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passivenovember · 3 years

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You Look Stupid When You’re Sad.

Steve Harrington smelled of sour patch kids and unbaked cookie dough.

Billy didn't think it was a bad smell, exactly, just weird; intense, heady, and stuck to the walls of his brain. Doughy when the sunlight couldn't dry the track marks of Steve's sweat before nap time, heady when it got into Billy's system and stuck with him like the thrum of his heartbeat.

Wherever Billy went Steve Harrington was there. Like a shadow. A noisy, scrawny, wire-frame glasses wearing shadow that elbowed its way into the chair across from Billy's during lunch and followed him around at recess; three feet behind and always pretending to spot interesting shapes in the clouds when he thought Billy wasn't looking, but.

Billy was always looking.

It was so weird.

Steve was so weird. The way he made bright, happy noises when he was paired with Billy for station time, how he always drug his mat over from the other side of the room to sleep next to Billy when it was time to zonk out after second recess despite knowing that the spot was saved for Barbara, Billy's actual best friend.

She got nightmares and Billy liked to be there to hold her hand while she dreamed but every afternoon, without fail, Steve came wondering over with his lip stuck out in a question.

It was confusing.

Steve was so confusing. The way he hugged his mat to his chest, chin quivering with a little, "Okay. Sorry, Bills." Every time Billy slapped his hand on the carpet and growled that the spot was taken. Occupation, not reserved for pasty-kneed dorks with wire frame glasses, and.

Billy didn't want to make the kid cry, or anything, but he always managed to do just that. Paint himself as a bad guy.

Billy rubbed his forehead as Barb settled in on his left hand side one afternoon after such an altercation, smiling so big her lips disappeared behind the plastic frames of her glasses.

"What's wrong, Stevie?" She asked, and.

Billy tried not to be jealous.

Steve hiccupped, cheeks growing redder by the second. "I wanna nap with you guys but Billy won't let me."

"Hey, that's not--"

"You can sleep with us if you want to. Billy has a really big blanket, maybe he can share with both of us." Barbara looked at him expectantly, like. "Right Billy?"

And it was dumb.

It was so dumb, that they were staring at him with hopeful eyes and Steve's chin was still quivering and Billy didn't want to be the bad guy; he wasn't Mesogog and he didn't want to hurt the kid's feelings, but.

Steve Harrington got under his skin. With his soft hair and big brown eyes, always following Billy around and begging for the space to be made. Billy got clumsy and nervous when Bambi was nearby, and.

The idea of sharing space. Sleeping next to Steve with his chirpy little noises and warm soft hands, it.

Made Billy feel like he was breaking out in itchy red bumps.

No.

He would stick to his guns; the blanket just wasn't big enough for three people. But then, Billy's grumpy brain supplied, Steve could steal Barbara and keep her as his own best friend if Billy didn't let him stay, so. It was time to cut his losses.

"God, you look stupid when you're sad." Billy muttered.

Steve started crying again.

Billy really wished he'd stop that.

"I'm sorry, Billy. I know I'm dumb but I don't mean to be." Steve whimpered. He tucked his mat under his arm and made to get up.

And leave.

As if Billy would let Steve make him look bad in front of everyone, especially Barbara.

"Lay down, dork." Billy grumbled, tugging the blanket up around his shoulders and peeling it back for Steve reluctantly.

Harrington's smile was so bright it could've melted crayons when he settled in close, chirping happily as Billy pulled the blanket around them and tucked in on impulse. The room went dark, Mr. Talamantez reminding them to count butterflies if sleep wouldn't come.

It didn't.

Steve smelled too much like cream and sugar for Billy to get any rest at all.

"Whatcha making, Billy?" Steve asked, pink tongue poking out in concentration as he peered over Billy's arm at his art project.

A stack of pink and red construction paper was Billy's favorite thing in the world because it meant endless possibilities. Pink was soft and sweet, red was passionate and cool. Like hot wheels and firetrucks and hearts full of warm oven mitts, so.

He pulled the leaflets from his backpack during circle time and got busy, carefully folding the delicate paper hamburger style and then tracing swirly, dramatic lines for each heart on the page.

Valentines was Billy's most favorite day of the year.

Even more than Christmas, even more than his birthday, and only a little bit more than Halloween because on Valentines? The whole universe was covered in flowers and little tin wrapped chocolates and love hearts were the best thing for a kid to make with scissors.

Billy ignored Steve's tongue, turning his shoulders to the room. "I'm making love hearts."

"For who?"

"None of your beeswax."

"Okay," Steve said happily, grabbing a handful of markers and re-situating himself much closer than Billy would've liked. Steve's Nike's tapped the itsy-bitsy-spider on the rug as he declared, "I'm drawing batman on a surfboard!"

And Billy tossed aside his first ruined Valentine. "Oh cool, I don't remember asking."

"That's okay," Steve giggled. "Sometimes I get motor mouth. My Daddy says it's 'cause I'm a fruit."

"My daddy called me that sometimes before he got sick." Billy turned to glare at him. "That's not a good thing."

"It is to me!" Steve giggled again. He was always doing that. "I like Kiwis. My mommy packed some for lunch and I had them for breakfast. They're yummy in geek yogurt. They make me smile because they have beards!"

Steve cackled like kiwi's having beards was the funniest thing on earth and Billy wondered what there was to be so happy about.

He tried not to smile at Steve's dumb face. "I think you mean Greek yogurt."

"Yeah, probably. If I'm like a kiwi, that's alright, I think." Steve's tongue poked out again. "Surfboards make me think of you." He declared, and.

Steve smelled like toasted chocolate on s'mores, his hands somehow kicking up more of his sugary sweet odor each time he reached for a new piece of paper. Billy didn't know how he was supposed to get anything done when his circle buddy smelled like a chocolate birthday cake.

It was kinda gross.

Billy pulled out a sliver marker and traced Stinky Butt Max on one of the smaller Valentines, remembering to fold down the corners so the sensitive skin on her palms wouldn't get hurt when she inevitably started smacking him it.

The pink Valentine looked more like a chewed up Starburst gummy this way, but. Max wouldn't know the difference.

Steve peered over his shoulder again, cooing softly. Like a baby dove. "That ones pretty, Bills! Is Max your Valentine?"

"Ew," Billy wrinkled his nose like he sometimes did when Max needed a diaper change. "She's my baby sister, don't be an Ick Monster."

"What's an Ick Monster?"

"Somebody who makes weird jokes and says weird things, so." Billy shrugged, scrawling his mothers name on a second love heart. He poked Steve's tummy with his marker. "That's you, I think."

Steve giggled before slapping Billy's hand away, and. Watching him work.

After a while Steve inched closer. "So you don't have a Valentine?" He wondered, and.

Billy didn't understand the question. "Mr. Talamantez said we're all each other's Valentines so nobody feels sad."

"Yeah, but. Everybody has someone they want to smooch on Valentines." Steve started playing with his hair, fingers twisting waves in a sea of brown, like they sometimes did when he was nervous. "Someone they like best-best. Better than all the other kids."

Now it was Billy's turn to giggle. "That's icky."

"Smooching?" Steve's eyes sparkled. "It's fun sometimes."

"Like you've ever kissed anyone."

Steve looked offended. "Have too."

"Have not."

"Have too," Steve pouted, crossing his arms.

Billy began work on a third Valentine. "Who did you kiss?"

"Nancy Wheeler."

Billy snorted, not sure if he wanted to imagine Steve kissing Nancy Wheeler, or. Kissing at all.

Steve's chin started quivering. "You don't believe me?"

"No." Billy said lightly, capping the marker with a sniff.

Kissing was not fun. It was wet and violent and looked like it maybe hurt a little bit, the way he'd seen his mom and Susan kiss when he got up to go potty at night. Billy regarded Steve through easy, narrowed eyes; Steve wasn't the kind of boy who kissed like that.

"How come you're so weird?" Billy wondered.

"I like being weird." Steve said, reaching for a green marker to color in his surfboard. Steve nodded at the small pile of Valentine's strewn on the carpet between them. "You should put the love hearts on foam when you're done."

"I was already gonna do that, genius."

Billy wasn't already going to do that, but he'd eat a centipede before he let Harrington know he came up with a good idea.

"They could be superhero colors!" Steve hollered suddenly. He was so loud all the time. "That way your mommy and sissy can know that you love them because they're cool. Like Aqua-man."

Billy frowned, watching Steve fold his Batman drawing over and over again until it all but disappeared from sight. He leaned back against the wall with an eye roll, shocked out how much Harrington lacked any concept of taste, or.

Shame.

"Aqua-man isn't cool," Billy said. Because Aqua-man wasn't, he was like. The lamest of them all. "His only power is making the bad guys drown, at least the other heroes can punch really hard."

"Punching isn't always the best, though." Steve tucked Batman into the front pocket of his shirt, leaning into Billy's space. "Sometimes punching just makes the bad guys stronger. Like Wilson Fisk."

Billy frowned. "Punching works for Spiderman."

Steve considered this fact, pink tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth again. He thought really hard for a long time, as if Steve didn't have Spiderman socks on everyday at recess when he removed his Nike's to fill them with rocks.

Such a weird guy.

Finally, Steve smiled. "I like water, though. Your eyes are like water. From the fountain in the hallway, and like the lake at camp." Steve pushed his way into Billy's space, frowning with his head cocked to the side like there was more thinking to cross of the list. "You're very pretty, Billy. Like a cloud."

And.

Billy didn't have the words to articulate the way Steve's smell went a little crazy after that, like a bag of powdered sugar had caught fire from a signal light once he realized what he'd said. Billy waited for Steve to take it back, because.

Boys calling other boys pretty wasn't allowed in Mr. Talamantez' classroom, or. Anywhere else.

Steve didn't take it back.

"You wouldn't like Aqua-Man's water, 'cause you'd drown." Billy said, getting back to work on his Valentines if only for a distraction from the way Steve was watching him. "He doesn't control his power very well and sometimes the mean guys get hurt real bad."

Steve kept right on talking. "I wouldn't be a mean guy though," He reasoned, sliding impossibly closer on the alphabet rug. "I'd help him fight crimes. Like Captain Underpants!"

And.

Billy had nothing to say to that, sucked in and drowning by the way Steve's eyes were glittering.

"You're a weird guy, you know?" Billy breathed.

Steve's giggle went right to Billy's tummy, teaching it to do backflips, somehow.

"That's okay." Steve said, reaching back for a fresh piece of paper. "You'll remember me better and maybe you'll ask me to be your Valentine."

