someone finish the rest.”

The woman stood next to him, looking over their work with a proud look on her face. She had fashioned a sash out of a blanket that went across her torso, Mandi was nestled safe inside, held against her mother’s chest. Y/N also had his little womp rat balanced on her hip.

They had welded and wired everything as best as they could, and managed to patch the hole in the hull with spare durasteel panels.

Shall we get off this frozen rock now?

“That sounds good to me,” Din agreed.

They boarded the ship and Din took the kid while Y/N climbed into the cockpit. He went over the hull again before joining her, setting the kid in one of the passenger seats. He turned and saw her in his chair, flipping switches and pressing buttons. The engines roared to life and she checked out the viewport to make sure they were working correctly. He watched her as she got the ship ready for takeoff, another thing he didn’t know she could do. He was pleasantly surprised.

Over the last few days he had learned she was a great mechanic, took amazing care of both the kids, and now he learned she was also a pilot who knew her way around a ship. He put one arm on the headrest of his seat the other on his hip as he watched her expertly handle the machinery. She was just about to grab the steering handles when she stopped herself and looked up at him. She looked apologetic and began signing to him.

I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I haven’t flown a ship in so long I just got excited.

She bowed her head at him and got out of the chair, taking one behind him. He chuckled. “It’s ok, maybe as we get closer to Nexlar I’ll let you pilot.” He looked back in time to see her face light up with excitement. He smiled under his helmet and turned back to get the Crest in the air.

He was able to get out of the cave and back into the blackness of space with more ease than he expected. He breathed a sigh of relief when everything held and he was able to set their course for the destined planet.

She tapped him on the shoulder and signed that she was taking the kids down into the hull to try and get them to sleep. He thanked her and watched as she climbed down the ladder, handing the child to her once she was down.

It must have only been about half an hour before he heard someone calling him.

“Mando!”

The voice was broken and strained, whoever was talking was having a very hard time with it. He turned to face the doors.

“Mando!”

A little louder. It was a woman’s voice, she was talking, calling for him. She called him again, panic in her broken and unused voice.

Din jumped out of his chair and quickly climbed down into the hull. Y/N was standing at the foot of his bunk, staring down the length of the ship. He followed her gaze to see all the storage crates and lose equipment suspended in mid air, floating with nothing holding them.

He walked to his bunk only to see his child sound asleep in his hammock. If it wasn’t him then who��

He looked at Y/N to see her concerned and panic stricken face, they both looked down at the same time. Little Mandi was awake and smiling gleefully, waving her tiny limbs around, the suspended cargo moving with her small motions.

“What’s happening?” Y/N croaked out, scared and worried about her baby.

Din sighed as the information sunk in. Not another one.

#star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars

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sapphicknightaesthetic · 3 years

Text

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla?

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted.

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart.

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel.

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth.

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle.

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage.

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face.

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath.

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.”

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples.

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly.

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling.

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart.

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.”

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid.

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath.

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.”

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging.

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted.

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

#eivor x randvi #eivor randvi #lady eivor #lady knights #women in armor #my writing #randivorprideweek #randivorprideweek2021

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baepsaetan · 3 years

Text

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 1

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore

Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 6.1k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: This took me a disgustingly long time to complete, but I’ve limped to the finish line! I wouldn’t have got there without @ditttiii, who helped me talk through an early version of the fic. Also major thanks to my beta @birbdae for cleaning up this long piece!

Is there anything he loves more than stepping into a club for the first time? The easy answer is yes, but in the moment – in the present – right now – Hoseok can’t give the easy answer. Shoving through the door is like plunging into water, waves of heavy bass surging against him as he submerges into the half-remembered music and suddenly warm air. The change in temperature is a welcome relief after the cold outside and only serves to reinforce the sensation of entering a thicker atmosphere. Breathing in against the sudden pressure, Hoseok does a grateful little skip as he pulls off his beanie and gloves.

Next to him, Taehyung laughs, the deep sound competing with the heavy music beating at Hoseok’s eardrums. “Not even on the dance floor and you’re already starting?”

Tossing his head to get his dark hair out of his face, Hoseok grins. “That suggests I ever stopped.” He hadn’t. Not really. Once you start to dance – to inhale the music and turn it into pure, unadulterated movement – you don’t really take a break. You just… slow down, sometimes.

His companion grins, a boxy affair with no ridicule in it. And why should there be? Taehyung is a dancer, too, and a helluva good one, if Jimin and Jungkook are to be believed. (They usually aren’t, but in the case of a possible new crewmember, Hoseok is willing to lend a little belief.) He’s known Tae for a year now, since Taehyung became friends with Jungkook in one of their classes and started hanging out with the crew, but it wasn’t until a week or so ago that Kookie persuaded him to show off his stuff. Apparently, in the past, there’d been some kind of accident that stopped Taehyung from dancing, yet according to Jimin and Jungkook, that hadn’t shown at all when he finally broke out in front of them.

Hoseok will see the truth for himself soon enough, anyways; it’s not like they came to the recently opened club to just stand around. His eyes flick eagerly at the thought, scoping the place out.

It’s pretty packed, and given how huge a club it is, that’s saying something. This is one of those open area concepts, all sprawling space with two bars pushed off to the corners, and a much smaller upper area, almost an oversized balcony. On the far side of the club there’s a DJ booth that’s swarming with people in front of it, so much so that he can’t see through the crowd to whoever is getting them so pumped. And there are more people streaming in by the second; he and Taehyung have had to shuffle to the side several times since they stepped inside, and by now they’re almost plastered against the wall. That would have been disappointing, except that according to Jin, on Saturdays the floor gets cleared at around 11 and the serious dancers get to have a go at it for a while.

In the meantime… Spotting a gap in the crush of bodies, Hoseok takes his chance and darts almost seamlessly through, throwing over his shoulder as he does so, “You want something to drink?”

His companion follows, albeit more slowly. Not that Hoseok can blame him; Taehyung is broader than he is, making knocked shoulders and collisions almost an inevitability. When Hoseok makes it to the nearest bar, he’s left the other behind.

It gives him plenty of time to hover around the edges, admiring the form of the bartender, who puts Taehyung’s shoulders to shame. The man in question isn’t exactly the picture of grace – not like those in Hoseok’s crew – but his energy is so loud, so vibrant, that it makes up for nearly dropped glasses and a few hesitations as he mixes the drinks for various customers. The breathtaking smile helps; the way he goes from 1 to 100 the second anyone tries to complain about the wait time probably helps, too.

Red-faced and outraged, he’s chewing out some poor guy for that exact offense when Hoseok finally finds room to sidle up to the front of the bar. “And if you think I’m making you another Manhattan after that comment, you can stick it straight up – oh. Hey, Hobi!”

The offender slinks away as Hoseok shakes his head in mock seriousness. “Is Namjoon paying you to bartend or to insult customers?” he shouts over the deep resonance that’s currently more a feeling shuddering across the floor than a sound.

Jin’s indignation doesn’t fade so much as evaporate entirely. Blinking with easy complacency, a small smile playing across his face, he turns and begins prepping the order a girl apologetically yells at him. “Just to bartend. The insults I give for free.”

“Wow, a star employee.” Fake seriousness dissolving into something more real, he asks, “Will Namjoon be around tonight? I wanted to ask him about the competition the club is hosting.”

It takes a few moments to reply, Jin’s hands and concentration caught in the mixing profession before he pulls himself away. “Not until a lot later, if at all,” the bartender replies eventually. “He’s looking after Remi tonight, so if he comes it’ll be after she goes to sleep. And can you imagine Joon leaving her alone?”

“No,” Hobi admits. Namjoon dotes on his daughter so much (the few times a month that he gets her) that it would be a miracle if he showed up tonight. Which is a little inconvenient for Hoseok, but the vague annoyance is buried under the reminder that being a good dad comes before being a good club owner.

He stands in fidgeting silence – silence surrounded by sound and people – for a few moments, playing with the studded collar of his black jacket, watching Jin work, and trying to enjoy the music. Taehyung must have been caught by someone, which is fine and not unsurprising given that it’s Tae. However, the absence of his companion, and with Jin mostly absorbed in his drinks, has mild anxiety trickling under Hoseok’s heels and through his fingertips. He rocks on the former and drums the latter against the sleek black leather of his pants in an attempt to drive the restlessness out. It doesn’t work particularly well, but automatically he finds himself adjusting his movements to the rhythm of the bass, and the focus required does help.

Each song is mixed so well, there’s no weird or awkward moment for his concentration to snag on, and the transitions are seamless, so smooth that the DJ must have curated this tracklist with individual attention to each end and beginning. Not unheard of, exactly, but certainly a pleasure when compared to many of the jarring amateur attempts Hoseok has been subjected to before. Last they’d talked, Namjoon had mentioned he was looking to hire another DJ for his new club, and if this is the man… well, Hoseok just hopes he’ll be the same guy who’s doing their dance competition, too. Another question – or request – to throw Joon’s way the next time they meet.

He’s just about to resign himself to submerging back into the crowd in search of Taehyung when the boy in question pops up, all teeth and warm apology. “Sorry, hyung! I saw a friend I haven’t talked to in a while, and you were so far ahead already I didn’t think I could call you back, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to talk for a bit so I paused and then I’d lost you and –”

“Don’t sweat it.” It’s always been a marvel to Hoseok that such a rambling and excited apology could sound sincere, but Taehyung makes it work one hundred percent. “Let me grab you something. What do you drink?”

“Oh, well, I like whiskey sours, but you don’t have to –”

“Whiskey it is.” As he turns away, Taehyung’s surprised expression isn’t lost on Hoseok. Yeah, he isn’t often this direct, but the young man’s never seen him at dance practice and besides, the music is scraping under his skin, rubbing his bones the wrong way in the best way possible. It’s forcing him into a different form.

Suiting word to deed, he returns to the bar, puts in Tae’s request along with his own. Like a cheerful despot towering behind his counter walls, Jin takes the order before other people’s, waving off the muted outrage of his customers with shameless ease. It’s good to see his relatively new job hasn’t reformed him too much; it’s not that Jin’s ever actively rude or cruel. but he just has one pace, and that pace is his own.

For all that Hoseok admires that quality in his friend, it still has him flushing and ducking his head apologetically at the accusing looks. He’s quick to grab the drinks, but when he tries to shove money at Jin, the other man waves him off. “My treat,” the bartender calls. “When you all start dancing, everyone’s going to get thirsty and I’m going to be getting tons of tips!” His laughter quickly spikes too high to be heard in this crowd, but he’s still laughing as Hoseok, even more flushed, winds through the press of bodies with the glasses held high.

When he reaches Taehyung, his companion just sips his drink, but Hoseok downs his. The burn down his throat is no more intense than the burn he feels building in his muscles. A different kind of heat.

He finds himself shifting, his body beginning to ache with impatience. Tae is an entertaining person, but Hoseok's restlessness is blazing through his concentration, leaving cinders in its wake, and words of any kind – no matter how entertaining – are a poor thing in comparison. While he's always eager to move when at the club, this is a new level of agitation, a heightened awareness of the sounds and heavy ambience, and at first, he doesn't know what has him so on edge.

They talk some more, just waiting, really, for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive. Taehyung doesn't have a car and Hoseok had agreed to drive him, and Jimin was going to drive Jungkook after a late class. They should be here within half an hour or so, though in the meantime Tae, ever obliging, grabs he and Hoseok two more rounds of drinks. It's while he's grabbing the third round that the impatience becomes less of a hum and more of a howl, and Hoseok grasps with a sudden jolt that it's because of the song that's currently playing.

Whoever is mixing this music is really doing an amazing job; the song modifications, amplifications and beat alignments almost make the atmosphere come alive, and all it needs is an avatar to show off just how much energy it really has. He could be that. He should be that. It’s almost like he and the DJ are in a private conversation, and they’re egging him on, jamming little pinpricks into his joints, demanding he dance.

His mouth is dry – too dry – but that's nothing new when he's in the club, and Hoseok hardly notices it. The next song has just come on, as seamlessly as the last, and with a sharp pang of understanding, Hoseok realizes why he feels so tense, even more so than usual.

This DJ – whoever they are – has similar tastes as Yoongi. The powerful flow of thudding music is creating something in Hoseok, a kind of nostalgic frenzy, and it makes him swallow hard, swallow again with the feeling of shards of glass and regret slipping down his throat. He hasn't heard a DJ who favours reverb and synth choruses so much since the last time he'd guested at one of Yoongi's gigs. How long ago was that? Four years? He can hardly remember.

To remember is absolutely not why Hoseok is here.

"Hyung?" Taehyung says something to him, has said it more than once, to judge by his tone. Hoseok snaps his eyes to the other man's face, his breath abruptly staggered. "Hyung, are you okay?"

"Yeah," and to Hoseok’s ears his voice sounds tinny, strained. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jimin and Jungkook should be here soon, right? I should go grab some alcohol for them."

"Do you wanna take your shot?"

"I will after. Be back in a sec."

"Sure...?" Taehyung's eyes are sharp and probing, uncomfortably and unexpectedly keen, and Hoseok can't remember if he knows about Yoongi. He definitely wouldn't know Yoongi – none of his friends do – because they didn't know Hoseok back then. So – there's no point in explaining. No point in bringing it up. Hoseok swallows again, and walks away, needing to escape. Although he can't escape the music.

He also can't help how his gaze skitters to the DJ booth, there and back again, short looks that can't penetrate the barrier of people crowded around it. It can't be him. It can't. The last time he saw Yoongi...

You didn't come here to remember, he reminds himself savagely.

Jin has seemingly even more customers pestering him than before, and just hands off the drinks without a fuss. This time, hypersensitive and too raw to accept charity, Hoseok makes him take the cash, pressing it to the counter when the bartender tries to decline. Head tilting, thick eyebrows furrowing, for the first time this night Jin looks something other than melodramatic, and Hoseok doesn't want that. He came here to dance, for Christ's sake, not have someone notice a mini-meltdown!

Hefting on a smile that feels like it weighs one thousand pounds, he brushes off his friend's concern and darts away, carrying a tray of glasses. He's hardly taken a few steps before he downs his drink. Too much, too fast, especially for him, but he needs the soft buffer of alcohol right now. Hoseok won't look at the DJ stand. It's not him. There's no way it could be Yoongi. And even if it were...

It's not.

And even if it were, what would he do? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? Punch him in his bleakly certain face? Or–

It's not him.

The music resonates around him – through him – in shuddering waves, jarring his weak attempts to tamp it down, and Hoseok is starting to feel feverish with the familiarity of the flashbacks flickering through his head. He's definitely had too much to drink. He just – he needs to do something. He needs to move.

It is with a huge wash of relief that he gets back to Taehyung and sees Jimin and Jungkook have arrived. Jimin is dressed in faded denim jeans and a glittering blue and yellow jacket, though the jacket will probably be off by the end of the night if other nights are anything to go by. Jungkook is a little more subdued, just wearing a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, but his outfit makes the tattoo sleeve on his left arm pop. Both of them are standouts in the crowded space. Add in Taehyung with his black and white patterned shirt and matching headband, and Hoseok really can’t blame the number of eyes he notices settled on the trio.

Taehyung is oblivious to it. “You’re back!” he exclaims, leaping forward to help Hoseok with the drinks.

Jimin’s sultry expression – he calls it his performance face – is something he wears as easily as his brilliant jacket, and he shrugs it off with just as much aplomb when his gaze lands on Hoseok’s tight look. Eyes flickering about as if he could spot the problem, his smile becoming warmer but tinged with concern, the small man accepts the glass from Tae and then asks, “What’s up?”

A grin can be a work of art, and Hobi turns this into a masterpiece. All ease and bright lines, no clouds in this painting. He’s not quite as good at lying outright, but the noise probably masks his beat of hesitation. “Nothing! I’m just excited to get started.”

“Makes two of us,” Jungkook comments, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he nabs a shot from Taehyung.

“Three!” Taehyung chimes in. They all fall silent, turning expectantly to Jimin.

He’s still watching Hoseok, his lips lightly pursued. Hobi can’t help his nervous titter at the close examination, turns it into a more raucous laugh. “You’re not excited, ChimChim? Come on, we’ve been talking about this for weeks!”

At last, Jimin breaks eye contact, if only to shove back the unruly silver bangs tumbling across his forehead. “I’m excited,” he says, apparently deciding to drop whatever he’d seen on Hobi’s face. “Just hope there aren’t too many rookie dancers around. We don’t wanna make them look too bad when we start.” The look he wears is nothing short of angelic, but Hoseok knows well enough the competitive edge that lurks under that innocent façade. Jimin likes to win.

Jungkook huffs a fervent agreement. He likes to win, too. He’s good at it. Actually, they all do, and they all are. There’s a reason Hobi’s put this particular team together.

Right. Something to focus on, instead of the shadow of memory that the music keeps trying to make more substantial. With a playful nod, Hobi notes with false regret, “Well, if Tae is as good as you say, they might be out of luck.”

“I’ll do my best!” the man in question promises earnestly, and Hoseok can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees a flash of… something… in Taehyung’s eyes. Maybe not the same sharp need to win that Jungkook wears blatantly and Jimin cloaks yet never lets go of, but something. Passion, at the very least.

Hell, it works for Hoseok. Who cares what drives his people, as long as it's driving them to work hard?

As long as it isn’t driving them straight off a cliff.

He knows exactly where that thought comes from, and unbidden he turns to the DJ booth. It’s still too crowded to tell who’s working there. Probably a good thing. At this point Hoseok doesn’t know what will hurt him more; if the DJ isn’t Yoongi, or if it is.

The rest of them are talking and drinking, and he listens with half an ear, half a brain, half a being. The other half is straining to tell if the music really is as familiar as he thinks it is. If he can match that melody with that moment, or that bass with that breath, or that reverb with that regret. It’s stupid, pointless, harmful, but he can’t make himself stop. How funny, that he could have sworn he was over this. Had drummed it out of his muscles and his head both. God, if only he could dance.

Like an answer from the heavens – or maybe elsewhere – the music suddenly cuts off. A voice comes on the mic, clear, crisp, and familiar, but not who Hoseok was half expecting. It’s Jin. “Hey ladies and gentlemen and everyone else. As ya’ll know, it’s time for the Saturday dance off! If you fancy yourself a dancer, stay where you are, otherwise get your ass out of the floor area marked by the thick black lines. If you didn’t know there was a dance off today and you don’t like it, there’s a big ass door under the exit sign. I think we’re over capacity anyways.” With a loud blare of feedback, he cuts off.

Slowly at first, then more quickly, people start wandering out of the space Jin had indicated, crowding against the walls, or heading to the smaller area upstairs. He thinks he sees a few people leave after the announcement, but that might have just been a coincidence. By the time things have cleared, there are some twenty people on the dance floor, not including his crew.

This is exactly what he needs to clear his mind. Hoseok observes those left, his head tilted, an easy smile unconsciously gracing his lips. He can tell at a glance a few people are just idiots who want to flail around and call it dancing. There’s nothing wrong with that, exactly, but experience has taught him that people like that usually get pretty embarrassed when they suddenly find themselves next to professionals. Unless they’re really drunk, in which case they’ll just be a slight distraction. Nothing his guys can’t handle.

As for the rest… Hoseok actually recognizes two women, a couple he’s met at a few competitions, both official and underground. They’re good. Really good. His smile grows, and amid the tingling warmth of all the alcohol he’s had, there’s a fiercer burn, a kind of exultant excitement. He’s too drunk, probably, but this is crystal clarity, a heatwave burning everything unimportant and leaving just his focus and his friends.

And the music. The DJ regains control of the mic system, and he’s starting off with something heavy, almost ominous. The bass is shaking the floor, shaking Hoseok’s foundation, and he finds himself shaking in response, with little tremors of tension. Whoever’s running the music, they know how to start a show, and Hoseok is aching to finish it.

This isn’t an actual competition, of course. No judges, or set songs, or styles. It’s freestyle, and if there’s any kind of critic, it’s the crowd, already buzzing with anticipation and adding to the air of expectation. Hoseok breathes in and it feels like he’s inhaling something far more than air.

Because this isn’t run by anyone official, there are no rules about who can start, or how, or when. While Hobi and the rest of the serious dancers size each other up and feel out the rhythm, a trio of wasted kids stumble into the center of the floor. Their awkward floundering is laughable, and so Hoseok does laugh, a joyful sound echoed by Jungkook and Taehyung and a good deal of the crowd and competitors. It’s not unkind, at least not on Hobi’s part; he’s just too excited to reach the level that’s so far above these people to keep back the explosion of mirth.

Jimin’s lip is lightly curled when Hoseok glances at him, but though he isn’t laughing, he’s squirming in place, clearly impatient to start.

Why keep him waiting?

“You ready?” he asks his crew, a redundant courtesy. They are. “I think we go low for this one? I’ll take the center? Let’s go… Jimin, then Jungkook, then Taehyung? And keep heavy on the left?” Phrased as questions, but they aren’t, just more courtesy, letting Taehyung know how he wants to approach this. They’ve already discussed general four-person set-ups, with Tae and without. The other two know what Hoseok wants. Everyone nods, short, sharp.

He steps forward. Not far. Not really enough to crowd the hammered trio’s space. Just enough to announce their presence and give them room to work. His friends follow, and Hoseok can almost feel them at his back. The wide grin has faded, replaced with an unintentional intensity that, unbeknownst to him, makes it hard for people to look away. Most of the laughter in the crowd dies, replaced by wire-tight quiet.

