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candied-cae · 2 years

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And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Got To Get Them Back

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Chapter 8/? - - - Read it on AO3

Word Count : 6,747

Summary: Robin's finally getting some time with Vickie! And Nancy's getting time with one of the government workers. She's not going to let them intimidate her to back off like they have before, she's going to get some answers this time. But those answers might not be the kind she's hoping for…

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Nancy looked back at Steve. He was slowly shaking out a blue shirt while he kept careful eyes on her. He looked like he was ready to spring into action and run over if she so much as pouted too harshly. Which was not something she needed if she wanted to get this woman alone enough to answer questions.

She pointedly looked to the back doors of the gym with a nod, hoping he’d understand she was agreeing to walk away and didn’t need him to run out after her. His face looked pinched like he didn’t like it, but he nodded back to her, giving his blessing in some sort of way. Nancy turned back to the woman and followed her out the through the doors that poured into the track field. Crisp early spring air curled around them while the mystery woman looked around.

Once she was sure they were alone, she peered through her dark lenses at the shorter girl,“ Alright, Ms. Wheeler. I understand you might be frustrated-”

“What is going on?” Nancy bit into her time. She refused to allow her the courtesy of running through her practiced lines uninterrupted.

She didn’t want to be placated like a child. She didn’t want to be worked around and settled like a rebellious middle schooler. She was a big girl who could handle herself. And if this government worker thinks she can get around her right to know what the fuck is going on... then she doesn’t know Nancy Wheeler very well.

The woman flustered a moment, clearly not used to teenagers fighting against her authority, but she kept her corporate-like poise and shifted,“ We didn’t know much at the time-”

“No.” Nancy insisted,” You people keep coming to our town, making problems for us, and getting people hurt. Getting people killed. And it always comes down to us. Letting us deal with all the bullshit you started. Hiding the truth from us until the last second, when we become the ones paying the price to keep everything together. Do you even know how many have been hurt in Hawkins because a bunch of teenagers were the only ones trying to fix your problem?”

The question struck her a bit harder, she pulled the sunglasses off of her face to let Nancy see her vibrant greens as she answered,“ The count is at twenty-two casualties. Injuries are in the hundreds. Yes, I know.”

“So, don’t waste my time with excuses and pushing off the blame so we don’t hold you liable. We do, and we always will, not that it matters since this is all under the table, contractual NDA shit that we couldn’t do anything about if we wanted to. So, just tell me what is going on.” Nancy sucked in a breath to try and still the shaking fear in her next demand,” Tell me why haven’t I been able to reach my brother since this started.”

The woman bristled under her harsh gaze. She fell silent for a moment as those eyes flicked to the ground, running from Nancy's, before letting just a shred of personhood come out,” The last status we had on Michael was that Ms. Byers left him and the other two with Jonathan. She had a sudden business trip she went on. The girl had to go do something, and your brother stayed with the Byers boys, under the watch of agents Harmon and Wallace when the house was… when the house was raided.”

“What-” Nancy's voice croaked out as she struggled to understand that word.

‘Raided’. Their house was raided? What does that even mean?

She continued,“ We believe the three of them escaped with the agents, they weren’t at the house when a team checked in, but we haven’t heard anything about them since. And when the girl disappeared from the facility-”

Nancy was still reeling from the news that her brother was missing when her brain was stopped in its tracks,“ A facility? You just said she had something she had to go do. But there's a facility? What did you people do to El?”

“She voluntarily went in with Doctor Sam to work with Doctor Brenner on-”

“Brenner.” her voice seethed the name.

She already hated the man on principle from what she’s picked up of El’s childhood. But after she saw what she saw… when Henry showed her flashes of horrific memories of that lab, of that man... She hated him with a new fire,” You let her end up back in his-”

“She was there of her own choice.” the woman pushed,” They were working on getting her power back.”

She shook her head at that explanation,“ That’s not enough. That’s not reason enough to- to put her back with that monster. It’s just not.”

“You may feel that way, Ms. Wheeler. But, at the end of the day, the girl chose to be there. And from my last report, she was doing quite well.”

“Last report?”

“A few days ago, communication stopped. I know you think we haven't done enough, but we've been doing everything we can. We’re just doing our part managing-”

“Nothing.” Nancy finished the sentence for her.” You have been managing nothing. We have been the ones managing.”

“And this was the result of your management?” the woman asked, looking back towards the door of the gymnasium with critical eyes.

Nancy clenched her jaw. Her face set with fury at what she was implying. Like this was their fault. Like they could’ve known any better, or tried any harder than they did. They gave everything they had, without any help from anyone else.

“I came out here to get answers and make sure whatever your people try to pull doesn’t make things worse. If you end up giving the police some cover story, you keep the blame off of Eddie Munson. You don't get to make him your scapegoat. We are exonerating him of the murders and we sure as hell don’t need you messing that up for him.”

“We know he wasn’t responsible, obviously. We have no wish to put him back into the line of fire unnecessarily-”

“Good.” Nancy gave the single word and pushed past the lady she didn't bother to catch a name for as she headed back into the building.

The woman trailed after her, paces slower and shorter thanks to her heels,“ Wait, we need to discuss what you kids have been-”

“I’ll tell you what happened this week when you can tell me where my brother is.”

Nancy set the condition to their terms with an iron conviction clear in her voice. She didn’t even look at the woman. Just kept walking until she made her way back to the garment table. She retook her place next to Steve and picked up the first thing she saw to have something to do with her hands.

When Nancy returned to Steve’s sight, she was fuming. He didn’t need a close look at her to tell she was pissed. Even from across the room, Steve could feel it coming off her in waves. Behind her, he saw the suit enter the doors herself, huffing as she futzed with her jacket and slipped the sunglasses back into place. She was clearly less than satisfied with how their conversation had gone.

Something important just happened.

Nancy was folding the clothes with more force than she really needed to, when Steve carefully asked,“ What happened?”

Her hands suddenly stilled as her face twisted further.

“They knew.” she spit the words out as quietly as she could in her steaming anger.

“They knew?”

“Knew something was up when Chrissy died,” Nancy answered, hands fighting with the fabric in her grasp. She wasn’t really folding it anymore, she just kept pulling and twisting as she worked through the words,” Before Freddie and Patrick. Before Max and Eddie. They knew, and they didn’t do anything about it. They just silently poked around. Keeping everything to themselves. While we were out there, risking our lives, actually trying to do something.”

“They-?” Steve started, but Nancy didn’t stop.

“They don’t even know what happened to the others. Mike and El and Will and Jonathan are missing.”

“What?” Steve’s voice came out weak, feeling the pit of his stomach drop to his feet.

“Their house was raided. Raided. Days ago. And they lost touch with the rest of their team out west. They don’t know where any of them are. And before they even lost them, they handed El back to that bastard-”

Steve put his hands over hers to still their movements. It pulled her out of her head enough that she stopped to properly breathe instead of just drawing in shallow huffs between her words. He gently tugged on the piece and she relinquished the fabric without further opposition. Nancy closed her eyes a moment, tensing all her muscles and releasing them to try and reset the part of her that couldn’t stop burning with the information she’d just received.

“Do you want to leave, Nance?” he asked her.

“No.” she opened her eyes and picked up a pair of children’s shorts, actually folding them this time,” We said we’d help out. Let’s just finish up, and then we can all get out of here.”

“Okay.”

As less than an hour goes by of folding and sorting, there wasn’t much said between the two. Not much beyond the ‘excuse me’s they'd exchange as they reached around one another, at least. When Dustin ran out of people to offer water cups to, he drifted over to the two of them and started pressing for what Nancy found out. Steve shook his head to tell him that they wouldn’t talk about it right now. Not that she could have even said much, nothing louder than a whisper of their supernatural secrets would’ve been allowed in the crowded room. Finally, Robin made her way on over with Vickie following behind her.

She was very much a contrast to Nancy’s display. Robin looked like she was walking on clouds, all smiles and sunshine filling the air around her as she got to have nearly a whole hour just talking to Vickie. And Vickie, curiously, looked very much the same.

Robin was carrying a few saran-wrapped sandwiches and held a pair of them out for Steve and Nancy when she arrived at their table. She handed another to Dustin, keeping one for herself, and passed the last to Vickie.

“They’re finished with us. We covered the lunch crowd, got most of the prep for dinner taken care of, and now I think they want us to get out of the way.” Robin told them with a bright smile.

“And we thought you three would be ready for a lunch break, on the house,” Vickie added.

They all accepted the food with polite smiles, but Steve looked into Robin a little bit harder. Because the girl was practically glowing. Steve narrowed his eyes at her, ever so slightly. Just enough to make sure she knew that he could see what was going on. Just enough to make sure she knew that he would absolutely be grilling her for answers once they ditched all the others. She cocked her head to the side with harsh eyes, as if trying to threaten him without words not to spill anything while Vickie was still there.

“Thanks. It’s Vickie, right?” Steve asked, sparing a glace at Robin, whose eyes widened suddenly in response.

“Yeah, it’s Vickie. How’d you know?” the girl asked.

Robin pressed her lips together, eyes boring into Steve with furious anxiety.

Vickie waved her hand to excuse herself, falling into a bubbling ramble like someone Steve knows quite well,” No offense, there’s nothing wrong with you knowing. I just figured our social circles didn’t really overlap when you were in high school so- not that I think I’m better than you or anything, it is absolutely not that. And I don’t want to imply that I think you think you’re better than me so-”

“No, you’re fine.” He stopped her,” Rob and I are just best buds, and she mentioned seeing a fellow band geek when we were at WarZone. I’m good with faces and picked up the name.”

“Oh, yeah. You were with her a couple of days ago, huh?” Vickie nodded along, clearly buying that the only reason Steve caught it was that recent run-in.

Robin’s glare softened as it worked, pulling back on some kind of easy-going smile that she really hoped didn’t look forced. She didn’t know what she’d do if Steve got stuck and just blurted out,” Oh, Robin just talks about you all the freakin’ time. Obsesses over how she looks in the morning because she wants to impress you. Oh, and we’ve had conversations, at length, about the likelihood that you’re into boobies. So yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t be freaked out by that, Miss Vickie!”

That would’ve been a mess beyond repair.

“So,” Steve leaned in towards Vickie with a teasing grin at the girl standing beside her. He lowered his head but spoke in a loud whisper everyone could hear,” Did she do a good job making sandwiches, or should I be hesitant to take my first bite?”

“Nimrod,” Robin called him as the pink already in her cheeks flared.

“Nimrod yourself. I’m just worried your clumsy self might’ve left the knife in the middle of my sandwich, and I don’t want to lose a tooth today.”

Robin reached over the table to shove against Steve’s shoulder,” Just eat your stupid lunch.”

The five of them headed outside to eat on the benches and find something casual to say to pass the time. They shared introductions and wondered about the earthquake, what that would mean for school, and all that, but they only had a few minutes to start to get to know her when Vickie’s parents pulled up and took her back home.

That was becoming a more common occurrence in Hawkins than it previously was: parents driving their kids everywhere. Most of the time, the kids could just wander around: riding bikes, taking the bus, driving themselves, and carpooling with pals.

But now, there were more moms and dads crossing town at predetermined times to take their kids back. Maybe it was because so many of them had unexpected time off of work. Maybe it was because everyone not moving away was still scared shitless that something bad was still coming to hurt their babies. Which wouldn’t necessarily be wrong… But, whatever strange forces were making parents keep their kids on a shorter leash, it called Vickie away sooner than Robin was ready to let her go.

Once she was gone, the four left on the bench, who actually have some idea of what was going on, were able to discuss the current developments. After Robin and Dustin got caught up, they both felt awful. Less of the burning anger that Nancy had felt, but more a sick fear that washed over them with the news that the Byers and Mike were all missing.

And then, before anyone could even think of what to do, Dustin was running.

Or, at least, he was attempting. He still had an obvious limp that was getting in his way of making much haste.

“Henderson- Henderson!” Steve called as he jumped up from the bench after him.

He caught up to the boy with relative ease as Dustin started trying to manhandle his locked rear seat door, the girls following shortly behind.

“Henderson, what’re-”

“Give me your keys!” the boy shouted at him, very seriously.

Steve pulled his key ring from his pocket and handed them over to Dustin’s waiting hand. He immediately pulled apart the car’s key from the others and broke into the back seat. He practically fell over himself as he spilled into the seats and dug his hand around under them. Then he pulled out one of those brick walkie-talkies.

“We didn’t leave that in there a few days ago?” Steve asked, though, it'd be more acurate to say Steve stated it as fact with a note of confusion.

Dustin agreed,“ No, we didn’t. I grabbed one before you picked me up. And, honestly, everyone should have one of their own right now, but that’s beside the point.”

“Well, what’re- what’re you doing?” Steve tripped on the word as Dustin turned up the volume, a light buzzing static coming over the empty radio waves.

“Calling Lucas. We need to give them the update.” And, with that, he clicked the receiver,“ Lucas, this is Dustin. We have news. Over.”

Only a few seconds of buzzing passed. Steve took back his keys while they all climbed into the car with Dustin. Then, as each of them settled in closer, the other boy’s voice trilled through the walkie.

“Is it good news or bad news? Over,” he asked, already sounding like he was dreading the answer.

Dustin paused for a moment. “Pretty bad news. Over,” he solemnly admitted to the other.

There was silence. He didn’t come back through immediately, and just that was enough to make Dustin start to worry,” Are you okay? Over.”

“I’m fine. I’m with Max right now. Can we talk about it later?”

He sounded tired and quiet. Like he didn’t think he could take any more bad news. Like he didn’t even want Max’s sleeping body to overhear it.

The “Over” came through like an afterthought a few seconds later.

Lucas honestly forgot he even needed to say it. At least, he had until Erica nudged his foot with hers and reminded him.

“Uh. Yeah- yeah. No problem.” Dustin shook his head like he needed to loosen the rejection,” I can check in later. How ‘bout around nine? Over.”

“Around nine. Over.” Lucas confirmed.

Dustin turned back down the sound and set the box back into the seat between him and Nancy.

“Hey. He’s okay. Just not ready for more shitty news.” Robin assured him, twisting in her seat to look in his eyes.

“Yeah.” he nodded back, not looking totally convinced.

Nancy leaned over to him and bumped his shoulder to draw his attention. She might’ve wanted to boil over and break something herself, but she didn’t like seeing the little guy get all bent out of shape. She gave him the best reassuring smile she could muster and told him they’d be okay. Steve started the car and began the drive back over to the suburbs to drop everyone off. First Nancy and Dustin, mostly so he could corner Robin and get the latest scoop on the Vickie front, and maybe find some way to kill time just the two of them before he went back home alone.

It didn't take long for them to return to the Wheelers. Maybe fifteen minutes and Steve was pulling into Nancy’s driveway to hand her back over to her family. Her mother stood in the open front door after she heard the car roll up. Karen waved at them as Nancy opened the back door to get out when suddenly she looked to the road confused.

“Did somebody order pizza?” she called to the kids and they all turned around to see a pizza delivery van rolling up.

Surfer Boy’s Pizza. Not a store any of them has ever heard of. And certainly, none of them called for lunch at the Wheelers. But, if it wasn’t anyone inside who called for the food and it wasn't any of them, why was it here?

At least, that’s what they all wondered to themselves until the side door slid open. Until they saw the people tumbling out of it were Will, El, and Mike. Then, from the front seats, there was Jonathan and another guy they didn’t recognize. But who cares if they didn’t know who he was? He helped bring them back, so he's practically a member of the team already.

As soon as they all realized who they were looking at, each of them threw open their doors and ran out for the reunion. Karen ran down the driveway until she had her boy in her arms. She practically tried to squeeze the life out of him, and he all but crumbled into the comfort and safety of his mother's arms. Nancy went straight for her long-distance boyfriend, now that said distance was something she could actually cross. She was lifted off the ground in his embrace. Legs kicked up behind her as he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, just so relieved to see one another alright. Dustin hobbled forward until Will and El crashed into him, wrapping him up in their affection. He had them under each arm, holding tightly around their shoulders like he wasn’t sure he’d ever see them again.

Steve and Robin stepped forward, just a pace behind the others, seeing as they were less desperate to hold onto them. The new guy, Argyle they’d later find out, was his own distance across the way too. The three of them wore fond smiles, though. Even if they weren’t sharing tight hugs with their friends, just watching the others' joyful collisions together made them start to feel better themselves.

Karen doted on her son. Making comments through her teary voice that he doesn’t get to go on vacations anymore and that she wasn’t going to let him go to college because she needed to keep him right next to her. Nancy and Jonathan were whispering about what was going on. Clearly, both understanding that they’ve individually been involved in the ‘situation’ despite the separation. The set of three pulled away from each other as Dustin wiped away misty eyes.

Steve hadn’t had as much time to bond with the two of them as he had with Dustin, sure, but they were his kids too. And when Nancy told him that the government lady said they were missing, god, it scared him. It scared him like when he found Max looking near dead in Lucas’ arms. Because some kids go missing and pop back up in a few hours, but not these kids. These kids go missing, and the world goes to shit, and people die, and things don’t just work out for them all the time. So, while he allowed Henderson to be first, he had no plans to go much longer without any hugs of his own.

Steve stepped up and announced,” Alright, babysitter’s coming in to collect his too!”, as he ducked his arms around their waists and swept the two off their feet.

“Steve! Your stitches!” he heard Robin scold him.

But he didn’t care.

This was more important.

El and Will let out their own set of squeals and ‘Steve!’ as he swung them side-to-side, throwing their legs around them with reckless abandon. He didn’t stop until they both began to slap at his back and insist they be let down between their giggles. He set them both on their feet, leaving them rosy-cheeked and smiling. He peeked over and made eye contact with the other boy for a second. Mike, who, despite still being in his mother’s arms, made a face like he was worried Steve was going to come after him next.

Steve swatted a hand in his direction to let him know he was safe.

He never got in good with that kid. Mike was never all that impressed with him and still seemed to hold a grudge from his days with Nancy. Why? Steve had no idea. All he ever did was get caught climbing their gutter once or twice. And it wasn't like he was the one who broke up with Nancy or ever did anything to Mike. But, for whatever reason, that was the one member of the Party he couldn’t win over.

Will looked around them,“ Where’s Lucas?”

Dustin answered simply,“ He’s at the hospital.”

“Was he hurt?” worry found its way onto El's face.

He began to assure them,“ No. No, he’s…”, then he realized,” Oh God... You don’t know.” El looked to her brother for comfort.

“What don’t we know?” Will asked in her place.

Dustin shook his head.

He didn’t want to say the words. Every time someone said it, it became more real. And they didn’t know yet, so in their world, Max was fine. She wasn’t in a coma, body nearly broken into pieces by a twisted telekinetic, with no sign of when she’d wake up. If she’d wake up. But if he said it, he was taking that from them. Bringing them into the grim reality he’s been in the last few days… Making it real.