Steve's hair fell across his eyes, head bopping along to whatever song he was singing to himself today. His lips glittered like a frosted donut. Like he'd been eating a strawberry ice cream cone instead of confusing all the boys around him.

Maybe you'll ask me to be your Valentine.

Huh.

Billy started work on a new love heart and pretended not to notice.

On Tuesday morning Billy woke to the smell of pancakes and fresh squeezed orange juice.

Maxine was already up.

Her long red hair was piled on top of her head in two Princess Leia buns. Susan had put in little heart clips and the pink dress Billy's mommy had made special was already covered in mashed banana and something that looked like magic marker.

She was all ready for Valentines day.

Billy didn't understand why they bothered trying to make her look dainty when Max was more interested in destroying Billy's favorite toys and starting fires.

She sat on the floor of the room they shared together, sucking her thumb and playing with Billy's favorite race car. Her wet, chubby fingers made the blue Camaro shine brightly with spit and Billy felt like his face was burning up.

"Hey," He said, rubbing at his eyes. "Hey, you're getting spit all over my--"

"Race car!"

Max held it out to him triumphantly. Billy frowned, moving to grab it from her chubby little fist. "I know that's my race--"

"It's a blue car," Max said thoughtfully. She looked at him, like, "Blue cars are my favorite."

"It's my favorite too--"

"Can we share?" Max wondered, putting the little wheels on Billy's knee and letting the car zoom back and forth. He imagined that Evel Knievel was in the drivers seat wondering why his car wasn't first in the race.

She looked happy, like always, to be playing with Billy's toys.

He sighed. "Yeah, I guess we can share. It's Valentine's Day."

Max seemed to enjoy that. "I like today!"

"You do?"

"Yup," She said happily, little chubby fingers tangling in Billy's hair because he hadn't brushed it yet. "Candy and sour gummy worms and kisses from cute boys!"

Billy glared. "You're kissing cute boys?"

"Uh-huh!" Max hollered. "Lucas gave me a dandelion."

Billy thought long and hard.

About Valentines Day and all the things that came with it. The pink shirt that hung pressed in his closet, fresh cupcakes with plastic rings, a bag of Scooby-doo Valentines Susan had picked up at the market for all his classmates, homemade love hearts at the bottom of his backpack. Three with red foam, one with a delicate lace doily, and.

Kisses.

Max was getting flowers and kisses from a boy.

From someone special.

Billy took the race car from Max's hand and drove it around, thinking about boys with brown eyes and soft hands.

Maybe you'll ask me to be your Valentine.

"Wanna eat some breakfast, Max?"

"I had 'nanas." She said with a smirk.

Billy hummed, standing to get dressed. "Mama probably made chocolate chip pancakes, you don't wanna eat something special?"

Max's little red eyebrows pinched together. "I can have yours?"

And.

Billy didn't know what was so necessary to her about taking everything that was his. Playing with his toys, sleeping in his pj's, eating his breakfast, it was like Max didn't know how take something and make it her own.

Billy pulled the pink shirt over his head, feeling every bit like a turtle when Max did the same with the collar of her dress.

"You can have my pancakes." Billy concluded, puffing out his chest. "If you'll be my Valentine."

"You don't have a boy to kiss?"

"I might," Billy picked the race car off the ground with a smile. "This is practice for when I see him at school. So, will you be my Valentine?"

She thought about it.

Long and hard, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, before nodding with her entire body. "I think he will."

Billy sighed. "Really?"

"If you give him sour gummy worms and smooch his forehead he will," Max said.

And.

Maybe things would turn out okay. Billy nodded, grabbing the race car and driving it across Max's forehead, careful that the little plastic wheels didn't get stuck in her hair.

From the stucco ceiling of the classroom beautiful strands of silver and gold hearts painted a mirage of stars.

All the desks had a rose and a cardboard mailbox intended for the delivery of Valentines and at the center of the room a table filled with cupcakes and strawberry Capri-sun packets. Preparation for the party this afternoon, and.

Mr. Talamantez had turned their space into a glittering, perfect fairytale.

Billy hugged his basket of Valentines close to his chest and tried not to search for Steve before dropping his backpack at the cubby station.

He was right in the middle of tugging his special sweater down over his head when Barbara scooted in next to him, pretty in a little pink jumpsuit.

She handed him a tiny, delicate giftbag full of chocolate hearts and dinosaur erasers, smiling from ear to ear as Billy hugged her nice and tight before handing off something he had made special. A tiny paper crane his mommy helped him fold, and a bunch of rainbow goldfish sat nestled in a basket of paper Mache.

They were her favorite snack in the whole world and Barbara was Billy's favorite person, so it seemed fitting.

She hugged him and Billy smiled, peering around the room for a head of wavy brown hair. "We could share our presents with Steve," He muttered, like. It wasn't a big deal or anything. Billy tugged on the sleeves of his red sweater and tried to stay cool. "Where is he?"

Barbara pointed to the book shelves.

Steve was sat under a string of twinkly lights, shoulders tucked against the pillows Mr. Talamantez set aside for circle time. His face was buried in the crook of his elbow, and.

He was crying.

Of course he was crying.

Billy felt the Valentine in his pocket grow heavy.

Barbara said, "Steve broke his glasses, maybe you could make him smile?"

And.

Billy wanted to do that. Longed to make Steve giggle and chirp with happiness like the annoying little Meadowlark he seemed be. It would be so easy to. Walk over there, tap Steve's shoulder, and say the words.

Pose the question.

Will you be my Valentine?

Steve was making huffy, nervous little noises when Billy came to a stop beside him.

"Hey Harrington, playing with all your friends?" Billy sneered, confident that Steve would giggle like he was did, but.

When he finally turned around his face was red and puffy. As if he'd been crying all morning and all night, too.

"What do you want, Billy?" Steve whispered.

He sounded sleepy. Spread thin, like the last spoonful of jam on burned toast.

"What's wrong?" Billy asked carefully. "What happened?"

Steve sat and rubbed at his eyes, chin wobbling as more tears spilled over. "My daddy broke my glasses." He whispered.

And Billy hated it.

He always hated when Steve cried but today. Right now, he.

Felt like he had to do something about it.

Billy took the love heart from his pocket and sat down next to Steve, cuddling back into the pillows until their shoulders were touching. It took all of five seconds for Steve to settle in next to him. Roll his head back against the wall until he was looking at Billy with a question in his eyes.

Steve looked at Billy's shoulder and back up at his face, like.

"Can I--"

"Come here, stupid." Billy grumbled, Pulling Steve in until they were cuddling on the pillows.

Steve chirped. It wasn't his usual sound, light and airy, it was.

Thick.

And heavy.

Like a blanket sopped with rain water. Steve buried his face in Billy's neck. "I don't have any Valentines to give this year."

"That's okay."

"I made something special for you," Steve whispered, pulling back to study Billy's face. "I know Mr. Talamantez said we weren't supposed to, but--"

"Will you be my Valentine?" Billy's stupid mouth said.

Steve blinked at him, and.

Billy wanted to hide in the bathroom for thousand years.

Steve pulled away to sit crisscross-applesauce. Facing Billy, like this was something important. "Huh?"

Billy mirrored him, tucking his hands away so they wouldn't shake when he held out the love heart.

It was pink. Big and bright and outlined with a white doily that Susan helped him glue around the edges. Billy had dug through Max's box of stickers for the one with Winne the Pooh, the one he'd been saving for someone special. Winnie was covered in tiny valentines, eating right out of a jar of honey with a butterfly sitting on his nose, and.

Billy had thought it was perfect.

He worked for hours on the font. The saying that made his mommy laugh when he read it to her; you're bear-y sweet. Be my Valentine.

Steve took the love heart in his hands, and.

Didn't say anything.

Billy frowned. "I just. Remember you asked me to be your Valentine, or. For you to be mine. And--" His hands were shaking again. "It's stupid. God, this is--"

Steve leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

It was gentle. Like the brush of butterfly wings, barely there and then gone before Billy had a chance to really register the movement, or. Think about what it could mean.

Steve wasn't crying anymore when he said, "I'll be your Valentine."

Billy's brain took a minute to catch up. "Huh?"

"I'll be your Valentine, Billy." Steve giggled, staring down at the love heart once more. "This is so cute. I loved Winnie the Pooh when I was a baby. My mom always put me in footie pajamas that had Eeyore on them. And tinker bell too, sometimes. You could've put the Red power ranger on there instead. He's my favorite--"

Billy sat back against the pillows.

He was learning that Steve Harrington was weird.

Like a puzzle with one piece missing, or. An empty tube of bubble mix. Steve was colorful and loud and all over the place with opinions. He shined bright and loved hard, and.

Sometimes it was best to sit back and listen.

Happy Valentines Day!!

I really just sat down and wrote this. Wow. Anyway--thank you for reading and supporting my work. Your comments and endless kindness keep me going when I don't always feel like trucking on, and I wanted to do something to remind you that if this was an elementary school classroom I would give you so many lollipops.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #valentines day #first kiss #kidfic #soft billy hargrove #I know I'm late #but I love ya #and I will everyday #so really #everyday is valentines #not to be a fucking sap #but it;s true

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myelocin · 4 years

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four walls, wilted flowers, and a ring | hanamaki t.

synopsis: it hurts not because of the lie, but because the love you had built with him was as real as the pain from the truth you come across.

characters: hanamaki takahiro, you

genre: angst warnings: not rlly infidelity but sort of? iDK TEARS

wc: 1700+

a/n: psa i am not over him i’m just in my 2 week petty mode where i am deciding to spice up my au with some angst | tnx 4 d song lena u are partly at fault w this fic

“so is this it?”

“i don’t know,” you hear yourself answer him. it echoes much louder than you initially anticipated so it’s in that moment where you decide that you don’t like the silence very much at all.

the truth is neither of you really want for things to be it. the pictures on the wall still tell you that you’re home. takahiro’s few sizes too big character slippers that are still hanging from your feet still has the same floppy ears he jokingly pointed at one minute, then bought in the next anyway. the plates in the sink are still a set for two and you know the spoon and fork on top of his plate are still the mismatched ones you know he’s grown attached to.