In that quiet, he begins. Slowly to start. Why hurry perfection? The music pours into his marrow and he turns it into movement, gives it form and features for the simple price of sweat. Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung join in several beats later, not quite matching his moves or each other, but close. Distorted shadows. They flicker in time with the rhythm, a collection of power moves loosely connected by breaking. Hoseok breathes, draws in the crowd’s awe and admiration, and turns it into fuel as he burns through everything but the music.

Worries, memories, regrets, nothing can survive the blaze of his concentration, and Hoseok feeds them to the flames with ruthless abandon, glad to feel them smoulder to ashes.

His moves become sharper, harsher. Everything gets so much more defined when he dances. The audience, his friends, his body, they all assume a stark clarity, almost painfully distinct. He doesn’t worry – he just moves. The music pulses all around him, urging him on, a nameless connection, and as the fluid lucidity gets even sharper, he prepares to speed up.

Soon – in fact, at what feels like exactly the right moment – the song flows into something else. Faster and more electronic. His body reads it almost before his mind does and Hoseok feels himself changing his motions to fit. More popping now. It feels right to hit the floor, so Hoseok does, in a totally controlled spin on his back that nonetheless looks wildly, perfectly out of control. He stops with a shoulder roll that allows him to transition to his feet, making room for Jimin to step forward and claim center as the crowd cheers.

Jimin is… fucking beautiful. The thought is a vague spark without solid form in the midst of Hoseok’s movement, but it’s true all the same. He dances differently than Hoseok or Jungkook, more gracefully, like any second he could swap his bones for the wind and begin to fly.

Not immune to the effect, but far too disciplined to fall for it (much), Hoseok keeps up his pace next to Jimin, letting himself relax even further into the music. The drunk trio are long gone, shuffled off in embarrassment, but some of the others are inching closer. They’re being polite – letting his crew get in a full rotation – but that’ll end soon enough. He relishes their interest. Not because he has something to prove, or particularly cares what they’re thinking, but because once they start to respond, it’ll be another bar to aim for, another goal, one more reason to keep dancing. And God, does he want to keep dancing.

Jungkook is next, powerful, demanding. He hits each move like it’s personally offended him, smashes into the poses as if he wants to break through reality and reach some other plane. When his feet hit a series of rapid beats in quick succession, it’s enough to get the crowd, already primed, to start whistling and whooping.

Hoseok finds himself doubting his choice to put Taehyung last. From what he’s seen from the corner of his eye as they’ve gone, Tae has kept up fine, his movements slick and confident. Maybe just a hair slower than the trio, but that could easily be chalked up to a lack of familiarity, given how much the other three have practiced together and how long Taehyung has been on a break. Still, asking him to follow up what Jimin, Jungkook, and Hoseok himself have already shown… He’d thought it would give him time to settle any nerves and see how they all approached being center, and Jimin and Jungkook had sung his praises to the high heavens, but now it seems like it might have been cruel.

Taehyung moves into the middle, and for some reason there’s a sudden swell of appreciative screams. Not from anything Hoseok can see from behind and to the side – maybe Tae had made a particularly great expression? The screams don’t really… stop… after that. From what Hoseok can observe, he gets it.

Turns out it wasn’t cruel to put Tae last. Like, at all.

The man is a consummate performer. Several times, when Taehyung’s supple steps put his back to the front and Hobi can see his face, he’s almost literally struck by how good his facials are. Passion is the name of this game and Tae plays it to perfection, his expressions conveying such a range of intensity that it’s a surprise he hasn’t started a fire with his glower alone

Hell, Tae winks at him at one point and Hoseok finds himself grinning at the smug audacity, breaking his own fierce look. Whoops.

He whips it back on, but they’re almost done, anyways. Another group has edged closer, brash with impatience, and a few seconds later start their own dance. Of course, Hoseok’s crew doesn’t give way immediately – like you could snatch the crown that easily – and for a little bit they’re actually dancing against the other crew. It’s a brawl of sorts, Hoseok’s favourite kind of fighting. It doesn’t last long enough (it never does), but it’s exhilarating while it does. The fact that their opponents are pretty good is just gasoline added to the flames.

However, if a good dancer knows how to step while on the stage, a great one knows when to step off the stage, and as the most recent song winds down, Hoseok stops himself. Unwillingly, painfully, but he does. He gives a short bow to the opposing group, granting them the floor amid a cascade of cheering.

When he and his crew walk away, the shouting just gets louder, deafening in its wild appreciation. Exhilaration swells under his ribs, threatening to crack them with its overwhelming force. For just a moment, Hoseok hears the cheers, feels the way his body is still crackling with energy, remembers how good it had felt to move, and he’s complete. For just a second.

And then the moment is gone.

The rest of his friends are grinning under the praise of the clubgoers, a little playful swagger in their steps as they jostle each other, giving compliments and insults on the individual executions each had pulled. Jimin snags his jacket from a girl who had picked it up from the floor, waves with giddy appreciation at her. They’re quick to find a good spot to watch the other dancers, the crowd happy to give way after what they’d shown. A couple of people offer to get them drinks and Jimin accepts while Jungkook and Taehyung beam. They’re all practically glowing, flush with success. They’d done well; they deserve to be proud. He’s proud of them.

He can feel proud and still be hollow, right? The sudden empty fatigue hits him like a cement truck going 100. It’s almost always like this after he dances, and the more intense the performance, the harder he gets hit. Hoseok abruptly becomes aware of the sweat pouring off him, the waves of heat billowing across his skin, the strained, quiet pain of muscles stretched just a bit beyond their limits. He’s… tired isn’t right. He could do three or four more routines like that, all in a row, without getting truly, bodily exhausted.

Drained. Yeah. That’s it. Like he’d poured something vital into each move, spilled himself across the floor, until there was too little of him left.

Jimin and Jungkook know him well enough to give him a little space after a dance, but Taehyung isn’t in the loop yet. “Hobi-hyung!” Sweat has darkened the younger man’s light brown hair, and if it weren’t for his headband, it probably would have been dripping down his face. “Hyung, you were incredible! You have to teach me how to pop at your knee like that, I’ve only ever done my upper body!”

The disconnect is there, unbearably strong. It will fade in the next few minutes, leaving him just fatigued instead of full-on wrung out, but in the meantime Hoseok makes himself laugh. Taehyung deserves that much, even if it sounds strange to his ears. “Only if you teach me that expression you were wearing during the chorus while you were center. Think I saw a few people faint when you looked their way.” He laughs again, trying to make the sound more natural. Pretty much fails.

Taehyung seems grateful for the compliment, nonetheless. He bobs his head, flashing a boxy grin. “It’s not a fair trade. Making faces is easy; I think I’d have to be high to move like you were, if I ever could.”

His jaw abruptly tightens, tension arcing through his throat. So quick he wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t expecting it, Jungkook and Jimin exchange a glance. They know (almost) all of his history. Jimin reaches out, plucks at Taehyung’s shirt sleeve. “Come on,” he whines. “Didn’t you see me? Don’t you think I was cool, too?”

It’s a masterful attempt at distraction, though Taehyung seems inclined to dwell on Hoseok’s moves. “Well yeah, of course! But what hyung did was –”

Jimin interrupts him. “Anyways, I want to introduce you to one of our friends,” he says cheerfully. “Seokjin-hyung. He works as a bartender here.”

“Oh, but Hoseok-hyung already–”

“I’ll come too!” Jungkook chimes in, and together they drag the bewildered Taehyung into the crowd and away. A kindness, letting Hoseok have this moment of weakness. What had he done in another life to deserve these people in this one?

What had he done? For just a second, a memory enters his head, of a few colourful blue and red tablets sitting in an outstretched hand. A voice, achingly ironic and raspy, asking, “You ready to get ecstatic?”

He couldn’t have said if it was the pill or the voice that he longed more violently for after the sodden rush of dance-inspired euphoria was gone. Given the way his eyes cut to the DJ booth, Hoseok supposes he has his answer.

He has his answer, but he doesn’t have what he wants. The press of people has dispersed with the dance-off, the clubbers are more interested in crowding the square than swarming the DJ, leaving his view clear for the first time tonight. There’s a girl working the booth. Not someone he recognizes.

Not Yoongi.

A shaky exhale splits his clenched teeth, and Hoseok closes his eyes. He hasn’t been listening to the music since they stopped dancing – not really – but it sounds different now. No longer as intimate, the connection between him and the rhythm is broken. Had he just imagined that bond before the dance-off, made up that gut-wrenching familiarity? Given that he hasn’t taken any drugs tonight, he seriously doubts that he has the creativity to imagine something so vivid.

Maybe the girl DJing learned in the same style as Yoongi. Maybe that’s what set him off.

He hasn’t had any drugs tonight, but he’s still coming down from a high. That’s how it always is, after dancing. He told his friends, his family, that he got clean, but it was a lie. Hoseok just replaced ecstasy, his drug of choice, with something else. Movement instead of MDMA. Not a bad trade. He couldn’t have made a career off of being a chronic user, after all. Couldn’t have found happiness, either. Probably.

His mouth is bone dry, and he’s lost sight of his friends. They’re probably busy harassing Jin. For a while Hoseok watches the other dancers, fingers tapping out a pattern on his thighs in time to the beats, grateful for the chance to pull himself out of his despondency with a bit of friendly critique. From what he can see, the group that went after them is the most skilled so far.

The couple he’d recognized earlier haven’t gone yet, and they’ll shake up the ranking, but slowly Hoseok settles into the comfortable conclusion that his crew is the best one here. It doesn’t matter – there are no announced winners – but it’s promising for the actual competition coming up in a few weeks.

Things get better. He gets better. He always does. By the time the couple finishes their piece – with a flourish of partner flips that have him joining the raucous cheering – Hoseok is back to feeling energized by the sweat still slick on his skin. He’s back to being overjoyed by the music beating against his eardrums, back to savouring the crush of bodies and noise and life that scream nothing more than here you are, right now, isn’t it amazing!

Even stepping in a thick puddle of someone’s spilled drink isn’t enough to dampen his spirits.

With a grin and a lighthearted curse, Hoseok heads to the bathroom, intent on wiping off his shoes. Sticky sneakers are a fact of life at clubs, but given that it’d been a mini lake of beer and he hates the sensation of his feet peeling across the floor, this seems to be a justified trip. Even better, the dance-off is finishing; he won’t be missing anything.

It’s as Hoseok is leaving the washroom, shoes squeaky clean, that someone grabs his arm from behind. Hard. He startles with a yelp that’s barely audible over the raucous noise of the club, his heart rate spiking. Moving jerkily with the admittedly excessive alarm pounding in his chest, Hobi turns to berate whichever of his friends thought it would be funny to sneak up on him.

Freezes. Stares. Doubts.

Hoarsely ironic, Yoongi observes, “Still as jumpy as a cat on hot bricks, huh?”

#yoongi x hoseok #yoongi #hoseok #yoonseok #sope #yoonseok smut #thebtswritersclub #networkbangtan #my fic

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johaerys-writes · 3 years

Text

The Spaces in Between

Fandom: The Song of Achilles

Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus

Summary:

"Beyond this door, in the eyes of all men, he shone like a midday sun, his rays touching everyone that gazed upon him. Here, in the semi-darkness of this room, he shone just for me. Neither man, nor woman, neither hero nor legend, not yet; floating in the spaces in between, he was mine. My Achilles."

Or: Achilles and Patroclus steal a moment alone while in Skyros :) Fluff, smut and feels, from Patroclus’ POV!

Read here or on AO3

When Achilles lifted his arms, they looked like wings.

It was the ease of the motion, the grace. It was in the way the wrists curved, so delicately, fingers extending from the soft pads of his palms like feathers. It was in the arc they drew over his head, only to fall once more, faintly, faintly.

Then they lifted again, and it was like a bird taking flight.

I was not the only one watching him in awe. Lycomedes’ hall was full of people, tables packed and overflowing with food platters and bronze cups, with servants silently weaving amongst the bystanders. The other dancers moved around him, the hems of their dresses whispering, but at that moment, for me, there was only him.

Most days, Achilles was aware of the effect he had on people, however little it concerned him. That day, though, he seemed entirely oblivious of the crowd, moving for the sake of the movement, his feet tapping the ground gently, his legs prettily curving, in love with their own motion. He tossed his head back, and the golden hair underneath the purple cloth that bound it glittered in the shifting flames of the lit braziers. The large room was drab and colourless even with the bright tablecloths and the decorations on the walls, but Achilles was swirling in the midst of it, catching the light, like a jewel.

The music of the flute, the cymbals and the lyre rose and fell in time with the dancers’ practiced movements, and the people around me watched, enthralled, some even forgetting to drink the wine that the servants were pouring in their cups. When the music finally drew to a close, the dancers gathered in a semicircle and curtsied, lifting their skirts slightly to show their slender ankles.

They all straightened in unison and the people around me slowly stirred from their rapture, like a spell lifting. Achilles looked up, his eyes searching mine in the crowd. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were shining with satisfaction; I could not help but smile at him. He smiled back as the dancers departed in single file back to their quarters to change.

I took a sip of watered down, spiced wine. Lycomedes’ feasts were usually modest —Skyros was not a wealthy island— but the wine was always sweet and fragrant, easy on the tongue. My food lay before me in my plate, untouched, and Achilles’ was beside me. Ever since I had come to Skyros, he had stopped taking his meals with the other dancers, sitting beside me at Lycomedes’ table instead.

I leaned back in my seat, my eyes scanning the room as I waited for him to return.

The dancers, one by one, entered the hall again and returned to their seats. Achilles was not amongst them.

Curious, I approached one of the dancers that I had seen him speaking with once or twice, a girl with curly hair and dark, tilted eyes. “Where is Pyrrha?” I asked her in a low voice.

She glanced up at me, a little startled. “She stayed in the women’s hall,” she replied simply. “She was feeling unwell.”

Her words surprised me. Achilles seemed perfectly fine a moment earlier; what could have happened in the space of minutes to make him feel so unwell?

I thanked the girl, and immediately departed. The corridors beyond the hall were dark and cool, and thoroughly void of guards, servants and passers-by. They had all gathered at the hall, where food was being served. I made my way to the far side of the palace on quick, silent feet, like a shadow.

I hesitated only for a moment before pushing the door to the women’s quarters open. No man was supposed to enter there, other than certain trusted guards, but my curiosity and concern for Achilles got the better of me.

“Pyrrha?” I called quietly, and then, when I received no answer, “Achilles?”

Silence met my words. I followed the path of lit torches to the far end of the corridor, which led to a large room. It was humbly decorated, like the rest of the palace, but the embroidered rags on the floor were newly made and vibrant in colour and the stone benches were covered in plush cushions. A half finished piece of colourful cloth was stretched on the loom shuttle in a corner, and coiling tendrils of fragrant incense smoke drifted towards the ceiling from braziers.

“Achilles?” I called again, then I walked in.

A whisper of fabric behind me, so faint I thought I’d imagined it. The door clicked shut and the latch was drawn before I could so much as blink, then a piece of cloth fell over my eyes.

“Got you,” I heard Achilles’ voice next to my ear.

I laughed, bringing my hands up to touch the fabric he had placed over my eyes. It was the same one he used to bind his hair, purple with embroidered red and yellow flowers, and it smelled of him: almonds, crushed rose petals and pomegranate, the musk of his skin.

“What are you doing?”

Achilles did not reply as he tied the cloth securely at the back of my head. His slender fingers then slid down the side of my neck, following the line of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. “What does it look like?”

My skin prickled as he moved lower, caressing the length of my arm. “Lycomedes is waiting for us in the hall, Achilles,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. I could tell he was in the mood for games, but that was hardly the place, or the time. “He’ll want to make a toast; we have to be there.”

“We will. In time.” His breath skimmed my cheek, and his lips brushed the shell of my ear. His light and careful touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I barely bit back gasp when his arms came around me, pulling me flush against him. “But first: this.”

I swallowed thickly, trying to retain whatever little control I had left. “What if someone comes in?”

“I have locked the door.”

“What if someone walks by and hears us?”

His smile was pressed against my skin; I could tell it was a wicked, mischievous one. “Then you’ll have to be quiet, won’t you?”

I could only let out a breathless chuckle as Achilles moved around me and caught my hand. I let him guide me to one of the benches, close to the window. A crisp breeze was blowing, caressing my skin, and I shivered when Achilles pushed me gently down upon the cushions and kissed me.

His lips were soft, delicate, when they brushed my own. I sighed into the kiss, my worries about anyone seeing or hearing us quickly melting away. His tongue, when it brushed over my own, tasted of sweet, honeyed wine.

I surrendered myself to his touch, to his palm that slowly skimmed the length of my leg and slithered underneath my tunic, slowly slithering upwards. A quiet moan escaped me when his lips left mine to kiss my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. I reached up to lift the scarf that he had placed over my eyes, but Achilles deftly caught my wrist.

“No peeking.”

I laughed. “Am I supposed to stay in the dark, then, while you can see?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound fair, does it?”

Achilles undid the clasp of my tunic, the fabric loosening over my shoulder. “It is fair.” He pushed it down, until I was bared to the waist. Achilles’ lips raised goosebumps along my skin when he pressed soft kisses down the center of my chest. His tongue flicked over my nipple, his teeth then closing gently over it. “For me.”

“That is, perhaps, the exact opposite of ‘fair’,” I protested half-heartedly, but already I could feel my defences evaporating at his every touch.

“No peeking. Swear it.”

“Alright,” I sighed in acquiescence, arching underneath him. “I swear it.”

It always had this effect, Achilles’ touch on me: no matter how hard I would try to keep my composure, my thoughts would soon drift away to be replaced by the sure and sharp desires that his soft lips and deft hands sparked within me. It was a familiar jest between us, that whatever argument I would think to bring up during times like these would just crumble and dissolve as soon as I felt his lips on me, his hands, his tongue.

My tunic was swiftly pulled down and discarded. I caught the faint whisper of the fabric as it touched the floor beside us. Achilles’ mouth moved lower, following the line of soft hair that led to my navel; I shivered in anticipation, gripping the cushions beside me to keep my hands from straying to the blindfold.

“Gods,” I gasped quietly when his lips closed around me, enveloping me in slick, velvet heat.

He moved slowly, his tongue moving in broad strokes; he knew the rhythm I liked, the pace, the pressure. My hand moved as if on its own to cup the back of his neck as he gave me pleasure, feeling the silken locks slipping through my fingers. I knew what he looked like even without seeing: I could see the flushed lips, the rosy cheeks, the heavy lidded gaze. I could see him, in my mind’s eye.

With every motion of his mouth and fingers my desire grew bolder, stronger. I wanted to see him with my own two eyes.

I lifted the blindfold and gazed down at him. His lips were full and glistening as they wrapped around me, the cascading waves of his hair framed his face, his eyes were dark with wanting. I reached down to caress his hollowed cheek with the tip of my finger.

“You are so beautiful,” I sighed, “Achilles.”

He slid his mouth off of me when he saw me looking, and frowned. “I said, no peeking.”

I bit my bottom lip, grinning. I said, “I’m sorry,” though I wasn’t, really.

“You swore.”

“I know.” I cupped his neck, pulling him up to bring his lips to mine. I kissed him hard, my tongue slipping past his teeth to twine with his. “Some oaths are made to be broken.”

Achilles moaned softly, rocking against me. I caught him by the waist and rolled him underneath me, coming on top of him. Though he was stronger than me, slightly taller, he was slender and agile and moved easily along with me. He gazed up at me, the flames from the braziers dancing in his eyes. His hair was spread like a halo around his head, the golden strands matching the swirls of the embroidered cushions beneath him.

He looked so vulnerable, so soft when he gazed at me like this, eyes sparkling with desire and expectation. My pulse beat hard in my throat when I reached down, to his ankles, and pushed up the rich fabric of his skirts. The dress did not look foreign on him; Achilles had always been graceful in his movements, and there was something soft about his features, delicate, like a woman’s. Now, as I smoothed my palm over the silky skin of his calves, the muscles of his strong thighs, revealing more of him, he was a creature of gold and ivory, of bone and rough cut jade. Neither man, nor woman, neither hero nor legend, not yet; floating in the spaces in between, he was mine. Mine. My Achilles.

Outside, beyond this door, in the halls and the palaces and in the eyes of all men, he shone like the midday sun, his rays touching everyone that gazed upon him. Here, in this room, he shone just for me.

“Achilles,” I whispered as my fingers curled around his length. Achilles gasped against my lips, arching into my touch and thrusting in my palm. I kissed him hungrily, moving with him, drinking in his moans and his gasps.

The wick of the oil lamp flickered beside us, releasing a sweet scent of roses and beeswax. I reached out and dipped my fingers in the warm oil, then reached down between us once more, smoothing the liquid between his legs.

I pushed inside him gently, one finger, then another, watching his every expression as if I were a starving man. Achilles’ eyelids fluttered in pleasure, his hips rising to meet my hand.

“Patroclus—” he breathed as he writhed, pleading for more. He wrapped his long legs around me, pulling me close. “Patroclus, I want you, I—” He licked my lips, caught my tongue between his teeth. “I need you. I need you, philtatos.”

I shuddered at the sound of his voice, the words that left his lips. He always, always knew the right things to say.

I carefully pulled my fingers out and pressed myself against him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle. I whispered praise and sweet nothings against his lips as I did —I must have— but my thoughts were dispersing swiftly like the coiling tendrils of incense of smoke when the breeze blew. Gods, you’re so warm, so soft, I might have breathed in his hair while I thrust slowly, opening him up; or you’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my Achilles, I might have gasped against his palm when I brought it up to my lips to kiss it; or, perhaps, I sighed philtatos as he locked his ankles behind me, pulling me closer, philtatos as he threaded his fingers through my hair and kissed me breathless, drawing air from my lungs, philtatos, philtatos, philtatos, my beloved, my Achilles.