“Max is hurt.” Steve placed a hand on Dustin’s shoulder, taking the burden of saying the words, and brought his voice low,” We fought this thing, and it got to her. It’s bad.”

“Take me to her,” El said.

And Steve can’t say no.

Can’t seem even consider it when it’s El, he’s noticed.

The girl who’s gone to hell and back more times than any of them. The girl who’s barely even gotten to see the world she lives in. The girl whose hair has been cut close to her head again, just when she had finally been able to grow it out beyond her shoulders. The girl who’s lost too much in saving the world over and over again. Who lost her own dad, not even a year before.

“Nance.” Steve called over, said girl turning away from her boyfriend to look at him,” They want to go see Max.”

“Max?” Mike questioned as he pulled away from his mom.

“She’s in the hospital…” his sister filled in for him and told Jonathan,“ Yeah, yeah, we should all go over. She’s at Hawkins Memorial.”

In truth, Jonathan wanted nothing less than to climb back into that pizza van. After so many days stuck switching between its driver and passenger seat, he was tired of the whole damned thing. But if Max was in the hospital, that’s where they needed to be.

“Nancy, you’ll go with them and explain what’s going on?” Robin asked, receiving a nod as Nancy turned to climb into the very machine that’s made a half-country journey over the last few days.

Karen was resistant to letting go of her son and allowing him to be somewhere out of sight again. But she knew he needed to see his friends, and his sister would be with him. Her husband might try and act like Nancy was a mess of impulse and foolish emotion, but she knew her daughter was more than that. She’s strong and smart and one of the most responsible kids in the world, even if her ambition leads her to be brash sometimes. She moved her hands to pull her son’s forehead to her and smacked a kiss onto it once it was close enough.

“You are to come right back here after you finish checking on them,” she instructed, gently jabbing a finger into his chest to make sure he understood.

Mike rolled his eyes a little, but agreed,“ Alright, Mom.”

El and Will decided to ride in with Steve’s car to tell them their half of the story and catch up, while Nancy took her place in the back of the sun-faded yellow van next to Mike. While Argyle hopped back to the shotgun seat and Jonathan returned to his place behind the wheel, he decided to introduce himself to Nancy.

“I’m Argyle, and you’re my boy, Jonny’s, lady,” he stated instead of asking.

“Nancy,” she corrected his use of ‘Jonny’s Lady’ as a title for her. Despite it, she stretched a smile across her face to keep off any other reaction that wanted to present itself,” And you’re the friend from California.”

“Yes, I am,” he replied, wearing an easy-going grin that looked a lot more genuine and effortless than her own.

She didn’t get him. They’ve only just met, so it’s probably unfair to have decided it, she knows. But, already, she doesn’t get him.

There’s a cadence to his speaking that’s so lax and comfortable, and he just lolls his head around like it’s some foreign weight on his neck that he’s still adjusting to. All that might be something she brushes off as just somebody who walks through the world differently than she does. But apparently, they don’t walk through it so dissimilarly since they’ve both latched onto Jonathan and have gotten mixed up in Upside Down business.

So how is he so… him right now?

There was a beat of awkward silence while Nancy pondered him when Argyle looked like he was gearing up to say something else.

”So, what happened over here?”, Jonathan stepped in. Hoping to bait off another ‘Well, this is awkward’ moment between Argyle and a Wheeler as they started to pull away from the driveway.

“A lot,” Nancy answered,” But before we get into that, how are you all fine? I spoke to someone who said you all went missing after your house was raided.”

Jonathan started explaining,“ Uh, yeah. We got stuck with these supervisors to make sure we didn’t run off while El was with the doctors, and we were planning to sneak away to find her when a bunch of guys came through the windows and the doors, shooting-”

“Shooting?”

“One of the agents died, and the other was hit and came with us while we got out with Argyle. He died just after though.”

“Harmon and Wallace.” Nancy nodded.

“Who?” Mike asked her.

“Those were the agents. Agent Harmon and Agent Wallace. Right?”

“Was that their names? We just kept calling the one ‘Unknown Hero Agent Man’.” Argyle commented, before turning around in his seat to ask,” Do you know which one he was?”

“No, I don’t,” Nancy stated with a shake of her head.

“Man, coulda started calling him ‘Known Hero Agent Man’. Or just by his name, I guess. You think if we just use both, it’ll split the respect 50/50?” he wondered aloud, mostly to himself and Jonathan.

”Anyway, that’s-,” Nancy started as Argyle tried to find the best answer for himself.

"Rest in peace Harmon or Wallace? Rest in peace Wallace or Harmon? Wallrmon? Harlace? RestInPeaceWallaceHarmon?"

"Well, we can leave respect to both of them. They both died semi-heroically, even if only one of 'em did it in the back of the van." Jonathan reasoned.

”Wait, you said you only had one of them with you?”

“Yeah, the other was killed when he answered the front door. He was collapsed against the living room wall when we started running for our lives. Why?” Jonathan asked her.

“The woman I talked to said both of the agents were missing with you guys.”

“No, no, we definitely left the other one behind at the house.”

“And we left the other-other one buried in the desert,” Argyle added.

“So what happened to him before the rest of the team showed up…?” Nancy muttered.

Jonathan checked,“ You’re sure she said they were both gone?”

“Yes, I’m sure. She was pretty clear about it.”

“I’m getting a feeling like that probably doesn’t mean anything good.” Argyle cast wary eyes out the window at all the trees that rolled by.

“Yeah… probably not.” Jonathan agreed with him and turned his attention back to Nancy,” Um, but what do you guys know, what’s been going on in Hawkins?”

“Where to start…? There’s this guy, Vecna-”

“Vecna?” Mike cut her off,” Like our campaign-”

“Exactly like Eddie’s campaign, Dustin started it-” Nancy confirmed until Mike was talking over her again.

“Eddie? Why are you talking about Eddie? How do you know Eddie? You two never-”

“Well, we’ve had a very busy week, Mike-”

“That does not explain why you would-”

“Stop interrupting me, and I’ll get there.”

“Wow, you two really are siblings.” Argyle mused in the passenger seat.

“What does that mean?” They asked in unison, both somewhat offended to be compared to the other.

Argyle put up in hands in surrender,” Nothing bad, dudes. Just making observation and conversation.”

“Anyway- Vecna was one of the kids from El’s thing, the first one-”

“Henry- Or One-" Jonathan said," We know about him. He was the reason Dr. Brenner’s whole experiment got started.”

“Well, do you know how he got started?” Nancy asked, her tone more bitter than she was trying for.

She didn’t know what it was. It might’ve been the fact that they lost to Vecna/Henry/One, it might’ve been the woman in the pantsuit trying to make her feel small, it might’ve been Mike interrupting her like a minute ago... It could’ve been anything. But something was making it sound like she needed to prove herself. She needed to prove that she was smart, and capable, and had information they didn’t.

She took their silence as an answer and started with the things they couldn’t have known about,” Did you know he was the son of Victor Creel? That he murdered his mother and sister right here in Hawkins twenty-seven years ago? Did you know Dr. Brenner was coming to take him away because his parents thought he was off, but when Victor was arrested for their murders was put in Pennhurst, Brenner just took him and started all of this because the boy had powers and sadistic tendencies?”

Jonathan admitted,“ No. We did not know that."

But something in him heard that undercurrent in her. Like she wanted to start a fight. Jonathan's never been the kind of guy who likes fighting, who likes the be the guy on top of someone else. He doesn't butt against her with what they learned, he just simply says it because they all need to be on the same page.

"We do know that, after One became Brenner’s subject, the Dr. took away what he could do and kept him in the facility working as an orderly. He got close with El and told her how to do her stuff better until she got rid of his shackles. He killed nearly everyone there and tried to kill her when she confronted him. But she overpowered him, even as a kid. Sent him to what we know as the Upside Down.”

“Why has she never-”

Mike answered,“ She didn’t know. Blocked it out or something until this week.”

“The woman, she said… is it true? That El has her…”

“Oh yeah, girlie’s got her mojo back and then some.” Argyle smiled as he spoke.

“Wow,” Nancy said, partially because it was the only thing she could think to say when Argyle spoke. She really didn't know how to handle him or his whole… vibe.

“Anyway, the point is that he’s been behind all of it. He’s been the thing that kept reaching in from the Upside Down. And, on the last day before Spring Break, he killed Chrissy Cunningham.”

“Chrissy Cunningham?” Mike asked, eyebrowed hiked halfway up his forehead.

Argyle whispered loudly to Jonathan,“ Who’s Chrissy Cunningham, dude?”

“Cheerleader, really pretty, dating - or, dated - the basketball captain.” he filled in the only non-local in the vehicle,“ But, wait, he killed her?”

“In Eddie Munson’s trailer.”

“What?” Mike’s eyebrows went impossibly higher.

“Whole town thought Eddie killed her, but Max noticed her lights went on the fritz when it happened so we started looking into it as an Upside Down situation. As time passed, Vecna - or Henry or One - got Fred Benson and Patrick McKinney-”

“Kid on the school paper. Basketball player.” Jonathan translated the names for Argyle.

“And he tried to get Max. Twice.”

“Dr. Sam told El that things were crazy back here, but that you guys were fine. El didn’t believe him and checked. Said you guys were planning to take him down and were going to get yourself hurt when Max said she was marked by him.” Mike said to her.

Nancy started talking with her hands as she began to explain what they knew about Vecna’s situation,“ For some reason, Vecna doesn’t come over to this side. He just makes these little tears and stuff, but nothing enough for him to cross. I don’t think he can make something that big on his own. So he was finding these tormented kids, and broke into their heads with nightmares and delusions until he killed them… and somehow, their death's made these little tears that lingered. He needed four of them to open a bigger gate. And he’d decided one of them was Max. We kept him off of her once and put together a plan to have Max draw him away so we could dive or climb into the Upside Down through one of the small ones and destroy his physical body. To put a stop to it.”

“And all of this happened Thursday?” Jonathan asked, looking at her in his rearview mirror.

“Yeah, how did you-”

“We couldn’t get any flights to get over here after we got El back and she said it was looking bad for Max. El figured, if we couldn’t physically get here in time, we could put her in a salt bath like three years ago in the gym. So she could find Max and use her to piggyback into Henry’s head.”

“Mind Fight,” Argyle commented.

“She said while she was fighting him, he started having these reactions like something else was happening to him and then him and everything around them just faded away.”

“We lit him up with Molotov cocktails and buckshot.”

“So it worked.” Mike nodded, but was still confused,” Then why was there an earthquake and-”

“It didn’t work.” Nancy told him sadly,” Where we were supposed to find his body, it was missing. He got to Max. And then he got away. Somehow. And the gate opened for over a minute.”

“Max died?” her brother gaped at her.

“Eddie did, too.”

“What?”

“He went in with Dustin to distract the monsters. We pulled him out, but he bled a lot. Steve had to give him CPR, and we got them both back, but he’s in the hospital with Max.”

“Wait- that’s who El…?” Jonathan began to ask, cutting himself off as he connected the dots.

“What?”

He continued,“ El said there was someone else with you guys. A guy she didn’t know. Lots of hair, right?”

“It was Eddie?” her brother asked, remembering El's mumbling when she came back.

“Yeah.”

“But he’s fine, now?” Mike hoped.

Nancy was quiet for a moment. She didn’t have the kind of answer he wanted,“ He hasn’t woken up yet. Neither has Max.”

“El can check on them.” Jonathan declared.

“What do you mean she can check on them?”

“You remember how I said ‘and then some’?” Argyle asked her.

“Yeah?”

“This is the some.” Jonathan took over,” El, like, remote resuscitated them, or something. We don’t really know what she did. She doesn’t really know what she did. But she did something and they didn't stay gone.”

“What does that mean?”

“We don’t know, not yet…”

“I guess we’ll just have to find out.” Nancy finished as Jonathan pulled into the hospital parking lot.

The other carpool had a somewhat similar conversation as they drove behind. Filled in all the blanks from the past week for each other, but there was notably a lot less bickering between siblings. Dustin had tried to reach Lucas on the radio, but he wasn’t responding. In truth, he might’ve shut it off with the plans to hear from him that night.

When they turned the corner into the lot, Will found one of Steve’s zip-up hoodies in the back seat. It was a dark blue, not quite navy, color with worn drawstrings that’d have come undone in the wash and been retied about a dozen times. With Steve’s blessing, they get El slipped into it to cover her now near-shaven head to avoid attracting too much attention, She steadies her nerves and pulls the hood over as she sets her sights on the building.

It took a minute because it was still so busy with patients coming in and going out, but eventually, both cars got parked, and the members of the slowly reforming Party climb out onto the pavement. They came together and headed inside to see what’s become of their unconscious companions. And to see what they can do about it.

#Okay. I just want to write Argyle dialogue for the rest of my life now. He's just so fun and such a king and he deserves the best lines.#And don't worry about Nancy. She doesn't really hate Argyle.#She's just not sure how to handle new people who are overlyfriendly and don't seem to be taking her seriously at first.#(See: Nancy and Robin before they had the 'We're friends?' convo)#She'll warm up to him soon tho #And I am pushing my Steve-is-very-physically-affectionate-until-it-overwhelms-him-with-feelings-and-he-has-to-push-everyone-back agenda #Little Byers hug had to happen and in my world Will 100% has a baby crush on Steve.#NOTHING is going to EVEN REMOTELY happen there tho #He just sees a lot in Steve to admire and like (Same with Mike @ Eddie) so those characters are going to have interesting interactions #Anyway - next chap is going to be a littler one. About 2k words. But it'll drop soon so you won't have to wait long #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Steddie #Steveddie #Steve x Eddie #Nancy Wheeler #Robin Buckney #Ronance #Robin x Nancy #The Fruity Four #Stranger Things #Stranger Things 4 #Stranger Things 4 spoilers #Stranger Things 4 volume 2 spoilers #stranger things fanfiction #ST4 fanfic #Steddie Fanfic #Ronance Fanfic

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wellpresseddaisy · 2 years

Text

Those Cunning Folk

Part 6

Harry let his new guardian usher him off the train a short time later, and blinked when they made for the taxi rank. He thought they might walk or take the Tube. Ten minutes later, they exited the taxi right outside the Leaky Cauldron.

"There are other ways in, of course, but it's easiest from here." The explanation offered very little actual information.

Harry had so many questions, but he resolved to ask them later. He didn't want to be a pest. He followed Cadw through the pub and out into Diagon Alley. It looked…right. Vibrant and colorful and bursting with life. No gray concrete or paved streets or anything like that intruded on the shopping district.

They didn't stay on the main Alley for long. Cadw ducked down a side street Harry hadn't noticed on his first trip and led the way past all sorts of signs advertising specialized healers and herbalists and apothecaries. They stopped outside "Matley's Eye Care Emporium - Exams, Glasses Made to Order, Special Care for Difficult Cases".

"The family's been coming here for ages. You wouldn't believe what shocking eyesight the Black family has, on the whole." Cadw smiled down at the overwhelmed child next to him.

"Really? Aunt Petunia always blamed my dad." Harry followed Cadw into the shop, blinking against the light when the door swung shut behind them.

He'd expected a dimly lit and dusty place, like most of the other shops he'd been in, but it was bright and clean. A man in a old-fashioned white coat, like the kind doctors wore in old pictures with a high collar, stood behind a wooden counter.

"Matley, hello." Cadw began.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Du finally come back to us from the wilds of Wales." Matley spoke sternly, but the twinkle in his eye told a different tale. "Always were a difficult one, ruining your eyesight, poring over books in bad light."

"Matley," Cadw observed drily to Harry. "Thinks that anything less well-lit than his own shop is injurious to one's vision."

"And so it might be. Now, are you here for yourself or for this young man?" He came around the counter and Harry saw that he wasn't as old as his way of speaking made him sound.

He was maybe the same age or a bit older than Cadw, with much lighter hair and brown eyes. He moved slowly and carefully, not making any sudden jolts anywhere.

"We're here for Harry. I don't think his Aunt quite knew which glasses he needed." A polite lie could cover most embarrassment.

"Have you had an eye exam before? A magical one?" Matley sounded much too excited.

"Er, no sir. I had to look at a chart at school once. From across the room." Harry confided.

"I've done that too, but not at school. I went over to see what non-magical exams were like a few years back. It's so interesting how magic and technology can do the same things in different ways." He led the way back behind the counter as he spoke. "Now, for a magical exam, I need you to hold a few runestones. There are also some spells, so I'll have my wand pointed at your face for a few moments. If you don't like it, please ask me to stop. I got kicked three times last week."

"That's awful!" Harry blurted out. "I won't kick."

"I thought I could count on you. Now, the spells and the runestone work together to create the lenses you need. How many pairs will we make today?" He turned back to Cadw to ask.

"Four, please. We'll keep some at home for you, Harry, just in case someone finds a way to break Matley's enchantments."

Four pairs of lenses meant four pairs of glasses. Harry bit his lip. He thought glasses might be expensive, which was why Aunt Petunia just gave him this pair, but he had no idea. He knew that a few classmates got in terrible trouble for breaking theirs. He held himself still as Matley waved a wand in his face. It only took a minute or two and he really wondered why people would kick.

"Now, we put the runestone in the circle and it'll do the rest."

Harry gave the stone over and watched the man slot it into a hole in the center of a golden circle on the nearest counter. Matley tapped out with his wand and a glowing dome came up around the whole.

"This will take a few minutes. Did you know that at one time you'd have to sit very still because the runestone had to be atop your head? It's the absolute truth, Mr. Potter. Terrible trouble we had with some, you know, as they had very round sorts of heads." Matley prattled as he tidied a few things away.

Harry giggled at that.

"Yes, you may think it funny when you're not the one trying to balance a stone on a round head! I do have a question for you, young sir, before we get to your frames. Have you ever been sick and it looked like you had green, scaly patches and you sneezed sparks?"

Harry stopped to think. "Aunt Petunia said that was a dream!"

Cadw twitched convulsively and seemed to grip the nearest counter very hard.

"It was dragon pox, my good young sir. I had hoped you might just have the Black eyesight, but untreated dragon pox left you with some damage. I can make you glasses that will have you seeing as well as anything, but I can't heal up what the pox left." Matley sounded a bit sad about that.

"Oh." Harry hadn't really thought about that in ages. "Maybe Aunt Petunia didn't know?"

"Probably not, lad. Would you like to go out to the front to pick out some frames? Just whichever ones you like best."

Harry nodded. This felt like even more of a dream than sparking sneezes! He slid off the seat and made for the front.

----

Matley turned to Cadw, a grim expression on his face.