“i know that if you say something right now then i’ll just end up coming back to you,” you whisper again, and this time you allow yourself to break.

you hear takahiro shift in his seat, but even as the bottom of his chair scratches against the wood floor you remember him sweeping clean just this morning, the absence of his arms around you has the room feeling cold. the weight of reality finally strikes you as the bite of the air nips at your cheeks, and with your head hung low, you come to fully decide that you really hate the silence.

his silence ringing feels too loud.

it’s cold because it’s winter, is the thought that comes into your head as you try to reason with yourself. a minute passes; then two, three, and five before you relent and sigh because the excuses you try to convince yourself with aren’t really working at all.

your hands staying warm against the cold is just proof of the fact that you’ve always loved the cold, so there wasn’t really much use in trying to conjure up any more excuses.

you know that the room feels cold because as you think of the ring and the unfamiliar initials engraved inside, the home you’re in suddenly just feels like a house. only the second floor room of the flower shop somebody owned downstairs.

the photos on the wall doesn’t feel like it’s in place anymore. when you remember the gleam of gold against the box takahiro buried at the very bottom drawer underneath all his winter coats, your fingers itch to select a few frames on the wall and pack it in a suitcase. you think you hear him sigh another apology, and from his reflection that you catch on the surface of the window you see that he’s rubbing his face on his hands before eventually looking back up and looking at your profile.

you swallow and close your eyes, your eyes cast down and staring at the pattern of the wood on the floor.

twenty four hours ago hanamaki takahiro held you in his arms and said a joke that he’s said a thousand times, but despite that he felt like he was it. twenty four hours later—now—when you hear him utter another apology at the same time the ring you know isn’t for you flashes in your mind for the nth time that night, you feel like this is it.

when his hands settle on your shoulder, you feel his resolve that’s been trembling all the way to his fingertips.

he says your name once, his voice soft. when you give him silence in return, you don’t hear your name for a second time because you feel him move closer to you instead, his head on your shoulder and arms suddenly so tight around you.

there’s something about the sound of takahiro crying that has your heart breaking, but even as your hands itch to move from your lap and thread through his trembling ones, something in you stops you in your tracks.

“how did we get here?” you ask, but takahiro doesn’t answer and instead clutches onto you even tighter.

truth be told he knows that it’s not just the ring you found hidden at the very back of his drawer that caused this. it wasn’t the fact that he kept his marriage hidden from you for this long either.

he knows that when you refuse to look at him and instead focus on the photo of the two of you from two years ago: keys in hand and the a future hanging in your expressions in the form of smiles does he realize that you’re broken because of this.

it’s because he built a life with you. spoke promises of a future he intended on keeping but ultimately couldn’t keep because of an unfinished past. he knows you’re crying because you love him to the point of hanging photographs of the milestones the two of you have conquered on the walls in bright colors. the ring he promised putting on your finger, still absent on your hand that sits naked and cold on your lap.

his fingers twitch and he yearns to inch forward and thread them through his. it’s cold, takahiro thinks. he never liked the cold. your hands are always warm despite the cold, he remembers, so his fingers twitch again.

the sound of you sucking in a shaky breath reminds him of the boundary that’s between the two of you now. he knows he has no right to cross it; not after this, so takahiro stays still and moves back to keep his distance.

“i’m sorry,” he says, a little clearer and a lot more honest. at this point there really is nothing but honesty in his words, but there aren’t excuses for the past you found only buried under a pile instead of swept away either.

something in his heart breaks when you still refuse to look at him.

“i know that you’re sorry,” you answer after a while.

the tap of the water from the faucet hits the sink, and you find yourself thinking that even the smallest sounds in the room seem to echo. your heart isn’t pounding, but it beats in the way that leaves an ache instead of a flutter. the photo of the two of you stares back at you—in full color.

but when you look up and finally face takahiro, it’s like the world is stripped of hue and the room dips into greyer end of the spectrum.

he always had grey eyes too, you think. and in a way, it’s fitting. grey eyes in a grey turned world only meant that at least there was one thing constant and honest.

you see another apology swirling within them before he opens his mouth. when he chokes out another apology and his grey eyes mist with something that looks like droplets of tears, you finally break with him because the resolve in your heart feels like an ending.

“i fucking know, so stop saying sorry,” you cry. “i know.”

there’s nothing more you want to do but hold his face in between your hands, or let him press his forehead against yours when you’d cry, but you hold yourself back. the sounds of radiohead’s creep loops for the fifth time from your phone lying face down in the kitchen table.

“i don’t belong here,” is sung again and again. the music rises louder, and even if the speaker is muffled by the placemat and the sound is distorted because of the glasses around it, you hear it.

do i still belong here? you think.

“you’re so very special,” takahiro picks up and he exhales another sob because he’s never heard a statement as true as such. his fingers twitch and he knows he wants to reach out, but he keeps himself in check when he notices you shift away from him.

“it’s always going to be you,” he says and the truth you see in the grey eyes against the black and white world look like it’s the only truth in the moment.

when you stare back at him, you want to nod because you believe him. you know the sound of his truth from his lie—and this—takahiro staring at you, tears spilling down his cheeks and eyes so red and raw, you know that this is his truth.

“i’m sorry,” is his truth, but before you could soften the thrum in your heart you know that as much as this is his truth—the ring and a past hidden instead of ended is also a part of him.

a part of his whole truth.

“i know you are,” you answer, shaking your head. “but i just can’t stand you right now.”

“i wish i was special,” plays and the seconds before the drop you let yourself think about how these were just lyrics you sang along to a few minutes ago. takahiro across you was just the boyfriend who still had plans to finish before he proposed to you forty eight hours ago.

the kitchen was just a room you cooked meals in and not the four walls that are witness to the heartbreak and tragedy that is takahiro’s whole, unfiltered truth.

you close your eyes when he speaks again, and when you open them you do two things as you push yourself up and away from the chair. the first is that you tell him that you just need some time. and the second, as you round the corner and make your way to the bedroom, you make a conscious effort to not look at the vase of flowers he hasn’t changed in a little over two weeks now.

at the moment you just can’t stand to see the wilted roses.

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jenoptimist · 3 years

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request:

can i request something with lucas? 💖

✮ Pairing: yukhei x reader (gender neutral)

✮ Genre: fluff | werewolf!au

✮ Additional info: accidental marriage (werewolf style)

✮ Word count: 5.6k

♡ Yakult says: thank you for your request !! i was a clown when i said i’d have it up before the new year 🤠 but well here it is nonie !! i hope you like it 💙

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The moon hung big, bright and beautiful in the dark sky as it illuminated the thick forest. The brightness of the surrounding stars didn’t even compare. Not one bit. You stood up from your position on the porch and stretched your arms and legs, the tattoo on the inner part of your wrist tingling. You watched with impatience as your wolves emerge from the trees and you couldn’t resist the urge to run over to them, the soles of your feet becoming slightly wet due to the damp grass. You couldn’t go with them as they raced through the forest, no matter how much you pleaded, so you wanted to be in on their joyous energy. They were quick to pounce on you, hard enough to tackle you to the ground where you soon find yourself covered by them.

“Finally!” You said, feigning exasperation as they surrounded you and took turns rubbing their snouts in the crook of your neck, effectively scenting you, “took you guys long enough!” They couldn’t talk to you, at least not in their shifted states, so you moved so that you could stand up and then took off to warm up inside the Wong residence without so much as a warning. They weren’t too far behind you, evidently not burning through their energy just yet.

Once on the porch, the boys shifted back into their human forms. Their voices overlapped each other as they walked in, telltale sounds of them shoving at one another through the back door good naturedly. You kept your eyes away from them as they entered, stared pointedly at the variety of colorful magnets that were on the fridge. Nudity didn’t bother them in the slightest simply because it was in their nature. However it was not in yours. You were just a human that somehow wormed your way into their pack - you’d often jokingly said that they just couldn’t resist your charm - and so nudity didn’t come as naturally to you as it did them.

“Aw,” cooed Yangyang in that playful tone of his, “still shy after all this time, y/n?” That earned him nothing but your middle finger which resulted in laughter from the others.

“I’ll order some pizza so go shower and get dressed.” You told them when they stopped laughing, already grabbing your phone from where you placed it near the microwave earlier. They let out a chorus of cheers, thanking you by ruffling your hair while they passed by you. The last hand lingered slightly; it lowered from the crown of your head to your nape before skimming over to the crook of your neck and stayed there, warm and heavy. You didn’t have to turn to know it was Yukhei. It was the large size of his hand that always gave him away.

“There’s money in the hallway, under the orchids.”

“I know,” you said while lowering your phone slightly so that you could turn your head towards him, “there always is.”

Try as you might, your eyes seemed to have a will of their own as they trailed from his eyes to the slope of his nose and the curve of his lips and then slowly, very slowly, your eyes roamed down his neck and followed the lines of his collarbones. Remembering yourself, you lifted your gaze, practically looking at him through your lashes, and found him staring at you intensely; there was definitely something in those dark eyes of his. Whatever it was, there was one thing that you were certain of: it was a combination of both man and wolf. It was evident from the color of his eyes, while not fully changed they contained a sliver of gold, just around the edges. You couldn’t decipher what it meant and you weren’t too eager to ask the others either—it would probably resulting in them teasing you, like they always did.

His warm hand lightly squeezed you for a fraction of a second and then he was off, striding towards the direction of the hallway so that he could join the others upstairs. Against your better judgement, along with the mentality that you already crossed the line earlier, anyway so this couldn’t be a bad thing to do, you watched him go. Your eyes focused on the smooth and tanned expanse of his upper back, not daring to look any lower because you had already went passed the line further than intended—it also felt wrong and creepy if you did. You shifted your stare to your phone, not wanting to be caught practically gawking at his behind when he would inevitably turn so that he could go up the stairs.

After having your fill of pizza - Dejun and Yangyang bickered for the last slice - the eight of you took your respective seats; Kun, Yongqin, Dejun and Kunhang squished together on the largest couch on the left side of the room while you sat on the other couch, with Sicheng on the far and while Yangyang and Yukhei were on either side of you. As the start of Ocean’s Eleven played on the TV, you tried very hard not to concentrate on your left thigh, where you could practically feel the heat of Yukhei’s hand underneath your joggers. Touching between all of you was a regular occurrence, heck Yangyang was even leaning into you, but it was different with Yukhei. His touches lingered the way your stares on him did; sometimes they were feather light, fleeting, and other times they were heavy and prolonged, as if you’d disappear if he didn’t have a grip on you—like last year when you almost. . .when the incident with the wendigo happened.

Three and a half movies in, Dejun, Kunhang and Yangyang were sound asleep. Kun and Yongqin had taken it upon themselves to clear up the space a little and rearranged the sleeping boys into much more comfortable positions. You would have helped them but your parents were expecting you to return home. They understood your connection with them - after what happened last year it was important that they knew the truth - but they valued family time.