In truth, I cannot remember. It always had this effect on me, Achilles’ touch.

I remember his smile, sharp and wicked when he pushed me on my back and climbed on top of me, straddling me. His hair fell in dishevelled curls of spun gold down his shoulders, and the fabric of his skirt bunched around his waist. His dress was a mess, only half of it undone in our haste, though Achilles seemed to care about it not at all. The buttons and laces down the front were open to his navel, leaving his chest exposed, the rest of the rich fabric falling to his elbows. He was swaying on top of me, head thrown back and lips half parted in ecstasy, eyes closed.

Our pleasure soared in tandem as he moved, taking me deeper with every roll of his hips. I smoothed my palm up his chest and curled my hand around his slender throat, caressing the arch of it with my thumb.

“Look at me,” I whispered. “Look at me, Achilles. Open your eyes.”

I waited until the fair eyelashes lifted and revealed warm, jade eyes, eyes that gazed at me with hunger, warmth and adoration, everything that was pure, everything that was him.

I held that gaze as if it were a lifeline as I thrust faster, sinking deeper and deeper inside him, chasing those shimmering threads that tied us to each other. I watched his every expression as we leapt over the edge and let the waves of warmth and pleasure wash over us, as we both came undone. Achilles was shivering on top of me when I reached down and took him in my hand, stroking him through his finish. The beads of his seed shone on the fabric of his dress, white on white.

Achilles collapsed on top of me with a sigh. His heart was beating frantically against my chest, the thrum of it mingling with my own until I couldn’t tell them apart. I held him close to me, nose buried in his hair, letting the sweet and musky scent of his skin fill my lungs as my pulse quietened, breath by breath.

I could not tell how long we stayed like this, entangled. The night breeze blew crisp and chilly from the half open window, and over the gentle trill of the crickets I could just make out the sounds of music and chatter coming from the main hall.

Achilles hummed softly as he rolled off of me to lay beside me, nestled against my side on the narrow bench. His features were calm and tensionless, and he had the softest of smiles on his flush, bitten lips.

“Think Lycomedes has finished with his toast?” I asked, gazing into the night.

“Gods, I hope so,” Achilles said, and his voice was still a little hoarse from passion. “They always seem to go for hours.”

I looked down at him with a knowing smile. “Pleased with yourself, are you?”

He cracked open one eye to peek at me, the edges of his lips curling even more. “Whatever for?”

“Because it seems your ruse was a success, after all,” I mused teasingly, shifting on my side to face him. “Drawing me away from the hall just so you could avoid listening to Lycomedes’ toasts.”

Achilles huffed a quiet, sleepy laugh. “I did nothing. You came on your own.”

“You knew I would,” I chuckled, drawing him closer. The skin of his brow was hot when I pressed my lips to it, smooth like silk. I closed my eyes.

Wherever you are, I thought, you know I’ll follow.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) I’d love to hear your thoughts!

#the song of achilles #tsoa #patrochilles #patroclus #achilles #patroclus x achilles #achilles x patroclus #patroclus/achilles #achilles/patroclus #johaerys writes

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jamiedc-they-them · 3 years

Text

Legacies and the people behind them (Platonic)

Requested Imagine: A trip to the future brings Daisy into the face of her future.

You liked the bar. Despite having never been in one, it was an escape. And, being friends with Deke meant you could spend as long as you wanted in it. That, for you, was all the time you could when not working and surviving.

This, though, this was living.

“Enjoying yourself?” Your friend asked, coming in and sitting next to you, ordering himself a drink.

You rose your eyebrows, letting out a scoff as you did so, “As much as I can, D. As much as I can.” You answered, taking a sip of your whisky. It was strong. It did the job it needed to.

“Was wondering where you went off to.” He admitted.

“Yeah, well. People talk, D. People talk and I don’t like it when they do. I mean,” You gestured around the area you were in, “You got this as your legacy, as your offering to what we have left of the world. Meanwhile I’m stuck with the fucker who broke it.” You vented, getting up and drunkly walking around the faux bar. You had a nice view of the broken earth though.

A view of your legacy to live up to.

“Hey,” He said, drawing your attention to him, “Nanna and Bobo were great, really. But, I’m living my life and remembering them. You have your life too, Y/N. You can’t just live someone else’s. What she did – well, it does matter as it’s what brought us here; but, that’s not you.” He comforted, walking over and handing you the drink you were having.

He then sighed, “Listen, I need to go great some new friends. So, I’ll be back, ok?” He said. You just nodded, staring into the void of space and the shattered planet.

When Deke returned, you were passed out, head rolled back on the chair and light snores leaving you. He smiled a bit at it, at least you were resting.

“Where is it? Did you throw out the old papers?” Deke asked Rick, the bartender.

“Yeah, it was a mess.”

“Stop doing that. You’re always cleaning.” Deke complained, opening up the paper.

“Yeah, you programmed me to.” That one got to Deke.

“Really? Because I don’t remember programming you to talk back to me,” Rick tilted his head, “It was a joke, because I – I did program you to talk…Just, will you find the papers, please?” As Rick left to do so, Deke greeted the new comer, “Might as well pull up a stool and have a beer.”

Daisy scoffed, “Clearly, you’re a talented pusher, but I will pass, thanks.” She said, going up to him but not pulling up a stool.

“It’s probably for the best because I have no idea what actual beer tasted like. Well, my friend over there seems to have a grasp on it, but…” He drifted off, knocking his head in your direction.

Daisy followed it, “Who are they?”

“Y/N. Got the weight of the world on their shoulders if you ask me,” He scoffed in laughter and shook his head, “Classic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daisy pushed.

“It’s an inside joke we’ve got. Doesn’t matter. They only get it when they’re in one of their good moods. But, good kid, still.” He said.

“Want to tell me where I am?” Daisy seemed to not be stopping with the questions.

“You’re passed out at my place of business. You got too close to my transmitters when you were stalking me. You remind me of Y/N in that regard.” He explained.

“So, this is your racket? You’re – you’re pimping out the framework?” That got Deke’s attention.

“I never called it that, but yeah. That’s the technology the hardware is based on,” He then folded up the news paper, “I—I had to rebuild the software from scratch because Kasius had the historical archives erased. But I was able to get my hands on the servers. I gathered bits of date here and there, and…the rest is guesswork.” Deke said. They heard a chair scrap, it was you nearly falling off the chair but you caught yourself.

“But your customers don’t know the difference. You’ve got ‘em addicted to Earth-as-it-was scenarios.” Daisy argued.

“Among other simulations, yes.”

“So, this is the business that you’re protecting? Your creepy opium den of fantasy?”

“Well, I can’t get real opium, so…I’m selling escape. The other way out of here is the final exit.” Deke started to get up.

“They’re trading one prison for another.”

Deke rose his eyebrows, “You think the lighthouse is a prison? Sweetheart…prison would be nice.”

You tried to ignore the conversation going on. You wanted to anyway, you were drunk and would probably have a killer hangover. So, you did what you could to block it out.

“The Kree have her. You can’t help her. To try is too dangerous.” Deke argued.

“You said the same thing about Mack and Yo-Yo. How’d that turn out?” Daisy challenged.

“A catastrophe! This entire place is a very delicate ecosystem, and you all just keep taking a leak in the water left and right!”

“You’re worried we’ll mess this up or we’ll mess this up for you? I mean, do the Kree even know about this operation? Because –”

“Of course they know about it. They’re crazy about it, because I’m – I’m improving people’s lives. I’m giving them something other than just hour after hour of endless grind.” Deke said, walking away for a moment and seeing you again looking at the wall where the view had been.

“They condone it because it keeps them placid. I have seen the framework in action before. Pretend that wishes are coming true so the real hope dies.”

“Hope only gets you killed,” Daisy looked to you as you finally spoke, “At least here you can be something other than a slave.”

“You’re making them forget reality, so they don’t try –” They started speaking over each other at this point. About whether or not waves should be made or if the reality your friend had built was bad.

“No, the boat sank! Do you understand that? We are a breath away from extinction. We make one wrong move, and in a blink, mankind is gone for good,” The TV then came on about a SHIELD agent; Daisy Johnson.

“Deke –” You said, going to grab the remote when Deke grabbed it first.

“Wait – wait. That’s it. That’s what I’m looking for. That!” You looked from the screen to her as well. Your eyes wide.

“Holy shit.” You breathed out, backing away from your grandmother.

“Y/N…” Deke wasn’t even sure on what to say.

“Thanks Deke. But – I uh….I have to – to go.” You said, starting to walk off.

Your heart was thumping in your ears, your breath picking up.

Holy shit, she was here. The woman that caused this was here.

“Y/N. Y/N, hey.” Deke said, running up to you in worry as you leaned against the wall, hands on your knees.

“Deke….” You couldn’t fully say it.

“I know. I know. Is it – is it bad?” He asked. You nodded.

“Ok, alright. Dammit. We – we need something to –” At that moment, Daisy walked back into your room. She shut the door to try and give you guys some privacy.

“What’s wrong with them?” Daisy asked, a little on edge.

“I’m sorry about this.” Deke meant those words.

“What?” Daisy wasn’t even prepared as a small blast knocked her back into the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

She blinked, coughing at the impact. Then, it finally hit her on what had hit her.

She saw your hand in a pose she had done so many times.

You lowered it, having a better feeling now.

Daisy couldn’t speak, so you did it for her, “You’re not meant to be here. You are meant to be back there…I’ll get you back; you and your friends. It’ll do some good. Maybe I can where you didn’t.”

Deke looked between you both, knowing how complicated this would be.

“Oh boy.” He sighed.

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

Deke leant on one side, you on another. You both kept an eye out or any threats to deal with as Daisy went to look for her family.

“So, this is weird.” Deke said, trying to pass the time and check in on you.

You nodded, “Sure is,” You then looked to him with a smile, “Tess will not believe this.”

He chuckled, “Flint might, though.”

You nodded, thinking about the little rascal.

Daisy then appeared, quickly walking and with no one else in sight, “Where are they? We were supposed to meet up at the Exchange. Something’s wrong.” She said as you both started to follow her.

“Or maybe they finally took my advice to evaporate into this place.” You hit Deke on the arm.

“Deke.” You hissed.

“They were looking for a way to find Simmons. I got to track them down.” Daisy said.

“Grandaunt Jemma?” You asked, unable to hide a hint of excitement at it.

Daisy looked to you for a moment, “Yeah, her.” She answered, still in a rush to save said woman.

“So you said,” Deke grabbed Daisy and stopped her in her tracks, “Don’t you think you’re kind of deflecting from what I told you about…and what you’ve just found out…” He mimicked an explosion before pointing to you.

“I’m not deflecting because I didn’t do it.” She continued to walk.

“It wasn’t me who did it. That only leaves you. Now, I get that this is a lot and –”

“Yeah, that’s what deflecting is.” Deke and you spoke over each other.

“How could I split the world apart? My powers aren’t that strong. I’m not that strong.” You were keeping your voices low.

“Maybe not yet, but you will be.” Deke warned.

“And how do you know that?” Daisy questioned.

“Because planet earth went from smooth to chunky, and Quake is the one who did it.”

“And you don’t think I’d remember that?”

“No, I think it took you out too.” It was morbid, but you were probably right.

“Well, not according to the multiverse theory,” Daisy stopped, and Eke thought that meant to further explain, “You probably haven’t heard of it, but in quantum physics, there’s a theory that, for every universe, there are infinite parallel universes. So in my universe, you destroyed the planet. Maybe that just happened in –” Daisy slapped him before he could continue.

“So what universe did that just happen in? Mine or yours?” Daisy heard your snicker as she then looked to you, “You get any of that?”

You shook your head as you tried to hide your smile, “ He’s tried many-a-time to explain it. Still goes through one ear and out another.” Daisy nodded, but she was glad that she wasn’t alone in that.

Deke and you spotted something, a man bandaging himself.

Deke went off, leaving you and Daisy behind. She looked at you, and definitely saw the similarities between you both; the look in your eyes, the way you did your hair even if a shorter length, the way you stood tough but had a vulnerability in your eyes.

Yeah, you were a Johnson alright.

Deke returned, “Talk to me.”

“There’s been a Renewal.” He said.

“Shit.” You cursed.

“A what?” Daisy asked, looking between you both.

“Three people are dead.” Now it was Daisy’s turn to – silently – curse and worry, “Just hold your freak-out. It wasn’t your friends, ok? They’re probably just hiding, which is what I advised them to do from the get go.” Daisy stopped him rambling.

“Ok, ok. So where would they be hiding?”

“I don’t know, they’re your friends.” Deke pointed out.

“And this is your guys’ home, where you know everyone and everything that’s in here.” Daisy countered with.

Deke looked at you as he sighed, “One of the vacancies came from Grill’s salvage. That means there’s an opening. He might take in strays. I’d start there.”

“You got all that from the shoe guy?”

“Well, shoe guy knows all.”

“Guess I should’ve asked him in the first place.” Daisy started to leave to try find the others. And you followed, “What are you doing?” She asked, seeing your progression towards her.

“Showing you the way.” Was all you said, doing just that.

“How’s this possible?” Daisy asked as you led her the way.

“How’s what possible? You being here or me existing?” You asked, checking your six.

“Both.” She said.

“I never met you, because of….you know. In terms of how am I here? No idea. I never met my parents, I could only go off of what people told me about you. Most negative with…you know. But, Deke showed me some news reels of you. You just… You seemed like a good person. I try to be that as much as I can be.” You said, not wanting to go into some of the things you had to do to survive.

“I’m sorry.” She said, allowing her tough exterior to melt for a moment; she’d been there before – well, not everything that had been mentioned, but in the broad strokes.

“It’s not your fault. You were trying to do some good, and it backfired,” You stopped, putting a hand up to stop her as well, “Besides, you’re here now, maybe if I can get you out, we can make it right.”

She saw a light in your eyes, one that she still got even now – but when she used to have a lot more when she younger.

Despite herself, she smiled at it.

Deke tried one more time to stop you both, but Daisy quaked him back. It was a lot more controlled than yours. Still, she pulled you into the elevator.

She was loyal to her friends, and she knew you were too. So, she offered you that chance to come, and you took it.

You entered what Daisy described as a “Weed farm.”

“Stay close, blend in.” She said. You both made your way through, pretending to check on the plants whenever someone was about to clock you both.

You made to the elevator, but Daisy heard footsteps coming before you did. She got onto the ceiling, “Here.” She said, offering you a hand. She made room for you to stay up there with her as well.

You felt yourself start to slip; and just as Daisy went to help, you managed to save yourself. You missed it, but she looked a bit proud at it.

She dropped down first, taking care of the Kree. There was one left, and you dropped down, punching him and grabbing his rifle, spinning him where Daisy finished him off.

“Good job.”

You made it down, and you were going to save your Grandaunt, when two glass doors appeared, and gas entered the room. You both couldn’t help but cough at it. You fell first, then Daisy. Looking up, you both saw Deke.

He’d sold you out.

You knew what that meant. You were going to be sold off to fight.

Deke had once told you his grandparents and parents were good people. Seemed his shattered that legacy.

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Before you woke, you felt someone shaking you, calling your name. It continued. Whoever it was, they were persistent. You saw the earth in your dream, itself in it’s prime. You saw Daisy being heralded as a hero.

Then you saw the earth shatter.

You opened your eyes with a gasp, and found yourself strapped to a chair. Daisy, however, let out a breath of relief.

“Well, seems you both have been acquainted. Two Johnson’s both as my prisoner. How…exquisite.” Kasius mused as he circled you both.

Daisy got the madman to not look at you and instead put his attention on her. For her, though, it was torturous, to have a man threaten her sister plainly in front of all in the room. She knew she would not break, but she knew that for Jemma or anyone in her family she’d do anything.

Her eyes flickered to you; and she saw someone trying to stay strong for sake of a fucking name, but someone who was scared deep down. She knew you were part of that family now.

So, you were both meant to fight, together it seemed. So, she knew what she had to do.

Keep you alive and get you out too.

She saw how you constantly tried to get a grip on the Quake ability, only or it to blow up and cause you pain. She saw how it was what you relied on. She saw how you could fight, but not for very long without that ability.

She got why, it was something that could help.

More than that, it was her knowing you as you. Not as a Johnson, but as a person.

She met Ben, another Inhuman, and the two watched you get launched again to the floor after not controlling your ability. She was sure you were going to get an Inhibitor chip soon, same as she had one.

There went your advantage.

“What’s their story?” Ben asked.

“That’s Y/N…my granddaughter,” Ben just took it in stride, “They seem to get the best and worst bits from me.”

“Any idea who the other half is?” Ben asked.

Daisy shook her head, “No idea. From who I’ve been with, they always seem to leave, die, or turn out to be a major asshole.”

Ben nodded, “And you don’t want that for them?” He asked, then she looked to him, “Telepathic, remember?”

“…Right. That.” She excused herself when she heard you cry out and saw the chip on your neck.

She put a hand on your shoulder as you blinked and tried to repress the pain, “Sucks, yeah?” She said, hoping the levity would help distract you from it.

You rolled your neck a bit as you blinked more, “Oh yeah. I’d say I’ve had worse, but that’d be a lie.” She couldn’t help the scoff of laughter that let her at your words. She was sure they were true. But, that had always been her way, laugh through pain and uncomfortable situations.

This definitely was one of those.

You were all lined up, seeing the people who would soon buy you all talking about it as if it was casual.

Then again, it was to them.

Well, all but one. One that you saw and couldn’t help your eyes widening when you saw him.

“Is that –” Daisy knew what you were going to ask.

“Your granduncle Fitz…” She seemed to not believe it herself. You saw how it hit her; having her brother figure. He was a live, and he was here.

Then it was time for the fight. Now, she had no idea how you were in a fight. But, if she had to guess, scrappy. Just like she was.

Now, it was focused, filled with flips and what not. Still, she saw you try and hide your fear.

It hit her then just how well she had been trained to do that. How much she’d almost become May in this instance; how the woman who was like a robot was now how Daisy was becoming emotionally.

“Hey,” You looked to her, “We got this. We’ll get my friends out, we’ll be ok.” She didn’t fully believe those words, but she saw how you let out a breath and gave her a thankful look; a moment of vulnerability for you.

Then, you both entered the ring. A double match, two combatants.

Shit.

As said before, Daisy could fight well. But, you knew that your Granduncle and Grandaunt were watching. You knew they were worried. You knew that it was all on the line. You had no powers, and you could barely fight with any finesse.

Not like Daisy was doing much better, being flung around the room. Still, she was doing better than you.

You hit the wall for like the umpteenth time. You had your powers, seeing Daisy lift herself up. You went to use yours, but your opponent grabbed your arm and aimed it at the floor. Your power still went off, and you went up in the air at can awkward angle. However, the guy still held your other arm, and used that momentum to slam you on the ground.

Your breath had left you, and you were sure this was it. But then you heard a pistol go off, and more voices.

You felt someone pick you up, and you were going in and out of consciousness.

When you fully came back, you felt a pair of fingers going through your hair. Your eyes opened, and you saw Daisy looking at you. She smiled when she saw you were still with them.

“Hey.” She said, in a soft tone of voice.

“Hey.” You said, before you groaned and slowly sat up, rubbing the back of your head.

“Yeah, we’ll have Simmons look at that when we get out of here.” Daisy promised, “You did good.”

“I got my ass kicked even with my powers.” You argued.

“Doesn’t matter. You put up a fight and had your own style to it. Besides, so did I.”

She admitted it. Holy shit, you did not expect that. You did not expect the great Daisy Johnson to lose in a fight; you didn’t expect the great Daisy Johnson to admit it.

And yet, she had; to you.

She was just human – well, Inhuman. But, she was still the same as you.

“Fitzsimmons still with us?” Daisy nodded, nudging her head back.

You looked back; you were in one of the rooms they would give those more prosperous, but you saw the pair embracing one another. They pulled away and looked at you; both giving you a smile.

“You must be Y/N. I’m Jemma.” She said, going over and shaking your hand. Next was Fitz.

“Sorry --- I…just a little starstruck is all.” You let out a nervous giggle at your words.

Jemma’s smile turned understanding, “Yes, I’m sure this is a little disorientating. But, once we get to a safter place, I’m sure we can have a lot of time to get to know you?” She saw how you looked elated at the idea. How a childlike side to you opened all of a sudden.

You nodded, eagerly, “Yeah – yeah, that’d be great.” You said, bright smile on your face. You then addressed the whole room, “I can get us out. I know this place. I know shortcuts and what not.”

The three shared a look, and then looked back at you, and nodded.

You gave a nod that held more confidence to it. You were going to help your family out of this.

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

Daisy was back on her feet, and she saw how there was a spark in you now as you led them through the hallways and into a room with a view of a ship Fitz had been brought in. For a moment, you were at ease, you could get out.

That ship was then blown up right in front of your eyes. Well, shit.

Still, you had places to go.

You led them to a life support room, with some pipes along the ceiling that Daisy and Jemma found had a diverse range of hot and cold.

You found a hatch that you and Fitz opened, and it revealed something that made them afraid. Gravitonium. And it was powering this whole thing.

“Bad thing?” You asked, looking to Daisy.

She didn’t look at you as she both nodded and spoke, “Yeah. Very bad.” She said.