"Someone's also whacked him in the head with something hard. His magic healed it, what it could, but there are limits. Where was he?"

"With his mother's people." Cadw answered quietly. "Anything else?"

"He hasn't been fed properly. That's mostly solvable, but it looks like his magic stopped him growing to save that energy for keeping him alive and intelligent. He won't likely be as tall as he could have been." Matley admitted. "I may have gone a bit far on the diagnostics, but if you won't tell the Healer's board then neither will I."

"I won't say a word. I'd rather you winkled it all out than someone who might talk, honestly. He'll be cared for now, and properly. I…thank you. You were very good with him. I don't think he's used to kindness." That a child Harry's age wasn't used to people being kind boiled his blood.

"He's a nice boy, I think. Better behaved than most of the ones we get in here, in any case. The lenses are done if you want to go out to Mr. Potter." Matley wanted a moment to compose himself. No child should have to heal a fractured skull at age four. Four! He was still a baby!

"Thank you." Cadw wanted, more than anything, ten minutes of his own childhood nanny telling him it would be alright. He knew it would be, but that was down to him.

He exited the back of the shop to find Harry considering his choices very seriously.

"What looks best to you?" Cadw asked.

Harry startled, but didn't whirl around.

"I like these." He pointed to dark green frames that looked as if they'd been fashioned out of vine, rectangular rather than round. "They feel warm in my hand. But…isn't wood too delicate?"

"Not with the spells we have. We can have all four made the same, unless you prefer something like this." Face perfectly serious, he handed over frames in puce, studded with rhinestones.

Harry giggled at the sight of them.

"Or these, perhaps." Cadw showed Harry more frames, this time with enormous eyebrows and a moustache attached. "These would certainly lend an air to your countenance."

That got him a belly laugh. When Harry's mirth died down to occasional giggles, he managed,

"I think just the wooden ones. They felt the best."

"Excellent choice. We'll have all four made alike. And if you decide you'd like something different, we can come back."

"Thank you. I…thank you."

"And I can make up a pair right now for you that you can wear out. Ah, the English Ivy frames. Excellent choice, Mr. Potter." Matley appeared from the back, carrying one pair of lenses. "Standard Black package, Mr. Du?"

"Yes, thank you."

Harry watched in rapt attention as Matley pulled out his wand and started the delicate task of transferring lenses into frames. With a final, bright flare, they fused. Matley cast a few more spells on the glasses before he handed them over.

"These should be unbreakable, unscratchable, unfoggable, ungrabbable, able to adjust the light so it's comfortable for you, and will grow a bit with you. Try them on?"

Harry took his own glasses off and settled the new ones on his nose. They slipped sideways.

"Just give it a minute. They have to size to your face." Matley reassured him.

Harry waited as so, so slowly, the glasses resized for him. When they stopped, he looked around in wonder.

"I can see everything! This is going to make everything so much better! Thank you!" He beamed up at his guardian.

"You're welcome, Harry. Matley, could you have the rest sent to Black House?"

"They'll be there for you this afternoon. Enjoy your new glasses, Mr. Potter, and study hard at school."

"Oh, I will. Thank you Mr. Matley!" He wanted to run all over as they exited the shop and just look at things. Nothing had ever been so clear or so easy to see before.

"Now, shall we be off to the bank?" Cadw asked. "We can come back this way after and you can look at anything you like. We have plenty of time today to just wander, if you'd like."

"Really?" Harry asked, not believing his luck. Aunt Petunia would never do something like that.

"Of course we can. I remember my first pair of glasses from Matley's. I think I drove my mother distracted wanting to see everything."

"Then the bank first." Harry nodded decidedly. His new uncle understood and he could wait a little bit.

#those cunning folk #hp society/the ton #hp the season au #hp the season/the ton au #harry potter #hp au

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xsalvaticn · 2 years

Text

There’s so much emphasis on how kind Vanitas is in the narrative. Mostly when it comes to his past/flashbacks and in certain instances when Noé mulls over Vanitas and his behavior. And I feel like the more that it’s pointed out how kind Vanitas truly is until the prickly exterior, we see more examples of such. ( A big one is of him making Noé Tarte Tatin. ) I really love it, because it almost always contrasts with what we see of him in present time -- one of the first times we really hear and see him being called kind is during the revealing flashback with the blue moon trio, when Noé was forced to drink Misha’s blood. Luna commented on what a kind child he was, we saw instances of that, and then in present time we see this extremely cold Vanitas that we haven’t really seen before until then.

Not only does it add extra nuance to his character and makes you want to go back and look through his previous actions and behavior with a new lense, but it also should make us look at his future actions the same way too. And in saying this, I don’t believe that Vanitas meant the ‘I don’t need you. / I don’t need that.’ to Mikhail in malice.

After all we’ve seen just very previous to that, it’s obvious that Vanitas still cares deeply for Mikhail like a younger brother. When he was about to be consumed by the book, he stepped towards him and was obviously distressed by his cries of pain. To turn around and suddenly say something like that to him and mean it? I don’t buy that his emotions did such a 180; especially since Vanitas feels everything so deeply

I think he did so because he wanted his end to be of his own choice. He didn’t want Mikhail to either take on that burden or make that decision for him. And Noé was his first actual deep connection following the Luna incident and thinking they both died. Even when he tried his hardest to push him away and to deny he felt any positive emotion for him. He wormed his way into his heart. So he made the decision to put that trust onto him.

And also -- I feel like it was also a sort of test for him. A one last effort to push Noé away for good. If he accepted killing him when the time came, then he gets his wish. If he rejects it and leaves him, then he still gets a wish he had -- Noé getting untangled from him and being safe.

I just think it does Vanitas such a great disservice to take that whole scene / chapter at face value just because ‘VaNoé 11!!11!’. Even in his vulnerable and most open moments, there’s still several layers to his words and what he says. And remembering how kind he is, which the narrative wants us to remember with the constant insistence around us, helps us getting a much better read into him; and we need to hold onto that as the story moves forward.

#; ( glacial with the blue ice ) headcanons #// there was more to this i wanted to talk about which i may i a separate post but like #come on -- stop taking dialogue at face value just because it supports your ships #vanitas does not hate mikhail #he just also cares very deeply for Noé

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switchspencer · 3 years

Note

good evening yes i will would you like to discuss middle of the night “it’s raining outside and i got lonely” sex with spencer?

okay YES because middle of the night sex is sex with IMMACULATE VIBES and ESPECIALLY if it’s raining this is literally the most elite combination of things??

this went a little bit far and there’s actually two sort of blurbs under here.... yikes

word count: 1.5k (the first blurb is 500 words and the other is 1k)

ship: afab! reader x spencer reid

warnings: a storm, penetrative sex, implied creampie, neck kissing, sleepy sex, i think that’s pretty much it!!

i imagine it in one of two ways:

if you’re dating, he’s cuddled up to you. being the big spoon, pressed against your back, his crotch against your ass, his face nestled into the crook of your neck.

he whispers, “are you awake?” his voice is raspy and low, thick with sleep even though he hasn’t been successfully in drifting off yet, and so quiet you can barely even hear it over the pitter patter sounds of the rain at the window. you nod, barely visible in the dim lighting, but he feels it.

his fingers move from where they’re interlocked with yours, skimming over the exposed skin at your waist where your pyjama top has ridden up.

you use your right knee to shift yourself, pushing your body further into his, properly facing him. he doesn’t say anything. neither do you. but your eyes meet, and you can just about make out the outline of his nose as he leans in to kiss you. soft. his fingers following the trail upwards to your nipple, and rolling the left one between his thumb and forefinger. you lift your hips upwards, and feel him grin against your mouth. your hand comes to rest at the nape of his neck, using the hair there as leverage.

his crotch meets yours. he’s hard, really hard, and you gasp. he revels in the noise, it only spurs him to kiss you harder, wiggling his hips to make quick work of his pyjama pants. clumsily, with the hand that isn’t in his hair, you do the same with your own.

surprisingly (or, perhaps, unsurprisingly) you’re wet already. who could really blame you, your incredibly hot boyfriend is so insatiable for you that he’s forgoing precious hours of sleep.

neither of you strip all the way off. he slips inside of you. it’s almost unceremonious, like you’re just meant to slot together like that, nothing out of the ordinary happening. and in a way, it isn’t, you’ve had sex plenty of times. but there’s something different about this time. the way his mouth devours you, the way every move feels measured and thought out.

there’s no loud moans. no cries of each others names. there’s a veil of peace and content shrouding you that neither of you wants to pierce. it’s all quiet gasps, swallowed by his mouth or breathed into his neck while you adorn it with kisses. not harsh ones that will leave marks, just light ones. a small trail down to his collarbone before he captures your lips with his again. his breathing increasing in tandem with your own as he thrusts, your hand threading through the one resting next to your head. the other pulling desperately at his back. to hold him closer to you.

his thumb rubbing over your clit as he slips in and out of you. your head tipping back, biting back a moan as your releases find each other. the pitter patter of the rain never intruding on the moment. just serving as a peaceful backdrop as you lose yourselves in one another.

OR version two: you’re on a case together and he can’t sleep. he hears you leave your room, so he pokes his head around his door. you’d gone to the vending machine at the end of the hall to get a snack.

you almost jump out of your skin when you turn around and see him, tousled bed hair, head peaking around the frame of his bedroom door.

“oh,” he breathes, a mock whisper, “sorry i didn’t mean to frighten you. i just wondered who was walking around.”

“just me,” you reply sheepishly, briskly walking the four steps down the hallway to meet him so that your voices don’t draw out the rest of your team on the floor, “sorry, did i wake you?”

he shakes his head, “no. no i was already awake.”

“you can’t sleep either?”

“no.”

“do you want to come and sit with me?”

he tips his head, considering it for a moment. it really isn’t that big a deal, you’ve hung out on plenty of occasions. even shared a bed once, although that time every single breath he’d breathed had caught in his throat whenever you came within an inch of him, his heart leaping out of his chest.

“you don’t have to,” you follow up, and watch his eyes widen, “you just could if you want to. i know it’s no fun being awake alone.”

he presses his lips together thoughtfully, “um, if it’s not too much bother. i wouldn’t want to impose.”

“i invited you,” you say, turning around and using the key card to open your bedroom door, “come in.”

he follows you into the room. there’s a double bed, and your lamp has been left on. you’d had it off when you were trying to sleep, but the storm outside is pretty bad. as if to illustrate your point, there’s a loud rumble, and you’re so startled you almost jump, your hand flying to your chest.

“i wasn’t expecting that,” you laugh.

“there’s a storm coming in from the east,” he informs you, walking in and hovering awkwardly by your bed.

“sit down,” you instruct, “make yourself comfortable.”

you clamber onto the bed yourself. the curtains are shut, but you don’t miss the flash of the lightning that comes two beats after the thunder.

“did you know it takes the sound of thunder approximately 5 seconds to travel one mile?”

“i didn’t,” you reply, crossing your legs, “is it true that you can guess when the lightning will strike based on the thunder sound? i remember hearing about that as a child but i didn’t know if it was true.”

he doesn’t reply for a second. mostly because your pyjama shorts rode up when you crossed your legs, exposing a sizeable amount of skin that he hadn’t been privy to seeing before. he swallows, and your eyes fall down to where his gaze is sat, approximately a milisecond before he tears it away.

the tips of his ears turning pink, his voice cracks on the first syllable, “y-yes, that is actually true.”

“huh,” you nod, “do you want to look at the lightning?”

“w-what?”

right on cue, there’s another rumble. it lasts one, two, three, four, five seconds.

you pull back the curtains, wiggling forward. he follows your lead. the window is only small so you end up pressed against one another as you look at it. all darkness, the window pane smeared with rain that’s beaten down against it. his body is warm, and your heart hammers in your chest at the sensation of your shoulders pressed together. you swear his knees shake before he settles down more properly, sitting on the balls of his feet.

flash. the lightning lasts all of five seconds, but you’re not looking at it after maybe three. instead, you’re looking at him, the last fragments of it reflected in the lenses of his glasses.

“do you like storms?”

“i’m not the biggest fan,” he admits.

you’re staring right at him. you see his adam’s apple bob. it does twice before he caves and looks at you. in the lamplight, you can see his pupils dilate, the honey absorbed right before your eyes. there’s a static in the air that the storm can’t be blamed for.

neither of you move. a game of almost chicken. you don’t want to be the one to make the first move incase it’s something he doesn’t want, something he’s unprepared for. but his gaze drops from your lips and back to your eyes, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip and it’s so obvious that it must be deliberate. it must be deliberate because he’s a profiler and he knows better, knows what those kind of non-verbal cues suggest. so when you tilt your head, the faintest bit, and his follows in the same direction you know what’s happening.

there’s a warmth in the air between your lips, searing hot, and your heart thrums with nerves. your nerves couldn’t possibly be quelled, it’s too much, but your knees can’t quite adjust to the movement of your weight and you tip forward, hand resting on his shoulder. if he wanted to stop you, if he didn’t want to do this, now would be an opportune time to stop you but he doesn’t. he stares at you, imploring you to come closer, pursing his lips.

he’s a blur. you’re so close to his face that the features can’t be made out anymore and it’s him, it’s spencer, the one who finally closes the gap and kisses you.

really kisses you. it starts off slow. gentle. tentative. the heat radiates off his hand but he doesn’t bring it to your waist until you lean in to deepen the kiss. and then he holds you.

it moves so far so fast. the kissing is hurried, enthusiastic, as if now you’ve started you can’t quite fathom how you’d go about stopping. shedding clothes, thrown behind you in your haste. the rumble of thunder is the soundtrack as you pepper kisses all down his body, sucking marks that will purple right above his hipbone. pressing him back against the headboard. when he looks up at you, glasses slipping down his nose, he’s no longer the picture of innocence.

it happens so fast you’re not sure how you get there but what you do know is you’re on top of him, riding him, both so fucking loud that you’re not sure even the sounds of the storm can drown you out.

LINK TO JOIN TAGSLIST (for this blog and @reidyoulikeabook )

NSFW Spencer tagslist: @fiftyshadesofspencerreid @holding-on-to-my-youth @spencerreidat3am @muffin-cup @ssareidbby @reidyourmind @lumosemily @reidaissance @hauntedinsomnia @averyhotchner @sunkissglow @reidsacademia @gingertea6460 @opheli-yeah @meganskane @idonotexiste @thosecriminalminds

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #minors dni #not sfw #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #mgg smut

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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

Their Alright... For A Boomer

Masterlist

Summary: Being a girl with a larger chest always got you attention, maybe having your nipples pierced to try and fell more confident handt been the best idea, but how can you regret it when your latest client; the sexy Mr Cavill was ogling them but could this end up being more then just that one time you were eyed by a hot celebrity?

Warnings: Suggestive, No Smut, Fluffy? Cute and funny, Swearing

A/N: this was a request from @fanficlover91 i hope you like this hun, i tried to keep it hot but sweet and respectful? Which was a struggle but i hope i got the vibe you wanted. And as always i hope you all enjoy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

You blushed as you looked down the lense at your model. He smirked sweeping his eyes over you non to subtly. You could feel the blues penetrating you with a hot stare. The was the distinctive fast clicks on you camera snapping a burst of shots managing to capture his smirking face and eyes sweeping over your form appreciatively.

You stood tall and smiled pulling away double checking the shoots. You bit your lip. Fucking hell this was both the best and worst job you had. Henry Cavill was the most enticing male you'd ever had the pleasure to photograph. He didn't even have a good side, every side was good! There wasn't an unflattering angle on the man!

"And that's a wrap? I think we have everything we need Mr Cavill" you said professionally making to move away from him and begin to swap sd cards and label them before packing away. Henry gawfed and rose quickly panicked almost.

"I- err no! Wait I was... Well hoping that I could have some more done?" he said chaseing you across the small studio you could hear his agent Leah scoff from the side lines. You frowned and looked to her nervously. The woman had been watching and tutting, scoffing and clicking her tongue through the whole session. It actually made you nervous, wasn't she pleased with the shoot? You were worried, being freelance this was your first time doing a celebrity shoot for a magazine but the usual photographer was in hospital having a stroke a few days prior and you were the only free photographer in the agency that was close enough to take the job. Sure you wasn't well known but still it was a little disheartening to have someone seemingly unimpressed with your work.

But it was when you eyed her you saw she wasn't giving you the evil eye. Her frown was directed at henry, a scolding look you'd give a misbehaving child. You frowned a little puzzled, but shook it off in favour of looking to Henry. Your actual client.

"More? I... I? Thought the piece only needed a few to choose from? They were very ah... How do I put it? Thorough? With the brief" you explained hoping Leah would step in and clarify just what was going on. Because you didn't have a clue.

"I yes but- I'd love to top up my portfolio? You know? I err yeah have a few changes going on and... I mean a few greys and such... Just want to update it a tad... I'll pay obviously- I'd pay anything for more time please?" he pleaded watching you closely eyes wide and bright full of hope.

"I... Err" you shifted swapping your camera from one hand to the other and craned your head around the man trying to spy his agent. But you had no hope of peeking around this gargantuan man. Just like with the camera he demanded your full attention.

"And for Instagram and stuff! There's only so much I can do in a selfie... I'd even recommend you- advertise your work!" he quickly added sounding desperate now. It would help you out if you did have a few shots of him for in your own catalogue. It shouldn't matter but having a celeb under your belt was actually a good thing. It meant you'd acted professionally and been good to work with.

"I suppose so, I do have a few extra sd's here... Tell you what I'll do another shoot for you as long as I can pick a few to put in my portfolio? Then we both update our files?" you nodded to him speaking slowly. He grinned and relaxed nodding quickly pleased with himself for wrangling more shots. You'd never know he was just glad to has more time with you.

"Oh yes absolutly! That's fine here should we get started now or?" he asked biting his lip trying not to stare at you for too long. But it was hard you were fucking stunning!

"Oh yeah sure iv got time, let me just sort these out and set up, need to switch, you've tired my poor camera" you said with a grin trying to ignore the man as he beamed at you looking excited nodding enthusiastically. You backed up and spun around trying not to blush as you felt henry gazing openly at you.

"Right well if the magazine ones are done I will be off then" Leah called packing up her bag with a small chuckle to herself. You froze and spun quickly seeing her seemingly abandoning you with Henry.

"Wha- oh you don't have to you can stay-" you tried to reason unsure why, I mean who wouldn't want to be alone with this huge glorious man? Maybe you just didn't trust yourself with him? He had been 'making love' to the camera all afternoon. Smouldering bedroom eyes that was making it hard to focus. You had been getting hot under the collar all day as you kidded yourself he was eyeing you, not the camera or would be readers.