“Thanks for walking me back,” you said as you and Yukhei reached your driveway. Although your living room windows were covered by a set of blinds and curtains, the lampshade was still visible. Yukhei flashed you a quick smile and a quick shrug of his shoulders.

“Goodnight.” He replied, stopping just a handful of steps away from where you stood in front of your door. You returned his words to him and just as you turned and unlocked the door, one foot barely inside the house, he said, “oh hold on!” There was the sound of his shoes tapping against the pavement in rhythmically as he jogged towards you. “I forgot to give this to you earlier.” His hand was fisted and stretched out to you. When you held out your opened palm underneath it, he released his hold from the object. It was an agate rock, you could tell by the lines and how it had several colors. “I got it during our run.” Yukhei said while he peeked at you through his lashes. He wore a small, shy smile, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he rocked back and forth between his heel and the balls of his feet. He looked positively endearing, especially with the way the moon casted its light on him.

You ran your thumb across it’s smooth surface, secretly pleased that he thought of you. It probably didn’t mean anything (even though you desparately wanted it to) because the others did it, too. On one, most recent, occasion Kunhang bought the two of you matching cat shaped night lights just because. So, really, Yukhei most likely meant nothing about it; he just happened to spot a rock that he thought you might like. Now if only you could convince your heart that. Along with the fluttering in it that you felt, there was a rush of warmth that flooded through your entire system. Hopefully it wasn’t noticeable—their senses, as well as their healing, weren’t as enhanced as usual during the full moon which served to be in your favor at the moment.

“Thank you,” you finally said, a smile that stretched from ear to ear as you closed your hand around it. “I love it.” Although he barely showed it, you could tell he was relieved. Yukhei smiled softly at you, his eyes full of joy. “Goodnight, again. Text me when you get home.” You could feel his eyes on you as you walked in and once you shut the door, you were quick to look through the peephole to make sure that nothing happened to him while he walked off.

Later when you were cozy in your bed, marvelling at the rock, lifting it up so that the moonlight could kiss it through your window, your phone buzzed. Setting the rock on your beside table, you patted around your duvet for your phone.

from: xuxi

made it back in one piece!!

With the text came a picture of him, thumb raised. Yongqin was making a silly face in the back while Sicheng formed a ‘V’ with his index and middle finger, his face neutral as if he wasn’t originally intended to be in the picture. It coaxed a small huff of laughter from you. You were quick to send him a text back and then you repositioned yourself, closing your eyes so that you could go to sleep.

There was something different about you when you woke up. It wasn’t noticeable, not at first, but the more awake and alert you became, the more you were aware of the thrumming? No. Current. It felt like somebody had inserted wires inside of you while you were asleep, somehow, with the buzzing that you could feel inside your body. It didn’t hurt but it was definitely there although, surprisingly enough, it didn’t feel wrong for it to be there. If you weren’t in the know (read: if you didn’t know about werewolves) you could have chalked it up to excess energy. But seeing as you did know about the supernatural, whatever had happened to you overnight could be a problem. Thankfully, however, the current was faint. Faint enough that you could probably forget about it. Unfortunately, a habit of yours was that once you noticed something, you couldn’t stop concentrating on it.

The panic set in when, after eating your breakfast and rushing to work, the feeling was still there. It was like an itch but no matter how hard you tried to forget about it or subtly shake it out, nothing happened. In fact the exact opposite happened; it became just that bit stronger, as if to say, ‘hey I’m still here’. Thankfully it was a slow day at work which allowed you to think about what could have caused your current condition? Situation? You didn’t even know what to call it. There weren’t any current threats or anyone who posed danger that you knew of. Maybe some fae casted this one you? No. That didn’t make any sense. The fae may have been known for trickery and deceit but they wouldn’t do anything to anyone who didn’t strike a bargain with them.

By the time you were on your break, your head was practically pounding at the amount of possiblities you had thought of. You took a bite of your panini, staring out the window of the café you decided to eat at. Trying not to get caught up in thinking again - you had done enough for the day - you focused on watching the people that passed by. A few bites into your sandwich, your tattoo tingled. It didn’t override the other current in your body in the slightest, not that it could, because it only affected the skin where your tattoo was. You wondered who was out and about. It could be anybody since it was a Saturday so none of you had any lectures—although Kunhang did mention that he would be in the campus to work on his project today so it couldn’t be him. Kunhang, bless his heart, tried to explain his project to you and you were nothing short of confusion by the end of it. You and engineering simply did not mix, like oil and water, but it was nice to watch him speak about something that he was clearly interested in.

The tingling stopped as soon as you found yourself face to face with Yukhei, who stood on the other side of the glass. When you locked eyes with him, he was quick to wave and then weave his way through the sea of bodies moving in two opposite directions so that he could enter the café. He made a beeline towards you and spared no time in occupying the seat opposite you, although he stood up almost immediately.

After a quick, “I’ll go get us a drink,” he was off. You didn’t even see his gaze wander to your empty cup. There was that pleased feeling again, the one that warmed up the inside of your chest and spread itself to the rest of your body. You bit the inside of your cheek and forced yourself to tamper it down. It meant nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. You seared the word into your mind but it didn’t do anything to dissipate the fluttering in your heart. When he came back, two steaming beverages in hand, the two of you fell into an easy conversation. It hardly took any effort to get lost in Yukhei whenever he spoke because he always spoke with his whole body; his eyes bursting with emotion, the various facial expressions he displayed and how he used his hands to go along with his words. He was telling you about the shenanigans Bella had gotten herself into that morning, his voice full of both amusement and fondness. You did nothing but listen to him, lips curled into an affectionate smile while your cheek laid in the palm of your hand.

It was only after the two of you said your goodbyes that you realized that the current stopped when you were in Yukhei’s presence. The gears in your head turned, perhaps instead of a current, it was a pull. A pull towards Yukhei. That was ridiculous, though. Why would that be the case? You were probably just mixing up your feelings for him with the current or something. You made a plan to ask Kun and Sicheng what they thought because if anyone could provide you with answers, it would be those two brainiacs.

When your shift ended, you were quick to leave the building and call Kun so that he was aware that you were going over to the apartment that he shared with Sicheng.

“Wait, y/n,” concern colored Kun’s voice, “you’re not in any trouble, are you?”

“No,” you assured, “but you’d know if I was, wouldn’t you?” It was an alpha thing, you remembered him telling you when you woke up in the hospital and had a boatload of questions. It was because of that alpha quirk that he found you.

“Yeah,” his voice took a softness to it before he cleared it away, “I’d know. Sicheng is already here, by the way, and so is Yongqin. He’s asking if you could pick up some Doritos on your way.” You gave him an affirmative, feeling lucky that the two people you were looking for were in the same spot.

You all but sprinted to Kun and Sicheng’s apartment, the handle of a paper bag full of various snacks in your hand. The usual pleasantries were exchanged which consisted of mainly scenting rather than words. And then once the snacks were distributed on the coffee table in the living room, the four of you were down to business.

“Hold on, so, you just woke up and, what, bam there it was?” Yongqin asked through a mouthful of chips. From beside him Sicheng simultaneously flipped onto the next page of the grimoire with one hand, which he had on loan from the local coven, and stuffed a handful of chips with the other. His eyes scanned the two pages lightning fast before turning them, decidedly not finding whatever he thought the solution was for your current problem. Ha. Current problem.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, popping some Maltesers into your mouth. You tilted the bag of Maltesers in Kun’s direction on your right and retracted when he shook his head in refusal. His brows were furrowed, head tilted as he chewed on his bottom lip. Not wanting to disrupt his train of thought, you shrugged at Yongqin and said, “it could be worse.”

“I’ve got nothing,” Sicheng said as he closed the grimoire. “I could ask Jaehyun but if it’s not in his grimoire then I doubt he’d know. I’ll text him anyway, just in case.”

“Wait don’t,” Kun ordered. When the the three of you looked at him, he was staring at you with the same contemplative expression that he had been wearing since you told them about your situation. “Yukhei walked you home last night, right?” You nodded, wondering what theory he had come up with. “By any chance, did he give you something?”

You smiled brightly, “yeah, look!” The rock was nestled inside the pocket of your jeans because you didn’t want to leave it at home, you thought of it as a charm of some sort, and you made quick work of fishing it out so that you could show them. “Isn’t it so pretty?” Yongqin agreed whereas the other two traded looks with each other.

“Oh,” Sicheng breathed out, as if he connected all the dots which, knowing him, he probably did. He glanced at you before looking back at Kun. Their conversation was silent; nothing but a series of brow movements. Dread immediately flooded your system, your outstretched hand dropping onto your lap. Whatever happened to you was probably horrible, considering that they didn’t outright say what they thought it was. You thumbed at your rock to try and soothe your nerves while you waited for them to reveal whatever it was that they figured out.

Yongqin jerked suddenly, eyes wide with surprise as he spread his arms out wildly, smacking Sicheng square on the chest. “You married Yukhei?!”

You returned his surprised expression with one of disbelief. “I think I’d know if I got married to him.”

“No,” Kun said softly, “he’s right. Y/n you”-he arched a brow at Yongqin-“bonded with Yukhei last night.”

“What! But- I couldn’t have.” You all but exclaimed. “How?”

“Everything witnessed by the moon, specifically the full moon, is binding for werewolves. When a wolf, or a human in a pack for that matter, gives a token to another under the moon it takes full effect. Although it only works when there are particularly strong feelings involved.” Sicheng explained in a tone that was both gentle and matter-of-fact.

Oh great. So all this happened because your feelings ran extremely deep for Yukhei to the point where you got werewolf married to him. All he was doing was being his usual self and the moon went ahead and bound the two of you together because of your feelings. It must have been the immense joy you felt, on top of your feelings for him, about the fact that he saw a pretty rock and thought of you. It felt a little bit pathetic in a way. Yukhei probably didn’t even want to be married to you, werewolf married or not. He called you a ‘good buddy’ two weeks ago! There was absolutely no way he thought of you as marriage material at all! You felt a little ill all of a sudden. While you may have fantasized about being married to him - it was one of the many scenarios you conjured up when you closed your eyes and waited for sleep to take you - you never wanted it to happen like this—non-consensual and without meaning.

“Don’t worry!” Kun rushed in, “you can undo it. All you have to do is give the token back to him at the next full moon then the bond will be dissolved.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you have to give him a token and then you’ll be together forever.” Yongqin piped up. You thought as much. After all, werewolves never did anything in halves when it came to their love lives. “The current will disappear eventually, too. Or at least it should.”