You were all met with a quick splash of bullets, one of them catching Fitz as Daisy pushed you to the ground. She took cover, quickly darting and getting the new guy chasing you to shoot a pipe, blinding him momentarily and giving Daisy time to dart in and disable him.

You covered Jemma as she moved Fitz out of the room, and waited for Daisy to catch up with you. She gave you a pat as she passed you, “Keep going, kiddo.”

You guys did, and Jemma had put Fitz on the floor. As you went to check on him, you saw a figure in the dark.

You saw an all too familiar helmet in the dark.

You were the first there, grabbing him and slamming him into the wall. He grunted, and you could tell his eyes were wide behind the helmet.

“Glad I brought the helmet.” He said, trying to cover up that fear.

You ripped it off, dropping it on the ground. You saw his face, your friend turned traitor.

You socked him right in the face.

“Alright, guess I deserved that one.” He admitted, rubbing his jaw.

“You don’t talk to them.” Daisy sneered, before asking him if he was coming for the bounty.

He wasn’t, as it turned out. He’d lost everything, and seemed to want to be team SHIELD. He explained to Daisy how he knew she wanted to get to Jemma, and how you wanted to be with your grandmother. You wanted to get to know her.

He wasn’t wrong, but you were still pissed at him.

He knew that, and didn’t meet your gaze as you guys went to reunite with the rest of the family.

As you approached the door, however, you paused. Daisy came back out when she realised you hadn’t gone inside.

You were leant up against the wall, hands on your knees, “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” Daisy asked, crouching down to your level.

“I – I just…that’s all of them?”

She nodded, before it clicked in her mind, “Hey,” She said softly, putting finger under your chin and lifting your head up to face her, “I’ll be right here, ok? You aren’t me, and that’s ok with the social thing. But, they’re gonna love you, and I’m right here.” She felt like she had to remind you again that she was right there.

You entered, with her behind you. The others looked to you.

“Hi – uh, I’m Y/N.” You greeted, a bit self conscious. However, you then spotted Flint, “Holy shit.” You breathed out, embracing your friend. It helped that he was here.

“Y/N,” You turned to the one and only, Phil Coulson, “I’m –”

“Phil Coulson. Hi.” Your voice was timid, but you then cleared your throat and repeated it. His smile didn’t change however, he didn’t seem to mind how you were opposite to Daisy in some ways.

He accepted it. And so were you, slowly.

Then the bangs from your chasers came at the door. Flint had moved the rocks to create a barrier to buy time, but there was only so much he could do.

However, if there was one thing you didn’t lose as a Johnson, it was a calculating look in your eye as you came up with a plan. Hell, you even bit your lip.

“What you planning, Y/NN?” You felt a bit of pride at the nickname.

You whistled, gaining Dekes attention, “Belt buckle.” You only said. He threw it to you, “This is a start.” You told him, and you clocked the thankful smile he shot your way.

The others followed your movements to a shaft that had been cleared by Flint, “We can get up there with this.” You said, waving the object you had.

Fitzsimmons explained what it did. You didn’t know the science of it, you just knew it would work.

All up, you thought this would be goodbye. You had gotten them up and out.

However –

“Y/N.” Daisy called after you. You turned to her, “You can come with, if you want?”

Your eyes lit up again, “Really?”

“Of course, you’re family. Besides, be good to have a guide to this world to help us.”

“You got Deke, though?”

“Yeah, but he’s not you.”

You softened a bit at the words. She wanted you there. Then again, you weren’t just her legacy now.

You were her friend.

“Ok, you said.”

#agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #agents of shield x reader #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine

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eastofthemoon · 3 years

Text

Feathered Friends

A silly one shot that wouldn’t leave my head.

Archive of Our Own

Rating: G

Series: The Owl House/Ducktales 2017

Summary: Luz tries something to get her back to the human realm, unfortunately the human part wasn't present.

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

Luz rubbed her hands eagerly as she looked over the handheld mirror. “Alright, mysterious device of arcane mystery, let’s see if you can bring me back to the human realm!’

“Are you sure you want to do this, kiddo?” Eda asked as she crossed her arm. “We know even less about this thing than your last portal attempt.”

“But the inscription says it leads to another world when you twist the handle,” Luz said as she clasped her hands.

“Doesn’t mean it’s the human realm,” Eda added. “There are plenty of bizarre worlds out there. For all we know this thing's connected to a world of man eating toe bats or something.”

“Where did you two find this outrageous ornament anyway?” King said as he poked the mirror.

“<i>We</i> didn’t,” Eda said with a deep sigh, shoving King’s paw away. “Hooty coughed it up and apparently doesn’t even remember where he picked it up. Not that he remembers much to begin with.”

King grimaced. “Yuck, he really needs to be more aware of what he eats.”

“Anyway,” Luz continued as she put her hands on her hips, “it’s still worth trying. Worst case it should lead back here, right?”

Eda sighed as she ruffled her hair. “All right, but I’m coming with you. King, how about you? Up for a little interdimensional exploration?”

“Naw,” King said as he left the room. “My tummy is craving hot chocolate and I’ve decided to graciously fulfill its demand.”

“Save some for me,” Luz said as she picked up the mirror. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Well, those are some ominous last words, but let’s give it a go,” Eda said as she placed a hand on Luz’s shoulder.

Luz bit her lower lip as she gave the mirror handle a hard twist.

The mirror sparked madly, before suddenly erupting with blue energy. The mirror seemed to shine, and the energy formed into a swirling portal.

“Alright,” Luz said with a deep breath. “Here goes.” Holding the mirror close to her chest, Luz stepped through the portal together with Eda.

They found themselves in a room. A very normal human looking room with a bunk bed and human style clothes scattered around it.

Hope flickered in Luz's eyes. Was it possible? Had she made it home?! Did she-

Someone, not Eda, cleared their throat and Luz turned.

Her joy evaporated.

Four pairs of eyes were staring at her. Eyes belonging to what seemed to be humanoid ducks. One was wearing a pink dress with a cute bow, another wore a blue shirt and a stunned expression. The third wore a red hat and shirt and seemed to be working out what question to ask first, while the fourth wore a green hoodie and held a soda can.

“Um...Hi,” Luz said slowly with a nervous smile. “Please don’t freak-”

The duck in green growled as he rubbed his eyes and set down the soda can. The actual soda can, Luz found her eyes drawn to it. “Dewey, I thought you promised not to invite extra-dimensional beings into our bedroom again!”

“It wasn't me!” the duck, likely named Dewey, objected. “I mean, it was me that other time, but in my defense the number of views for my show have never been higher.”

“While that may be numerically true, that is strictly relative,” the duck with the red hat replied dryly. "The number of views were even higher that time you left the camera on for twenty minutes of Mrs. Beakley cleaning the carpet."

“Uh….” Luz said as Eda looked around.

“Talking ducks? Hey, I think I’ve been to this world,” Eda muttered.

Before Luz could ask what she meant, the duck with the cute bow bounced up to her.

“Hi, I’m Webby!” she greeted and pointed behind her. “That’s Louie, Dewey and Huey! What’s your name?”

“I’m Luz, and this is Eda the Owl Lady,” Luz replied, slightly amazed by her chipper attitude. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to barge in-”

“Boys, what was that noise?!” shouted a female voice with a British accent.

“One second,” Huey said as he poked his head out of the room. “A portal opened and now we've got visitors from another world.”

There was a brief pause. “Are they dangerous?”

Huey pulled his head back. “Hostile or non-hostile?”

“Well, some call me a foxy mama and I've slain many a heart, kiddo,” Eda said with a wink.

Huey raised an eyebrow and glanced at Luz. “Non-hostile then?”

Luz nodded as Huey poked his head out again.

“They’re not dangerous, Mrs. Beakley!” he shouted.

“Alright, I’ll be up once these dishes have been dealt with,” the voice shouted back.

“You guys are oddly calm about this,” Luz said as she tilted her head.

Louie scoffed as he shoved his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “Please, on average we get at least one weird portal opening in our house a month.”

“It was twice last month,” Dewey replied and shivered. “I still can’t get that centaur’s song out of my head.”

"Averages, Dewford!"

“Okay, then,” Luz said, wondering to herself exactly what kind of life these ducks had.

Huey pointed to the mirror in Luz’s hand. “So, given the evidence, my hypothesis is that this is what created the portal. It wasn't red, so I'm assuming it doesn't use the same method as the Solego circuit - is it magic? Runic designs, or some sort of divine blessing?”

Luz blinked and blushed realizing she had almost forgotten she was holding it.

“Uh, yeah, again sorry, we kind of just found it and were experimenting,” Luz said as she held it up. “I’ll just turn so we can-”

“Now, hold up, kiddo,” Eda said with a smirk. “I’ve been to this world before and it’s actually pretty fun. A lot more accepting of avian people than the Boiling Isles, if you catch my drift. It might actually be worth having a short visit here.”

“I can’t help but note you’re not asking our opinion here,” Louie asked. "I should really start charging tolls on interdimensional travel..."

Dewey stepped forward and pointed. “More importantly will you or will you not come onto my show for an interview?”

“How much are you willing to pay?” Eda said.

“Nevermind that,” Webby said as she grinned at Luz. “Are you a magic user?”

“I’m, er, a witch in training,” Luz said as she rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oooh, I should introduce you to Lena and Violet,” Webby continued. “We can compare notes - do you have a scrapbook of arcane secrets too?!”

“Oh really,” Luz said as her eyes sparked. That did sound like fun.

“Kids,” a female voice called out and another duck - female-sounding, wearing a pilot uniform - entered the room. “Beakley mentioned something about a portal-”

Suddenly, she gasped and pointed. “Eda Clawthorne! Is that you?”

Eda frowned and tilted her head. “You look kind of familiar? Do I know you? You're not a debt collector, right?”

The duck laughed and pointed at herself. “It’s me, Della Duck! Remember? I took your staff for a joyride? We had a bonding experience over nachos?”

Eda blinked, and a smile appeared as she snorted. “Della?! Ha! Wow, it’s been ages! You got old girl!”

Della laughed. “You're one to talk! Didn’t you have red hair?”

Eda snorted as she ran a hand through her hair. “True, but I am still a foxy mama though. Silver is in.”

“I have several questions,” Huey asked.

“And I smell the start of a delicious backstory,” Luz added as she rubbed her hands.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Della said. “Scrooge, Donald and I ran into her once during one of our adventures.”

Eda chuckled. “Yeah, that was a fun ride. Hey, did Scrooge ever get over the ‘you know what’?”

Della paused, and suddenly sucked air in and looked anywhere <i>but</i> Eda. “Yeah, about that. Great catching up and all, but you should probably leave before he hears that you’re here?”

Eda froze. “Y-you've got to be kidding. Don’t tell me that old coot is still alive-”

“EDA CLAWTHORNE!”

All heads turned and Luz spotted an old duck wearing a red jacket, a top hat on his head and an angry scowl on his face as he pointed a cane at the visitors.

“YOU HAVE SOME NERVE SHOWING UP HERE!”

“Oh boy,” Eda said as she grabbed Luz’s arm. “Time to go, kiddo!”

“What?” Luz cried. “But what about-”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Scrooge yelled as he wrapped his cane handle around Eda’s wrist. “YOU AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL YOU RETURN THE COPPER PIPES YOU STOLE YOU SHIFTY SHORTCHANGING CHARLATAN!”

“Copper pipes?” Louie asked in disbelief. “Really? In this economy?”

Eda rolled her eyes as she wrapped her hands around the cane. “Aw come on, Scroogey no need to be so hostile-”

Scrooge snarled. “I have every right to be horrendously hostile you-”

“Even when I specifically came here - across the dimensional void - just to bring back those pipes?” Eda gestured to the corner of the room. “All six of them, right over there!”

“What?” Scrooge looked. “I don’t see-”

Eda kicked Scrooge off his cane and watched the duck tumble flat on his face.

“And that definitely makes it time to go!” Eda said as she took the mirror, twisted the handle and sparks started to fly. “Say your goodbyes, kid, because we are out of here!”

“Uh, okay,” Luz said as Eda pulled her towards the emerging portal. “Sorry about this!”

“No worries,” Webby said as Dewey helped Scrooge up. “Send me a letter! I've always wanted an extradimensional pen-pal!”

Luz could see Scrooge rallying to give chase, but her view was abruptly eclipsed by the swirling blue of the portal as she was pulled through. Both Eda and Luz collided at the foot of the couch as the portal disappeared behind them.

King sipped his hot chocolate as he peered over them from the couch.

“So! How was the site of my future conquest?” he asked.

Luz pointed an arm up. “Not the human realm, but we met some friendly talking ducks and I got Eda backstory so I'm still calling it a win.”

“And I got a free cane,” Eda declared as she waved the cane up in the air.

Luz narrowed her eyes. “You should really give that back.”

Eda snarked. “Luz, trust me, that guy has a ton of these things.” She held up in the air and fiddled with the handle. “I wonder if-”

A laser blazed out of the cane's tip without warning. Hooty yelped, spiraling out of the way it shot through the wall behind him.

“...Oooh, Mama like,” Eda cooed, eyes sparkling as she raced outside. “Let’s see what this bad boy can do!”

“Mass destruction! Untold mayhem! Unfettered obliteration! It's my turn next!” King shouted as he gave chase.

Luz sighed as she put down the mirror. “Alright, so...I can check off the mirror at least. Not a way home, but not bad. Maybe leave the Owl Lady here next time.”

Luz heard more blasts being fired, and the growing sounds of rampaging fires. She briefly considered going outside to reduce the carnage, but decided it might be better to write that letter to Webby instead.

#ducktales 2017 #the owl house #toh #dt 2017 #my writing

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jamespotterthefirst · 4 years

Text

It’s Only A Matter of Time (Edward x MC)

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x F!MC (Celeste Santiago) Word count: 2K Warning: Language Summary: She takes Robert up on his plan to steal the compass. Author’s Note: I wanted to write something of a happier ending for these two. I hope you like it.

________

Her heartbeat threatened to rip out of her chest as she ran through the alley. Celeste welcomed the painful clamor against her rib-cage, the stabbing intake of breath, the spike of terror as she glanced over her shoulder to see their persecutors gaining on them. The alternative was a bottomless void at the memory of strong, calloused hands worshiping every part of her body, of his whispered words.

I'm yours Celeste...until the end of time.

“Dammit,” Robert hissed beside her. “It should've sent us back by now. It's not working!”

“What do you mean it's not working?” she squeaked breathlessly. Another glance behind them told her they did not have a lot of time before they were captured.

“Look around! Are we in the Caribbean hundreds of years ago?”

Celeste had neither the will nor the breath for her usual witty comeback. Least of all when the only thing she saw was the dead end they approached. She pointed it out to her companion, which only made him angrier. He furiously shook the compass in his hand as he ran, willing it to do something.

“Stupid piece of—”

The brick wall was a mere five seconds away.

“Robert!”

Three seconds. The crowd of officers were even closer. There was nowhere to go.

“Work, goddammit!”

One second.

“Give it here!” With a burst of panic, she reached out to take the compass from Robert. Her fingers clasped around the cold metal, heating instantly under her touch. Celeste pressed her eyes shut, bracing herself for either the rough hands of police officers pressing her against the brick wall or her return to everything she ever wanted.

A deafening rush...an overpowering force pushing and pulling her body...her feet hitting cobbled ground… and then, silence.

-------

The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was the weight of the humid air and the unmistakable scent of saltwater. Feeling as though her head would burst any second, Celeste opened her eyes, blinking away patchy streams of sunlight. When her bleary eyes adjusted, she slowly realized she was still in an alley, though a much different and much muddier one than she remembered.

“Good, you're awake.”

Robert's tone was business-like as he hopped off an empty barrel of ale. Head swimming, Celeste noticed he was dressed in his customary grey coat and boots, fit for a wannabe Captain. That made the last of her drowsiness evaporate, replaced instead with a surge of euphoria.

“It worked?”

She sat up, really looking at their surroundings. They were in the alleyway behind the pub at Tiburon, she was sure of it.

Robert shot her an inpatient look, refusing to dignify obvious questions with an answer.

“I need to go find Edward.”

Celeste's heart fluttered in her chest like a caged bird so close to freedom. She sprang to her feet.

“He's gone,” Robert said, completely devoid of emotion as he inspected a pistol. “While you were out, I asked around town. His crew just set sail last night. Word on the street is that they took enough supplies for a long journey.”

Disappointment plunged itself in her chest like a sharp icicle. Unable to help herself, she turned to look at the shoreline in the distance, foolishly hoping to see any sign of him. Something painful unfurled in her chest, almost worse than the first time she was torn from his side.

Completely unaware or uncaring, Robert holstered his gun and made a start toward the mouth of the alley. “We need to get going. First thing on the agenda is finding you proper attire. Then, we'll need a ship—”

He stopped when he realized she wasn't following. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, fists balled at her sides.

“I'm not going.”

Robert cast her an annoyed glare. “Didn't you hear me? They are long gone.”

“I'll wait. I'll wait here forever if I have to.”

All at once, there was no more pain, only an anchoring sense of purpose. Robert must've seen it too because his scowl relaxed briefly.

“You understand that if I leave with this, you won't be able to go back?” He produced the golden compass from his coat pocket. “You'll be stuck here.”

“I don't care.”

“Your captain is not here. If he's gone looking for you, it might be years before he comes back.”

A heavy pause in which her eyes remained fixed on the distant, glimmering waters.

“If he ever comes back.” Robert muttered the words quietly though not entirely unkindly.

It is said that he refused to retire, choosing instead to sail the seas endlessly in search of a great lost love.

Celeste remained unfazed, heart beating fiercely with her new purpose. The portrait of Edward at the museum was his history, written out in stone. Yet, being back in his time, defying the impossible, gave her the determination to rewrite it.

And she would do just that by staying, armed with patience and all the love in her chest that threatened to overspill. Even if it killed her, she would do it a thousand times.

For him.

“If I go, we might keep missing each other. My best hope is to stay still. If there is even a chance to see him again, I'll take it.”

Robert considered her words quietly.

“This is your last chance. Once I leave, I won't be coming back.”

“I made my choice, Robert. I need to see him again. I need to tell him that I—”

But Robert wasn't looking at her as she raised her chin to face him full on. His eyes fixed on something over Celeste's shoulder, his expression inscrutable.

“Then tell him.”

“Miss Santiago.”

Celeste froze.

There was no doubt who had uttered the words because she would hear that voice in her thoughts until her last breath. Still, she was terrified to turn around and discover she had indeed imagined them. Very slowly, she willed her muscles to move anyway, turning in place to face the new arrival.

There, at the entrance of the alleyway, stood Edward, tall as ever and looking as handsome as he did mere hours ago when he held her. Except, something else was different but her mind was too entranced by the yearning look he swept over her and the incredulous smile that spread over his tired face.

Neither moved, too afraid the other would vanish at the merest flinch.

“You still won't call me Celeste?” she managed through a tight throat.

At that, he moved, boots hitting the dirt with the eagerness to reach her. Celeste was rushing toward him too until their bodies met, his strong arms enveloping her completely and spinning her off the ground.

“Celeste. My Celeste.”

When he set her down, he leaned in to press urgent kisses on different points of her face. She was crying, too overcome with emotion to do anything else. His own eyes shone bright with equal emotion.

“I thought I'd never—”

“Perish the thought. Don't torment yourself like that.” He whispered the words into her hair, a strong, soothing hand sliding up and down her back.

With some effort, she pulled back to look up at those eyes, the very same she fell in love with at first sight.

“You sound confident we would find each other again.”

Edward held her in his arms with the conviction of a man never intending to let go. He traced the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone and Celeste allowed her eyes to flutter closed, her heart a weightless flutter.

“I told you I would wait for you,” he murmured. Then, he kissed her, his lips molding hers perfectly. They moved against each other desperately, hungrily, as though no amount of time together could ever be enough.

Before they could do more, Robert cleared his throat pointedly from the shadows where he still stood. “I'll be taking my leave now.”

Breathless, Celeste turned to nod. “Our paths will cross again.”

The older man almost laughed at that with genuine amusement. “I've no doubt they will.”

He sent a small nod toward Edward, who returned it. The usual tension between the two men was notably absent, perhaps because nothing else mattered to Edward other than Celeste in his arms. Without another word, Robert disappeared.

Celeste turned back to Edward, unable to recover from their kiss because just looking at him left her breathless. “Robert said the crew left last night for an extended voyage. We thought you left with them.”

“Aye, they are taking supplies to a crew we were indebted to. And then they are going after the promise of a hefty treasure. Charlie is at the helm as acting captain.”

“Why didn't you go?”

Edward fell silent, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. “I was preparing for another voyage,” he allowed. “One more important than all the spoils or all the treasure in the world.”

His eyes met hers, so intense she almost lost her balance. Gently, so gently her heart tugged, he swept a wayward piece of hair away from her face.

“Edward,” she whispered.

“I was prepared to roam the world to find you, Celeste. I would have gladly spent all my life at sea if it meant seeing your face again.”

With that, he captured her lips in his once more, languid strokes coaxing her mouth open for him. A little moan escaped her as she pressed her soft body against his hard chest, desperate for contact. As her teeth tugged at his bottom lip, earning her a dark growl from him, every part of her remembered the last time they were together. She recalled the way his beautiful mouth reverently moved over every inch of her, the way his powerful worked over hers, sinking her firmly into his bed at her urging.

“How long was I gone?” she whispered breathlessly when they paused for breath.

Edward pulled back from her completely then. A far-off pained expression made itself present on his face, bursting through their sheer bliss in mere seconds.