It didn't help that you had caught him oogling your breasts earlier. But you wasn't mad, it was your own fault. It was the Hight of summer and you had on a string vest with a thin bra, that you could clearly see your nipple bars through. You didn't feel uncomfortable or anything, you didn't blame Henry for looking. You cant exactly ignore your tits.. The were pretty large for your frame. You were curvy but they were as one ex put it 'exceptional'. And besides he had looked not touched and he hadn't been a creep about it. In fact he had done a double take and then blushed when he realised he had been caught looking. But as you said you get that with big boobs, you'd had it your entire life, it was actually one of the reasons you'd got them pierced. It helped with your confidence and you convince yourself that they were looking at the bars. Not you per say.

"Okay aunt Leah I will see you in a few days." henry interrupted you quickly smiling practically ushering the woman out the door. He moved fast ever picking the womans phone and juice bottle to help her leave quicker.

"Yes, behave Henry I'll see you soon" she said with a giggle before calling a thank you and goodbye over her shoulder at you. You swallowed nervously and gave a quick bye as the door clicked behind her and you were left alone with Henry. The man groaned stretching as he spun around a huge grin on his face, making your knees tremble a little. Fuck.

Henry came over and watched you closely as you scribbled the name and date along with the publication name on the sd case label. You tried not to notice as he hovered biting his lip then took off the blazer and threw it on the table beside you drawing your attention as he did grunting a little. The v neck letting the smallest amount of soft looking chest fuzz that had been teasing you all day. He grinned slyly as he caught you eyeing him and crossed his arms over his chest flexing for your benefit. You gasped and quickly looked back to the camera in your hands inserting a new scarf into the new fully charges camera.

"Soo how do you like this kind of work?" henry said casually trying not to seem like a creeper but god damnit he couldn't stop eyeing you. If he had known how sexy you'd be he would have demanded to be doing a bloody swim wear shoot!

"You mean people?" you stuttered trying not to look him in the eye. Not that it helped because the rest of him was just as fucking sexy! You quivered all over desperately trying to remember how to breath, yet didn't want to draw in too deep a breath and make your tits bounce for him and look like a slut. There was a very fine line for a big busted girl, to much wobble will make you look like your trying to get attention.

"I mean celebrities, magazines we were told you mainly do private shoots for events and model portfolios" he offered leaning forward as he leant back on the desk next to you hooking one ankle behind the other. The way he stood placed his crotch in your line of sight as you looked down and worked on setting up the camera. You flushed. Oh god he looked er... Bigger then you'd thought earlier, not that you were looking but... Well you couldn't help notice the package! The man was a fucking serial man spreader! And that thing was huge! With the muscles he was packing he could probably bench press you with his crotch!

"Oh well its different... And you sir popped my celebrity cherry" you froze on the spot as you said that, it had meant to be an ice breaker, a joke but instead had sounded fucking creepy!. You snapped up to him making to apologize as your face flamed mortified but he had thrown his head back laughing. The deep rumble sent chilled down your spine.

"Well I'm honoured to have popped your cherry~" he teased placing a hand over his heart with a cheeky grin making you blush and nod then turned to him with the new camera all set up.

"Soo where do we start?" you said moving on quickly looking up at him trying to forget the whole cherry comment.

"Where ever you want me, i will let you take the reigns command me as you will" he chuckled standing tall once more and looked about the room casually to the various small set ups, different furniture, seats sofas and mini tables dotting the space.

"I... Okay then you said Instagram? How about we start with some facials-FACE SHOTS! Face. Shots. Not facials fuck. Shit" you quickly tried repairing the damage whist cursing yourself wanting nothing more then to be swallowed up by the floor.

"No, no love facials sounded perfect~" he said winking before gliding past you making you stutter and almost choke on your breath. Oh good lord this was a bad idea. You followed as he sat down on a sturdy sofa and looked head on at you and bit his lip once again watching you with a sultry look.

And that was the beginning. You followed him about taking various snaps whislt having small talk. He seemed to be very flirtatious as he spoke, dropping lines and compliments as he made eyes at you. You flushed each time clamming up at his suggestive comments. And rightly or wrongly you flirted back trying to seem cool and suave. But inside you were fangirling unable to belive you were here with this incredibly gorgeous man teasing one another. On a few occasions he even growled as you scampered about him, crouching and taking shots from blow getting some delicious angles that dampened your knickers. Then in between all this he managed to get little tied bits. You'd told him you were on agency freelance and were trying to get into the social media platform as it seemed easier in this day and age rather then to be in fashion photography. You wanted to be commercial not private but no one would really take a chance anymore.

Then you suggested a few shots on the sofa laying back trying to think of something different for your portfolio, maybe a body length shot. He was quick to agree and dived onto the sofa saying he had an idea you swallowed nodding not fully trusting the look in his eyes. But that was forgotten as he relaxed stretching out over the sofa legs crossed and resting on the arm of his hands behind his head and a devilish smirk looking down the lenght of his body. You knelt at his feet trying to get a flattering image of him looking down but cursed as the camera wasn't playing ball. The lense was focusing, this was why you used the other one first, the camera had a few issues and was temperamental.

"What's wrong?" he asked frowning a little at you as you growled pulling the camera away fro your face and began trying to manually focus the lense.

"Oh its.. It wont focus.. It does this sometime, really need to throw it out but.. She was my first I'm sentimental" you said feeling silly as you battled with the camera.

"We all are with our firsts... How about you come closer instead, I really want to see this shot, never done one at this angle.. Out of all my shoots your the first to suggest this~" you froze and looked to him but he just smiled impishly at you. Slowly you rounded the sofa and leant over him positioning the camera at his stomach as he looked right into the lense giving you a definite bedroom eyes, half lidded and burning. Both dreamy and amazingly sexy. It was as if he could see you beyond the lense, as if it wasn't even there!

"You can come closer love, I wont bite, not if you don't want me to~" his voice was low and teasing, luring you in like a siren. You trembled and moved along him but he tutted and moved a hand to your hip and pressed, coaxing you onto the sofa and sat you on him making you straddle him. You gasped squeazing your camera tighter as he moved you easily, warm palms holding you both delicatly and firmly. You could see in his eyes he was weary unsure if he had gone to far but you squeezed him between your thighs and relaxed making him grin up at you getting the message you didn't mind at all. You aimed the lense at him once more and got the shots you wanted.

"Perfect! Mr Cavill" you said actually a little sad that this session was over. It had been nice playing this little cat and mouse game with him. But all good things come to an end.

"Ah now i have a policy love, when a womans on top they can call me henry, among other things~" he said smoothly laughing as you chuckled nervously fiddling with the camera in your hands and shifted over him a little.

"I will try to remember that for next time boomer~" you teased managing to overcome your nerves as you pulled away the camera with a giggle winking at him as he stuttered. For a second you thought you'd gone too far but a quirk to his lips made you relax once more.

"That hurt, that was hurtful" he teased pouting not releasing you from his lap, instead holding you tighter, fingers digging into your sides making you gasp and bit your lip as he pulled you to his crotch and ground into you teasingly.

"I'm so sorry~" you uttered breathless trying to keep yourself together. But this man was something else, like a drug- the devil all fanged smiles and smooth words. God you were fucked, you knew this man could do anything to you and youd thank him for it~

"I doubt that" he cooed and slid his hand higher growing more and more confident. The last few hours of casual flirting had built up his appitite. There was no misconceptions, you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

"Oh yeah?" you said coyly tipping your head to him playing along willing for this to happen, whether it be a one of fuck or something longer. You didnt have any complaints~ this was your body and youd enjoy it with who ever you wanted to!

"Yeah prove it!" he hissed and moved quickly sitting up and swinging around planting his feet on the floor. You yelped as he moved surprizingly fast and managed to keep you in his lap now face to face with you eyes roaming your face settling on your lips.

"And how should i do that" you teased tilting your head skimming your lips with his as you spoke. He groaned and held you tighter making you whine breathlessly willing this to happen. You wanted him and you wont deny yourself the chance.

"Make and old mans day" he said plainly and leant back resting on the back of the sofa, you watched him closely and brought your hands to his shoulders prodding at the neck of the t shirt and drew your fingers down slowly feeling him shiver at the light skimming fingertips.

"Oh really Boomer? And how would i make and old mans day?" you teased once more making him grunt but he quickly caught himself as your fingers smoothed over the teasing curls that peeked over his top. You scratched over them lightly with your nails making him draw a needy breath and chuckled at him. He was sexy and cute~

"By accepting a job offer?" he said before smileing smugly as you paused and frowned. Had you missed something? Was he after a freebee?

"Job offer? Really another shoot?" you snorted suddenly not feeling sexy, more like he was trying to butter you up for some fuck for parts shoots or something. He sighed and began speaking before you could get yourself all twisted. But then again you could have taken his offer wrong.

"Manage my social media. I have many companies and brands reach out to me for endorsements. They want me caught wearing their brands. But I'm to busy most of the time I cant make it to the locations they want. It actually doesn't seem worth it most of the time, with cost of flights and time lost travelling to and from studios itd be easier if I had my own personal photographer that travelled with me its be easy, slip on the clothes and what not take a few snaps and then you touch them up and post them on my social media." he explained watching as it sunk in that he wasnt trying to pull a fast one. Well he was but not trying to fuck you over... Just fuck you... And keep you because you were fantastic and he wants nothing more then to have you around hime as much as possible. In the single dat he had spent working with you, you had enchanted him, not only were you sexy but you were good at your job and easy to work with but also funny and cute and he needed to get to know you.

"Of course its a very big venture and we'd have to have a few dinner and lunch dates to work out all the nitty gritty" he added after a few beats of silence trying to make it clear he was interested... Very interested~ it worked as you fluched and a playfull look donned your face your fingers began stoking his chest hair once more. He relaxed shuddering under the nails as they teased his curls.

"Is this a big ploy to get a date Boomer?" you purred his new nick name making him groan when you squeezed him between your thick thighs once more grinding on him and the considerable bulge below you that twitched.

"No... Maybe is it working?" he said quickly hissing at you shifted in his lap once more, his hands snapping to your hips trying to still you before he came undone in his boxers. You were a very dangerous woman and something told him you knew.

"Well it sounds like an offer I'd be very, very interested in taking further~" you clarified giggling when he swallowed dryly and eyed you surprized that his plan had seemed to work.

"Good to hear~ so got anything planned after this?" he asked feeling a wave of confidence at the prospect of snagging a date with you. He hadn't meant to sound so eager but... He was eager and that was that.

"Yes" you said with a straight face and got up off of him spinning around heading to the table with your camera bags. You gave him a glance and giggled seeing him still sitting there gobsmacked legs wide open and his crotch that was now definitely bigger then it had been earlier.

"O-oh" he stuttered seemingly unsure how to proceed. You giggled as he fumbled over his words. Then decided to grant him some mercy and began speaking whilst popping out the sd card from the camera labeling it like the previous one.

"You see I had a very cheeky client today who asked for a shoot last mineut. But I wasn't to bothered he was very very sexy even if he was a boomer, but get this out of nowhere gave me a job offer? And we're having dinner- he promised pizza~" you giggled glancing at Henry as he slumped in the seat realising halfway through that you were talking about him. He smoothed his hands over his face and jumped up coming over to you shaking his head.

"You know I'm not actually a boomer?" he quipped folding his arms. You rolled your eyes at him as you packed your stuff away making sure to recheck everything.

"Have you seen your selfies? Your a boomer, boomer" you teased making him scoff but laugh at the name that has now stuck.

"Wait you've seen my selfies? What do you think?" he asked wanting feedback on the silly shots he took. You paused halfway through zipping up your bag and turned facing him fully giving him a thoughtful look then shrugged

"Their alright... For a boomer" you giggled when he preened for a second then his face dropped into a pout when you finished the comment.

"I repeat...That was hurtful" he said covering his heart with a kicked puppy look making you laugh and hoist your bags over your shoulder and make for the door with him hot on your heels.

"Its fine boomer a second date will make up for it I'm sure~" you sniggered at him playfully looking back at him as he followed you out of the door.

"A date for each time you call me boomer? Deal" he quipped walking along side you offering you his arm like a true gentleman unlike the teasing horny little shit he had been all day. Not that you minded either. Gentleman on the streets, freak in the sheets and all that jazz.

"God we may aswell marry now then boomer" he laughed nodding in agreement the banter from the day still in play as you both left the building.

"Seems so, I mean were at ten that's what the kids consider boyfriend girlfreind territory" he anounced with a sigh playing on the 'boomer' joke making you giggle and roll your eyes as he mentioned the tally. Then you frowned and quickly counted your 'boomers' and opened your mouth you correct him, arguing that ten was incorrect.

"I think its nine boomer- ah see what you did their sneaky boomer!" you cried pushing him playfully at his little trick. He roared with laughter and quickly tangled his fingers with yours dragging you back alongside him guiding you down the street towards a place he knew served pizza, he didn't remember but apparantly he promised pizza...

#henry cavill #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n

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silkgonerough · 3 years

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Astro Observation/Rants #3 (includes moral support for ppl with harsh aspects between their big 3)

🍰UNDERRATED ASPECT COMBO: Mercury sextile venus + mars when I tell you the amount of crazy situations I’ve talked my way out of and the amount of free things I’ve talked my way into is simply ridiculous.. The mixture of both I think gives someone a rlly nice and sweet way of talking but with a certain tact and persuasion with how their saying it if that makes sense? Which equals a real charmer in words but also someone very skilled in how to get what they want through what their saying. If you have this as well start using it to your advantage trust me it works!!!

☹️Does anyone else who has Pluto or Saturn on or aspecting the ascendant in a harsh aspect have an intense self awareness that kind of keeps them from doing certain things bc it gets to much be too much or you get too paranoid over what others will think of you?

😪Being a Sagittarius but with Saturn as my dominant/elevated planet is really not what I signed up for... I thought I was getting my fun carefree casual storyline but Saturn said it’s the struggle for me. RIP to young me who only looked at cookbook astrology and rlly thought I was doing something...

🙃Ppl who have their sun or ascendant squaring your own ascendant usually have habits or just certain things they do that tend to annoy you or make you judgemental in how they present themselves to the world and others around them. My virgo rising squares my moms sagittarius sun and I can’t take her anywhere 😕

🥵Venus square mars is so hot yet such a disaster in synastry😭 like maybe it’s because I attract relationships that tend to be as messy as something out of a Netflix original but I’m always so attracted to guys who’s venus’ square my mars... and then they open their mouths😪

📚If you know someone with mercury in an aspect to saturn compliment their intellect, writting skills or just knowledge in general!! Ppl with this aspect tend to feel insecure with being considered “smart” even if they really are! Most ppl I’ve met are able to articulate their thoughts rlly well and are like walking dictionaries almost? They way they talk when explaining definitions or concepts is also lowkey hot🥵maybe that’s just my Virgo rising talking tho...

💖Sun in any aspect to venus but especially the conjunct/trine as an aspect between two people is the official hype man aspect!! The venus person hypes the hell out of the sun person and vice versa!! Probs the loyal fan who’s always in your comment section😘I love this aspect sm tho you just love the entire being of the other person! one of my fave celebrities has her venus conjunct my sun and I am deeply in love with her🤪

😩WHEN WILL THE UNIVERSE GIVE ME ANYTHING OTHER THEN A DAMN PISCES ARIES OR LIBRA MAN ITS GETTING OLD give me my Scorpio or Capricorn man😭🙏 (except dont bc all of hell will break loose and it’ll be me invigoratingly opening the gates)

🌗If you have your sun in a harsh aspect to your moon (square or opposite) your childhood was probably not the most fun in the home life and you probably understood the harsh reality of marriage or just unhealthy relationships in general from the parents :/ the whole sun/moon inner conflict was also probs pretty prevalent and caused social issues with peers at school.. honestly such a sad aspect to have as a child bc everything’s so hard and you don’t understand why bc you don’t rlly understand yourself yet :( but once you grow into it and figure out how to balance your emotions/moon to your overall personality/sun one can become the strength where the other is weak and it creates a sort of wondrous enigma of a person and ppl can become rlly entranced in your personality! It’s called layers bitch😜

🤫Scorpio/Pluto in the 3rd house (I have both🤗) could be someone who has a lot of secretive hobbies or interests that they don’t share with a lot of ppl but may have a secret social media accounts for them👀 not the type to tell ppl if they like someone but the ppl who are close to them will catch on or honestly figure out just by asking them straight up bc once confronted we get all embarrassed and you can see it on our faces super easily! We love our mysteries, plot twist or literally anything that requires digging deeper or making theories when reading or watching something. No surface level shit here🙅‍♀️

💸Mars in 2nd house may have a shopping addiction or may be bad at saving money. They usually binge shop and are the types that went to a grocery store for more untensils and came back with a waffle maker and a bunch of baking supplies😅 stingy if you eat their food without permission... the type to freak out if they left their fave shirt at their friends house after a sleepover lol, probs has a thing for food and sex together or sex in a really luxurious place with candles and rose petals.. it’s go big or I’m going tf home with them. Have furniture in ur home their not fucking in a god damn roller rink🤣

🌟People with Mercury in Aquarius/aspecting Uranus seem to really like talking about scientific theories or futuristic concepts!! All the ones I’ve known have had really grand ideas and seem to like anything related to the mystical but also seemingly holds a lot of innovative undertones! One of my friends who has Mercury in Aquarius aspecting Neptune/Uranus has a thing for the Disney short films which honestly is like a mix of neptune and uranus in its art forms! I’ve always thought it was cute how eager she is to show me them☺️

🌊From what I’ve observed an aspect that can make someone kind of bad at confrontation or like vocalizing their feelings until it’s too late and their bursting like a freaking geyser is Pisces mars. It doesn’t rlly take a lot to have them feeling some sort of way either with or without a valid reason (this is just an observation from the ones I’ve seen I don’t want to generalize!!) but the way they get angry is like a baby’s tempter tantrum and because I’m a Sagittarius I can always see thru the bullshit and I’m like is anyone else seeing this? I think overall besides Scorpio having a water mars signs is exceptionally hard so I cut them some slack but at what cost😫

🤤Mars conjunct Jupiter people are yummy. The men and women both are so hot and the men are always exuding big dick energy and usually thats what their giving👀

🌎All my big 3 create harsh aspects to one another (sun square moon, moon opposite ascendant, ascendant square sun) I honestly don’t know how I made it this far without literally exploding from tension but to anyone with these I guess my advice would be to refrain from taking things too personally bc it’s usually never that serious we’re just already a bit insecure in ourselves and how we present ourselves to the world! Your perception of how others view you vs how they actually do are usually very different in a good way but we tend to self sabotage ourselves into acting the way we think others want us to! I think having so many conflictive yet different sides of yourself creates a very influential character. It’s kind of like living in many completely different places throughout your life. The change is always hard and you don’t always feel secure but your experience and perception on things are really unique and you can offer other ppl a whole new perspective on who they are bc you yourself are always looking through the world through conflicting yet contrasting lenses.