“Perfect,” you said with false cheer before laying back on the couch, groaning as you squeezed your eyes shut. Then you sat up, all but yelling, “please don’t tell Yukhei!” Sicheng looked as though he wanted to disagree but you silently pleaded at him until he dutifully nodded. Kun and Yongqin followed his lead. “I’ll tell him myself.” You mumbled, dread already creeping up inside of your system at the thought of it.

There was a couple of minutes of silence before Yongqin spoke up. “It could be worse.” He said, mimicking your words from earlier.

A bubble of hysteric laughter escaped your lips before you agreed. It really, really could have been worse.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Yukhei said over the phone. You could hear the frown in his voice and could already picture the expression he wore on his face. There was hurt there too, just a hint as if he was trying not to let it show, and it made you hate yourself a little bit more, especially since the statement was true. You had started avoiding him since the revelation of your marriage three weeks ago. Confrontation was never your strong suit and it doubled in this particular situation because not only would you have to tell him that the two of you were accidentally werewolf married, but also because your feelings regarding him would be out in the open. The full moon was in a couple of days, however, so it would all be over soon.

“Sorry I’ve been busy,” the words felt like ash in your mouth. “We can hang out later though, if you’re free.” Half of you hoped he was and the other hoped that he wasn’t—if he was free then you didn’t know how you could look at him and not think, ‘we’re married’ or similarly ‘we’re bound’ over and over again.

“Yeah ‘course I am! I’m working on something with Kunhang right now, we’re just taking a break, so he’ll probably stick around with us. I’ll text you when we’re done.”

“Sounds good,” and it really did because with Kunhang there maybe you wouldn’t have to think about your marriage to his best friend or worse, accidentally tell him. “See you later!”

Later came sooner than expected. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye and so you found yourself in front of the Wong residence, waiting for someone to open the door for you. They definitely would have heard you as you were walking up their driveaway and normally, Yukhei’s little brother would have opened the door already so you assumed he was out with his friends. The door swung open to reveal Mrs.Wong - your, oh God, secret mother-in-law - who all but beamed when she saw you and beckoned you inside.

“It’s been a while,” she said after she closed the door behind her. Within a second she had an arm around your waist and lead you to the kitchen. “You came in just in time! Someone from my book club gave me her curry receipe and I just finished making it.” She was quick to pass you a spoonful of the dish, watching you in expectation as you tasted it. “Too salty?” She asked and then smiled delightedly when you assured her that it was lovely. “That’s dinner sorted,” she said as she placed the lid back on the pot. “Now, tell me, what’s the latest gossip in town these days.”

Halfway through telling her about how apparently there was drama in the Zhao family because of the late Mr.Zhao’s will (some even suspected that he was murdered but you highly doubted it), Yukhei - your secret husband - and Kunhang walked in. Yukhei immediately made his way towards you, placing a hand on the crook of your neck which he slowly moved downwards to rest in the middle of your shoulder blades. It stayed there until Kunhang took the seat beside you and started chatting animatedly about what he and Yukhei were working on. Yukhei’s stare practically seared the side of your head but you refused to look at him. From the corner of your eye, you could see Mrs.Wong look slyly between you and her son and you hoped that she didn’t figure it out—silly considering she herself was a ‘wolf and therefore would definitely work it out. But, still, you hoped.

“The others are coming by later,” Yukhei informed you and Kunhang, his eyes locked on his phone as he tapped away. The three of you had moved to his room a few minutes ago. Once he finished typing, he stood up and said, “I’ll be back.” Then left his room.

There was a beat of silence as you scrolled through your Instagram feed, double tapping on pictures while Kunhang played a game on his phone that he recently downloaded. He either completed a level or his character failed because he lowered his phone and looked at you, waiting until you returned his stare before he spoke.

“You know,” he started, shifting his legs until he was in a more comfortable position, “he was pretty torn up about not seeing you lately.” You bobbed your head. “And if this is about the token he gave you—”

You shot up immediately. “How did you know about that?” Did Dejun and Yangyang know, too? But the others said they wouldn’t say anything or, well, not to Yukhei at least. Unless they were all in the know?

“Who do you think gave him the idea?” He asked rhetorically and then launched into how he, Dejun and Yangyang helped Yukhei with his plan. “The token could have been anything because it’s the thought that counts but he found that rock and polished it ‘cause he thought you’d like it.”

Your lips parted in shock while your brain scrambled for something, anything, to say. So Yukhei did want to be werewolf married to you? He had feelings for you? He went to the trouble of finding a rock and polishing it because he thought you’d like it? It felt like a dream come true. Suddenly, his shy demeanor on that night made sense. Being bound to him wasn’t horrible - life was short and you knew it - but you did wish that he asked you on a date—the two of you could have done anything; a picnic, go to the cinema or drive to the next town over.

“He was really nervous about the whole thing, y’know? I mean I thought you’d definitely say yes because it’s not like he was asking for your hand in marriage or anything,”-wait, what?-“he just wanted to court you.”

“Kunhang,” you said slowly, “we are married. I asked Kun and Sicheng and he- we’re- he didn’t ask to court me.” Even though he did accidentally marry you, at least you were aware that he liked you back. Courting, like all other things involved in a ‘wolf’s love life, was considered serious business.

“Oh shit,” Kunhang exclaimed, slapping a hand on his mouth with wide eyes.

Yukhei chose to re-enter his room at that moment. His brows furrowed as he looked back and forth between the two of you. “What’s wrong?”

Kunhang’s hand slid from his mouth, about to speak when you quickly said, “I was telling him about how some people think Mr.Zhao was murdered.” You gave Kunhang a brief, pleading look.

Yukhei huffed out a laugh, “and he believed it? Dude there’s no way. They would have said so when they examined the body.”

“Exactly what I said!” You laughed along with Yukhei, forcing down the giddiness that spread through you at the sight of him. He shot you a big smile before trapping Kunhang in a playful headlock.

Before you knew it, the others arrived and as usual, dinner was a loud affair as everyone voiced their opinions on the topic of conversation which steadily continued to change. After dinner, everyone helped clean up excluding Yukhei’s parents because you all insisted that they relax. There was a couple of rounds of Uno at the dining table after everything was cleaned and put away and then the seven of you were on your way home. One by one, the number dwindled until it was just you and Yongqin.

“He was meant to ask to court me,” you told him just after Yangyang turned left onto his road. “Not marry me.”

“Let me guess,” Yongqin replied, amusement in his voice, “the three rascals helped him out without asking anyone.”

“Who else?” The two of you laughed, briefly recalling the mischief the four of them had gotten into whenever they did something without consulting their parents or anyone else in the pack.

“So what are you going to do?” Yongqin asked as the two of you approached your driveway. “If he was planning to court you then obviously marrying you is already on his mind.” You tried not to flush at the bluntness of his words because of course courting was only done when marriage fit into the equation.

Still, the corner of your mouth lifted. “I think you already know.”

Yongqin threw his head back to laugh and then beamed at you. “Yeah, I do.” He then ruffled your hair in that brotherly way of his and said, “remember, it’s the thought that counts.”

“You know, not enough people give you credit for being smart.” It was true. People thought Yongqin was nothing but an airhead who liked to dance and draw in his spare time because obviously you couldn’t possibly be intelligent when you enjoyed those things.

“I know,” he agreed while he jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “But it gives me an advantage, don’t you think? Now go on, I’m sure you have lots to think about.”

“G’night.” You said as he spun around and walked across the road to his own house. He just waved without looking back.

With the little time you had to think of a token to give Yukhei, you hardly slept for the past two days. There were so many options to choose from but ultimately, you chose a bracelet that had agate stones which matched the one that he gave you. It remained hidden in a box on your shelf and you thought about what Yukhei’s reaction would be while you sent him a short text.

to: xuxi

let’s talk after the run tomorrow

from: xuxi

okay

The full moon was big and bright as it always was. You and Yukhei stood underneath it, allowing yourselves to be soaked in its light, in the clearing between his house and the forest. Your rock was hidden in the saftey of your chest, just under your hoodie - you had asked your dad for help so that you could loop a necklace chain into it - while your token for Yukhei was inside of your loosely fisted hand.

“You asked me to marry you,” you said softly, peeking at him through your lashes. “You like me enough to marry me. You might even love me.” Although he was visibly shocked, he did nothing to assure you otherwise. His expression of shock melted into one of shyness, maybe even embarrassment, as he wrung his fingers together.

“Yeah, I did and,” his voice was low and gravelly, “I do love you.”

You didn’t even try to fight your smile as you stretched your hand out towards him and waited for him to place an open palm underneath it. When you released your token, you watched his expression turn into astonishment. He picked up the bracelet gently, examining it for a couple of minutes before slipping it past his hand and onto his wrist.

“You have one month to divorce me just in case you change your mind,” you tried to make it sound like a joke but it fell flat. “Just like I did with you.” At least according to Sicheng.

Yukhei strode towards you, his steps full of purpose until the two of you were practically chest to chest. “I don’t need it.”

Your heart soared as he leaned in closer and closer until your faces were a hair’s width away. “No?”

“Absolutely not.” And then he kissed you, a hand cupping the back of your head while you snaked your hands up to his shoulders.

“I love you, too.” You said breathlessly once the two of you pulled apart. “In case that wasn’t obvious.”

Yukhei’s laughter was as warm as sunlight. His hand moved from the back of your head to cup your cheek while he stared at you in complete adoration. With the press of his lips on yours, he removed it so that he could step back and hold your hands onto his.

“Mother Moon,” he began to say, his warm hands giving your cold ones a light squeeze, “may your light shine on our love through all of your phases for eternity.”

Yukhei’s eyes searched yours as if waiting for you to tell him that you were joking even after all that has happened. You just smiled at him, already knowing what to do next thanks to Yongqin.

“Mother Moon,” you repeated, taking pleasure in seeing Yukhei mirror your smile with awe in his eyes, “may your light shine on our love through all of your phases for eternity.”

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jewish-space-laser · 4 years

Text

Miles & Black Coffee - Part One

“When you’re on a golden sea, You don’t need no memory, Just a place to call your own, As we drift into the zone...”

-Island in the Sun by Weezer

Hello, and welcome to part one of M&BC! She’s split up into parts, a day late, and a bit rusty... but she’s here! It’ll be my first new piece of writing since I rejoined tumblr, so it’s a bit nerve-wracking. Thank you to Kate @andwhenshesays, Anne @oh-honey-styles, and Anna @for-fucks-sake-h for organizing this entire challenge, you’ve brought so much joy to our little tumblr community. We love you all dearly ♥️ (4.5k words)

xoxoxox Tile

Warnings: mild drinking, mild drug use (just weed)

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

MONDAY

Pine trees and cornfields flew by in a blur as you stared out the window of your roommate’s minivan. Every once in a while, there’d be a pasture of cows or a horse ranch. It had been exciting at first, but now you were just bored.