“Edward?”

“Two years.”

Her heart sank horribly.

The short hours without him had been a torment. She had become convinced she could not live in a world where he did not exist. She had allowed a man she deemed an enemy to convince her to do the impossible. She had been prepared to spend her life waiting for his return. All in only two hours.

Two years.

Celeste imagined his heartbreak when he woke up to an empty bed, only to spend the next two years desperately trying to find her.

Her heart shattered all over again.

“I'm so sorry, Edward,” she choked. “I wish I could've been there with you.”

Despite two years of pain and stubborn hope, her Edward smiled at her. “You're here now.”

It was the same smile the beautiful child wore in their shared glimpse at the future. Tears traveled down her face as she nodded fervently.

“And I'm here to stay,” she promised him. “I am never leaving you again, Edward Mortemer.”

“Those are the sweetest words ever uttered.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” she murmured. As she said it, she became aware she never got to tell him before.

Edward pulled his chin back to look into her eyes, a small glimmer of surprise in those beautiful, warm eyes. “I stand corrected.”

He leaned in to give her a kiss that was much sweeter and gentler than their previous ones. The promise of what it could easily become still made her dizzy. Smiling, he pulled back long enough to murmur against her lips, “I love you, my Celeste.”

_____

Author’s Note: This was a mess but I couldn’t live with the ending PB gave us. Thank you for reading!

And yes, another Hamilton reference in the title. I’m sorry!

______

Tags: @octobereighth, @enmchoices, @sinclaire-ity, @sanchita012, @ethandaddyramsey, @takeharryandgo, @trappedinfandoms, @josieplayschoices, @somin-yin, @aestheticartwriting

#Distant shores #edward mortemer #Edward x mc #Playchoices #my writing

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randombtsprincessa · 4 years

Text

Best of Me

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Seokjin x Reader (She/Her) (2nd POV)

Words: 6.2k

Genre: Angst/Smut, Fluff if you’re looking for it!

Rating: Mature (18+)

Summary: Jin has been in love with you since your childhood. As time passes and you become two different individuals, will his love be left behind in the past or will he have a chance?

Warning: Major Purple Prose (Sorry, couldn’t help it!), Talk of arranged marriages, age gap (5 years), both are idiots tbh, swimming pool make out, explicit sex scene, fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe!) Irresponsible discharges but they’re too horny to care!

A/N: This fic was voted by the lovely readers of mine for my Blogversary! I hope all the people who voted are happy with this fic! I will hold another poll for the November Nanowrimo if time and circumstances allow and all the people who voted for other fics will have their chance again! Don’t worry though, all the fic ideas are going to be posted anyhoo!

The very first time that Jin had laid eyes on you, was probably when you were seven. He was a lanky twelve year old, content with lazing about his house, passing the summers in bliss just like it was expected from children of his age.

That had been right up until his elder sister, Moonbyul, marched into the house with you in tow.

Jin had been on the couch, feet up onto the carved winged arms. If his mother had known, he would’ve been grounded till the next school year; but he was too engrossed into the small handheld video game to be too concerned about consequences.

The loud chatter of a young child had interrupted his carefully structured gaming limbo – his eyes shifted, attention straying, and then his character was evaporating into a puff of pixilated smoke.

Jin let out one of the new expletives he’d recently learned, no fears for now, because it was just his sister – he knew she knew worse words.

“Jin, you’re home?” Moonbyul asked, first thing, seeing her brother slide down the sofa.

“Yeah, it’s too hot outside.” He glanced curiously at the girl who stood right next to his sister, before a wave of recognition flooded him.

It was the girl his sister babysat, daughter of one of their father’s friend – Y/N.

“Why’d you bring her here?” He asked.

“Y/N’s parents just left, she didn’t want to stay in.” Moonbyul huffed playfully at the girl and she giggled, showing small teeth.

“Right,” he returned his eyes to the kid. She was cute.

“I’ll be out at the pool with Y/N.” His sister informed before grabbing the hand Y/N stretched out to her caretaker. They passed by and the girl gave a final wave back to Jin who grinned, exaggeratedly waving his own hand to the girl, earning another giggle.

It was usual after that, for Jin to find Y/N and his sister at the pool. Y/N must’ve taken a liking to it, because even when Moonbyul wasn’t with her, he would spot her there, sometimes just sitting at the edge, sometimes doing laps.

You and Jin grew up together; the five year difference between you and him should’ve caused for a strange form of wariness between the relationships between you two. However, there was nothing of that sort for you – even when Jin could feel himself settling into being an adolescent.

You still found it comfortable and natural to swim in their pool, long after you crossed the age of babysitting, long after Moonbyul left for college.

You had grown into a little spitfire, all rebellious, boisterous laughter following your footsteps wherever you went. Jin and you went to the same school, him being close to graduating, while you were still spreading your roots. It wasn’t very unusual for him to hear your voice around the cafeteria, or the hallway and whenever he looked around, you shone like the sun, surrounded by people who absorbed your heat and reflected it.

It made him smile, reminded of the small girl whose giggles had echoed around his house.

In these times, he found it easier to bring himself to join you; donning on swimming trunks and a t-shirt.

The first time, he had to ask shyly if you would like some company and you had grinned, telling him it was his pool before he’d jumped in.

Swimming had become a bonding experience, the both of you delving deep into conversation in the moments where you would catch a breath.

It was at this time when he found out your favorite color, food, season, subjects. Stars weren’t just gaseous balls when you talked about them, space wasn’t just a void in your mind. Politics, medicine, law; these were just base human calculations for power. What could capitalism and corruption do to you when you were just a floating mass in the galaxy?

Jin had blinked at these words, finding it hard to adjust to your world view, when his own had been molded for the working world.

You were a gust of fresh river air, when all he had smelled was sea salt…and so he fell, sitting at the tiled edge of his own swimming pool, for a girl unattainable.

But just like everything that existed under the sun, this too had to end sometime.

Years passed before Jin saw you again, in a formal setting this time.

Jin had gone on to the same college Moonbyul had, completing his Masters before he came back home. He had grown, and well, if he had to be very honest. He had traded in his contacts, glasses perched on his nose; a crisp suit clad around his frame with a hand holding a glass of fine scotch.

His father had been ecstatic to have both his children home. His sister had already started working in the company and he was soon to join.

Congratulations were flowing as freely as the alcohol.

His father stood next to him, one hand clasping and clapping his shoulder occasionally as he boasted about his son’s degrees to his business associates when his eyes brightened.

“Y/F/N, come on in! Glad you could join us,” He left the group, striding to your father, embracing him and dropping air kisses on your mother when Jin saw you.

You stood farther back from the gaggle of parents, hands held to your front.

In a split second, Jin’s mind had conjured up a series of images. You, a child, giggling at him; you, his friend, talking about how soothing the scent of wet earth was and then every picture on social media – you growing up, becoming a little less loud, but not losing your outspoken nature. Your hair was longer now, collected with a pin to one side but the graceful nature of your attire meant nothing.

Jin knew that rebellion still pumped in your blood, he’d seen the posts about various debates, the conferences. You were still in college, but you had achieved more than he could hope for.

A small tendril of pride blossomed in his chest, looking at you now. He hoped you’d come talk to him, surprising himself.

Jin had accepted early on that he had fallen in love with you in his young days. He had also accepted that maybe nothing would ever come of it, that you would find him too old. So, he had moved on, dated; however, each picture that he liked on your social media just pushed a pin into his heart.

Hope, as it was, could not be curbed – he’d found. He knew it was dangerous, being close to you again, that he would fall again, but if his feelings were this easy to rekindle, then, had they ever vanished truly in the first place?

“Seokjin,”

He started, his eyes focusing on the speaker. Somewhere between his reminiscing, you’d spotted him, and as he had hoped had come over to say hello.

“Y/N,” He smiled naturally, a heartbeat skipped when you chose to wrap your arms around him. His own arms remained polite, one hand pressing you to him while the one holding his drink stayed carefully away from your dress.

“Look at you, all suited up and in glasses; I didn’t even know you wore glasses.” You said, pulling away to peer at his face.

“Yeah, I don’t…I don’t really post too many photos.” Jin smiled.

Your eyes were glinting from the soft affection that came with old friends but he couldn’t find anything else in them that pointed out that you felt anything more at his appearance.

“I saw your pictures though. Congratulations, college has been a good experience for you it seems.”

“More like I’m a good addition for the college,” you lowered your voice mischievously.

There it was; that stern surety in your own worth. Jin smiled again. “So, can we say this is official, your homecoming?” You asked.

“I’m going to join the company, so yeah.”

“Great, I’ll come visit you. I haven’t seen Moonbyul in so long as well.”

“Of course,” Jin was about to take a swig when a call of your name distracted both of you.

“Well, I have to go, enjoy your party, Jin.” You waved to him and with one final wave walked away, leaving Jin to sip from his glass with his eyes fixed on you.

It wasn’t long after that his father announced a date most auspicious for Jin to join. He was soon to retire anyway; his company would go to his children. He needed Jin to learn the ropes as soon as possible.

Jin worked diligently. He practically took the role of his father’s secretary; sitting with him in meetings, taking his calls and handling the jobs as best as he could.

Moonbyul had already moved on to a higher office, having worked about three years more than her brother. She would come by sometimes, give advice based on her own experiences.

Not long after, Jin was capable in his own rights.

He worked in his own office, overlooking the things his father pushed on to him dutifully.

Things were busy in a successful business; there was no time for Jin to linger over thoughts of you. He wanted to, more than anything, think about what it would mean with both of you now being in the same city.

Chances were he’d run into you, but then what?

What would he say? What would he even do?

It was safer for Jin to bury himself in his work.

So imagine his surprise, when his family was the one to bring you up – at the breakfast table, no less.

“The Y/L/Ns are talking about marrying Y/N off.” His father spoke.

Jin’s head was the first to swivel, followed by his mother’s and then his sister’s, who was still a little clumsy with the butter knife.

“What?” Jin asked, shocked.

“Well, the girl is old enough now. They are going to start looking for suitable grooms.” He avoided looking at Moonbyul, who very pointedly flexed her bare left hand.

His sister was proudly single, and a brilliant businesswoman. Not even their father was going to interfere with that aspect of her life.

“She can make her own choices.” She put in.

“I’m not saying she can’t.” Their father said. “I’m just saying they’re looking and,” he exchanged a look with his wife. “I took the liberty of putting your name up for consideration.”

Moonbyul looked surprised, blinking. “Father, I used to babysit her. That’s ludicrous.”

“Not you,” her father palmed his face. “Seokjin,”

Now Jin was the one to blink – but not in surprise. “Did they take it well?”

“Why wouldn’t they? You are a successful, well to do man; upright, a gentleman. You’ve been friends with Y/N, too.”

“He meant Y/N.” Moonbyul interrupted in her brother’s stead.

“Oh,” Mr. Kim looked abashed. “No, they’re still waiting for the right time to tell her.”

Jin looked down at his plate.

It was an odd sensation that brewed in his stomach. He was elated, yes, the thought of marrying Y/N was his dream come true…but she didn’t even know. She didn’t know anything. Her ignorance sent trepidation rampaging through him, crushing the small seeds of hope and happiness yet again.

He could eat no more.

Concentration upon his work, which was piling up with every phone call that passed his intercom was the last thing on his mind.

Instead, he spent most of the working morning with his chair turned around, staring blearily out the glass panes. He knew, coming back home, running into you was bound to send his heart down a memory lane that winded and twisted with lanes of confusion and anxiety.

“Jin,”

He swiveled the chair around with a start, seeing his sister stand at his door, a sardonic smile on her face.

“I was working! I was just taking a small breather.”

“Hey, chill, I’m not on your ass about work.” She breezed in, perching on the edge of his desk. “Nobody says you have to break your back plus you’re twenty seven. Stop acting like you’re still twelve and breaking curfew.”

It was Jin’s turn to give her a wry look. “If you’re not here about work, what are you ‘getting on my ass’ about?”

“Breakfast,”

He gave her a blank look.

“To be precise; I’m here to talk about Y/N.”

Her brother sat up straighter. “You didn’t tell her did you? Is she here? What did you do?” he stopped when he saw Moonbyul twinkle at him.

“You’ve got it so bad for her.” She said, laughing at the high color on Jin’s cheeks.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Jin slumped down in his chair, eyes fixed stubbornly at the photo swirl screen saver of his desktop.

Moonbyul rolled her eyes, sliding off her perch to walk and stand at his arm. “You’ve been obvious for years Jin. Why do you think Dad even said anything about you to Y/N’s parents? We all know…at least mom and dad and I do.”

All Jin could do was widen his eyes, flames now reaching his temples as he attempted to sink further down. They all knew…they all knew…? Had he been that tactless? Oh my god, did you know? Had you ever gleaned how he watched you, like you were made of soft marble, sparkling in the sun? That when you spoke, he listened…as if he just couldn’t help it…

“I…I do like her, a lot.” He admitted, although quietly quelling the word ‘love’. He wasn’t quite there, even if it was his sister he was talking to.

“So, why don’t you tell her? You’re friends. Try and talk to her.”

“What if she says ‘LOL Jin, but you’re like my brother’?” He sat up straighter. “I’m five years older to her. That’s like so old. She’s just going to say no and maybe never want to talk to me ever again after.”

“You can’t know that without even talking to her. Plus, you’re both adults now. Stop putting ideas into your own head, you’re going to drive yourself mad. Also, Y/N’s not like that. She’s not shallow.”

“I didn’t mean,”

“I know you didn’t. However, if you want even a shadow of a chance with her, you have to get out of your shell and start talking to her.”

The rest of the morning passed heavily on Jin’s shoulder. By the time lunch break arrived, he was more than ready to get out of his spacious office that somehow seemed too small for him now. Grabbing his wallet and keys, he hurried down by the elevator, heading over for the small café that he used to frequent in his school days.

It had been a very popular hotspot for the students in his schools and even now, he could hear the laughs and jokes of his friends ringing in his ears, bringing a fond smile to his plump lips.

Walking in, he indulged in the chime of the overhead bell, the smell of roasting coffee beans and the sugar wafting over the dessert counter as he stood in line to order his usual bagel and cream and some mocha.

“Jin,” He turned with the first bite of his bagel, cream smearing his top lip and his eyes nearly boggled at the sight of you sitting in one of the booths, laughing up at him.

“Y/N,” he choked on his mouthful, coughing as he approached her. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, getting lunch; I missed this little place. I saw you and thought…maybe we could get lunch together. Of course, if you don’t mind or aren’t too busy?”

“No, no, I’m not busy and of course I don’t mind.” Of course, he wouldn’t mind sitting down here with you, getting lunch, possibly fantasizing about how he’d get lunch with you if you were dating instead of just catching up.

He looked down to see a sandwich on your plate, no bites taken out of it and you pushed the plate till it sat in the middle, letting him place the bagel on your plate as well.

“Well then, tell me everything that’s happened to you since graduation.” You smiled and Jin started talking, watching all your expressions; the giddy smiles, the concerned frowns and the soft chuckles that you hid under your breath.

He didn’t know when the topic sided towards you but when you started talking about how you’d met so many interesting people on a few of your debate teams and their clashing ideologies, Jin erupted like an untimely science project.

“Did you know your parents want you to get married?”

You stuttered to a stop, the cup of tea pausing midway as you stared at him in shock. “What…what did you say? How did you know?”

Jin looked down quickly, scratching and pulling at his ear. “My parents…they told me…they…um, they heard your parents discussing it.” He lied through his teeth.

“Oh,” You looked down, giving Jin enough time to study you. “I don’t think I’d like to get married right now. There’s so much to do; so much to be, so much to see. I want to go places, to talk to people, to be every version of me there is. I can’t do that if I get married.” You said.

“Right,” Jin said weakly.

He couldn’t tell you, he decided. He couldn’t tell you about how you were most likely betrothed to him, and he absolutely couldn’t tell you how he felt about you.

You would never look at him the same.

However, it wasn’t enough to curb the unfurling ball of guilt that throbbed in his now uneasy stomach. He stared down at the half eaten bagel. He had to talk to his father.

“Dad?” Jin poked his head in to where his father sat in his study, poring over some reports he’d dragged in that day. The older Mr. Kim looked up, peering at his son over his glasses.

“Jin, come on in, what’s the matter?”

He walked in slowly, hands wringing behind his back. Nervous tension radiated off of him and he was pulling at his ears till he thought it’d come right off.

“I want to talk to you about something serious. About Y/N,” He said finally.

His father removed his glasses, tossing them on the discarded papers as he regarded his son. “You don’t want to marry her. Its fine, son; you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do. We can talk to her parents tomorrow.”

“No!” Jin took a quick step forward. He didn’t want that. What if her parents thought he had bad mouthed her? They would tell her and she would find out that he had kept her betrothal a secret – or worse, think he thought her inferior.

“I just…I want it to be postponed. She’s still in college and I talked to her today. She wants things out of life, dad and being married in our world is just going to put her in a wife box. She doesn’t want that. Hell, I don’t want that for her.” He sighed. “I just want her to get what she wants before she thinks of settling down. We can wait till then, can’t we?”

His father narrowed his eyes in thought, about to reply when a softer voice interrupted them. Jin’s eyes widened, head whirling to see you standing at the open door, mouth agape.

“You knew? You knew and you didn’t tell me? All that talk in the café and you just -,”

“Y/N,”

You turned on your heel, storming away from the study and Jin sprang out of where he’d sunk down in one of his father’s armchairs.

“Wait, Y/N, wait, for god’s sake!” Jin managed to grip her arm at the front door, slamming it shut behind him for privacy. You immediately snatched the appendage away but turned mercifully, allowing him to talk.

“I’m sorry, ok. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He began.

“Do you know how stupid I feel? I asked my parents about what you said today and they said that they had already picked you to be my husband,” Jin flinched at the venom in your voice, “and all I thought about was that I should tell you so you wouldn’t be shocked but guess what, you already know. You knew and you let me think,” You flung out your hands, stepping back from him.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you just say something? You heard me talking about all my dreams, all the things I want from my life. I thought you were my friend. What possible motive could you have had for not telling me? And now, you don’t even want to marry me.”

“Of course I want to marry you.” Jin broke in, roughly. “I’ve been in love with you ever since we were kids, Y/N. I want to marry you yes, but I also want you to have everything you want.”

Y/N’s harsh words had faded away, leaving behind only a squeak of surprise in its stead.

“You…you what?” You stammered.

“You heard me Y/N. it’s been forever and I still feel for you the same as I did when I was a high school boy. All I want is what’s best for you. Even if,” Jin gulped, shamefaced, “even if you decide that it’s not me.”

He watched you falter, something softening behind those deep eyes he loved to watch spark with mischief. “I…” The word hung between them, suspended in nothing but years of repressed words.

Then without uttering another word, you turned and walked away from him.

It had been a week of no contact.

Y/N’s parents had called late that night, wondering if Y/N had shown up at their face and his father had skillfully relayed the events, asking for any news to be forwarded to them as well; Jin was anxious.

And it was true…

Jin hadn’t stopped replaying the last encounter with Y/N in his head, shuddering away from the poisonous look in her eyes and voice before he’d shocked the rest of her anger away.

He’d been right; she didn’t want anything to do with him. Moonbyul had been wrong.

“Seokjin,” His father knocked on his door.

“Yeah,” he sat up straighter.

“Y/N called home,” His father stood in his doorway, peeking about at the thrown about clothes and other belongings that Jin couldn’t bring himself to put back properly.

“Ok, what did she say?” Jin sighed in relief to himself.

“She went back to her college dorm, with some friends. She said she’ll be back…later, that she needed some time to think about things.”

Jin pulled in his shoulders at that, shriveling up in himself. It didn’t matter. You were safe. That was more important. So why couldn’t he just be happy?

“Son, relax; this isn’t as bad as you think. She’s safe; she hasn’t outright told her family about the fight. She just needs space.”

“Yeah, I know, but I…I don’t think she’ll come back here, to me.”

“Nonsense,”

“Dad,” His father turned to look at him. “I love her. I told her and she still left.”

His father’s face changed, turning sympathetic before giving him a bracing smile. “Like I said, she needs space; don’t lose hope, son. She’ll come back soon enough, you’ll see.”

Jin waited till his father had shut the door and walked some distance away before scoffing.

Hope…

He was really starting to hate that word.

His body felt cold now, almost freezing. The water in the pool had been freshly poured in and though night swims weren’t something Jin indulged in usually, he was making an exception.

He’d shucked off his shirt and pants, taking a quick running dive into the water to build up his guts. The ice cold water had hit him like a sucker punch and he’d gasped, floating up to the surface, holding himself in the water to build up resistance.

He turned around onto his back, letting his long frame buoy up by the water. He snorted once when he thought about how he’d been teased that water would support him more because he had a huge built.

“Having fun?”

For the second time in not too long, he startled. His body upended, face meeting the water and then he was grappling for foothold, standing up to glare at the intruder. He immediately backtracked when he saw that it wasn’t his sister, but the reason why he was dunking himself in freezing waters so late at night.

You sat, legs crossed in the gazebo near the pool, face in your palm, watching him impassively.

“Y/N!” Jin nearly shouted before realizing the time, looking about in case someone was up in the house. “You’re back, how did you get in here?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been coming here since I was a toddler, Jin. I know the ways to this pool better than you do.”

“Oh,” Jin remained awkward, kicking idly in the water when you stood walking around out of the roofed gazebo to stand at the pool edge.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?”