#natal aspects #natal astrology #astro chart #astro rant #astro culture #astro observations #astrology #natal

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

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Binary Sunset (AU post RotS, Beru Lars gets an unexpected visit and has to make a tough choice regarding her nephew)

“Who are you?”

Beru reared back, attempting to put as much distance as possible between herself whomever this thing was, staring her down with cold dead eyes.

“I have come for my son,” the figure said, its voice deep and monotone and distinctly male.

Glancing behind herself into the sleeping quarters of the homestead, she saw that the infant child was still asleep in his cradle. She made sure not to give away his location, but when she turned her attention back to the intruder, her heart was already sinking. He had not moved. In fact, he might have been taken for a statue, had it not been for the loud wheezing breaths of a respiratory device of some kind. The man bore a cape, as black as the uniform full body suit and armour covering him. It danced in the twilight wind, as the two suns glowed behind him like red orbs. Their intense heat seemed insignificant, compared to the burning hatred Beru could feel from the man’s covered eyes.

“I don’t know your son.”

“Is that so.”

His mask gave nothing away, stoic, resembling a human skull. His words seemed a statement, rather than a question, as if he was making a mental note of her defensiveness. Tall, broad shouldered, menacing. Beru hoped she came off as genuine, but when he took a step towards her, she felt the primal urge to run inside, grab the child and flee.

“There is a child in your sleeping quarters,” said the man, after a long, chilling silence despite the sunlight still spilling in orange hues over the sand dunes. “He is not yours.”

“He is!” Beru heard herself growl, shocked by how possessive she had become of the little one in such a short span of time. “He is mine!”

“He is not. You may have taken him in as next of kin, but he is not yours to claim.”

Beru clenched her jaw, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder at the cradle. He was still blissfully unaware, swept in a soft duvet as he cooed in his sleep. Even over the persisting hissing of the intruder’s breathing, she focused on the child.

Luke. Precious little Luke, destined for so much more than life as a poor moisture farmer. Face set hard, Beru made sure to place herself in the middle of the doorway, just outside the threshold. She would not back down, whatever that decision would entail. The ex-Jedi who had delivered him might have grander plans, plans this stranger might be involved with, but she wanted the boy safe. On Tatooine, if he was taught to fend for himself, to steer clear of Jawas, Tusken raiders and womp rats, he might become an ordinary young man some day. Without the mystical sorcery his father had fallen prey to luring him in.

“He is mine. We have adopted him, we are his only living relatives. He has no one else.”

Beru hoped she sounded genuine to the menace, hoped she was appealing to some sort of sympathy or compassion behind the threatening visage. When he spoke, his tone was even deeper than before, a rumble rivalling that of any fully grown krayt dragon.

“Do not lie to me,” he warned, and moved so suddenly Beru couldn’t help but gasp in mixed horror and startlement.

But all he did was raise one arm, letting the open palm hover midair, facing the woman’s face. She blinked, confusion seeping in - and then her head exploded from within. She flinched, as a sharp pain ground its way into her temples. The ache travelled down her spine, a loud ringing in her ears overpowering any senses as her vision went bright white - shutting out both the mysterious visitor and the binary sunset. She whimpered, her own hands flying up to cover her ears. She wanted to scream, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she thought what felt like an ice pick being drilled right through her brain.

And then, it was gone. As if it had never been there to begin with. Unable to control her sobs, her legs gave out beneath her and she sank to the ground. She panted, terrified of the man before her, of the agonizing headache returning. She could not explain it, but there was no doubt in her mind that the two were connected. The stranger had hurt her without laying a finger on her, if he was able to do that, what else was he capable of? If she had been wary before, now she was terrified.

“I - I am… not lying,” she managed to whisper, voice hoarse and unsteady.

“No. You are not.”

Surprisingly, the man agreed as he let his hand fall to his side. A wave of relief washed over Beru, but she was not prepared to build her hopes up that he may show her mercy and leave her and Luke alone. Luke needed to stay here, for his own safety. The Jedi had promised her he would keep them safe, and she had promised to love Luke as her own son. That meant defending him as if he were.

“You are not lying. You know only what Kenobi has taught you.”

Beru wiped her face with her sleeve as best she could, hoisting herself into an upright position with one hand pressed to the clay wall by her side. She clung to it for support, but through her watery eyes she saw that the stranger seemed more resolute, his stance more determined. She trembled, but stood her ground.

“I won’t speak of it. Not to you. Not to anyone. He warned us of strangers.”

“Kenobi is a liar and a traitor to the Empire, as are all Jedi. Would it be beneath an attempted murderer to lie?”

The stranger’s voice bore the same, mechanical character but it was sharper now, like a bark. Beru felt the hatred from before had returned, but didn’t seem to be directed at her. The way the man said ‘Kenobi’ revealed everything about whom the loathing was aimed at.

“I don’t understand,” the woman shook her head, cold sweat still soaking her forehead and she wiped her brow with her sleeve.

“He told you the child has no living relatives, did he not?”

Beru’s eyes widened, before suspicion crept back in. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, willing herself to restrain herself from shedding any more tears. Even though she was still breathless, still shivering, still afraid.

“I never said it was him,” she settled for, as her retort.

“I am warning you to play along, or I may need to apply different methods to assure your complacency,” was the reply, and the man raised his hand again.

The threat was enough, and Beru shook her head vehemently, arms coming up to shield herself from another head splitting, intrusive mental assault. What she had assumed before was true, he had been controlling whatever power had tormented her senses. How? Why? Nothing made sense, but she believed him and that was enough.

“You are wiser than most. Fetch the child.”

“What?” the woman croaked, all the blood draining from her face as the intent behind the demand hit her.

“Fetch. The. Child,” he repeated, this time using his raised arm to point his finger at the doorway.

Only a sliver of pink and orange sunlight remained on the horizon. Owen wouldn’t be back in several hours. Beru hesitated, unwilling to comply, but found she could not resist. She could either obey, or protest and get herself killed. The stranger would take Luke away either way, she already knew that.

Stubborn tears welled back up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she slipped back into the primary living area of their homestead. Passing through another low doorway, she approached the cradle cautiously. She didn’t want to wake the child, didn't want to frighten him. Hushing him, or perhaps herself and her own soft sniffles, she picked the little bundle up. Beru made sure Luke was neatly wrapped in his duvet as she cradled him to her chest, rocking her arms gently when it seemed he might wake up. She breathed a sigh of relief when he settled back down, cooing and letting out a soft snore. Swallowing hard, Beru kept her head low and kept her gaze steady on the blonde tuft of hair on Luke’s head where it stuck out from underneath his pajamas.

Not until she had crossed the threshold, relying solely on her periphery and memory, did she tear her eyes away from the infant. The intruder hadn’t moved an inch, the now chilly, crisp air biting at Beru’s tears streaked cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was soft but defiant.

“If you want him, you’ll have to go through me first.”

“It would be foolish of you to presume I wouldn’t,” he simply stated, his tone matter of fact.

“He’s my boy.”

Once again, Beru hoped he had a heart somewhere behind the exterior facade of menace. Beyond those strange, terrifying powers he had displayed.

“He is not. The child belongs with his father,” said the man.

“The child’s father is dead. So is his mother. I and Owen are the only family he has left, he has no one else. He means nothing to you, whoever you are. He means the world to me.”

“Then, we have something in common,” stated the stranger, and it took Beru a tad too long to understand what he meant.

“I… don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. Not Kenobi, not you,” she felt the weight of realization as something began to dawn on her, but refused to voice it and see it confirmed.

The man shifted then, stalking closer with a couple of long strides. As he moved closer, Beru tipped her head back, staring up at his frightening stature but unwilling to turn away, for fear of what he might do if she lost an ounce of focus. He seemed much more focused on the bundle in her arms, however, and she instinctively held the child closer to her body for protection. The man was huge, towering over her, looming like a hungering predator ready to strike. The lenses of the mask he wore were a deep, crimson red, she noticed now. The colour filled her with dread, entrancing as she watched him peer in what could have come across as stunned silence at the peacefully slumbering infant. One the man’s large, gloved hands came up to reach for the boy, and Beru almost yelped in fear.

But instead of harming Luke with just a look, Beru was shocked to see the man touch the infant’s chubby little cheek with an unearned, unexpected tenderness. It was just a simple, gentle graze of fingertips, and a smile pulled at the corners of the child’s lips. He was still asleep, but he cooed something intelligible, one tiny hand reaching for the stranger’s index finger. The stranger seemed cautious, and Beru almost believed he was concerned, maybe even scared of accidentally hurting the boy.

“Kenobi would rather have you believe the child’s parents had perished,” said the stranger, but his attention was still single handedly on the infant.

“Where else would they be? Kenobi told us the Jedi order had been executed, framed for high treason. He told us Anakin Skywalker died with the rest of his kind.”

“They were not framed, they were the instigators. But I am not here to discuss politics that may result in your immediate execution, and neither should you.”

The threatening note to the man’s voice was back, and Beru pinched her lips tightly together. She knew by now that Luke’s life had never been on the line, not given how carefully the stranger was interacting with the sleeping form. Her life, however, was still in mortal peril - and perhaps Owen’s was, too.

“The fact still stands,” Beru dared to say, bracing herself. “That Anakin is dead, and Luke has no one but us.”

“Luke…”

The name was said so gently, so softly that Beru almost thought she had imagined it. Despite the harsh diction, the flat delivery seemed so genuine and heart felt. Gaze darting between the intruder’s mask, and Luke’s pleased expression as the man let him close his little fist around his finger, the suspicion only grew stronger in its persistence.

“Yes. Luke. His mother named him before she died, Kenobi said. Unless that was another lie,” the woman trailed off.

“She did believe you were a boy,” mused the man, almost wistful as he seemed to be speaking directly to the small child.

Still, the words left an impression. A cold, gnawing sensation settled at the pit of Beru’s belly; clawing its way up into her chest cavity where it remained, desperately grinding from the inside as if attempting to force itself out. There was something eerie and uncanny about the stranger, something distinctly familiar. Familiar, yet foreign. Known, yet unknown. She peered down at the infant in her arms, the love she had developed for the little boy overpowering, overwhelming her. Then, she ignored the alarm bells at the back of her mind, the voices screaming at her to resist the urge. Instead, she slowly held the baby out in front of her, face set hard and throat tight as a lump settled at the base. The ball of tears rose, until her eyes were once more brimming with tears.

The stranger eyed her with what could only be perplexed confusion, as if he was in disbelief that she would entrust him with the child. She remained motionless, as he seemed to be weighing his options. Then, with stilted, jerky motions, he lifted both arms. He reached for the bundle, and with caution as if the boy was made of glass, as if he were so fragile he might break at the simplest touch, the stranger accepted him. The scene was ridiculous; a man looking like the reaper himself had come straight from a galactic battlefield while shielding the very icon of innocence in his grasp.

“You said his Anakin isn’t dead. If he’s alive, then where is he?” Beru said, and the calm, collected manner in which she delivered those words surprised even her.

The stranger said nothing, but he did look at her.

A long, pregnant silence fell as the darkness of night finally settled over the farm, and the Lars’ homestead. Beru wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, blinking back the tears pooling in her eyes. She had wanted him to say it, to verbally verify and confirm what she suspected. It was impossible to deny, as she studied the wonder and amazement with which the stranger regarded Luke. What surprised her most, though, was when he hid the child close against his chest, and held her gaze. She felt his stare burning into her soul, his presence no less imposing than it had been when he first appeared.

Beru found she couldn’t speak. She had nothing to say, and even if she did, it would have made no difference. She understood, and took a step back as she nodded at him, encouraging him with a mournful smile. He was dangerous, that much she could tell. The stranger was vicious, ruthless, and cruel. But he held a tremendous fondness for this child, and in that, Beru could see herself. In that, Beru found the strength to acknowledge that the stranger was, in fact, no stranger at all. Even as he turned his back, cape billowing behind him while he began to trudge through the sand in a direction only he knew where it might lead, Beru was certain that the man would keep Luke safe.

As the man grew smaller in the distance, Beru allowed herself to weep again, watching her nephew disappear into the ice cold desert night. Still, something nagged at her compelled her to make a bargain in turn. Not that she had anything to offer, but she was convinced the man who was not a stranger would be inclined to agree.

“Promise me Luke will be safe with you!”

The intruder halted. Sand whirled around his boots, starlight bouncing off the man’s domed helmet as a gleaming beacon of hope in the darkness. She sensed an odd, reluctant sort of foreboding but stood her ground. He did not speak, but he didn’t have to. She knew the answer and she knew he would not have come this far if he didn’t have the intention to keep the boy out of harm’s way. She didn’t know the man well, never had, but she knew Luke. Shutting her eyes, Beru accepted the silence as the confirmation she had been looking for. She had been left alive, living to tell the tale. She knew he had come to kill her, she didn’t understand how, but somehow it was clear. Somehow, Luke would be okay. The man needed the infant, more than the infant needed him. It was the next right thing to do.

“Thank you, Anakin.”

Beru couldn’t be certain, but something told her Luke had a better chance at the kind of life he was meant for in the hands of his father.

-----------

You all knew where this was going, haha. I did intend to post this as another installment of Mask of Death but I’m not sure I should throw a non-canon compliant chapter in there as all others have been as compliant as fanfics can be. Let me know whether I should make an exception for this one or not!

I’m a sucker for dad!Vader and baby!Luke.

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021 - October 1 - Bound

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Isolation, mentions of IV/needles

---

It’s been hours since Dick’s woken up… here.

“Here” is hard to describe, yet incredibly easy. He can say for sure that at least within the 180 degrees ahead of him, it’s all white. White walls that, if arranged in a mirrored-image behind him, might make a hexagon. The ceiling above him is bright and unforgiving, LED lights dotting the space above him like freckles on Barbara’s cheeks and shoulders. He can’t see any sign of a door ahead of him, and the gray-speckled white tiles that make the floor aren’t particularly enjoyable to look at.

Yeah, describing what he can see about the room is the easy part. The hard part is that behind him? It’s all guess-work. For all he knew, there could be nothing behind him, or a cliff, or… or something ridiculous. There could be a whole manner of things behind him, but it’s impossible for him to get a look because his head is strapped to the cushioned chair he’s forced to sit on.

He hates this. It’s been hours. The chair, while cushioned, isn’t even that comfortable. The way his arms lay on the armrests and his feet come together near the end of the chair suggests a dentist’s chair and a therapist’s sofa had an evil love-child who was into bondage, considering how many straps were buckled in to keep him trapped down.

He’s going to lose his mind. Did he really just make a bondage joke about a chair?!

Anyway, he’s stuck here, his arms pinned down by the wrists, elbows, and under his armpits. Two heavy straps run over each shoulder and cross in the middle of his chest to connect back to the chair near his hips. And speaking of hips, there’s another strap around them too like an old Volkswagen seat belt. More straps around his thighs, knees, and ankles keep his legs locked together and down. That’s not even mentioning the binds that lock around his neck or the one around his forehead that’s fitted to the headrest that seems designed to not let him even attempt to rotate his chin to the side.

It’s horrible, and awful, and cruel, and unusual, and he’s not even that sure why he’s here. All he can tell is that he has a massive headache, his Nightwing mask is on but his suit is gone—replaced by some sort of nightgown that definitely doesn’t seem friendly, and whenever he tenses his arm he can feel a tug in his wrist.

Must be an IV of some sort? It’s strange though, from what he can see he can’t see any medical equipment hanging around him. But it has to be an IV. With his night job, he’s become familiar with the way his lips go dry and how his fingers tremble when the damn needle gets put in his arm.

But… if it is an IV, it must need changing by now, surely. It’s been hours, and those things don’t last that long.

Hours. Sitting here with the feeling of a needle in his arm, not sure where he is or what he’s doing here, nothing to look at besides those Barbara Gordon freckles on the ceiling and those gray speckles on the tile.

He tugs on the restraints for what must be the thousandth time, and growls when nothing happens, as unsurprising it is. All his attempts to slip out of or break the restraints have left him with nothing but bruising and irritated skin. However, he feels so restless and bored out of his mind that tugging on the belts seems to be the only productive thing his brain can think of to do.

He tugs again, and nothing happens. He sighs. Relaxes back. And… tries to think of how he got into this mess.

It’s just as successful as breaking the straps.

-o-o-o-o-

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls out to nothing. His eyes hurt, he’s exhausted, he needs to pee and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with. “What do you want from me, eh?”

Silence. His hands bunch in angry fists and he pulls against the straps hard enough for him to feel the edge bite into his skin.

“Batman’s identity?” He tries, because it’s always about Batman’s Identity (TM). When there isn’t any answer, he continues. “Police secrets?” Nothing. “Superman’s identity?”

Nothing. He growls and glares at the empty walls ahead of him.

-o-o-o-o-

He’s using the pain in his wrists, focusing on the warmth running down the cuts the straps have finally created, instead of the pressure in his bladder.

It only lasts so long.

Great, so now he’s bored out of his mind, stuck, and the room smells horrible. Or, the room smells horrible until whatever unseen vent takes away the reek and the chair dries, leaving him being the only one who’s smelling.

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He jerks against every restraint and snarls in impatience and restlessness. He can feel the cuts tear more, but he’s close to not caring, he longs to move.

If his snarling eventually fades into howls, then he’s almost positive no one is around to hear it other than himself.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce’s cape settles around his feet as he lands, launching droplets of questionable sewage water up to his knees. Damian lands beside him, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in fierce determination.

It’s been nothing but a series of long hours since the Riddler kidnapped Dick with the clues to his whereabouts left carved into the pavement with abandoned Wing-Dings. During Bruce’s search, a few things became apparent: Dick was trapped, alone, and Bruce had until Dick died from malnourishment once the crude IV he was apparently attached to ran out. Riddler is already behind bars, has been for several hours, but interrogation wont get him to give up his games, and Bruce may be a vigilante and “above the law”, but he wont stoop so low as to torture.

At least, not until things get desperate and Damian’s not around to see. Dick would never forgive Bruce, and will probably never talk to him even in any kind of afterlife.

But it hasn’t come to that, Tim solved the riddle through emails delivered from wherever he’s located with his Young Justice friends. They’re always changing spots, and even if Tim were to come home and solve the riddles in person, it would probably be too late.

It isn’t too late, he reminds himself as Damian takes off down the sewers. They know Dick’s exact coordinates. Bruce almost kicked himself when Tim revealed them, because of course lead to Gotham’s abandoned sewage system.

The way to Dick’s location is a tough one, one riddled (as Dick would say) with traps. But they’re nothing compared to a worried father and a determined brother. They find the door nudged neatly behind a section of brick, and when Bruce opens it he’s almost blinded by the night vision in his lenses adjusting to the sudden attacks of bright lights.