“How much longer?” You called over the music, trying to keep the whine from your voice. It had been hours since you left your apartment this morning, and you’d only stopped once to stretch your legs and take a bathroom break.

“The GPS says we still have an hour and a half to go,” Callie groaned, stepping a bit harder on the gas pedal.

Normally, you loved road trips, but this particular drive was more cramped than you’d bargained for. There were seven girls packed into the van, and you’d been unfortunate enough to get squished into the backseat with your twin sister and her girlfriend, who hadn’t stopped with the obnoxious PDA since the car got on the freeway.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to will away your nauseating carsickness. This week had been marked into your calendar for months, and you’d be damned if you let this god-awful car ride ruin it for you.

Callie, your college roommate, had a cabin in northern Wisconsin that she’d been raving about for years. She’d been going there with her family for decades, every summer since pre-school, she’d said. According to her, it was a beautiful property, equipped with a private lakeside beach, fire pit, and a full bar.

It was going to be the perfect getaway. You and Callie had rounded up all of your girlfriends, packed all of the essentials for a spa night, junk food, board games, movies. You’d packed four swimsuits just in case; the weather forecast looked fantastic, high seventies and low eighties all week long.

It was going to be the perfect vacation. Well, almost perfect.

Harry was going to be there.

Harry, the constant thorn in your side. Harry, Callie’s older brother. Harry, the one who eats all of your food whenever he visits. Harry, the one who constantly picked fights with you. You and him had never gotten along, not even for a second.

There wasn’t a single person alive who got on your nerves more than he did. Generally, you got along with most people, but Harry was the exception to the rule. You couldn’t seem to shake him off.

You weren’t about to let him ruin this trip, though. There were going to be fourteen people staying at the cabin, so it should be a piece of cake to avoid him for a week; there were plenty of other people to interact with. And even if you couldn’t avoid him, you were going to let his inevitable snarky comments roll off of your back. Well, you’d try to, at least.

Perhaps that’s what annoyed you most about him, the reaction you’d have from the smallest fight. With anyone else, it was water under the bridge… with Harry, you thought about it for days afterwards, thinking of better comebacks you should’ve said or ways you could have changed your schedule to steer clear of him altogether. He made your skin prickle with irritation, and turned you into somebody you didn’t like very much.

It had been months since you’d seen him, not that you’d been keeping track. He typically visits Callie a few times a semester, but his senior year was more intense than he had anticipated, according to his sister. He just couldn’t spare the two hour drive from his university to yours.

But now it was summertime. Gone were the papers, projects, and responsibilities… it was finally time to relax and have fun. You only had one year of college left before graduation, so you and your friends wanted to make the most of it. Harry and his friends had just graduated, so they were at the cabin for their last hurrah before real life kicked in.

If you were being honest with yourself, you were excited that Harry was bringing some of his frat brothers along. You and your ex had just ended things recently, and you were finally feeling ready to get back into the dating game. Being trapped in a cabin with a handful of cute guys felt like a dream.

Finally, after what felt like centuries, Callie slowed the car down and turned onto a dirt road. The other girls in the car started desperately peering out the window to get a glimpse of the lake and surrounding forest.

The moment the cabin came into view, your jaw dropped. You knew Callie’s parents were loaded, but this hardly looked like the rustic getaway you were expecting. There were three buildings, each labelled with a birch bark sign. Two speedboats and a pontoon were docked at the beach, inflatable tubes and paddleboards littered around the sand nearby.

It wasn’t until Callie parked and shut off the engine that you heard a heavy bass thrum coming from the building marked MAIN CABIN. The other two buildings were labelled GUEST CABIN and SHOWER HOUSE. You were snapped out of it when Olivia and Jane, who had been sitting in the middle bucket seats, swung their sliding doors open and practically fell onto the ground.

“I don’t think I remember how to walk normally,” Charlie, a girl from your art history class, groaned, “like, we were sitting in that car for so long….”

“Oh, shush,” your sister, Morgan, scoffed, “at least you got to sit up front. I was crammed into the back between these two.”

Both you and her girlfriend, Isobel, huffed in protest, but it wasn’t worth picking a fight over. You’d have plenty of time to bicker later. For now, the fresh air and cool breeze were like heaven after a long road trip.

“The boys beat us here,” Callie remarked.

Sure enough, there were two other cars already parked in the driveway. Back behind the main cabin, a plume of smoke rose into the air. You could hear loud laughter, loud enough to drown out the trap music they had playing.

“They’ve started a bonfire!” Olivia squealed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I’m ready to get partying… it’s four in the afternoon and I’ve spent all day in a car. I need a drink.”

A few others were laughing and nodding in agreement, already making their way towards the boys, but you hung back. You’d party later, but after spending an entire day stuck with six other people, you just wanted to be alone. Plus, you wanted to drink tonight, and you’d never get around to unpacking your bag if you were wasted.

You managed to dig your duffel bag out from the pile of luggage in the trunk, letting it fall to the ground with a thump. Callie had just been finishing up with a phone call when you looked up.

“Hey, you’re not joining the others?” She asked. “I was about to head over, they’ve got a fire going. Just had to call my mum to let her know we made it.”

“I’ll join in a bit,” you promised “but I want to unpack my things first… where are we all staying?”

“You’re in the main cabin, I have you sharing a room with Charlie, is that okay?” She questioned. You nodded quickly, relief flooding over you. You liked all of the girls who came on the trip, but Charlie was by far the easiest to get along with. “Harry and I each have our own room in the main cabin, too, so you won’t be alone. Everyone else is in the guest cabin, though.”

“The guest cabin,” you giggled, slinging your bag over your shoulder as Callie lead you into the main building, “this place is swanky, Cal.”

“We host all of our family reunions here,” she shrugged, “we need lots of space. Plus it’s fun for occasions like this… we’re just lucky my dad is letting us use the boats. He treats those things like they’re his own children, only Harry is allowed to drive them this week.”

You made a face at the mention of her brother. “I’ll be staying far away from the boats, then.”

“Oh god,” Callie groaned, “I know you two don’t get along very well, but please try to be civil… we’re here for a whole week, after all.”

“I’m always civil,” you protested innocently, “it’s him you need to worry about.”

“Always civil,” she scoffed, “we both know that’s not true, but I’ll let it slide.”

Okay, so maybe you had a slight temper when it came to Harry, but nine times out of ten, he was the one who started the argument. You were never the type to actively seek out conflict, but Harry seemed to thrive off of it. Whether it was eating all the food from your half of the fridge, throwing his dark blue t-shirt in with your load of whites, or playing his guitar in your living room until three in the morning when you had a test the next day… it felt like he was out to get you.

And he was never apologetic. Of course not. He probably got off on watching steam blow from your ears.

You took a deep breath as Callie led you up a wooden staircase, trying not to let yourself get worked up. The cabin was gorgeous from what you’d seen on the main floor. Though you hadn’t lingered, you’d noticed that there was a bookshelf that took up an entire wall, packed to the brim with books with faded spines, vinyl records with worn edges, and an assortment of candles and bookends sprinkled throughout randomly. You couldn’t wait to explore the entire property.

Photographs lined the walls of every hallway, snapshots of Harry and Callie running around as kids. There was a hilarious picture of a young Harry crying as he held a fishing pole, a bare hook dangling from the line. The Styles family clearly had a great sense of humor. You made a mental note to take a photo of it on your phone later; it would be perfect ammo for the next fight that Harry would inevitably start.

“This is the bathroom…” she drawled, “no shower though. We all just use the shower house, which isn’t really as bad as it sounds. Just make sure you bring clothes with you, otherwise you’ll have to walk across the lawn in just your towel.”

You grimaced at the thought. As she continued to lead you down the hall, you saw two doors, one with CALLIE’S ROOM written in bright pink bubble letters, and the second with a wooden plaque, the word HARRY written in what was clearly a child’s handwriting.

“This is technically my parents’ room, but we use it as a guest room if it’s just us kids,” Callie explained, stopping at the last door in the hallway, “they have a king bed, so I figured you and Charlie could just share.”

“That’s fine,” you assured her, not hesitating to drop your heavy duffel onto the side of the bed closest to the window, “this place is awesome, Callie.”

“Right?” She grinned. “I’m stoked for the week, it’s gonna be so fun.”

“You should go down to the bonfire,” you told her, placing a hand on your bag, “I’ll come join as soon as I’m done.”

Luckily, your roommate of two years understood that you needed alone time sometimes, so she left you without protest.

This was exactly the recharge time that you needed. You were the kind of person who loved being around friends, but there was only so much socializing you could handle before you needed a break to be on your own. Even though you hadn’t spoken much on the ride to the cabin, being squished into a mini-van with six other girls drained your social battery. Giving yourself a moment to breathe and relax was necessary if you were going to rejoin the group.

Pressing the shuffle play button on your spotify, you smiled when the soft melody of your favorite folk song thrummed through your headphones. You swayed from side-to-side as you unzipped your bag, which had been packed to perfection.

Four swimsuits, a different outfit for each day (plus a few extra items… overpacking is better than underpacking), sunscreen, bug spray, all of your toiletries. It was fun to organize everything into the empty wardrobe by the window; looking at all of your stuff just made you more excited to be here.

Time flew by as you danced around the room. Most of your things were put away, and you’d stashed your empty bag under the bed. The one thing you hadn’t put away yet was your assortment of swimsuits. It had been difficult picking out which ones you wanted to bring, but you’d settled on three bikinis and a one-piece with the sides cut out. You were itching to change out of your leggings and t-shirt; they felt gross against your skin after sitting in the van all day.

Just as you went to pick up your navy blue sequined bikini top, a hand abruptly clamped down on your shoulder.

“Holy shit!” You spun around on your heels, hand flying to cover your beating heart. You were less than pleased to find Harry standing there, wide-eyed and trying to mask his amusement by biting down on his lip.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he chuckled, “forgot how jumpy you are.”

“I’m not jumpy,” you frowned, pulling your headphones out of your ears and crossing your arms over your stomach, “what are you doing in here?”

“Nice to see you too,” he scoffed, dimple indenting into his cheek, “I was just using the loo, then I was gonna go back to the party, where we’re having fun. Foreign concept to you, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes, turning around so he couldn’t see how hard you were scowling. He always knew just what to say to get your blood boiling.