“About where I went, why I went away…I don’t know, questions that I think my parents will ask when I go home.”

That had Jin’s head snapping back up to you. “You mean you didn’t go home?”

“Nope,” You shook your head. “Just arrived, came straight here,”

“I’m…flattered.” Jin managed weakly, thrilling when the tips of your lips twitched up in an amused smile.

“Can I join?”

Jin glanced around at the large pool. “Sure, why not?”

He backed up a little to create more space for you but what he wasn’t prepared for was you grabbing the hem of your sun dress, lifting it up completely off your head, revealing a simple black sports bra and boy shorts combo.

Jin averted his eyes, feeling heat rise up in his neck, along with something that made him grateful for the cold water. You draped the dress over the back of a deck chair, jumping in right next to him.

Jin exhaled, at least the water and the mild night lights of the pool hid most of your bare skin from his view.

“Race you?”

“You’re on.”

Jin and you drew back to one end of the pool before taking laps to the other end, to and fro.

Finally when you both urged at one end, Y/N’s palm slapping the top of the tiles in triumph, Jin pushed his hair back with both hands, panting. He wasn’t that far from Y/N, but the way she gave him a sheepish grin was enough for him to agree to his defeat.

“Guess it wasn’t a fair competition; you’re getting old.” You dunked your head into the pool before emerging again, launching up to sit at the edge. Jin smiled wryly, drifting closer to float near you, unspeaking for a while as you both caught your breaths.

“Do you know why I don’t want to get married?” You asked suddenly.

Jin glanced back at you, kicking in the water, not meeting his eyes. There was a glum set to your mouth. He decided not to reply, letting you answer yourself.

“It’s because as sweet as the institution sounds in itself, it’s also…binding, constricting. I’ve seen your mom and mine and they are happy, they love our dads but well…they don’t have anything to say for themselves. You know who does; Moonbyul, she’s happy single and she’s one of the most leading names in business. I don’t want to be trapped like that, at least not right now. It was never about you. It was about what I wanted for myself.”

Jin lowered his head. “Y/N, we’re not getting married. You don’t have to worry.”

He caught Y/N turn her head towards him quickly before looking away. “I…wow, thank you.”

“And even if we were,” Jin turned around to look earnestly up at you. “It would change nothing. I would never hold you back from what you want, ever. You know that. I would want you to go on out, talk some more, change the world, and I would gladly be in the audience watching you do that.”

Your lips twitched now, the shy smile that was ever so rare for you spreading across your face. You slowed your feet until the water stopped splashing up around Jin’s waist. There was still a gloomy air to you but now there was a resolute gleam in your eye, one he was very familiar with.

You looked at him. “You weren’t the only one, you know?”

“Hmm,” Jin frowned.

“With feelings,” You said bluntly. “You weren’t the only one.”

It took a few moments for your words to sink into Jin, sending his eyebrows flying up and jaw to fall slack. “You…” He took a deep breath, shivering just a little in the cold. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He managed weakly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Of course I didn’t say anything.” Jin was getting frustrated. He was cold and now he was learning that the girl he’d been pining after for years felt something too but was still returning fire at him as if they were still in their teens, arguing about everything and anything under the sun.

“I was older than you. You were so popular at school with all these people hanging about you all the time. The only time we had together was when you would come in here or outside. After I graduated, there was nothing I could do or say. I didn’t want to put anything on you that you could do without.”

“So, age is basically the only thing you were worried about.”

Jin raised his head in outrage but you chuckled. “Because I thought the same; I was so young and you were so much more matured. There was no way you’d look at me like anything but the child your sister used to babysit.”

“But I never let it stop me,” You continued. “I mean, I knew you wanted me to succeed, I know that, so I took every chance I could get. I put myself out there, I posted pictures so you could see and be proud of me. Every like you left on all the photos was basically what was encouraging me.”

“So,” Jin felt as if he was boiling the water around him. The urge to reach up and pull you down to him was maddening, especially when you were saying everything that he had been dying to hear.

“I know you’re the best for me. You’re the reason I want to be the best of me. So, what I’m saying is that; yeah, I will marry you, Kim Seokjin. Just…not yet; give me at least till graduation.”

He did reach up then, curling cold hands around your face to pull you down till his face. It was easier, he was taller than you and the water - ironically – buoyed him up.

Your words disappeared in his mouth, a gust of hot breath sending goose bumps rising at the back of his neck. Jin dropped back down to his feet, with you leaning over him, your arms slowly sliding along his shoulder blades before winding around his neck.

You giggled against his lips when he pulled back. “Took you long enough,”

“Took you longer,” Jin argued.

“No, if you consider your age,”

“Shut up, Y/N,” Jin tugged you closer again, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Mm, you’re so bossy.”

“Now you know what I’ve been through all those years.”

“You’re right. Let’s just shut up.”

Jin gladly cut the banter short, your lips colliding against his harder this time. He opened his mouth, breathing in the scent of you, tasting you when you slid him your tongue.

You stayed there by the edge of the pool, your legs wrapped around his waist, holding him close as you released all the pent up frustration, accumulated for years.

When Jin pulled away from you, your eyes fluttered open, heavy lidded and chest heaving from the exertion. Your forehead dropped on his, clear about what you wanted. Jin twisted his mouth.

“Y/N,”

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom on me right now.” Jin admitted. He’d come for a swim. There had been no reason for him to be packing.

You hummed, brushing light kisses over his temple, down to his jaw. “Can you pull out?”

Cock twitching, Jin groaned, reaching down with one hand to rub along the pulsing length. You caught the action, grinning at him so willingly that he had to laugh at well.

“Ok,”

You untangled from him, springing up so he could clamber up behind you, following you when you flopped down on the futon in the gazebo.

“Wait, here?” Jin asked, standing over you.

“Where else; you want to wait till we get inside?” You reached up for his hand, pulling him in till he was hovering over you, one hand bracing his weight over your head and the other landing square on the crotch of your underwear.

The fabric was cool but he could feel the slick friction of your pussy, his fingers running over the cloth, rubbing against the nub till you were arching your back, hands gripping onto his wrist. Hair fell into Jin’s eyes, drying into chlorinated clumps and he had to shake his head to see you clearly, meeting your eye with a lascivious smile.

You parted your legs further, reaching back for the tie on your sports bra, pulling at the knots till the constricting material fell away, baring your chest to him, nipples peaking and jolting with each broken breath you drew.

Jin descended, swollen lips catching onto one peak and giving it a hard suck, pushing the crotch aside to sink in once long, crooked finger in your heat. Your moan had him grunting, pushing in further till the digit nestled in you up till the knuckle.

“Fuck,” You both gasped out at the same time, the feeling of your walls trapping the fingers, quivering at the intrusion, sending Jin’s cock nearly bursting the seams of his trunks. You tilted your head further to him, meeting his lips in a messy kiss as Jin gently began to thrust his finger, in and out, twisting as your slick coated your nether lips enough for him to squeeze in two.

He scissors his fingers, thumb circling your clit as you keened, soft mewls falling from your lips.

Your arms wrapped over his shoulders, your lips at his ear, hot breath wafting against his skin, “Want you inside of me, now.” You ordered and Jin complied all too happily.

Removing his fingers, he gripped at the hem of his short, tugging them off. The material clung to his skin, sticky from the pool water and now sweaty but he finally managed to kick it off, slipping the boy shorts down your legs till it hung from your ankle.

Running his slicked fist over his length he led himself to your entrance, eyes blown out as he slowly pushed into your hot, tight core. His head fell back, jaw falling to let out a loud groan that had you pushing your lips against his to muffle.

Your own whines and gasps were lost against his shoulder as he bent over you, nesting your head in the crook of his arm. His free hand grabbed hold of your leg, hitching it till it rested at the curve of his waist.

The first hard thrust had you both releasing expletives.

“You’re so big.” You almost accused as Jin parted from you to stare at the sight of his cock disappearing into your folds…again…and again…and again.

“You’re just too tight.” He gritted his teeth, the sight more erotic than he had prepared for and he gave you a helpless look. “I’m not going to last long.”

You shook your head, hands reaching up over your head for something hold. “Don’t worry; me neither.”

Jin twined your hands together, fingers grasping at each other as he quickened his pace, the angle at which he hit, allowing your clit to brush his pelvis in time with his thrusts.

Your orgasm hit you moments before his, making you curl up around him like a vice as he pulled out hurriedly, roughly jerking his hand to his cock but you sat up as well, wrapping your own softer hands around his shaft, twisting it at the base and tightening at the head.

Jin came in a gush, his release splashing over your hands, and some even hitting your exposed chest.

“Oh fuck,” Jin cursed, voice higher in embarrassment as he sought his shirt first, scrubbing out cum as best as he could from your skin.

“Oh god, relax.” You laughed, taking the shirt so you could wipe at your hands. Jin reached for his pants, sliding them on before fetching your dress, helping you slip it on. He surreptitiously snuck your shorts into his own pocket, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“You’re staying the night, right?” He asked.

You shot him a teasing smile, arms winding around his neck so you could pull yourself onto your tiptoes. “Sure why not; I don’t suppose I can get in trouble for staying over at my fiancé’s house. Plus, I love morning sex.”

The last part was whispered in his ear, making him groan as he grabbed his discarded shirt, your hand patting his behind to get him to walk towards the house.

#smutcentralnet #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #jin smut #bts smut #seokjin smut #jin fanfic #bts fanfic #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #jin x reader #bts x reader #bts scenarios #jin scenarios

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bubonickitten · 3 years

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Fic summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Chapter summary: The process(es) of resigning from a terrible, no good, very bad assistant position.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Full chapter text & content warnings below the cut.

Content warnings for Chapter 22: discussions of eye-gouging/eye horror (not graphic); brief mentions of spiders/arachnophobia; anxiety/panic symptoms; lots of dissociation/dpdr; Peter Lukas being a manipulative shit; Lonely-typical content (including fear of abandonment & some abysmal self-esteem on Martin’s part); allusions to police violence & Hunt-related themes (re: Daisy’s past actions); swears. SPOILERS through Season 5.

Chapter 22: Resignation

Georgie paces in a slow circle, alternating between biting her nails and picking at her bottom lip – entirely immersed in her own thoughts, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. Jon hasn’t seen her this overwrought since the last depressive episode he witnessed. Just watching her is enough to make his chest tighten with vicarious unrest.

Wary of contributing to a vicious feedback loop between the two of them with his own customary pacing and handwringing, he forces himself to keep his knees locked and hands at his sides. Still, he can’t help rubbing his fingertips together and rocking minutely on the balls of his feet.

“Why don’t we sit?” Jon finally interjects, wincing when it comes out more curtly than he intended – more like a command than a suggestion, but luckily without any accompanying static.

Be mindful, he silently chides himself: being on edge like this only makes him more susceptible to accidental compulsion.

“What if something goes wrong?” Georgie whispers. Jon doubts she even heard him beneath her nervous refrain. “What if –”

“Georgie?” Jon tries again. No response. He steps into her path and places a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie.”

“What?” Georgie raises her head, but she isn’t looking at him so much as she’s looking through him.

“I think you should sit down?”

“What?” Georgie says again, sounding utterly lost. Her eyes are darting around the room now, as if she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

How the tables have turned, Jon thinks grimly.

“Come on,” he says, taking her hand and guiding her to the nearest chair. She offers no resistance, trailing behind him like a flagging balloon. When he presses on her shoulder to coax her into a sitting position, she goes easily. Keeping hold of her hand, he drags another chair closer to her and takes a seat.

Okay. Now what?

Jon jiggles his leg as he wracks his brain for the right thing to say. She deserves more than handholding and awkward silence, but soothing words have never come naturally to him.

“Do you, ah… do you want to talk about it?” Jon cringes at his faltering delivery. “I’m sorry, I’m – I’m still not very good at this,” he adds with a self-deprecating laugh – then immediately shuts his eyes, kicking himself. Why are his attempts to relate to others always so clumsy and – and weirdly self-centered? “I mean –”

“I’m scared,” Georgie blurts out.

“You… what?” Jon tilts his head. “But I thought – you don’t feel –”

“Fear?” Her clipped, brittle laugh dies in her throat. “No, I don’t. And that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

Jon strokes the back of her hand with one thumb, but remains silent. She always elaborates on her own time, given some space to order her thoughts.

“I don’t feel… terror,” she says slowly. “After I had my… encounter, I did a lot of research on how the brain works. Trying to understand what was happening to me, you know?”

Jon nods. He’s intimately familiar with that urge. As a child, he went through a spider phase, as his grandmother called it, obsessively seeking out any information he could on them, hoping even then that he could conquer his fear if only he could see the world through a detached, academic lens. There were plenty of academic odes to the spider to be found; no shortage of enamored arachnologists waxing poetic about the wonders of evolution and the vital role that arachnids play in their particular ecological niches.

Unfortunately, a phobia – especially one arising from acute trauma – tends to be resistant to reason and reality. His obsession only ever yielded heart palpitations and lucid nightmares. Despite that failure, he never stopped clinging to that idea that if only he could know everything there was to know about a thing, he could finally scrape together some semblance of control over his fear.

In many ways, that fixation is exactly what drew him to the Magnus Institute.

Unless the Spider really was pulling the strings all along, he thinks, and then: No, we are not going there.

“As far as I can tell,” Georgie continues, “my sympathetic nervous system still functions. I can still experience all the physiological aspects of sympathetic arousal – and fear is only one possible trigger for those sorts of responses. What’s missing is my capacity to interpret those responses through the lens of fear. To emotionally process or identify them as fear.

“I can still experience anxiety, to an extent – or something close to it. But mostly in the context of worrying about others, being scared for them. I mean, I can feel apprehensive about the possibility of experiencing pain or loss or failure myself, I have a stake in my continued existence, I can recognize danger, but sometimes it feels… I don’t know – mechanical, almost? There’s just always the feeling of something missing. Something important. And there are times when I feel that void more acutely.”

“Like now.”

“Yeah.” Georgie looks away, chewing her lip in silence.

“I’m listening,” Jon coaxes, sensing that there’s more she’s holding back.

“It’s just… hard to feel like a full person sometimes, you know?” Georgie says helplessly. “I worry sometimes that it – I don’t know, does a disservice, I guess, to the people I care about? Like no matter how much I love someone, it isn’t… complete? Or – genuine, in the right way? It’s – hard to find words that actually describe it. There are times when it feels like I’ve lost something vital that made me human, that made me me, and it’s… difficult to reconcile who I was – who I could have been – with who I am now.”

“That I understand,” Jon says softly.

“I know.” Jon wishes he was less familiar with the sad smile she gives him just then. “It’s just… I remember a time when I would have been terrified of all this. Not just worried, or upset about someone I care about being hurt, or devastated by the prospect of losing someone I love. Terrified. And knowing what I should be feeling – what I would have felt at some point – is… it’s unnerving. There’s a void there that shouldn’t be there. It’s like… having part of you gouged out and left hollow. An absence that’s so present it’s almost visceral.” She frowns. “Does that make any sense?”

“In my future I had a Flesh Avatar reach into my chest and wrench out two of my ribs, so… yes, actually.”

Georgie blinks several times, then laughs breathlessly. “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Jon returns a cautious smile, but the levity evaporates after a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think that you don’t have to have access to the full spectrum of human emotion in order to count as human. And I don’t think any of this makes your concern for others any less heartfelt, or – or comforting. You might not be the same person you were before you were marked, but that doesn’t make you any lesser as a person.”

“You should try applying that metric to yourself sometime,” she replies, not unkindly.

“It’s –”

“Don’t say it’s different,” she cuts in. “Just… keep it in mind, okay?”

“I’ll, uh… I’ll try.” Georgie nods, but says nothing. Jon grips her hand a little tighter. “Listen, I – I know you’re worried for Melanie, but I think it’s going to be alright? I can’t predict the future –well, I have knowledge of one possible future, but that’s because I lived it. I don’t have any precognitive abilities, or anything like that. But… it turned out okay last time.”

Until I jump-started an apocalypse –

Jon reins in the thought before it can gain momentum. Georgie doesn’t need his brooding right now.

“Melanie is a fighter,” he says instead, offering a tentative smile. “And she has you.”

Georgie shakes her head. “I can’t believe you came out of the apocalypse sappier than you were when you went in.”

“Side effect of traversing a post-apocalyptic wasteland with a hopeless romantic, I think.” That gets another little chuckle out of Georgie. “I mean it, though. I think Melanie will be okay, especially with you looking out for her. Not to mention, the Admiral is a perpetual serotonin generator.”

“You really miss him, huh?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve pet a cat, Georgie?” Jon practically whines, playfully dramatic. It manages to keep the amused smile on Georgie’s face, he’s pleased to note.

“Maybe I should bring him by sometime.”

“Absolutely not. This place doesn’t deserve him.” Georgie snorts. Although Jon is reluctant to ruin the temporary shift in mood, this is as good a time as any to broach a subject he’s been dreading. “Also, I, ah… I don’t want you to feel obligated to continue visiting here.”

“What?” Georgie says, eyes narrowed.

“If you have to take a step back,” Jon says carefully, “I’ll understand.”

“I mean, I might not be able to come by as often as I have been, especially while Melanie is still recovering, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be around at all.” Georgie’s frown deepens. “I’m not about to cut you out of my life, Jon.”

“I know. And I don’t want you to. But – no, listen,” Jon insists, seeing Georgie about to protest. “What I’m trying to say is – I know Melanie wants to put as much distance between herself and the Institute as possible. If it turns out that you staying involved in all of this is too close to home, then… well, I don’t want her to feel like she’s still trapped in the Institute’s orbit, is all.”

Or mine, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t want to be a reason for Melanie to feel unsafe. In the past, he has been – and that’s not who he wants to be.

These days, Melanie has come to view him more as a fellow captive than a complicit enemy. Lingering resentment still sparks to life from time to time; she still struggles with her anger, and once or twice, she’s had to leave a room for fear of that rage boiling over. Overall, though, she no longer directs the majority of her ire towards him. When they do butt heads, it hasn’t gone much further than bickering – and even that feels comforting in its familiarity and mundanity. Almost companionable, in its own way.

Most significantly, ever since their talk, Melanie hasn’t once likened him to Jonah Magnus. Jon doesn’t know if that’s because it’s no longer an automatic association at the forefront of her mind, or because she’s consciously watching her words around him, actively taking care to avoid tripping that perpetual trigger. Either way, Jon is grateful.

But Jon also knows that he’s inseparable from the Institute. Despite his intentions, and regardless of whether or to what degree the others hold him personally responsible, the fact remains: he’s embroiled in something unspeakably evil, and that poses a danger to anyone who stands too close to him.

Georgie doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking the time to seriously consider his words. He’s always appreciated that about her, as uneasy as these moments of silent suspense can make him.

“I’ll talk to her about it,” she says eventually, “once she’s recovered enough to have that discussion. I don’t know how she’ll feel about staying in direct contact herself, especially at first, but… I doubt she expects me to cut you off. And I imagine she’ll still want to know how everyone is doing, even if she doesn’t want the details.” She glances up to meet his eyes. “Anyway, regardless of how often I visit in person, I’m still going to be checking in with you, so answer your damn phone, will you?”

“I do answer my phone,” he says defensively. “I just… forget to answer texts sometimes. And I don’t get service in the tunnels –”

“Well, come up for air and cell service from time to time.” She wrinkles her nose. “Honestly, I don’t know how you can tolerate being down here for hours on end –”

Jon startles slightly as the trapdoor creaks open above their heads. Georgie stands as Melanie makes her way down the ladder, hurrying over to fold her into her arms. Basira follows behind, closing the trapdoor behind her as she goes.

“Mission successful, I take it?” Jon says quietly as Basira approaches him, giving Georgie and Melanie a moment to themselves.

“Uneventful,” Basira says with a shrug. “A few sidelong glances, but otherwise, none of the library staff even acknowledged us. Definitely didn’t seem keen on asking why we were rummaging in the repair supplies.”

“They probably didn’t want to know.”

“Yeah.” A small, rueful smile crosses her face. “Some of them used to talk to me, you know. Nothing personal – we weren’t close – but… when I returned a book, they’d ask what I thought of it, give me recommendations, that sort of thing. Now, though…”

These days she prefers to wait until everyone has gone home for the day before visiting the library, Jon Knows. He also Knows that the library staff are well aware that she’s the one pilfering research materials in the dead of night – and that they have no plans on confronting her about it. She never leaves a mess, after all, and always returns items to their proper places once she’s finished with them, which is more than can be said for many of the students who make use of the library’s resources.

“You know, I don’t think any of them have looked me in the eye for months.” There’s a distinct note of regret in Basira’s voice. “They just watch me out of the corners of their eyes when they think I’m not looking. I don’t know if that’s because they’re afraid of Lukas disappearing them for fraternizing, or because everyone is leery of the Archives these days, or because I’ve just become less approachable. Maybe all three. Suppose it doesn’t really matter.”

Jon knows the feeling well. Before he can answer, though, Melanie clears her throat. Jon looks over to see her facing his direction, one hand clasping Georgie’s tight enough to blanch her knuckles.

“This is it, then,” Basira says solemnly.

“Yeah.” Melanie closes her eyes and breathes a long, shaky exhale. “It’s time.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me there?” Georgie asks.

Melanie shakes her head. “I don’t want you to see that.”

“But –”

“She won’t be alone,” Basira says. “I’ll be right outside the room.”

Melanie faces Georgie fully, taking her other hand as well. “The plan hasn’t changed. Basira will call 999. I’ll make it quick, and – once it’s done, Basira will come in and sit with me until the ambulance gets here.”