Bruce sees before he hears. His eyes were always one of his favorite senses, which is probably why Damian—a boy who’s had to hear to save his life many times—ran to the chair in the middle of the hexagon-shaped room before him. White walls, white tile, white LED’s to sit in a white ceiling. The back of a padded chair in the center of the room faces him, revealing nothing of what it contains.

And then Bruce hears the screaming. Weak, clawing screaming that sounds like what sandpaper would feel on dry skin. He knows this scream, the tones to it, and within moments he’s running to the front side of the chair with Damian.

Dick’s there… writhing. Blood stains skin and cloth around almost every strap holding him down from struggling that must have been continuing for hours. As Damian tears an IV—the tube feeding him nutrients disappears within the chair; there must be some sort of mechanism keeping it working within its structure—Dick’s struggles like he doesn’t notice the change. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears drip down his cheeks, and his screams are so so hard to listen to. Does he even know they’re here?

“Dick,” Bruce says, knowing there’s no one to hear him with Riddler behind bars and his goons scattered. Dick doesn’t respond, just continues to yowl like a wounded stray cat. Already, Bruce can see the symptoms of prolonged use of an IV and of exhaustion. Has Dick slept at all since being kidnapped?

Damian begins work on one of the straps around Dick’s jerking wrists. Bruce follows suit, quickly, desperately wanting to get his eldest out of here, but he’s forced to abandon his task when the loosened strap on Damian’s side allows Dick to tug his wrist free and move to hit the boy. Bruce catches his hand before the hit can be met.

“LET ME GO!” Dick screeches.

“Dick, we’re helping you,” Bruce shouts back wearily, but Dick doesn’t listen as he begins to babble all kinds of demands similar to let me go. Bruce gives Damian a look. “He’s exhausted and most likely delusional. Our best course of action would be for me to hold him down, and you undo the rest of the straps. Maybe we can get to him without having to risk drugging him once he’s no longer restrained.”

Damian looks all parts of his age as he takes a second to give a shockingly vulnerable stare Dick’s way. The vulnerability only lasts a moment before Damian’s nodding. “Got it.”

The next several minutes are filled with events that will reveal themselves in bruises with the coming days, even through the kevlar. It’s tough work keeping a Dick Grayson down, especially when it’s a Dick Grayson who absolutely refuses to be kept down in the first place. However, eventually they release the last strap around Dick’s other wrist and soon enough, both Bruce and Damian are jumping back and Dick launches himself out of the chair, stumbling to the floor and then falling to his ass when his knees give out. Dick looks pitiful, trapped between wanting to curl up and cry or stand up and run, yet curling up seems to win out as Dick must have no energy to lift himself back up.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again when Dick’s hoarse breathing calms, and this time, hope flutters into his belly when Dick’s shoulder’s tense in response.

“… B…?” comes a horribly weak response, but a response nonetheless. Bruce rushes around the damned chair to where his eldest still sits, curled up and shaking. He reaches out unconsciously, kneeling down to scoop Dick up in an embrace, but stops when Dick violently flinches away.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, “just- I don’t- I couldn’t move-” he breaks into sobs.

Bruce is almost considering returning to Arkham and breaking a few bones. Instead, he lowers his voice and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I understand. But we have to get you back home. Just your arm around my shoulder, and I’ll support you while you walk. Can you do that?”

It’s proof of just how shaken Dick is when it takes a few moments to get a hesitant nod.

Bruce does his best to ignore Dick’s flinching and twitching while, with permission, Bruce helps Dick up and wraps his arm exactly where Bruce said he would. Damian stands a few paces off, looking torn. Bruce tells him to run ahead and bring the bat-mobile closer to the sewer opening while Dick blinks owlishly and gulps like a fish… doing his best to keep down what must be a pending panic attack. Damian thankfully leaves without much argument, and Bruce is left to help his eldest, hyperactive, always moving, always smiling, always stimming in some way or another son out the blasted room and towards freedom with as much control given over to Dick as possible.

“I scared Dami,” Dick whispers through clenched teeth, halfway through the sewage tunnels.

Bruce hums and resists tightening his grip on Dick’s arm. “It’s not your fault. He will not hold it against you.”

“I scared you.”

“… I was scared for you. But right now the only thing that matters is getting you home. Then everything can return to normal”

Dick nods his head, his voice choking in what must be another sob. “Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

And Bruce silently vows to punch Riddler a little harder the next time he sees him.

But right now, the only thing he cares about is that Dick’s alive, and Bruce is bringing him home.

#whumptober2021 #dick gryason #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #damian wayne #robin #fanfiction #no.1 #bound #panic attacks tw #jin writes

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goldafterglow · 3 years

Text

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk - dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind.

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries.

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent.

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes. Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

#horacio carillo x reader #narcos #maurice compte #iris writes #i didn't fuckfigfdsg put the goddamn mf italics in #i feel like i've outgrown my italics phase #god this post isn't even that old what the fuck am I talking about

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7-wonders · 3 years

Text

Hardships Unnumbered

Summary: The quest to save Julia begins, but not everything is as it seems in this mystical land.

Word Count: 1969

A/N: Hi friends! This is the second chapter of my Labyrinth King!Michael AU fic, "It's Only Forever." I'll link the first chapter down below. I hope that you enjoy and, as always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round.

(also there's a couple of little easter eggs/one big one and I'm really excited to see who figures them out)

Chapter One

Though you put your hands out in front of you to brace yourself, it doesn’t help you to discern which way is up and which way is down until you finally stop rolling. With a groan, you shove yourself up to your feet. Your palms are scraped and slightly bleeding, your jeans are torn at the knees, and leaves and twigs now adorn your hair. All in all, this is not the way you had hoped to start this mission to get Julia back.

Now that you’re already at the bottom of the hill, it’s easier to decide how to start this jaunt through the Labyrinth. After all, you certainly can’t go back up, and the solid ground beneath your feet only leads one way. The shining spires of Michael's castle at the center of the maze, closer than you had thought, rise high above you and act as a compass. All factors considered, you can definitely run this in a couple of hours. Then, once you’re both safely out of here, your first order of business is to call the cops.

Your confidence begins to fade the longer that you walk along with the wall separating you from the inside of the maze. There’s no door, or arch, or opening anywhere to be seen. Turning around, you look back to see if you’ve missed the entrance. Instead of finding one, movement catches your eye. A man, tall and willowy, cries out victoriously at something trapped under his foot. He seems to be your best bet, and you decide to approach him.

“Excuse me?” you say.

The man startles, obviously not expecting to see anybody here. “Oh!” he cries in surprise, looking at you as if you’re the first person to ever cross his path. His hair is bleached to look almost white, and he has a pair of oddly-shaped sunglasses with purple lenses covering his eyes. The checkered jumpsuit, complete with ruffles on the shoulders, both does and doesn’t go with the sunglasses. You’re not quite sure why the people that live here dress so funny, but it’s making you feel underdressed.

“Which way do I go to get into the Labyrinth?”

“Now, why would I tell you that?”

“Because you must have come from there,” you pause, looking down at the man’s foot when you hear a squeaking, “oh! Is that a fairy?”

“Mhm.” Your childlike wonder is abruptly swept out from under you when he kicks the small, blue creature into the forest.

“Why did you do that? That wasn’t very nice!”

“Go ahead and pick one up,” the man says, “you’ll see how nice they are when you’re missing a finger.” As if to prove his point, a fairy flies up to you and hisses in your face, showing off two rows of razor sharp teeth. “What is it that you wanted, again?”

You huff. “To know which way to go to get into the Labyrinth.”

“Did you try asking it?”

“I’m sorry, what?” You roll your eyes in disbelief before mocking him. “‘Labyrinth, please let me in!’ Is that what I should say?”

He doesn’t have to respond, for a sudden rumbling has you turning around. To your shock, there’s suddenly an open space in the wall that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m Gallant.” You want to tell him that you weren’t guessing his name, you don’t even want to know his name, but he continues. “Who are you?”

“(Y/N).”

“Ah, that’s right.” So this is one of Michael’s ‘subjects?’ After all, if your dreams have been right (and you’re still half-convinced this is just the elaborate scheme of some unhinged weirdo and not magic, despite what you just saw), then that means that Michael is also the ruler of the Underworld. With that logic, Gallant must be some sort of a demon. If that’s the case, you certainly don’t want anything to do with him.

“Well,” you say awkwardly, “I’m going to go now. Running on limited time, and all that.”

“You’re just going to go in there? Alone?”

“Yep.”

“But--but the Labyrinth leads to the Labyrinth King!”

“That’s kind of the whole reason why I’m here.”

“You’re going to get hurt in there.” Gallant gasps. “You could even die in there!”

You set your shoulders, walking to the hole in the wall and glancing back. “I won’t, but thanks for the concern.”

“Wait!” Even if you did want to listen to what he had to say, you couldn’t, for the wall closes back up on itself the moment you step through it. Mildly jarred though you may be, there’s not much you can do to change this, so you turn around and try to figure out whether to go right or left. Both directions look exactly the same, so with the flip of a mental coin, you go right.

After both walking and jogging for what must have been over a mile, you’re no closer to any sort of landmark that would tell you where you are or how close you are to the castle. There haven’t even been any corners to turn past, just one long, unending aisle. You’re starting to feel a little claustrophobic as you finally come to a stop, needing to take a break for a minute. Sinking down against the wall into a sitting position, you find yourself looking back and forth down the path. Both directions look exactly the same, for as far as you can see. You groan dejectedly and put your head in your hands, allowing yourself a moment of pity before getting up and trying again.

“Hey there!”

You jump at the sudden Southern-sounding voice. “Who’s there?”

“Me, of course!”

Looking around, you see a small door just to your left, and a small woman, probably less than a foot tall, standing next to you. Her curly blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail, showing off her pointy ears. “And you’re...talking to me?”

“There’s nobody else around, is there?” The woman glances inside the open door. “‘Cept the missus, of course.”

Another woman, also blonde, pokes her head outside and smiles up at you. “Hello!”

“Why don’t ya come inside for a while? ‘Delia makes a killer gumbo.”

“Uh...no thanks. I’m just taking a break for a moment before I find a way to the castle.”

The woman’s face turns severe, and she holds her shawl tighter around herself. “You must be awfully brave if you’re so determined to go up there.”

Brave? You wouldn’t call yourself brave. Stupid, maybe, for bowing to the whims of the guy who’s kidnapped your charge, but not brave.

“But anyways, just go through the wall across from us and you’ll be on your way.”

You look in front of you to see the solid wall. “Through there?”

She nods.

Logic is telling you that this is obviously false, but, considering the same thing happened with Gallant, it can’t hurt to try. Standing up, you cautiously put your hand up to the wall, expecting to meet, well, a wall. Instead, you almost fall through a doorway that leads to another passage in the Labyrinth. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“You will be if you keep going.”

You choose to ignore this, at this point knowing that everybody who lives here is terrified of their ruler. “Thanks for the help.”

The elf stares at your back as you walk through the new corridor, figure becoming smaller and smaller. “If she would have stuck around, I would have been able to get her on the right track back home, not towards that horrible man.”

From inside the house, a timer beeps. “Misty, supper’s ready!”

///

In the stone chamber of the King of the Underworld’s throne room, a three year old girl is currently winning a staring contest against a demon. Michael watches as the demon’s eyes begin to water (with blood, of course), before he eventually gives in and blinks. The little girl cheers before looking at Michael.

“My daddy’s gonna kick your butt, you know. He saved mama from aliens once.”

“Silence, child,” Michael commands, but he can’t help the twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It’s difficult to hide his amusement when this child is the most lively thing to grace his castle since...well, he can’t quite remember since when.

Being surrounded by demons of all shapes and sizes, with a variety of horns or extra eyes or tails, gets old after a while. Demons, quite frankly, are a bore. All they want to do is scare people and cause mayhem, yet continue to use the same methods that have been in place for thousands of years. If Michael’s being honest with himself, everything’s a bore to him here. In the early years, this job had been quite fun. Lots of naive humans to terrify and endless souls to torture.

Michael himself had been prone to naivety, then. It was easy to deal with the buffoons that called themselves demons when it seemed that, soon enough, he would find somebody to share this burden with him. After all, it was the guy upstairs who believed that emotions were for the humans. Michael, however, found it to be one of the most carnal pleasures. To love, and to be loved, seemed like the greatest sin. As the years passed, and the whole routine of ruling the Underworld became stale, Michael began to embrace the feelings of dejection, while simultaneously dreading the thought of an eternity alone.

That’s why, no matter the outcome of tonight, Michael would at least have something to add a little color to his black-and-white world. At the very least, the child would provide much-needed entertainment in the Underworld. She seems quite creative, which could potentially lend itself to some new and innovative torture methods. But, that would almost be a non-starter, considering the whole reason that she’s here, the whole reason Michael implemented this plan in the first place, is to get to you.

You, who managed to somehow win over demons disguised as beggars that loitered outside of the bookstore you worked for. You, who was constantly coming up with your own ideas for stories, creating and erasing entire worlds within your mind (a power far more powerful than any regular magic, Michael believes). You, who had somehow managed to vex and enchant him, without ever having spoken a word to him. He had seen you on one of his visits up Above, talking to a beggar demon as if they were your equal, offering food and shelter to their grotesque form. From then on, he knew that he had to have you, and from that, a plan was born. The Labyrinth, which he had subtly placed in every single one of your dreams for months now, was impossible to run through. You would inevitably lose. And when that happens, he’s prepared to accept your frantic offer where you exchange yourself for the child. He is, after all, a benevolent ruler.

“Mr. Michael?” Julia questions, breaking Michael out of his pondering.

Michael hums, deciding that he won’t lecture her on the importance of referring to rulers by their titles. “Yes, little one?”

“Do you have juice here? ‘M thirsty.”

“Abaddon!” Michael calls, the demon appearing in a puff of smoke. “Get our guest some refreshments.”

The demon turns to do Michael’s bidding, shocked when Julia grabs their clawed hand and skips along with them. “I really like your spiky horns,” she says.

Michael looks up at the clock on the wall, noting that only nine hours remain for you to reach the center of the Labyrinth and rescue the child. Perfect. He’s not one to get too cocky (yes he is), but these are odds he’s willing to take.

Tag List (send me a message if you want to be on this!): @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @blakescoven @xavierplympton @michaellangdon @trelaney @ajokeformur-ray @babyloutattoo89 @bloodcoatedeclipse @threeminutesoflife @annikathebananana @wth-trippy @thatonehumanbeing05 @dumybitch

#labyrinth au #labyrinth imagine #labyrinth fanfiction #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story imagine #ahs #ahs imagine #duncan shepherd

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xiao-cafe · 3 years

Text

drabble game — prompt 98

pairing: childe x gn!reader

tags: angst to fluff, childe being... a child

prompt: “you were always gold to me.”

wc: 1.4k

notes: aaaa! it’s here! the first one! sorry for keeping you guys waiting but there’s still some more prompts so go ahead and send in some requests if you’d like! ^^

As night fell, the lanterns came aglow with warmth, spilling amber light onto the streets. You were closing up Xigu Antiques for the night, making sure to lock the place up tightly lest any criminals got their hands on the priceless antiques that sat within the confines of the shop. You loved your job. But you what you liked most was the fact that it was close to the Northland Bank.

You waited by the steps right next to the shop, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve while your hands held on tightly to the square piece of parchment that simply read:

“Wait for me tonight -- Childe.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you reminisced the last time you had met with the Harbinger.

It was about a week ago when he stole you away during your break hour and brought you down to the harbour for a stroll and some food. His hold on your hand remained firm even as he walked you back to your workplace muttering about how you should have longer breaks.

Yet, despite the sweet and gentle kindness Childe had bestowed upon you, you had never questioned the kind of relationship you had with him. You knew of his work and how dangerous he could be, but in your eyes, he was simply someone very lonely and seeking warmth and solace within your embrace.

You were fine with that.

Maybe.

The parchment in your hand crumpled as you clenched your fist, fighting back the rising heat on your face as you fanned your face with your other hand. As much as you liked Childe’s company, you were careful to never let yourself get carried away by his charm. Or so you thought.

The sound of Childe’s laughter resonated from the top of the stairs and you whirled around instantly, excited to finally see him after a week of missing his touch and seeing those blue eyes.

Except, he wasn’t alone.

A woman clad in the fanciest of silks held onto his arm as he led her down the steps. It was strange to see him so close with another, smiling and laughing away.

Jealousy burned in your chest and you were sorely reminded that what you had with Childe was nothing special. Unlabelled.

Tearing your gaze away, you attempted to see past the rose-coloured lenses that you had put on during your time with Childe.

Perhaps the letter he had left you was simply baiting to get you to stay and witness as he held another in his arms. You wouldn’t be surprised for a Fatui Harbinger like him to do something of that sort.

Throwing one last scornful glare in the direction of the couple, you turned your back against them and began your trudge back home, keeping your chin held high so that none could see the tears welling in your eyes.

You let out a yelp as a hand clamped down on your wrist, stopping you from walking any further.

“What kind of idiot w-” Your words were cut off by the sight of Childe’s flushed face as he stared at you determinedly. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t stutter seeing how he ran all the way to catch up to you. Although he looked nowhere near out of breath at all.

“Why are you leaving?” The grip he had on your wrist loosened so you seized the chance to snatch your hand back, cradling it against your chest.

“You were with someone else so I left to give you both some time alone.” You said stiffly, averting your gaze from the Harbinger. Yellow light illuminated his face and you could see just a tiny bit of hurt on his face. Yet, it was once again replaced by his easy-going smile.

“That woman? She was just a business partner.” Childe reassured, pushing his hair back, “I thought it was something serious that got you like this.”

At his words, your heart broke even more and you retrieved the note he left you from your pocket and swiftly threw it at him. The crushed up ball of paper bounced off his chest and Childe let out a sigh as he bent down to pick it up.

“Please don’t look for me anymore,” You told him, “We were nothing and will remain nothing, alright?” As you said those words, a stray tear fell from your eye which you hastily wiped away.

“I... “

You watched as Childe struggled to continue his sentence his eyes averted from yours and you knew you had been right. You were a fool for holding out hope that he’d have feelings for you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Save it.” You snapped, “I don’t want to hear your excuses.”

As you continued to walk away, Childe trailed after you. He continued to call out your name even as the other people still in the streets saw and whispered amongst themselves. Nonetheless, he still followed after you unabashedly, calling your name.

You finally turned around, prepared to shout in his face, only to come face to face with him.