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to have fun, Harry?” You asked sarcastically.

“Ah, I knew you were smarter than you looked,” he grinned. “Cute swim top.”

It was only then that you noticed his attire. Well, lack of attire. He was wearing the smallest swimming shorts you’d ever seen, his chest tanned from the sun and completely bare apart from a single cross necklace that hung over his sternum. His hair had grown out since the last time you saw him, and it looked a bit ridiculous with his sunglasses on top of his head.

He looked good, not that you’d ever admit it. Luckily, you were fantastic at masking your wandering eyes; he had a tendency of walking around your apartment in his boxers during visits, so you’d had plenty of practice.

“Shut up,” you groaned, throwing the bikini top back onto the bed. You’d been planning on wearing that one, but Harry ruined it with his gross comment, just like he ruins most things for you.

“I’m quite incapable of shutting up,” he mused, throwing himself down onto your side of the bed, “you should know this by now.”

“Trust me,” you were completely unamused, still standing with your arms crossed over your stomach, “I’m well aware.”

“You should come join the party,” he continued speaking as if you hadn’t said anything, seemingly unfazed by how visibly irritated you were, “it’s the first day and you’re already being a buzzkill. Maybe you should try like… try stepping out of your comfort zone, just for the week.”

“Thank you so much for that lovely unsolicited advice,” you said sarcastically, “now if we’re talking about comfort zones, you laying on my bed is definitely out of mine.”

“Please, you love me on your bed,” he smirked, closing his eyes, “this is a dream come true for you.”

“Are you delusional?” You were running out of patience. “Did you hit your head?”

“Why?” He said innocently. “Are you thinking about playing nurse? Because I hate to break your heart, but I’m not into wet blankets. Maybe if you loosened up a bit.”

If he wasn’t gone in thirty seconds, you were going to scream. He seemed to be enjoying himself, arms crossed behind his head with a twinkle in his eye as you stared daggers at him.

“Are you quite done?” You spit. “I can feel my IQ dropping every time you speak. Plus, I need to change before I come down.”

“Ooh, can I watch?” He waggled his eyebrows.

That was it. “Harry, get out, okay?”

“Jeez, okay, fine,” he grumbled, rolling clumsily off of the bed, “so bossy, you are.”

You pointed a finger towards the door, leveling him with the steeliest glare you could muster. “Out,” you repeated.

“You should come down sooner rather than later,” he said, completely unbothered, “I’m sure you’ll be much nicer once you’ve had a drink or two.”

He was gone before you could think of a response. The annoyance bubbling inside you was so intense, you felt like you wanted to break something. Instead, you punched your pillow a few times to release some tension, taking a deep breath to compose yourself after.

You wrinkled your nose at the blue bikini top, choosing to wear an orange floral patterned one instead. You’d never give Harry the satisfaction.

~~~

The fire was absolutely roaring.

It was perfect. The fire pit was lined with wooden logs, the tops shaved off to make benches. There was hardly enough space for all fourteen of you, but you managed to squeeze in as you all roasted corn and hot dogs over the fire. It wasn’t too windy, so you didn’t have to worry about smoke blowing into your eyes, but the bugs were relentless.

The air around you smelled of smoke, bug spray, and good food. There were a few different conversations happening, and every once in a while, a few people would break out into loud, contagious laughter.

Harry had tried to talk to you when you came down, but you’d avoided him like the plague. You had absolutely nothing nice to say to him after his snarky comments in your room, and any further interaction with him at this point would just end in disaster. Thankfully, he was quickly distracted by some of his frat brothers, and he hadn’t tried to approach you again all night.

Now, you were chatting with Olivia and one of the boys, Luke. By the time you’d gone down to the bonfire, everyone was several drinks in. You’d been forced to play catch-up by way of tequila shots, so you had a pleasant buzz running through your veins.

“This is a perfect summer night,” you sighed happily, pulling your skewer from the flames to keep your corn from burning.

“Almost perfect,” a boy named Archie corrected, “we haven’t been out on the lake yet.”

Harry and three of the other boys had arrived a night early to get the boats ready, and now that Archie mentioned it, the pontoon was looking mighty tempting. The sun hadn’t fully set, but dusk was beginning to settle in, blanketing the forest with pink and orange hues, a gorgeous reflection of the sunset above you. It was the perfect time to go out on the water.

“How do we feel about the pontoon?” You wondered out loud. There was no way you’d all fit, but you could go in groups.

“It’s too buggy to be on the water,” Callie wrinkled her nose, “I’m getting eaten alive as it is.”

“I’m down, as long as I can smoke a spliff while we’re out there,” James, one of the other boys, shrugged, “obviously I’ll share, I brought tons.”

A few others around the circle chimed in with their interest, and before you knew it, people were standing up to make their way over to the docks. You weren’t the best with names, but much to your relief, you’d introduced yourself to everyone going on the boat. Obviously, you already knew Morgan and Isobel, and were somewhat friendly with Jane, Archie, and James.

“I’ll come along, too,” a voice behind you yawned. When you turned around, you immediately felt yourself melt. Ryan, a boy you’d had a single class with freshman year, was stretching his arms out as he stood up, and he was looking directly at you with a flirtatious smile.

You’d had a major crush on him for the entirety of your class together, but you’d been too shy to say anything to him. He was a whole year older, after all, and that had been intimidating when you were eighteen.

You returned his smile, biting down on your bottom lip shyly.

“I guess I’m going too, then,” Harry sighed, shoving the last of his hot dog into his mouth before dusting his hands off.

Immediately, your face dropped. Harry snorted when he saw your expression, digging around the pocket in his swimsuit to retrieve a key.

“I’m the only one allowed to drive the boats, remember? Dad made me promise.”

Your shoulders slumped. You’d completely forgotten that Callie had mentioned it to you earlier. You weren’t about to turn down a sunset boat ride though, especially now that Ryan was coming along as well.

Everyone scarfed down the rest of their food in a rush as Harry went over to untie the boat and make sure it was good to go. You watched as he leaned far over the edge of the dock, so far that nearly fell face-first into the water before righting himself and trying again..

“Hey,” Ryan had walked next to you, following your line of sight, “he’s gonna fall in, isn’t he?”

“I hope so,” you giggled.

“You were in my History 204 class, weren’t you? Sophomore year?” He asked.

Your entire body flushed. You didn’t think he’d noticed you at all, let alone enough to remember you years later. Having Ryan up at the cabin, talking to you, felt like a dream come true.

“I was a freshman, but yeah, I think so,” you nodded nonchalantly, “I hated that professor.”

“Oh god, same!” He laughed, shaking his head, “such a drag, just constant pop quizzes!”

“Ugh, yes!” You turned your body towards him fully. “And that midterm assignment….”

“Don’t even get me started,” Ryan pretended to shiver in fear.

You laughed loudly, and from the corner of your eye you saw Harry turn to glance in your direction. Upon a closer look, he’d managed to wrangle the boat so it was right up against the dock.

“All aboard!” He shouted.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous antics. He always thought he was so funny, especially when you were the butt of his jokes. You hoped he’d be too busy driving to bother you.

Luckily, Ryan seemed keen to stay by your side, even helping you step into the boat by taking your hand to keep you balanced, so Harry didn’t have much of a chance to say anything. By the time the boat was moving, everyone was sitting in a circle on the floor, clipping in the life jackets that Callie had forced us all to wear.

As soon as the wind blew through your hair, you tilted your head up and closed your eyes. Lakes didn’t smell great, but you’d always loved it. It was classic, nostalgic. You’d spent every summer of your life swimming in Midwest lakes, so it felt just like summer.

James was true to his word, and pulled out four fatly rolled joints, passing them around with a lighter. You didn’t do this often, but it felt like the perfect moment. The sun was disappearing fast, and soon enough you’d be able to see the stars.

At some point, Harry slowed the engine down to a gentle hum when the boat reached the middle of the lake, getting a couple of the others to help him throw the anchor over the edge. Afterwards, he moved back over to the driving console and fiddled with a few buttons until quiet, staticky music sounded out. He then sat down across the circle from you, immediately accepting one of the joints from Archie.

You stood up on your knees, and looked around. Water lapped lightly against the sides of the boat, so it took you a moment to find your equilibrium. The silhouette of the tall pines surrounding the lake were awe-striking.

Nobody wanted to break the silence, so you didn’t. The weed was starting to take effect, making your body feel heavy and your head feel light. You started to lay down, unclipping your life jacket to use as a pillow. Slowly, your friends followed your lead, the sounds of shuffling and buckles popping open momentarily interrupting the tranquil silence.

You watched the sky change from pink to a deep blue, only turning your head away when the first stars became visible. Morgan was laying next to you, staring straight up at the sky. To anyone else, she looked like she was lost in thought, but you knew her better than that. There was a slight frown, watery eyes, a little crinkle across her forehead... she was worried about something.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, trailing a hand down her arm. She let out a long exhale.

“This is gonna sound so soppy,” Morgan sighed, “but I can’t stop thinking about like… how different I would be if I could just, change things about myself.”

“I like you the way you are,” Isobel frowned, sitting up slightly to look at her, “plus, you can change things about yourself. People do it all the time. New hairstyles, piercings, clothes. You could completely rebrand yourself anytime you want.”

“She’s not talking about her appearance,” you said softly, squeezing Morgan’s hand, “she means… like, changing who you are, at your very core. Things you can’t help.”

“I get that,” Ryan chimed in, “I think about that, too. If I could change one thing about myself, I would make myself more motivated. My life would be so different if I could just… alter one tiny thing.”

“Exactly!” Morgan nodded. “I would… make myself less impulsive, I think. I have so many regrets, and it’s all because I never properly think before I act. I’d be so much better off if I could just learn to be more careful.”

“I like how spontaneous you are,” Isobel hummed, “but I think I know what you mean. If I could change anything about myself, I’d make myself less anxious. Anxiety has always held me back so much… I mean, fuck… I haven’t even come out to my family yet, even though I know they’d support me. I’d be so much happier if I could appreciate the good things in life, rather than stress about how to keep them.”

“I’m with Isobel,” Harry spoke. He’d just taken a rather large pull from the joint, so his voice came out rougher than gravel. “Anxiety is such a bitch, and it’s like, out of our control. It’s kept me from talking about my feelings so many times, and I feel like I’ve missed out on some really good friendships because of it.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, you felt happier than you had in a long time. You’d smoked just enough to feel numb, and the waves were rocking against the boat so gently that it felt like you were floating. You took a deep breath in through your nose, feeling the crisp forest air fill your lungs before exhaling. The stars were shining in the cloudless sky, crickets were chirping along the shore, and soft music was filtering through the cheap boat stereo. It was peaceful, listening to your friends pour their hearts out.

Each person took a turn sharing what they would change about themselves. Archie would get rid of his bad temper, James would become a better listener, and Jane would be less self-conscious.

“What would you change?” Morgan turned to look at you.

You and your twin sister were very different people. So different, in fact, that you sometimes forgot that you were identical. In moments like this, when her eyes were watery and hooded, voice thick with sadness and hope, that you were reminded of how similar you could be.

“If I could change anything about myself….” you mused, closing your eyes. “I think I would… let things go.”

“Let things go?” Archie echoed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “like, let go of the past. Whenever something bad happens to me, I let it really get to me. Negative memories and feelings just… constantly eat away at me. I wish I could just wake up in the morning and think about the future… because thinking about the past is exhausting.”

Nobody spoke after your confession. Nobody tried to assure anyone that they would be okay, or convince anyone that they didn’t need to change. There was something comforting about lying in a circle with your friends, your sister… even Harry, because you were all flawed, and none of you knew what the future would bring. You all found solace in the fact that you were here, right now, laying in a circle on a boat, with an old jazz song ringing through the air.

And who knows… maybe someday, you’ll all find a way to change the parts of yourselves that bother you. Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate them. Maybe your flaws will end up helping you in the long run.

But for now, none of you were alone. And that was enough.