“I have a general idea of what the response time should be like,” Basira adds, looking at Georgie. “If we time it right, Melanie will have medical assistance within minutes. I can come get you when the paramedics get here, if you want to ride in the ambulance.”

Georgie nods and tightens her grip on Melanie’s hands. “Is that okay?”

“Only if you want,” Melanie says haltingly. “But – maybe try to avoid looking too close, if my eyes are uncovered? It’s just – it probably won’t be pretty.” A stressed laugh claws its way out of her throat. “Potential trauma fodder, you know? I don’t want to worry about you remembering me like that every time you see me, even after I’ve healed.”

“Okay,” Georgie replies softly.

“It shouldn’t take long. Just – wait here with Jon until then, okay?” Georgie nods again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Speaking of which –” Melanie glances at Jon, as if just now remembering his presence. Startled by the sudden direct eye contact, he reflexively straightens his spine and stands at attention. “I guess this is goodbye, huh? For a while, anyway.”

“I, uh. I suppose it is.”

“Right. So, um… good luck, I guess?”

No disclaimers or ill will tacked on this time, Jon notes privately.

“You too.” He forces a smile, but he suspects that it comes off as awkward rather than reassuring.

“Try not to die.”

“Yes, ‘not dying’ is relatively close to the top of my to-do list.”

“If I come to find out that you’ve gotten yourself killed and broken the eldritch employment contract binding us all to this place after I’ve gone and gouged my eyes out, I’m going to be livid.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jon says wryly.

“Seriously, though.” Melanie’s smirk melts away, taken over by a somber, quiet sort of intensity. “Either beat Elias at his own game, or get the fuck away from this place the instant you find an out. Whichever comes first. Preferably without any of the self-sacrificial bullshit.”

Fractious as its delivery is, the demand is oddly touching, coming from Melanie.

“I, uh… I’ll do my best?”

“You’d better.” Melanie nods – a curt but cordial dismissal – and turns her attention back to Georgie. “Hey,” she says, her voice going measurably softer, releasing one of Georgie’s hands to reach up and cup her face. Her watery smile belies her mental state: resolve warring with trepidation. “Look at me?”

For a long minute, she studies Georgie’s face, clearly enraptured. Jon forcefully tears his gaze away from the intimacy of the moment.

“Okay.” Melanie takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “I’m ready. I’ll see you soon, okay? Or – well, I won’t see you, but – you’ll see me, and I’ll…” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, whatever – you know what I mean.”

Georgie lets out a tearful chuckle, and Melanie relaxes marginally.

“I’m sure about this,” she says. “I promise. This is what I want – a life with you, away from all of this. And if this is the price I have to pay, then… I’m okay with that. Really, I am.” She stands on tiptoe to give Georgie a peck on the cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Georgie says, leaning down for a return kiss, smiling weakly against Melanie’s lips. “See you soon.”

When Martin first heard the bustle outside his door – coworkers venturing outside their solitary offices to trade whispered questions and eager gossip as word of paramedics in the archives made its way upstairs – his stomach gave a little lurch: a combination of horror and wonder. He hadn’t expected Melanie to change her mind – he knows how determined she can be once she’s settled on a course of action; how desperate she was to extricate herself from Elias’ – Jonah’s – schemes. Still, though, faced with the reality of it, he found himself in awe of her nerve.

That was yesterday. Martin didn’t get much work done, preoccupied as he was. He isn’t having an easier time of it today: his attention keeps slipping away to linger in remembrances of sterile hospital rooms and muted hallways, thoughts drowned out by the ghosts of sirens and beeping machinery.

“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events.”

Martin jolts in his seat, heart leaping into his throat. It only takes an instant longer for his alarm to mutate into aggravation.

“Peter!” Martin spins around to glower at the man. “How many times do I have to–”

Peter flaps a dismissive hand. “To be honest, Martin, the drop in temperature tends to tip most people off. The only reason you continue to be surprised by my arrival is because you’ve become acclimated to the Forsaken.”

The revelation is slow to sink in, a stark chill blooming in Martin’s chest and snaking its roots outwards. Only now that it’s been brought to his attention can he feel the nip in the air.

“Here I was certain you were becoming estranged from our patron, but it seems I needn’t have worried.” Peter’s smile is laced with malice. “Or should I?”

Martin says nothing, eyes wide and stinging from the now-conspicuous cold. Peter sighs, folds his hands behind his back, and begins a meandering back-and-forth pace.

“Our success is dependent on your voluntary isolation, Martin.”

“Yeah.” The word turns to fog as it touches the air, and Martin finds himself transfixed by the sight. “You’ve said.”

“It seems you need a reminder.”

The condescension dripping from the words is enough to drag Martin back into the present moment. Heat rises in his cheeks, contrasting with the temperature in the room and making the chill that much more noticeable.

“You still haven’t told me your plan,” he snaps. “You keep expecting me to just – go along with whatever you’re scheming, no questions asked.”

“You ask many questions, Martin –”

“Yeah, and you never answer them! You’re so – so bloody cryptic about all of this.”

“Martin, Martin,” Peter says, placating in the most patronizing way possible. Martin bristles: he hates the way Peter says his name. “There’s no need to get so worked up –”

“If you want me to be a partner in – in whatever it is you’re planning, you can’t expect me to go on blind trust!”

“I’m still conducting my own research,” Peter says mildly. “I would rather not confuse you with extraneous details before I have all the kinks worked out.”

“I’m not an idiot –”

“Rest assured,” Peter interrupts, “if I was capable of stopping the Extinction alone, I would. Unfortunately, it will require someone touched by the Beholding.”

“Why?”

“Because it requires this place, and this place” – Peter’s lip curls in distaste – “is the Eye’s seat of power. The One Alone has no dominion here.” Martin crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You are the only one who can do this, Martin.”

“Why?” Martin repeats.

Judging from the muscle ticking in Peter’s jaw, his limited supply of patience for conversation is precipitously depleting.

“No, really,” Martin presses, “why me? I mean” – he spreads his arms out with a scornful chuckle – “look at me. I’m not exactly hero material, am I?”

“That really depends on you. I can’t force you to cooperate. It won’t even work unless you’re a willing participant.”

“And what makes you think that your plan is the only way? You – you keep going on about how it’s my choice. Well – what if I choose to work with the others? It can’t hurt to have more eyes on the problem –” Martin rolls his eyes at Peter’s unconcealed revulsion. “Yeah, I know. No one would ever accuse you of being a team player, obviously. But I can be the liaison; you don’t have to interact with anyone at all.” Would prefer you don’t interact with anyone at all, Martin thinks. “I mean, that’s already my role, isn’t it? Dealing with people so you don’t have to?”

“Martin,” Peter says, low and dangerous.

“I’ll do it off the clock, even. I’ll isolate myself in my office during the workday, or whatever” – Martin gives a flippant wave of his hand – “and continue researching the Extinction.” And practically running the whole damn place on an assistant’s salary, he grouses silently. “After hours I’ll pursue my own research with the others.”

“Part-time isolation will not suffice to equip you with the power you’ll need.” Peter presses his lips into a pale, rigid line. “Be reasonable. Are you really willing to risk an apocalypse, just because you can’t appreciate solitude?”

“If it starts to look like there’s no other option, I’ll reconsider.”

“And if the Extinction emerges while you’re wasting time searching for an alternative that doesn’t exist?”

“Based on the limited information you’ve given me, I don’t think the Extinction is going to just… emerge overnight. I’m still not even convinced it’s going to be worse than any other Fear. I mean, the Flesh is relatively new, isn’t it? And it didn’t… leave the fear economy in shambles, or whatever.”

“It isn’t about competition, Martin.” Peter releases a slow plume of fog through his nose before continuing, voice cool but simmering with pique just under the surface. “The Extinction is different from the other Powers. It is defined by widescale eradication. The other Powers may seek to change the world, but none of them strive for a world without us.”

“But what makes you so sure the Extinction would?”

Peter’s eyes narrow. Ignoring him, Martin runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he replays Jon’s impassioned conjectures on the matter: It thrives on the potentiality of a mass extinction event, not the fulfillment of one.

“What’s to say it wouldn’t be just fine with the world as it is, like the End?” Martin says, more confidently now. “People have been prophesying about the end of the world for – all of human history, probably. I doubt we’ll stop anytime soon. Maybe at its core the Extinction is just… the fear of an uncertain future. And a particular future doesn’t have to be realized in order to inspire fear, as long as the potential is always there. It’s about the suspense – the ‘what ifs’, the unknown, the – the lack of control in it all.” Martin laughs. “In a way, that’s… that’s what most fears boil down to, isn’t it?”

“The stakes are rather high to gamble on a thought experiment, don’t you think?” The temperature plunges a few more degrees as Peter speaks. “I think that the most important ‘what if’ you should concern yourself with is what if you’re wrong?”

“And what if I’m not?” Martin counters. “You act so authoritative, but aren’t you also just speculating? When I agreed to work with you, you told me you would provide me with evidence to support your theory. So far, I’m not convinced. You’re going to have to give me more to go on than just ‘trust me.’ I mean – if it’s between trusting you and – and trusting Jon, and the others? You can’t really be surprised if I choose them over you.”

“Oh, Martin,” Peter tuts, shaking his head with derisive, disingenuous pity. “Since when has the trust you’ve placed in others ever been reciprocated?”

“I trust him,” Martin says defiantly.

“But does he trust you?” Peter pauses for effect. “Of all the times you’ve allowed yourself to form attachments, has anyone even once genuinely returned those affections?”

Jon did.

Whatever expression Martin is wearing brings a sneer to Peter’s face. Martin clenches his teeth and ignores him.

Jon does, he corrects. Present tense. He said as much.

Martin still can’t fathom what Jon could possibly see in him, but Jon wouldn’t lie about something like that, right? He wouldn’t.

…would he?

No, he wouldn’t, Martin chides. You know he wouldn’t. Trust him.

“Sure,” Peter persists, “you may open yourself up to the potential for something more, but you know as well as I do that it won’t last. Is the inevitable loss really worth the risk?”

“I don’t know,” Martin says. He tries to ignore the slight quaver that insinuates itself into the declaration. “But if I never take the risk, I’ll never know, will I?”

“I think you already know the answer.” Peter’s pale eyes glitter with spite. “Remember what it felt like, languishing at the Archivist’s deathbed. Recall the state you were in when you first came to me.”

The words are incisive, sliding under Martin’s skin and lodging there like shrapnel. He can feel his confidence waver, the conviction he stood fast on only seconds ago splintering underneath him like thin ice.

“How many times do you think he can court death and survive? He all but died stopping the last apocalypse; he was willing to bury himself alive for a woman who tried to kill him. How do you think he’ll react if you tell him about any of this? You think he’ll listen to reason? Trust in your judgment?” Peter fixes Martin with a smug, hungry look. “Or will he throw himself in front of the first bullet he sees?”

He already knows about all of this, Martin reminds himself. Jon isn’t about to sacrifice himself on account of the Extinction. Moreover, he seems to be genuinely committed to working as a team rather than striking out on his own.

But he also sees himself as a cataclysm waiting to happen, says the nagging doubt skulking in the far corners of Martin’s mind. As much as Jon insists that he doesn’t want to die, he’s already lived through one apocalypse. Martin has no doubt that Jon would sacrifice himself to prevent another, if it came down to it.

Jon is a powder keg of fear and guilt, and there is no shortage of potential ignition sources waiting in the wings. It only takes one untimely spark to set an archive ablaze.

“I trust him,” Martin repeats to himself, but the statement is rendered feeble by the leaden, frozen knot unfurling in his chest.

“Can you really weather another round of grief?” Peter continues, triumphant. He knows he’s found a gap in Martin’s defenses; all he needs to do now is twist the knife. “You’ve already done your mourning, cut the infection off at the source. Let him back in, and you only open yourself up to more pain. Better a numbed scar than a wound that never heals, don’t you think?”

“No.” There’s something off about Martin’s voice – as if it doesn’t belong to him; as if it’s originating from outside of himself, faint and frail and faraway, smothered by the cold, empty fog clogging his lungs. “N-no, I…”

“Connection is a fleeting, fickle thing,” Peter persists. “It’s a lie people tell themselves. The truth is that we are all alone. In the end, all we have is ourselves. Think about it.”

Unthinkingly, Martin shrinks away as Peter steps closer.

“You asked for more evidence.” Peter slides a few statement folders onto the desk. “Take some time to yourself. Consider whether you’re willing to wager on the fate of the world.”

When Martin looks up, he is alone.

“It’s so loud,” Daisy mutters heatedly, stalking to and fro like a panther in a cage. She scratches furiously at her forearms as she goes, blunt fingernails leaving faint red stripes on pale skin.

“Daisy,” Jon says evenly, “I think maybe you should –”

“Itch I can’t scratch.” She pivots on her heel, retracing her short path in the opposite direction. “Feels like fire under my skin.”

“I don’t think clawing your skin off is going to help.”

Daisy barks a laugh. “With what claws?” She stops short and brandishes the backs of her trembling hands, fingers splayed to highlight nails gnawed to the quick, ragged cuticles stained rust-brown with dried blood. “Dull now.” Her eyes go unfocused, staring vaguely at her hands as if she doesn’t recognize them. “Too dull.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, and he means it.

It never gets easier to witness her like this, frenetic and fraying in the throes of the Hunt’s compulsion. These spells have a way of making her features look sharper, her mannerisms more animalistic. She’s all protruding bones and sallow skin, but that seeming frailty does nothing to tame the violence thrumming in her veins. If anything, that all-consuming hunger only makes her more fearsome.

Jon’s strict rations have given him an underfed, pinched look as well, but at least he has something. Not enough to put meat on his bones, so to speak, but enough to stave off starvation. Daisy, though…

When Jon takes a step forward, she rounds on him with teeth bared and a snarl in her throat. Jon flinches at the sudden movement.

“You’re afraid of me.” Daisy exhales an exhausted rattle of a laugh, as if vindicated. “Good. You should be.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Jon says. “I have an overactive startle reflex. Always have, really.”

“You’re lying.” Daisy breathes heavily through her nose, fists clenched at her sides now. “Admit it.”

Jon knows what she’s trying to do. She wants him to lash out, to bite back, to make her bleed. He’s uncomfortably familiar with that craving. It’s like looking into a mirror.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he reiterates.

“Liar,” Daisy hisses, fixing him with a baleful glare.

He’s seen her like this many times before, hunger-ravaged and swamped by bloodlust. She’ll doggedly bash herself against the nearest witness to her shame like a ship crashed against a jetty, driven forward again and again by cresting waves of guilt and self-loathing until she’s free-floating wreckage. Every time, it gets more and more difficult to gather up all the debris and repair the damage. Jon fears that one of these days, the storm will pass and there won’t be enough pieces left to put her back together.

“I’m not a knife you can cut yourself on, Daisy,” he says patiently.

Daisy looks positively mutinous, mouth opening and closing several times before erupting: “Why wouldn’t you be afraid of me?”

“I used to be,” Jon admits, leaning back against the tunnel wall to take some of the weight off his bad leg. “Before the Buried. I was terrified of you. Dreaded every moment I had to be alone with you. Thought it was only a matter of time before you finished the job.”

“It was,” she rasps out – and with that, her shoulders slump and her fists relax to hang limply at her sides, fingers jumping and twitching with the last dregs of her agitation.

“I know. But then you changed. You were different, after the Buried. As afraid of yourself as I used to be of you. As afraid of yourself as I was of myself.” He looks her in the eye as he speaks. “I looked at you and saw my own fear reflected back at me. There are so many things to be afraid of. You were – you are trying very hard not to be one of them.”

“If I’m afraid of me, you should be, too.”

“Are you afraid of me?” Jon asks, shaping each word carefully to keep the compulsion at bay.

She pauses, considering the question.

“No,” she says eventually. “Afraid for you, sometimes.”

“As I am for you.” Jon’s tentative smile fades after a moment. “I’ll admit, I do have… reflexive reactions, sometimes. There were a few incidents where I walked into the breakroom and you were holding a knife, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in before my conscious brain could catch up with reality.”

Daisy squeezes her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, the look on her face isn’t pleading so much as it is resigned. She isn’t asking for forgiveness. Jon doubts she ever will.

It’s just one more thing they have in common.

“I know,” he says quietly. “To be clear, I don’t feel unsafe with you, as you are now. It’s just… flashbacks. They can be – unpredictable. And if I’m already feeling on edge, or – or not quite present, it doesn’t take much to set me off. But,” he adds, giving her a serious look, “I don’t want you walking on eggshells around me. That only puts me more on edge.”

“Fine. But will you tell me if I do something to scare you?”

“Yes.” She made the same request last time. “But I’ve never had to. You could always feel when I was afraid. From a few rooms away, even.”

“Yeah,” Daisy says with a choked laugh. “Your blood is – very loud sometimes.”

“And now?”

These episodes tend to be capricious. Sometimes, what seems to be the calm after the storm proves to be only a lull before a second wind. If the way she’s wobbling on her feet and favoring one leg is any indication, Jon suspects that the worst of the flare-up has passed for now, taking her adrenaline surge with it. Still, he waits for her confirmation. Daisy takes a minute to mull over the question, head cocked slightly to the side as if listening.

“Quieter,” she says.

With that, Jon lowers himself to the ground and sits with his back against the wall, beckoning her over to take a seat. She hesitates for a moment longer before following his lead, slumping down next to him with a labored sigh.

“Sorry for growling at you,” she says sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Daisy tilts her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You said I ended up going back to the Hunt last time.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“September. But – but that doesn’t mean it has to happen again,” he adds hurriedly when he sees her face fall in a mixture of anguish and resignation. “It was – sort of a perfect storm of extenuating circumstances. Like I said before, if you didn’t let the Hunt back in, you and Basira would likely have been killed. But I think you knew you wouldn’t be coming back from it. Before you changed, you made Basira promise to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And did she?”

“She lost track of you in the chaos. You gave chase after one of the Hunters. Once you killed her, the other Hunter started hunting you. For revenge.” Jon’s voice drops to a low murmur. “A few weeks later, the world ended.”

Which makes it sound far more passive than it actually was, but Jon isn’t in the mood for a scolding should he opt for an ‘I’ statement.

“And then what?”

“You were a full-fledged Hunter in a – a perpetual fear generator of a world,” Jon says grimly. “Do you really need to hear the details?”

“Tell me,” Daisy says. “Please.”

Jon understands the need, but recounting the apocalypse never gets any easier. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“When I opened the door and let all the Fears into this reality,” he begins, “the world was divvied up into thousands of different domains, each belonging to a different shade of terror. With few exceptions, most people were confined to one domain – usually whatever aligned with their deepest fears. Avatars and monsters were subject to the Ceaseless Watcher, but otherwise able to exercise control over the humans in the domains of their patrons. Most seemed to stake out territory and settle in one place – customizing their own little spheres of influence, creating playgrounds of their own making. But some got around. You were one of the ones that traveled.”

“What was –” Daisy grimaces. “Who was I hunting?”

“Well… in that place, no one got what they deserved, only what would hurt the most. And people are rarely afraid of just one thing. Most were magnets for multiple fears. The more nomadic Avatars and monsters would gravitate towards whatever individuals were most susceptible to their power, so to speak.” He bites his lip. There’s really no tactful way to phrase this next part. “In your case, you had a roster of specific targets that you were tracking. Former prey. Whether you were drawn to them because of their own fear of you, or because some part of you judged them to have ‘gotten away,’ so to speak… I’m not entirely certain. It may have been a bit of both.”

“I see,” Daisy murmurs. “Guess it makes sense that I would rank high among some people’s greatest fears.”

“Basira was tracking you when we ran into her. We were with her when we found you.”

“And was I… still me?”

“Yes and no,” Jon says hesitantly. “You were you, in a way, but only a small part of you. The Hunter. Everything else was buried too deep. Drowned. Even if I could have brought you back, it would have killed you. You – you didn’t even recognize me, or Martin. You recognized Basira – saw her as pack, wanted her to join you in the Hunt – but…”

“You were prey,” Daisy says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You never did manage to grow a self-preservation instinct, did you?” Daisy squints at him. “I went full monster on you, and you still want me to sit next to you now.”

“You had sharper teeth then,” Jon says drily. Daisy scoffs and nudges his shoulder with hers. She doesn’t draw back after making contact, and when Jon doesn’t pull away either, she leans into him.

“Basira kept her promise?” Daisy asks after a minute.

“Yes. She didn’t want to, but…” Jon swallows thickly, the memory of Basira’s heartbreak bringing to mind his own. “It wasn’t an easy decision.”

Daisy rubs at her chest with one hand, as if to soothe an ache. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask that of her, was it?”

“Maybe not,” Jon sighs. “It seems fair choices are hard to come by, for most of us.”

“I… I don’t want her to have to make that choice this time.”

“Neither do I.”

“It’s never going to stop, is it?” Daisy glances at him, allowing her head to rest lightly on his shoulder. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“Melanie got away,” Daisy says, a tinge of bargaining in her tone. “She managed to purge the Slaughter. And break away from the Eye.”

“Her situation was… different from ours. She wasn’t as far gone as we are. The Slaughter hadn’t fully claimed her, and the Eye never took her as an Avatar. But you’ve been living with the Hunt for most of your life; I signed myself over to the Beholding the moment I became the Archivist. We’ve become… attached to our patrons, dependent on them for survival. Symbiotic, in a twisted sort of way.”

“You really don’t think there’s a way back, then.”