Childe's deep blue eyes met yours and it was as if all the air had been knocked out of your lungs. ‘That face of his is certainly dangerous’ You thought to yourself as you dropped your gaze to the cobbled floor.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured quietly, his hot breath fanned across your lips causing a shiver to run down your spine. “We… You weren’t nothing to me at least.”

His confession struck you like lightning and you picked up your gaze from the floor to look at him properly.

You had long since entered the unlit pathways, away from the bright lights of the main street which shrouded the both of you in complete darkness save for the barest of moonlight streaming through the canopy of trees. Even now, Childe still looked as beautiful as ever.

You didn’t know what to say so you kept your lips sealed and watched Childe with expectant eyes.

“You were always gold to me.”

Your breath hitched as Childe brought his hand up to hover at your cheek, the fabric of his gloves barely brushing your cheek as if he were afraid you’d run the moment he touched you.

“I asked you to wait for me tonight so that I could give you this.” Childe continued to speak as he produced a box from his pocket. The small and angular box sat in the palm of his hand as he waited for you to open it yourself.

With bated breath, you opened the box to see a gold pendant inlaid with a jewel of dazzling blue.

“But since you don’t wish to see me anymore, this has no use,” Childe stated, plucking the box from your hands.

“W-Wait!” You yelled, grabbing onto Childe’s arm just as he pulled his arm back ready to toss the gift into the murky depths of the sea.

“Are you crazy?” You shrieked, “How could you throw away something so precious?”

Childe laughed as he continued to try and go against the force of your hands pulling at him to stop, “Do you want it then?” He asked, glee written across his features. You weren’t sure if it was because you had his hands on him or he simply was enjoying a test of strength between the both of you.

“Yeah, so I can sell it!” You sassed just as he relaxed his arm which caused you to pull him much closer to you than before.

“Unfortunately, I stole this so you’ll be arrested if you attempt to sell it,” Childe smirked.

His body felt warm right next to yours this late into the night and you couldn’t help but feel your face grow hotter with each passing second of his eyes on you.

“Did you mean it?” You spoke tentatively as you started to let go of his arm. “Is it alright to want more?”

Your eyes widened as Childe held onto your hand, keeping it still.

“Darling, with a gift like this, of course, it’s alright to want more… Because it’s what I want as well.” He admitted. Despite how dark it was, you could tell Childe’s ears were bright red as he tried to appear more confident than shy.

“And yes, I meant every word.” He added.

“You…” Your heart was ablaze with overflowing affection and you embraced the man, wrapping your arms around him tightly.

“I hate you.” You uttered against his shirt.

Childe’s soft chuckles filled your ears as he hugged you back, sending warm tingles throughout your body.

end.

#childe #childe x reader #genshin childe #tartaglia #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #childe drabbles #zhongli-cafe-writes #drabble game #genshin impact drabbles

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stellocchia · 3 years

Text

Here’s an analysis of the “Tommy’s Plan To Kill Dream” stream (part 1)

I noticed that my “overly long” analysis always tend to be about extremely depressing streams, so here’s me trying to change that and failing miserably because I can find angst literally everywhere!

As usual I’ll be talking about the characters only unless stated otherwise from here on out.

The whole thing is under the cut because, as the name of this “series” suggest, I’m phisycally incapable of keeping things short

Before we proceed with the analysis we need a quick overview of Tommy’s relationship with the people he interacts with this stream so that we can all start with the same mindset:

Tommy & Tubbo: They have obviously been very close friends since the beginning but recently Tommy has developed a sort of dependence on Tubbo which really isn’t healthy. This of course is a direct result of his second exile and his mindset moving forward after that. While with Dream and then Techno Tommy was extremely isolated and made to depend entirely on the one person providing for him. He continued this even after Doomsday, this time developing an extreme dependence on Tubbo that culminated with the line “What am I without you?” (basing your entire identity around someone else is not healthy, who’d have thought?). With the developing of the hotel post-finale he expands his system of support to include Sam and Sam Nook, but this is of course ruined with the prison arc. Tommy doesn’t trust Sam any longer and, while he still cares deeply about Sam Nook, he’s not someone that can give him emotional support. So he went back to rely soley on Tubbo (though it’s obvious throughout the stream that he’s tentatively doing so with Ranboo as well)

Tommy & Ranboo: The two of them used to be sort of close before Doomsday, Ranboo still very much admiring Tommy and considering him a friend. Thet said Ranboo is not in the very small circle of people who Tommy trusts and finding him married to his best friend and moving in together with a child didn’t help his perception of him. He feels replaced by Ranboo and sort of feels like he “stole” the only system of support he had that he could count on. Though there is a beginning of change throughout the stream.

Tommy & Ghostbur: Their relationship is really interesting. Tommy is pretty obviously one of Ghostbur’s unfinished businesses (possibly the only one now that L’Manburg is gone) and most definitely his priority. He was the only one who offered to go with Tommy during exile and he tried to be there for him constantly. Even his return this time was Tommy-motivated as we know from what he said in Ranboo’s stream. Meanwhile Tommy’s feelings on him are very complicated. He swings between recognizing that Alivebur and Ghostbur are different entities to conflating them together any time he has a strong reminder of Alivebur (at the beginning of exile and after spending time with Void!Wilbur for example). He also has only very recently come to the full realisation that Wilbur was awful to him and that their relationship was definitely not healthy (something we can infer from him finally taking a stance on not wanting him back and him admitting that Wilbur is good at manipulating him).

Now that that’s done, let’s get into the analysis!

“Oh I forgot I died, didn’t I?” So, Tommy is in a very peculiar situation where he has to somehow process his own death and, at the moment, he’s still in a state of denial about it. He knows he died but he acts like he didn’t in the sense that he hates how it affects his life. He doesn’t want people to treat him any different (even though he IS different), he doesn’t want to acknowledge the changesto the world nor to his relationships, which is the reason why he dislikes the statues of himself so much (that and the fact that he simply never liked to have statues of him). They act as a constant phisycal reminder of what happened to him and, more importantly, how much things changed in his absence.

One other reason why change scares him so much it’s because of how often he’s alienated from the world around him. He spent more time in exile/prison then in his own home since L’Manburg got it’s independence. He is constantly forced to live in an isolated bubble while the world around him moves forward and then, when he gets thrown back in he is never really given much time to adapt and catch up before he is thrown once more into the role of the hero/villain that he despises (after the 16th for example he was painted as a liability at his first mistake and put on trial etc despite how much he did for the country. Again after Doomsday he had the Dream fight to think about and, after that, Sam Nook asked him again to be the hero against the Egg and he, once again, was villanized by the Team Rocket. Now again he finds himself in the position where he has to take action against Dream once more).

So the stream really starts with Tommy deciding to contact Tubbo to get some help in his plan to kill Dream. He heads to Snowchester to do so (stopping before that to build Sam Nook a little wooden platform to keep him out of the rain).

On the way to Snowchester he gets trapped in the tunnel and almost drowns, making him break the glass of the tunnel. This is triggering for him for a couple of reasons (aside from drowning generally being not pog): exile reminder of his waking up drowning every day and taking damage in general seems to be a reminder of his death (he also seems to be hypersensitive in general in regard to phisycal sensations)

The whole mansion scene is a further indicator of this new dynamic between Tubbo, Ranboo and Tommy. Tubbo and Ranboo grew extremely close as we know (got married for tax benefits, adopted a child together and, apparently, canonically fell in love after) and they are planning to move in together with their son in the mansion. This, once again, all happened while Tommy was locked in prison. The feelings of alienation for him in the situation are prevalent together with his jealousy at Ranboo as he perceives him as his replacement.

“You married someone without me- without my permission?” “Okay, can I have your permission?” “Does he make you happy?” “Yes” “then ye- okay” Just... I’m a softie and I think that it’s very sweet that his only requirement to give his blessing is Ranboo making Tubbo happy. We stan a unconditionally supportive friend!

“Ranboo listen, let me open up to you pal! I- I’ve been through a pretty rough time recently and- (”Yeah I can tell”) and I know that we were kind of close before I went into prison, but then you ki- Tubbo would you mind looking at that flower a bit more? You kinda stole my best friend, and that’s kinda- you know now I feel kind of very lonely- actually feel very lonely” “I didn’t steal...” “And my other friend who then turned out to be my enemy is actually dead. So I’m kinda feeling a little bit left out here, and considering I was locked in a prison for 4 weeks...” “Yeah, no, I mean... I didn’t- I didn’t steal...” “No no no no, you did, you did, didn’t you? You did!” That was a big piece of dialogue there to transcribe! Regardless Tommy doing my job for me here by literally spelling out for us how he feels about Ranboo. One thing to be noted though is that Ranboo remains calm and keeps an understanding attitude in all his interactions with Tommy. He constantly tries to be reasonable (trying to explain that he didn’t “steal” Tubbo as, you know, he has his own free will and can have more then one friend) and generally just doesn’t get mad. Keeping a non-confrontational attitude is probably the best thing he could have done here.

So after that exchange Tommy opens up to them a bit about Dream, explaining what he’s planning.

“The revive book is too much and he (Dream) is too powerful and he’s only gonna use it for evil now! He is an evil man and he used it- he used ME to prove a point and to experiment on me” “Oh my God, like a lab rat!” “Like a- like a- worse then a lab rat! A lab- a lab sock!” “A lab sock?! No!” “Oh God!” “Oh my God” This is the first time in the conversation where Tommy’s gone more in depth about his traumatic experience (though he did mention before that “Dream asked him about it” in reference to his revival). It’s honestly a really big positive that he’s opening up to someone, even if it is other two teenagers who can’t do much but be sympathetic to him.

“I think it’s good. You don’t actually know this but I’ve been- I’ve been collecting some data, but, honestly... I’m not sure is a too good of an idea” “You said it was good” “No no no, I didn’t mean it was good in the sense of we should-” “Ranboo’s changed you, Ranboo’s changed you! He’s manipulating you! He’s manipulative and controlling” So 2 things to unpack here:

1) Tubbo hesitance comes from both him being on his last life and how things went during the season 2 finale. He isn’t too optimistic about their chances of killing Dream (even with Dream being completely unarmed in the prison) and he’s also less passively suicidal then he was during the finale, probably because he managed to build a life for himself now. He has a home, a family and Snowchester, he doesn’t wanna loose those.

2) Because of very obvious reasons (Wilbur being abusive, Dream being abusive, Techno isolating and manipulating him and then siding with his abuser and Sam betraying his trust) Tommy views all relationships aside from his with Tubbo in a negative lense. Basically he has HUGE trust issues and he’s so used to his relationships having usually some degree of manipulation (exept for Sam, who still entirely broke his trust. Also recently found out Jack had been lying and trying to kill him as well, which probably didn’t help the issue) that he just assumes that must be the case for Tubbo and Ranboo as well. Both of them of course are fast to correct him on this as that’s really not the case.

“So why don’t you want him to bring Wilbur back now? What suddenly changed?” “I spent months in the death... area- let’s call it ‘the death zone’, with Wilbur alright?” “The death zone?” “I spent months there. I spent months and months and months there and I was only there for a few days, Wilbur’s been there for real months. He is so different and he is fucking powerful and you know how he molds me like a piece of clay, Tubbo. (hushed) I don’t want him to come back” So here we have Tommy’s admission to Wilbur’s manipulation and how effective it is on him (most probably because of how close they used to be). We also have another hint about how dangerous Wilbur is now because of the knowledge he acquired.

“In the mean time we also... unless we don’t kill Dream... we gonna have to stop Technoblade, ‘cause Technoblade owes him a favour” “Stop Technoblade?” “Technoblade owes him a favour and we can’t let him redeem it” When Tommy mention’s Techno, Tubbo immediately becomes even MORE hesitant about this whole thing (probably a mix of his death-related trauma, Techno exploding his nation twice and his most recent inquisition venture in Snowchester).

“So why don’t we try to block Dream’s communication with Technoblade? ‘Cause then Technoblade would have no idea how to... redeem... the favour” “He can bring back the dead Tubbo, we need him DEAD! He’s too powerful for this server’s good and he’s a bad man and he won’t use his powers for good. And it’s not even-” “Mmmmh” “What do you mean ‘Mmmh’ Man?!” “I don’t know this really- this didn’t go too well for us last time we got all hyped up and tried to do this” Tubbo once again is mostly apprehensive because of how things went last time they were up against Dream. He also tried proposing an alternative solution to fighting that Tommy shoots down because he doesn’t think anyone should have the power that Dream has. Also, may I add that Ranboo is actually on Tommy’s side on this whole thing? Possibly because he knows as well how dangerous Dream still is.

“Just because he’s locked up doesn’t mean his strenght is, allright?” This basically perfectly sums up the crux of the issue. Of course thanks to Quackity’s lore we know that Dream’s power now is mostly a facade, but they don’t know this. To them Dream is just as powerful now as he was before. To them the image of powerlessness that the prison gives him is the facade.

That said the conversation in the electric chair tower ends here and, as this is already so incredibly long, I’ll also end part one of the analysis here. This was also the most lore-heavy part as the rest is more light-hearted so it’ll probably be faster to cover.

#tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #ghostbur #dream smp #tw abuse #tw manipulation #analysis #character analysis #I truly WOULD have mad it all one post #but this is already absurdly long as is...#and as I said this was the more lore-heavy part #so the split fits well #long post #but you knew that already #my post

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

All For The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin/Jedi Reader

Word Count: 3,282

When gathering bounties, the Reader wonders how long it would take Mando to catch them. A bet ensues. Will the Reader last all 24 hours, or will Mando hunt them down before the time is up?

You sighed in the comforting silence of the Crest, carefully taking apart your lightsaber to examine the purple kyber crystal. You’d never had problems with your lightsaber, but you liked to be sure everything would continue to be in working order for any future events. Grogu was asleep, and would likely be that way for at least the next 24, if not 48, hours. The final member of your small clan was sitting on a crate, silently sorting through available bounties. He dismissed most of them on the basis of time, considering the three of you could only be in one place for a week or two.

“How long does it take you to catch one?” You asked, breaking the silence as you clicked your saber pieces back together.

Mando looked up, the T of his visor sending a shiver down your spine. “What?”

You shrugged off the feeling of the shiver, putting your saber back on your belt. “How long does it take you to catch a bounty, on average?”

“On average,” Mando repeated slowly, clearly thinking it over. “Two days, depending on the skill set the bounty has.”

Nodding, you stretched. “What about me? How long would it take you to find me?”

Mando was quiet. He’d met you due to a bounty on your head, but had never once tried to turn you in or hunt you down. “Where?”

“Here,” you said, gesturing to an open hatch that overlooked the bustling city.

Again, Mando considered it. “A day.”

“A day?” You laughed, standing and moving to set up your sleeping area. “I bet I could last longer than that.”

“Do you now,” Mando drawled, his voice a tone you’d decided long ago was amused.

You smirked. “Yeah. I do. I think it would take you at least two to catch me and bring me back to the Crest.”

Mando stood, holding a hand out. “Wanna bet?”

Immediately, your chest tightened with excitement. You and Mando made bets a lot, considering it was often the only thing to do in hyperspace. “Fine,” you said, shaking his hand. “Some rules. No going easy on me. I want this to feel legit.”

Mando nodded. On bigger bets, you and him would alternate coming up with rules until you were both satisfied. “Second,” he said. “No intent to hurt or kill.”

An obvious one, but you kept going. “I get a head start of half an hour.”

“Okay. No using your weird power.”

“It’s called the Force, and sometimes I can’t control it.”

“Fine. No excessive intentional Force using.”

“Then you can’t use any weapons beyond your blasters.”

“My built in ones?”

“I’ll make an exception. But no Z-6. It stays here. And don’t use those fancy ass settings on your HUD. That absolutely counts as cheating.”

Eventually, you and Mando reached a nice point of agreement on all fronts, and you began to get ready as Mando took the Child into the cockpit to wait out your half hour head start.

Immediately, you dug up clothes Mando didn’t even know about, dressing quickly. They were your old Jedi robes, altered after you left to help you survive with a bounty on your head. You clipped your saber to your belt and tugged your old boots on, carefully tying away your hair and slipping on your hood.

Walking silently out of the Crest, you checked your wrist, where a small multipurpose watch sat nestled between strips of leather to make makeshift vambraces. You set the watch to alert you when Mando left and raced off into the city.

Even now, as the sun was setting, the city was busy. You slowed, checking your watch. Mando was still on the ship, and would continue to be for another ten minutes.

Taking a minute, you stopped to wander, making a plan. It had been almost 18 months since you’d hid from anyone this way, but as you imagined the Mandalorian hunting you down, it sharpened your instincts back to their razor-fine point.

You smiled to a merchant you bought food off of, heart beating faster when your watch chimed and set a 24 hour timer. Mando was on the hunt.

Scanning the skyline, you noticed a standout structure. A big wheel with baskets to hold people. It was in the more abandoned part of town, where only the desperate dwelled.

But you weren’t desperate yet. Drawing your hood closer around your face, you continued about your way, acting as if you belonged. With your bag and your entirely innocent demeanor, you hoped Mando’s helmet would just glide right over the back of your head.

You fought to keep yourself from tensing when you heard the telltale clinking of beskar behind you. But you managed to keep yourself composed as Mando passed right by you. The merchant you were talking to was relaxed, maybe a bit too relaxed, you realized as you used the Force to speed up the transaction.

Stuffing the spare clothes into your bag, you bowed slightly to the merchant and began to walk off, towards the residential district. To anyone, it would look as if you were merely done shopping for the evening and were headed home.

As you walked, you cursed your subconscious instincts. The Force had, upon remembering the feeling of being hunted down, heightened your hearing. You pulled your hood down, sliding a pair of pod racer goggles over your eyes. You couldn’t risk getting anything in your eyes now.

Leaving your hood down, you shivered as a breeze blew through, carrying the sound of beskar. Was he already on your trail?

Wondering if he’d remember if you used Force persuasion on him, or if it would even work at all, you continued to walk without a care in the world. Ducking down a narrower street, towards the abandoned district, you checked your watch once you were in a good enough alcove. An hour had passed since the hunt had begun.

You continued to make your way towards the wheel, climbing up on people’s rooftops and racing across with silent footsteps. You caught sight of Mando at one point, checking his vambrace. Probably checking the time, just as you had been periodically doing.

You walked away, ducking behind a chimney when he turned to look in your direction. But his focus was on the ground. Had he seriously forgotten about the skillset that kept you alive for all those years?

You continued towards the wheel structure, killing another hour with how you were twisting and turning to see if Mando was following you or if he was just looking.

You scaled the wheel with ease upon reaching it, settling down in the highest basket. You could see Mando’s helmet glinting in the low night lights occasionally, but he didn’t seem to be on any kind of trail, so you scooted down, heightened your senses, and closed your eyes to sleep.

You woke to the sun on your face, filtered through the protective lenses of your goggles. You were awake immediately, senses all hitting eleven as you felt someone scaling the wheel.

Looking down, you blood ran cold. With nine hours gone and fifteen left, Mando had found you.

You scooped your stuff up, tossing the cloak you’d purchased on to hide your Jedi clothes. In one smooth movement, you jumped, grabbing the old structural beams of the wheel and thanking the Force you’d picked up a pair of gloves as you swung from beam to beam with practiced ease.

By the time you’d hit the ground, Mando was only halfway down, cursing loudly. So he had forgotten you were a self-taught acrobat.

As soon as your boots made contact with the ground, you took off running, heading through the maze of scrap metal. You gave Mando a generous five minutes to get off the wheel, so you abandoned your cloak down one split at a fork in the road, backed up, and sprinted down the other one.

You were aiming to hide away in the shadows of one of the warehouses, hoping they were filled with junk you could hide behind. Once you had proper shadow cover, no one would be able to find you.

Of course, your entire plan was hinging on Mando not finding you before you reached the warehouse. The Force was active in your veins, reaching out and determining where he’d gone. He had followed the fork with your cloak, which would take him back to the market district.

Slowing to a walk, you caught your breath, noting a pair of eyes on you. “Hello?”

The person squeaked, hiding behind a crate.

You smiled, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. “Hi. Did I scare you? I’m so sorry, me and my friend are just playing a game.”

The person, who you could now see was a child, peered out. “You’re a Jedi.”

You glanced down at the lightsaber on your belt. “I was,” you murmured. “But now, I’m just a person.”

The child still seemed nervous. “Do you need help?”

Crouching down so we’re the child’s height, you thought. Mando hadn’t said anything about receiving help, but you were fairly certain it was against the rules anyway. “No,” you said. “Like I said, it’s just a game. My friend isn’t actually trying to hurt me.”

Of course, in that moment, a thick rope wrapped around your body, causing the child to cry out, scurrying away down a tunnel as you writhed. Truthfully, this would’ve been easy to escape, but you wanted to put on a show and make this interesting. You stood, hearing Mando’s footsteps clinking slowly as he wound the rope closer.

“I can bring you in warm,” a low voice said from behind you, causing your entire body to shiver with an exhilarating mix of terror and excitement. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

You waited, still and compliant, as Mando drew closer. Might as well use this time to test a previous theory.

You turned, leaving a single coil of rope around your elbows and waist. “Mando. They sent you after me, hm? They’re fools, all of them.”

Mando, to his credit, stayed silent.

Sighing, you lifted your hands, opening your palms in the universal ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “I’m not your bounty,” you said firmly, dominant hand making a small arc as you prayed this would work. Mando’s mind was a steel trap, and Force persuasion rarely worked on those who were strong willed. “You need to let me go and head back to the market district. That’s where your bounty went.”

Mando’s body shuddered, muscles tensing. “Shut up,” he growled, actually growled, at you.

Instead, you repeated your phrase, putting as much Force behind it as possible.

Mando didn’t falter, and when you saw that this wasn’t going anywhere, your dominant hand shot down, quick as a flash, and grabbed your lightsaber. Severing the rope in one smooth movement, you raced off while Mando caught his bearings, shaking his head and following after you.

You were fast and you knew it, having been trained as a Jedi meant you were always in peak physical condition. But no amount of exercise or training could help the fact that Mando’s legs were longer than yours.

“Shit!” You yelled, skidding around a corner and seeing a ten foot tall chain link fence between you and the warehouses. At the top of the fence sat coils of highly charged wire, meant to deter those who wanted to enter. But nothing could deter you now.

You began to scale the fence, making it almost all the way up before Mando caught up to you. He called your name out, voice desperate. “Come back here!”

“Like hell I will,” you replied, gripping the top chain and praying this would work.

He called your name again, the fear in his voice making you pause. “You’ll get hurt! Let’s just go.”

You screwed your eyes shut. In one calculated movement, you threw your body over the electric wire, arching your back and falling the ten feet down to the ground on the other side.

Turning, you smiled at Mando, who was in apparent shock that that had actually worked. “Good luck,” you said with a mock salute. “You only have fourteen hours left.”

Just like that, you ran off, heading down the row of warehouses. You picked one about five down, some old storage plant that made an excellent hiding place. Wedging yourself between two crates on the top floor, you settled in with an old book and a dim flashlight.

At the three hour mark, you put your book down, wanting to save the rest for later, just in case you found somewhere else to hide. Instead of reading, you shuffled around until you found a semi-comfortable position and slipped into sleep.

Your nap lasted longer than expected, clocking in at just over five hours. The exhaustion of being hunted wasn’t entirely foreign to you, but it had been a while since you’d experienced it, and you were fairly certain that you’d sleep for years upon reaching the Crest again.

You checked your watch, standing and stretching to work the kinks out of your neck and back. Six hours left. This was shaping up to be the longest twenty four hours of your life. You’d always been cautious when you’d been hunted, but those were average bounty hunters. Being hunted by Mando was a totally different experience.

Speaking of Mando, he wasn’t anywhere close to you, if your senses were accurate. You looked around, spotting a promising place to settle in the shadows.

You carefully scaled thick chains and swung a few times to reach the hanging canvas cloth, held in the air by a length of chain. It took a few tries, but you were eventually cocooned safely in your makeshift hammock. Leaning back and letting the canvas cradle your body, you pulled your book out, entirely determined to finish it.

You did manage to finish the book, killing another five hours. Only one left.

At this point, you were worried about Mando. He hadn’t showed up for thirteen hours, which was concerning. Had he given up? No, he wouldn’t. He had to have a plan.

You wiggled upright, wrapping a leg loosely in chain and sliding down to the ground. If Mando was waiting for you, then you’d give him what he wanted. There was only an hour left anyway.

You found him in the market district square, talking to a merchant. He was waiting for you to come to him.

“Smart bastard,” you grumbled, checking your watch. Half an hour.

Mando turned, spotting you with your saber out but unlit. “You found me.”

“You were baiting me,” you argued. “You’re still treating this like a game.”

Everyone in the square hurried off, as if bounty hunts were normal out here. There was a clear ring for you and Mando.

You lit your lightsaber, moving to a fighting stance. “Come get me, Mandalorian.”

Mando’s hand twitched on his blaster, but before he could get a shot out, you were gone.

You ducked and weaved down abandoned streets, lightsaber unlit in your hand. You were headed back to the Crest, Mando hot on your heels.

You jumped, easily stepping up a stack of crates to the rooftops. Mando remained on the ground, racing beside you. He fired his blaster off a few times, and while his aim was true, you blocked them with ease, saber lit and whirring as you ran.

Eventually, you reached the end of the roofs, jumping down and zig-zagging your way through the smaller houses on the outskirts of the city. The Crest was just up ahead, and you skidded behind it, where no one else could see you fight.

Mando came up behind you with a flurry of dust, his blaster raised. You blocked the shots, hearing the click of the blaster emptying. Mando swore, coming at you with his fists.

It wasn’t a horrible mistake, but his fighting style was entirely focused on physical force, whereas yours was more about the dance and balance of the fight. You matched Mando’s every move, whirling around him and occasionally striking his pauldron or backplate. Your lightsaber did nothing against the beskar, but it was more about the fact that you were slowly wearing him out.

Eventually, you managed a high kick, accidentally aiming wrong. You’d meant to catch his collarbones, but your foot hit the lower lip of his helmet instead, sending it flying off and spiraling into the air.

You stopped, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck. Sorry. Go get that, okay? No cheap shots, I promise.”

Mando shuffled, grabbing his helmet. When he softly signaled you, you opened your eyes. He was ready, fists raised. As you lit your saber and slid to a fighting stance, your watch beeped. You stared at it, confusion quickly melting to happiness. “I won!”

Mando stood straight, a low chuckle coming from under his helmet. “So you did.”

You two ended up back in the Crest, the same way you’d been the last time you’d been here. You had bathed, changing back into the soft sleep clothes you wore around the Crest. Mando, still in his armor, recharged his blaster, methodically taking apart his pulse rifle to examine the pieces. You did the same to your lightsaber, sitting opposite Mando in the cargo hold.

“You never told me what you wanted.”

“Hm?” You looked up, a bit confused.

Mando shrugged. “You won. What do you want?”

“I dunno,” you said softly, clicking your saber pieces back together. “Who are you?”

“What?”

“That’s what I want,” you decided. “Who are you Mando? I’ve known you for almost two years, and yet, I know nothing about you.”

Mando was silent, so silent you figured he wouldn’t answer. But then, he looked up.

“My name is Din Djarin.”

You smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Din Djarin.”

After that, it was silent again. You finished with your saber, putting it with your day clothes and heading to the cockpit to entertain Grogu, who had just woken up.

That night, after you’d laid down in your tiny sleeping area, you heard the door hiss open. Assuming it was just Din, you rolled over, rubbing your eyes against the harsh lights. “What?”

Din looked as ashamed as someone wearing a face-covering helmet could. “I can’t sleep.”

You were still confused. “Pardon?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I heard you,” you grumbled. “But what does that mean?”

Din took a breath. “Every time I close my eyes, I just see you, leaping that fence like an idiot. You scared me. I thought you were going to die.”

“Huh.” You shuffled in your bed, balling the blanket up. “I guess, well. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Din promised. “But can I?”

He didn’t even need to finish. You scooted over, making as much room as you could. “C’mon. Yours probably has more room, but I know for a fact my mattress is softer than yours, and I’m sore as shit right now.”

Din chucked, climbing into the bunk and lifting Grogu up with him.

It took some finessing, but eventually, you and Din were comfortably snuggling together in your bed, Grogu in his tiny hammock above your feet.

“Do you really sleep with it on?” You asked the pitch blackness in front of you.

“Hm?” Din hummed, and his voice sounded clearer, more human.

You smiled, curving into his chest and wrapping him up closer to you. “I guess not. Good night Din.”

Din let out a soft breath, ruffling your hair and letting his chin rest on top of your head. “Good night.”

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Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #5

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Iolite of Cloudy Skies

Iolite. Its Japanese name was “blue flower stone”. The gem was blue with a purple tint stronger than that of a sapphire and had a unique viscosity that made it seem as if it was coated with a bit of dew. The level of hardness was seven. It was called iolite when treated as a gemstone, but when treated as a type of mineral, it was also called cordierite. It was an eccentric stone, which also appeared to have a grayish brown color instead of blue depending on the angle that one looked at it. Etc., etc.

“What happened, Seigi? Your eyes are dead.”

“How can I put it...? Surfeit, I guess.”

“Haah?”

I couldn’t memorize the stones’ names. They were too many.

The client who left just now had come because they wanted to see many sorts of blue stones, so Richard’s treasure box was packed with a great variety of blues. There were sapphires, of course, and also tanzanites, lapis lazuli, blue chalcedonies and this iolite.

Half a year before I had started working part-time in Etranger, the image I had of gemstones was limited to things such as diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds, I believed. Now I knew about the existence of a stone named zircon, which shone in the same way as a diamond, and also knew about the spinel, which was red like a ruby, as well as that the color of sapphires was not just blue, having a wide range from purple to yellow, and I had seen transparent jades that were impossible to tell apart from emeralds.

If I had as much knowledge of minerals as Tanimoto-san, I would’ve managed to sort stones inside my head by the differences the in chemical composition of each, but unfortunately, I was unfamiliar with such things, and I currently didn’t have enough enthusiasm or willpower to study them. If I were to explain figuratively, it felt like going out to hunt for clams at a beach, and when you innocently dove into the lake, you’d see the Mariana Trench spreading out below. It was a beautiful world, thus also too wide and too deep. And endless. To a terrifying extent.

When I told him roughly this, Richard laughed, the depths of his throat trembling with giggles. “It is not as if you are aiming to obtain a GIA or FGA qualification or anything, right? Isn’t it all right for you to observe as much as you like?”

“That might be the case, but...”

I found myself thinking that it was a waste.

After all, I’d be on my knees listening as Richard went, in earnest, through the trouble of introducing all kinds of stones to me one by one. I often heard from my senpais that “job hunting is a connection for people”, so I felt sorry that my connection with stones remained scoreless. Regardless, it wasn’t like I was suddenly going to get any smarter.

As I said this, Richard laughed again and beckoned me with a hand gesture. He then took something out of his suit’s pocket. One of those subdivision vinyl bags that I’d often see when he was handling jewels in the back room. It seemed there was an iolite inside. There was a label stuck to the bag packed with absorbent cotton, and something was written on it in horizontal letters. “Viking sunstone,” it read. Vikings? Like the ones that you’d imagine wearing horned helmets, carrying axes and coming from the sea on a ship? As I asked for confirmation, the jeweler nodded with a “precisely”.

“The words written on this label are associated with the former ‘purpose’ of the iolite. In the past, people used iolites as sun stones.”

“‘Used’ them as ‘sun stones’...?”

I didn’t understand anything from A to Z. What did that mean? For starters, why was gem of such a cold-looking color made into a stone of the sun?

Before I even had a breach to ask, the beautiful shopkeeper began talking, a smile ghosting his lips, “You might already know this, but a portion of the people residing in the current Britain are descendants of those who went through the Norman Conquest that began around the ninth century - in other words, of the Vikings. They were famous for having the skills to travel long distances, which was unusual at the time, so Seigi. If you were someone who travels the sea for long periods, how would you know your way?” Richard asked me.

A means to know the cardinal directions in the open sea. So it was a situation where there’d be no piece of land to act as a mark. The only thing I could use in such a case was a magnet. No, wait. Richard had said earlier that it was the ninth century. The compass would be invented only much later. I recalled memorizing that this was the invention that triggered the Age of Discovery back in high school for history class. If so, I recalled the words on the label. “Sunstone”. Yeah, it connected.

“They knew the directions by using the stone of the sun?”

“Good for you. Exactly. Isn’t it clear?”

“K-Kinda!”

“Then, what about under cloudy skies, when the sun is not visible, Mr. Enlightened Part-Timer?”

Speaking of which, the weather changed easily at sea. I had also heard that England was a country where the skies tended to be overcast. Bad weather must be frequent in those coastal waters. If the sky stayed cloudy for three or four days, what should I do? Was there nothing more that could be done at sea?

When I made a puzzled face, Richard smiled as though he had hit the nail on the head, his white hands displaying the iolite under a fluorescent light. “For instance, let’s try to put a mark on any of this iolite’s faceted sides with ink. Another one on a different side. On sunny days, we would record in which direction we can see the sun from one of these two points at given times, and on cloudy days, we would look for parts where the two points overlap. When doing so, since this stone can detect even the faintest light, we would be able to tell the sun’s position,” he said.

“So we can know the position of light with that stone...? Then couldn’t it be any other stone?”

“Light refracts. If it were passing through thick clouds, the human eye would find its shine in a different direction from the sun’s actual position. Iolites acted as polarized lenses, so to speak. By using this stone, the sailors could tell the correct position of the sun. Yet the most famous sunstone is not iolite, but a type of refraction stone called ‘Iceland spar’.”

A polarized lens. Now he was talking about physics? But I did remember the stuff about light refraction. Got it; so that was why it was a “stone of the sun”.

“I don’t get it very well, but I feel the gemstone romance from it. I like that kinda thing,” I said enthusiastically, Richard giving me a calm smile.

“You do get it. Just as you said, you ‘don’t understand stones very well but like them either way’. That is exactly why your eyes were open, so you thought only about how far your destination was and felt your teeth set on edge at it. You mustn’t expect to be able to understand everything overnight. Go steady, without rushing. Do not waver at the impatience stuck back-to-back to your ambitions. That is different from having no one to depend on due to not knowing where you are headed. The hardest times are probably the ones when you have no idea where you should go, but you know the exact position of the sun.”

So, in short, I knew exactly where I wanted to be?

While I remained quiet, Richard shrugged and added, “Of course, this is a metaphor. Even if little by little, the stones should definitely be leaving a trace inside you. Aren’t you supposed to be treasuring this instead of chasing after what goes away?”

Lastly, Richard threw in the trivia that, in the world of power stones, the iolite was said to be a stone that showed people the “right direction”. Taking the backbone of it into consideration, that was indeed a convincing talk. But more than that...

“It’d be great if you were by my side forever.”

“Hah?”

“You’re an expert at noticing what’s troubling other people, aren’t you? I really think you’re a handy guy, like a compass. Aah, ‘the world’s most beautiful compass’, huh?”

“Those are quite irrational words, on top of being illogical. You were born in Japan, raised in Japan and aspire to become a public servant of Japan, so why are you calling an English jeweler a ‘compass’?”

“Well, I don’t plan to ask you about how to prepare for the public servant exams, but I can rely on you when I run into bigger problems, right?”

Richard sighed with a face of thorough dismay. I could understand how he felt. This was like a child in nursery school saying, “It’d be great if my teacher could always be there to help me out.” Long story short, I was acting spoiled. Even though he was my superior at work.

“That’s right; about the custard pie that today’s costumer brought, it looks like it’s quick to expire. Wanna eat it? I’ll make some tea.”

“If you would. Aah, the sugar...”

“Holding back on it this month, right? I know.”

“Help me with half of it. The amount of sugar in it concerns me.”

“Leave it to me.”

This guy was truly good at leading the mood around, and the same applied for the not-too-straightforward way that he phrased himself when recommending gemstones to the customers. Apparently, he thought I was feeling down.

I cut the crunchy pie in half while the tea leaves boiled, then shared it with Richard in the reception room and we both ate it. Covered with powdered sugar, the pie was a dangerous white little thing, as the colorless powder could scatter around from the pie’s surface just by us breathing on it a tiny bit, so the snack time turned into a moment of silence. I felt like laughing at the much too surreal sight several times, but if I happened to cause a big damage to the beautiful shopkeeper’s high-grade suit by doing that, my pay would be reduced. In the end, I ate the pie entirely while looking at the wall.

On the way back home that day, as I looked up at the night sky, I thought about the Vikings of over a thousand years ago. It was said that they were after new lands. What about me? Where was I headed? Would there ever be a day when I would fall into a philosophical concern, like, “I have no idea where I’m trying to go”? Perhaps Richard too? I insolently prayed that the stones may help us out at least in times like those.

Stars were beginning to twinkle in the purplish-blue night sky. There was no doubt that the stars appearing in the sky had not changed ever since the Vikings’ era. Thinking about that as I walked, I mistook one of the streets I should have turned. I had the feeling that I heard Richard’s voice, telling me to mind at least my own steps. I get it, geez.

I decided to wait patiently for the benefits of the stone. It was best for something like that not to happen, but there was no guarantee that both of us wouldn’t lose our ways at the same time one day.

#the case files of jeweler richard #jeweler richard #housekishou richard #housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #novel #my translation

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