“I don’t know for sure. I’ve seen it before, in my future, but – the world was different then. During the apocalypse, I was able to, uh… shift a person’s status from Watched to Watcher. I – I mean, technically everyone was Watched – the Eye had dominion over everything – but I could give someone control over one of the smaller domains. Create new Avatars, for lack of a better term.

“But turn a Watcher into solely the Watched, and they would typically unravel. I don’t know if that’s because the full focus of the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze just happens to be lethal – particularly for Avatars aligned with other Powers – or if an Avatar is simply unable to survive being cut off from their patron regardless of the means of separation. I do Know that I wouldn’t have been able to survive being cut off from the Eye unscathed. I was… too much a part of the Eye in that reality. Not sure about now. For either of us.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘no.’”

“I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I don’t know. Supposedly escaping the Buried was impossible, and here we are.”

“Apples and oranges,” Daisy says sullenly.

“Maybe. I think it’s all too complex for clear-cut categories. Even the hard-and-fast ‘rules’ are only as strong as our collective belief in them. Almost like our expectations shore them up. I’ve witnessed all of reality being rewritten – all physical laws and supposed universal constants reshaped to center the Eye.” He reaches one hand up to tug on the hair at the back of his neck. “After all I’ve Seen, it’s difficult to conceive of anything being categorically impossible. Between all the dream logic and reality bending, there’s plenty of space for firsts and exceptions to the rules.”

‘I don’t knows’ are where the hope lives, Martin said once. At the time, Jon teased him for being a hopeless romantic, but truthfully, Jon was just as hopelessly endeared by Martin’s belief in such things.

“Have you talked to Georgie yet today?” Daisy asks, apparently ready to change the subject.

“Oh, uh – yes. This morning.”

“And?”

“Melanie was out of surgery and stable, but she wasn’t awake yet. Georgie promised to call tonight with an update.” Assuming nothing major comes up before then, a worried voice in Jon’s head supplies. He shakes his head to jog the thought loose. “Speaking of Georgie… have you given any thought to her suggestion?”

“What,” Daisy says, drolly skeptical, “playing a video game?”

“I realize it’s… somewhat out of the box, but it might be worth a try. Like Georgie said, there are multiplayer games where you can, uh… hunt down other players.”

Daisy plucks absently at her collar, glowering at the opposite wall as if the bricks there committed a personal offense. “It’s not the same.”

“A simulation might not come close to a real hunt, no, but – you might still get something out of it? Maybe?” Daisy directs her scowl up at the ceiling. Jon only digs his heels in, undeterred. “There are even some that have a survival horror theme. An aesthetic that already puts players in the mindset to be frightened, you know?”

“People play those games for fun, Sims.” She finally looks at him, eyes narrowed. “It’s about thrills, not mortal fear.”

“Sometimes genuine fear can sneak through. Haven’t you ever been so creeped out by a horror story that it stayed with you after nightfall?”

“Not really?”

“O-oh. Well, some people have that experience.” Jon gives an awkward little cough. “Anyway, under the right circumstances, a game can get the adrenaline pumping as well as a chase can. A fight-or-flight response doesn’t necessarily require a real physical threat.”

Daisy raises her eyebrows, transparently cynical. “Do you really think the Hunt is going to be satisfied with jump scares and – and low-stakes adrenaline rushes filtered through a screen?”

“No,” Jon admits. “But it might take the edge off. Sort of like reading old statements does for me. Not enough to stop you starving, but maybe enough to distract from the hunger pangs. At least temporarily. If nothing else, you did say you need a new hobby, and it’s not like this place is overflowing with viable entertainment options.”

“I guess,” Daisy sighs. “I mean, it’s not like I’m paying rent. May as well squander my paycheck.”

“If that’s the case, you should see if that eBay listing for that vintage The Archers board game is still up,” Jon says drily. “Last I checked, it was £2 with no bidders.”

“Yeah, and £30 shipping.”

“Sounds like £32 well spent, if you ask me.”

Daisy snorts and bumps her shoulder against his. “You, Jonathan Sims, are an absolute menace.”

Adrift and thoroughly divorced from the concept of time, end of the workday passes Martin by without his notice. Once again, he wonders whether Peter deliberately assigned him an office with no external window, not only to put another wall between him and the rest of the world, but to make it easier for him to lose track of time.

For an interminable stretch of time he sits catatonic, mind peppered with sporadic sensory input: Dead-weight limbs, listless and foreign-feeling. The brush of fabric resting against bare skin, every point of weightless contact a violation. The distant ticking of clockwork, rote and irrevocable.

Stand up, comes the thought, detached and intrusive: an instruction he cannot parse; empty phonemes wafted into a vacant mind, abandoned there to echo and disperse until they lose all meaning. A fragment of a signal from brain to nerves to fingers presses numb fingertips to thumbs, a cautious test yielding no sensation but for the vague, spongey give of flesh.

Then the body ostensibly belonging to him is on its feet, the connection between floor and soles disturbingly incongruent with unreality. Walking now, every footfall jarring in its impact; every step stretched and blurred like a botched time-lapse photograph; every molasses-sluggish forward motion met with invisible resistance, like swimming against a sludgy current.

He does not remember how or when or under whose direction he arrives in the Archives, swaying at the threshold of the Head Archivist’s office. Empty and still. Silence so pervasive it’s almost tangible. Viscous and inexorable. Trapping him like a fly in honey. Drowning.

When next he becomes aware of his surroundings, he’s wavering at the bottom of a ladder. Walls curving up and over his head, a brickwork warren stretching on and out into the murk.

Standing in place. Hovering like an afterimage. Rootless and incorporeal. Searching for… staring at… calling to…

There: something real.

“Martin?” Jon’s breath fogs the air as he speaks, but the way he says the name… his voice seems to cradle the word, shielding it against the cold. He sits up straighter, keen gaze sweeping the area like a lighthouse beacon. “Martin, is that you?”

That’s me, Martin thinks, and then, wonderingly: He says your name like it’s something precious.

At that thought, Jon’s eyes land on him like a searchlight.

“There you are.” His soft smile immediately falters, brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

He’s sat on the floor with his back against the wall, one knee drawn up to his chest, and Daisy pressed up against his side in a mirrored position, sharing a pair of corded earphones. Daisy is already thumbing at the screen of her phone, presumably pausing whatever it is they’re listening to, as Jon removes his earbud.

Martin opens his mouth to speak, but the air in his lungs has turned to viscid fog and the confused tangle of half-formed thoughts in his mind refuse to coalesce into actual words. Jon exchanges a glance with Daisy, who is already moving to stand. Martin wants to object – she doesn’t have to leave on his account; he can see that they’re busy; he’s fine; he’s just overreacting – but before he can cobble together a protest, she’s halfway to her feet, gripping the wall for support.

“I’m alright now,” Martin can hear her say.

“You’re sure?” Jon asks in a low murmur.

“Yeah.” She winces as she straightens her spine. “Knowing Basira, she’s still pouring over the same statements as she was this morning. She could do with an interruption.”

“Can you manage the ladder?”

Daisy stretches her leg out, testing her mobility. “Think so.”

They give each other another long look, a shared nod, and without another word, Daisy staggers her way to the exit and mounts the ladder.

As it does every time he witnesses these displays of unspoken understanding between them, an ugly pang of jealousy burns in Martin’s chest – some combination of envy, inadequacy, longing, and loneliness. Possessiveness, almost – and an instant later, the shame sets in.

But then the trapdoor closes, Jon looks Martin in the eye again, and the sincere, tender warmth sheltering there is enough to leave Martin reeling. It’s hard to comprehend anyone – let alone Jonathan Sims – looking at him like that; difficult to reconcile requited affection with a lifetime of fruitless want. Martin can’t shake the feeling that it will always be this way – and that his inability to trust in unconditional love is precisely what makes him so unlovable in the first place.

Jon clears his throat and pats the floor beside him. He’s seated on a blanket, Martin just now notices, folded over several times to cushion the hard ground.

He’d better not be napping down here, Martin thinks to himself.

“Martin,” Jon says, in that impossibly soft tone he’s taken to using around Martin these days, “I’d like you to come sit, if you’re amenable.”

It’s such a Jon way of phrasing the invitation, and the familiarity it engenders has Martin accepting without a conscious thought. He settles himself beside Jon, close but not touching. Those few inches of distance manage to be simultaneously loathsome and assuring. Martin lets his hand rest in that vacant space, fingers clenching around a fistful of blanket.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jon’s hand twitch, as if fighting back the urge to reach out and touch. Instead, he starts to rub the fabric of his trouser leg between his thumb and forefinger.

“What do you need right now?” Jon asks.

“I…” Martin pauses, unsettled by the sound of his own voice, grating and almost unfamiliar to his ears.

“Take your time.”

It takes a minute for Martin to wrap his mouth around more than one syllable.

“Nothing,” he says, the weight of the word nearly pinning his tongue in place.

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Several more minutes pass before Martin is able to construct a full sentence.

“I’m just being stupid.” The words seem to echo faintly in the tunnel, despite how quietly he says them.

“What do you need?” Jon asks again.

“Nothing,” Martin repeats dully. He doesn’t need anything.

Jon doesn’t immediately respond. Martin can feel himself go rigid, anticipating… what – aggravation, impatience, disengagement? But Jon only runs a thumb along his jawline, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “what do you want, then? What would – what would help you feel better right now?”

“I… I don’t know,” Martin says in a voice so feeble it’s nearly inaudible. He flexes his fingers uncertainly, chasing after any physical sensation at all, only to find them numb and deathlike. The helpless sigh that shudders out of him wants to be a whimper. “I just – didn’t – don’t – feel real. Feels like I’m not really here.”

“Hmm.” Jon looks at him – really looks at him, taking his time to study Martin’s face. “Well, I can confirm that you are here.”

“You… you can see me?” Martin asks meekly, pleadingly, dreading the answer.

“Yes.” Jon pauses. “And if you’re agonizing over being a bother, don’t, because you aren’t. I always like seeing you.”

He should trust Jon – he does trust Jon – but it’s still a constant struggle to drown out that Lonely part of him that insists that isolation is safer, more dependable, and far more habitable. Unthinkingly, Martin reaches over, hand trembling in the air above Jon’s, fingertips just barely ghosting across scarred skin.

“Would you like me to hold your hand…?” Jon ventures.

Martin’s fingers curve inward as he pulls back slightly. “I, um.”

“You can say no,” Jon reminds him.

“I… I want it, but I – I – I don’t know if I can handle it right now, and I –” Martin draws back entirely, flapping both hands in frustration, trying to relieve the pins-and-needles sensation prickling through his veins. “I hate this. I hate being like this.”

Martin grimaces at the outburst, but Jon doesn’t seem to be judging him. Instead, he’s looking off to the side, a crease between his eyebrows now, as if he’s working through a problem.

“No skin-to-skin contact,” he says to himself, and then he looks to Martin. “Pressure helps me sometimes, when I feel like I’m not real. You could… lean against me? If you want.”

“I…”

“You don’t have to,” Jon rushes to reassure him.

“It’s – not that I don’t want to. I guess I’m just…” Martin can feel himself flush with embarrassment. “It’s daft, but I’m worried that I’ll be – I don’t know, incorporeal, or something.”

“I distinctly recall you telling me that you’re not a ghost.”

It takes a few seconds for Jon’s deadpan humor to sink in. When it does, Martin nearly chokes on a surprised laugh.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was a ghost,” he says, cracking a smile. The tight, bitter-cold knot in his chest yields just a little, like ice disintegrating under a spring thaw.

“In my defense, I was quite distraught at the time.” Jon’s eyes wrinkle at the corners and Martin is struck by overwhelming fondness. He doesn’t pull away when Jon reaches out, open palm hovering just above his shoulder. “May I?”

Cautiously, Martin nods.

“Hmm.” Jon applies the lightest touch at first, watching Martin’s face carefully. He waits until Martin nods for him to continue before he presses down more firmly. Before long, Martin can feel the warmth of Jon’s hand through his jumper. That warmth carries over into Jon’s smile. “Feels solid to me.”

The confirmation comes as a relief, as foolish as that makes Martin feel. He braces himself and leans against Jon’s side, releasing his held breath when his body meets with tangible resistance. At first he worries that Jon, scrawny as he is, won’t be able to support the weight, but he doesn’t budge when Martin melts against him. After that, it’s a struggle for Martin to keep his eyes open.

Jon must notice, because he whispers, “You can rest. I’ll be here.”

Martin doesn’t even have the strength to nod, let alone the energy to argue. He allows the steady rise and fall of Jon’s chest to lull him into an almost meditative state, his mind still floating somewhere outside of himself, but now tethered to the ground.

Then the silence starts nipping at his heels.

“Too quiet,” he mumbles. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“Anything.”

“Did you know that highland cattle have a double coat?” Jon says after a minute of consideration. “It insulates them against the cold. The outer layer is long – the longest hair of any cattle breed, in fact – and oily, which helps ward off the rain. Underneath is softer, almost woolly hair.”

Once Jon gets started, those little scraps of trivia soon progress to a nearly encyclopedic lecture. It doesn’t take long for Martin to lose himself in the rich timbre of Jon’s voice as he goes on about various Scottish breeds of cattle. Although he doesn’t fall fully asleep, Martin manages to drift in and out of consciousness enough that he loses track of time once more. This time, though, it’s a comfortable daze: there’s someone to keep him from straying too far.

At some point, he unthinkingly seeks out Jon’s hand. Jon presses his thumb into the center of Martin’s palm, rubbing small circles there, coaxing Martin further into peaceful relaxation.

“Sorry for interrupting you and Daisy earlier,” Martin murmurs groggily into Jon’s shoulder.

“Oh, we were just listening to The Archers.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Martin asks, opening one eye to scrutinize Jon’s expression.

“Unfortunately not.”

“You like The Archers.”

“Good lord, no. Blame Daisy.”

“Daisy likes The Archers,” Martin says, even more dubiously, sitting up now to squint at Jon.

“There are stranger things.”

Martin snorts and nestles into Jon’s side again. “If you say so.”

“Feeling better now?” Martin reflexively snuggles closer. Jon laughs softly, a little puff of a breath that rustles Martin’s hair. “I’m not going to deny you cuddles if the answer is ‘yes,’ you know.”

“Cuddles,” Martin whispers, the word dissolving into a clipped giggle.

“What?” Jon tilts his head. There’s a puzzled scowl on his face, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he should take offense. It’s impossibly endearing.

“Cuddles,” Martin repeats, in a poor approximation of Jon’s voice this time. “Not a word I ever expected to hear from you.”

“Quiet, you,” Jon huffs, but he can’t disguise the way his indignant pout cracks into a smile under the weight of his own amusement. He almost seems to preen, as if pulling a laugh from Martin is a victory on which to pride himself. He reaches up with his free hand, pausing just above the top of Martin’s head. “May I?”

At Martin’s affirmative, Jon begins to comb his fingers through Martin’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. For the briefest of moments, some primal fragment of him recoils from the contact, instinctively unnerved by the vulnerability inherent to such closeness. Martin spurns that voice, breathes through its fit of angst and panic, and leans into the touch.

Little by little, step by step, he’s acclimating. He just wishes that it wasn’t such a process each and every time he lets his guard down like this.

“Bad day?” Jon asks once Martin settles.

“Something like that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Martin groans. “But I should.”

“Only if you want to.”

“No, you should know, I just…” Martin heaves a wearied sigh. “Peter’s back.”

Jon gasps like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. The hand stroking Martin’s hair abruptly stills; the other, still clasped in Martin’s, constricts like a death-grip.

“Did he hurt you?” The question is steeped in an artificial, fragile sort of calm, but Jon can’t quite mask the intensity buzzing just under the surface: fear, protectiveness, and desperation all intermingled and reinforced by that ominous inkling of power that, despite his intentions, lurks behind every word.

“He didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just… trying to get me to recommit to the Lonely.” Martin scoffs. “And of course he was trying to do it in a way that would make me feel like it was my idea. Get me to convince myself that it was what I wanted, rather than something he was pressuring me into.”

“Of all the Powers, the Lonely is one of the most insidious, I think,” Jon says quietly. “It seeks out victims who already have one foot in the Lonely, reinforces those fears, promises kinship – a paradoxical form of it, anyway – and then it just… waits. Spend enough time disconnected from the rest of the world, and it doesn’t take long to start telling yourself the lie that it’s for the best. That it’s what you are; that it’s all you’re meant to be.”

“And I fell for it,” Martin mutters.

“Anyone would, subjected to the right conditions.” Jon waits until he catches Martin’s eye before he continues. “It isn’t your fault. This is what the Fears do. It’s what they are. They find an opening, they sink their hooks in, and they pull you under. They don’t let go until either you drown or you learn to breathe fear. The only way out is for someone to throw you a lifeline, and even then, the odds aren’t great. And the Lonely in particular – one of the first things it does is make it difficult to even conceive of a lifeline. It’s hard to catch hold of one if you never think to look for it.”

“I thought you hated convoluted metaphors.”

“Yes, well, unfortunately the Powers That Be tend to elude any sort of straightforward, concrete discussion,” Jon grouses. “Just one more reason to begrudge them, really. My point is, the Lonely is an insufferable liar and so is Peter.”

“What do you know, they’re perfect for each other.” The remark succeeds in putting a lopsided smirk on Jon’s face, much to Martin’s delight. “Anyway, Peter said his plan won’t work unless I’m voluntarily Lonely.”

“He’s right, although his plan has nothing to do with the Extinction. He needs you to choose the Lonely because those were the terms of his bet with Jonah. He poaches you out from under the Eye – gets you to pledge yourself to the Forsaken – and he wins, with the Institute as a prize. He fails to convert you, he loses, and he does what Jonah wants, which is for me to be marked by the Lonely.”

Jon says that last part so nonchalantly. As if it’s a foregone conclusion; as if he’s become so accustomed to dehumanization that it doesn’t even give him pause. Martin grits his teeth, biting back a surge of anger on Jon’s behalf.

“Yeah, well,” he says tightly, “Peter bet on the wrong horse.”

A sharp intake of breath leaves Jon sounding strangled when he says, eyes wide and lips parted, “Oh?”

“I mean, he can’t just sic the Lonely on me like he would any other victim, right? That wouldn’t count as a win. He needs me to choose it. And I’m not going to do that.”

“Yeah?” The expression of unguarded, cautious hope dawning on Jon’s face makes him look years younger.

“Yeah,” Martin says, feeling increasingly emboldened. “The funny thing is, I don’t – I don’t think I ever chose loneliness. I never wanted it – that was just a lie I told myself, and the Lonely just – echoed it back to me. S-so Peter’s out of luck, because if there are other options, then the Lonely will always be involuntary. Because it’s not what I want.”

“You – you mean it?” Jon brightens, leaning forward.

Martin’s heart skips a beat and flutters hummingbird-quick against his ribs. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Jon smile – not like this, that is, beaming and uninhibited and altogether breathtaking. Immediately, Martin decides that he wants more. It seems wrong for something so exhilarating to be so rare.

He doesn’t know which of them moves first, and it doesn’t matter, because Jon is in his lap, and Jon is nuzzling into his shoulder, and Jon is here and solid and so, so alive in Martin’s arms, breathing warm and steady into his neck, smiling against his skin, hands scrabbling at his back to cling to his jumper. Martin’s fingers seek purchase of their own, and then something clicks.

“Jon,” he says, leaning back just far enough to confirm his suspicion, “is this mine?”

“Are you just now noticing?” Jon asks, devastatingly fond. “Martin, I’ve been wearing this jumper off and on for the last several weeks.”

“You have?” Martin all but squeaks, heat creeping up his neck and to the tips of his ears. “No. No, you –” Jon’s grin is widening, leaving Martin increasingly flustered. “I – I mean, yes, you have, obviously, I know that, but I – I – I –” Martin gulps, mortified, as Jon finally fails to contain his suppressed laughter. “Look, I didn’t recognize it until just now, alright?”

“Well,” Jon says, ducking his head to chuckle softly against Martin’s throat, “it’s mine now, and you can’t have it back.”

Which is fine with Martin, really, because he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t helplessly charmed by the newfound knowledge that not only is Jon an unrepentant clothes-thief, but apparently also an insatiable cuddler.

End Notes:

To address Martin’s concern: Jon does, in fact, nap in the tunnels sometimes. Listen, with Jurgen Leitner (derogatory) in absentia, there was an opening for the position of Beleaguered Tunnel-Haunting Hermit and Jon has all the necessary qualifications.

So anyways, who else thinks Peter’s bio on a dating app would probably just be that “every living creature on this earth dies alone” quote from Donnie Darko? I bet he thinks 'survival of the fittest' means 'every man for himself'. What an insufferable clown.

No Archive-speak in this chapter to cite.

I wanted to make a joke about a The Archers-themed Monopoly, so I asked duckduckgo if it was a thing. Sadly, it is not. There IS, however, a 1960s The Archers board game, and yes, there ARE eBay listings for it.

The first section of this chapter was written before eps 190-192 dropped. I think it still lines up well enough with what we saw of Melanie & Georgie’s characterization in these most recent episodes, with the qualifier that things have gone very differently in this AU compared with canon. (Also, I took some liberties wrt Georgie’s not-feeling-fear thing, obvi. Some of it matches with the most recent episodes, some of it not so much, but I decided to keep it anyways.)

Oh and I think I might have given myself cavities with the last section of this chapter. (I’m aro-spec; it’s hard to tell when I’m going over the top, but hopefully it’s fluffy without being overly cloying.)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma spoilers #long post

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