~~~

Thank you for reading! I love getting feedback, so let me know what you thought! xoxoxoxoxoooooxxxxxxooooooxxxoooo Tile

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry #styles #pypfc #pick your poison fic challenge #enemies to lovers #m&bc #miles and black coffee #multi-part fic #part 1

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duskandstarlight · 4 years

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Embers & Light (Nessian, multichapter fic)

Embers & Light

A Nesta and Cassian fic - a tale of how Nesta slowly starts to heal and how she and Cassian grow back together.

Now, in that study at the river estate, Cassian looked down at the female who would be staying with him for the near future. At the eyes that had drained of fire at the sound of her sisters words and were now nothing but hollow, unseeing.

“You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains,” he told her.

Those steel blue eyes bore into his, unblinking. He waited for the retort, for the snide remark that would send him reeling but it didn’t come.

Somehow, that was worse. It meant that the situation was far graver than any of them had realised.

Ao3

Or read Chapter One below...

Chapter One

Cassian

Feyre had found him at the House of Wind. Cassian’s chest was heaving after some early morning hand-to-hand combat with Azriel, his hands braced on his knees as he gulped crisp, fresh air into his lungs. Summer was giving way to fall, the chill hanging in the air a promise of what was to come — of the fiery riot of autumn colours as the trees shed their leaves and bracing wintery days.

It had been a long time since Cassian had fought with his brother. His business had kept him in the Illyrian mountains more often than not, but his daily sparring with Windhaven’s most promising warriors had paid off, and although he was sporting a split lip and swollen nose, Azriel was definitely the worse for wear.

Wiping away the blood and sweat from his face onto his tunic, Cassian looked up to see Feyre materialise out of thin air a few feet away from them. He grinned at her in greeting. From the way Feyre grimaced at him, he gathered his teeth were covered in blood.

“I thought we weren’t training this morning?” he asked as he spit red over the edge of the sparring plateau. Waving Azriel goodbye he shucked off his tunic, tossing it to the ground so his skin could air dry. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Feyre rolled her eyes at him and rested a hand on her hip. “Must you find any excuse to undress?”

Scraping his hair back into a messy bun, Cassian barked a laugh, “If it’s making you all hot and bothered, I can’t say I blame you. Should I speak to Rhys about properly satisfying his mate in the bedroom?”

“Such a large ego,” Feyre mused, “it makes me wonder if you’re over compensating, Cassian.”

He snorted at that. “I have the largest wingspan.”

“So you say,” Feyre huffed, which turned into outright laughter as his eyes gleamed. “Oh stop, i’m just teasing you.”

Nodding, Cassian poured himself a glass of water. He gestured to Feyre with the glass but she shook her head. When he’d finished downing it, he found her watching him apprehensively.

He surveyed her stiff posture, the way she had begun to worry her bottom lip between her teeth before he commanded, “Out with it.”

A moments pause. Then, “I want to talk to you about Nesta.”

Cassian stilled. He did not like to speak about the eldest Archeron sister if he could help it. He did not like to think about what had happened between them or about what was happening to her.

His voice was too light, too conversational when he asked, “And why would you want to do that?”

Sighing, Feyre shifted her gaze to focus somewhere over his shoulder. The sound was tormented and defeated. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do about Nesta,” Feyre started to explain. “She’s tearing herself apart and I — I don’t know what to do. I’ve stood on the sidelines — we all have — but you saw her in the summer. She’s wasting away. From what I can tell from Azriel’s updates, she spends most of her time drunk or bedding other males and it’s… it’s gone on too long. We need to intervene.”

Cassian didn’t know what to do with his body so he crossed his arms firmly against his chest instead. He and Feyre had never spoken about the males Nesta took home — the males she made it her mission to find — as she sought out sleazy establishments and took her pick at the end of the night. They were always tripping over themselves to have a go. She was, after all, the female who had killed the King of Hybern.

At the beginning, when Nesta first moved out of the town house, Cassian had staked out on the rooftops of whatever tavern she was frequenting, waiting to following her home to make sure she got back safe. He never dropped down on the pavement beside her, never made a point of scaring the shit out of the male who was planning on putting his cock where it didn’t belong. No, he kept a healthy distance from Nesta whenever he could. He had razed enemies to the ground knee—deep in mud and gore and not batted an eyelid, but Nesta had a way of making him feel as if he were balancing on a tightrope between two cliffs with his wings bound.

So Cassian would perch himself on the rooftop opposite her worn apartment until a dim light cast itself out of the dirty windows. Once, he had remained beyond that — there was something about the male she had chosen that set him on edge — but in the end he had felt so sick with rage that he’d taken to the skies until the dark had bled into the pastel hues of dawn.

He hadn’t gone back, after that.

Levelling his gaze with his High Lady, Cassian tried to appear unaffected, but his voice too low, as he asked, “What are you suggesting?”

“I was thinking that you could take her with you to Illyria. I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Everything in him went taut and loose all at once. Refraining from sending Feyre a sharp look, Cassian took a moment to calm the thrum of blood that pounded through his veins. “Is that wise?”

“I think the fresh air could do her good,” Feyre admitted. “It would get her out of Velaris. Nesta always wanted to travel and see the world. Rhys said you’re going to be stationed out there for a while and it would force her to get clean. She’s a functioning alcoholic, Cassian. She’s draining Night Court funds left, right and centre to feed her habit.”

She peered up at him. Those grey-blue eyes of hers were identical to her sisters in colour but they lacked the ice cold fire that burned so ferociously in Nesta’s. It was a fire that never failed to kindle a heat within him.

“Would you… would you do it?” she asked uncertainly.

“Feyre —” he started gently, but she cut him off.

“I know -” she interrupted. “I know that things ended badly between you but she’s my sister, Cassian and I’ve failed her. This has all got so out of control. Nesta guards herself so carefully and pushes everyone away that I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was right. But I have two options: I watch her wither away and die — because she will die, Cass if she continues this lifestyle — or I become the evil sister and intervene.”

Feyre’s face crumpled then and Cassian allowed her to step away, to look out at the view of Velaris whilst she composed herself. The city unfolded before them like a rolling canvas of colour and light and the Sidra sparkled as it weaved itself like a serpent through the centre of the city until it met the sea.

Taking a deep breath that Cassian could tell gave her courage, Feyre said with a quiet fervour, “I’d rather be evil in this narrative than to not have tried to make things better. Nesta says she doesn’t need saving but she does need guidance — she needs somebody who will bring her out of this shell she’s become — and I can’t think of anybody else that might pull a reaction out of her. I know you travel a lot so she’ll still have her space but she’ll be in an environment that won’t feed her habit.”

Feyre turned to face him. Her braid caught in the wind and Cassian watched it fly behind her. “I know it’s a lot to ask. And I’m not asking as your High Lady, I’m asking as a friend. I know she’s been horrible to you but if we trialled this until Solstice…” Feyre trailed off at his hardened expression. “Would you do it? Take her with you, I mean.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “She’d have to live with me. It’s not safe for her to stay by herself.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed.

“I have a housekeeper who can keep an eye on her when i’m away.”

Feyre had blown out a breath — it was an exhalation of nerves, of the relief that came with him not saying no. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed, a silent thanks and he had sent her a small smile, even though he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

“You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains,” he told her.

Those steel blue eyes bore into his, unblinking. He waited for the retort, for the snide remark that would send him reeling but it didn’t come.

Somehow, that was worse. It meant that the situation was far graver than any of them had realised.

There was no reaction in Nesta’s expression. Her impenetrable mask was either too honed after years of practice or any emotion she should have felt had been suppressed under the claws of those demons that haunted her every move. The only indication that she had heard was in her posture, that preternatural stillness and something wholly other of hers froze, as if she were on pause.

The air around them snapped taut as everyone waited to see what she would do… how she would react.

But after a few beats, all Nesta clipped was, “When.”

“Now,” Cassian said firmly, folding his arms across his wide chest in a stance that conveyed he was taking no shit, especially from her.

“Fine,” she snapped, but her voice was flat, devoid of the anger that should be consuming her. “Am I allowed to pack my things or am I no longer allowed my possessions?”

“I told you to wrap up warm,” he gritted out, pressing the scarf he had grabbed from her apartment into her hands.

“The only thing I’ll need, I’m sure.”

Strike, parry, strike. Their insults were as sharp and brutal as their usual wordplay but something felt off. Wrong.

His gut twisted and roiled, like a serpent uncoiling ready to strike.

In his peripheral vision, Rhys stepped forward but Cassian snarled in warning, flinging out his hand behind him. Long suppressed anger bubbled to the surface so fast red slid across his vision. Fisting his hands at his side, Cassian wrestled down his rage as he tried to block out the image of her beaten up apartment, the dirty sheets and the scent of multiple males. He wouldn’t go back there. He wouldn’t allow another male near her, not if it killed him.

He’d have to have Feyre or Elain pack her a bag and Azriel could winnow it over later.

“We’ll fly, not winnow,” he said to Rhys shortly, not bothering to turn to his friend as his wings rustled agitatedly, the promise of the open skies the only thing keeping him from losing it in front of his friends.

He wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. Everything, probably. This situation, the vacant cold that laced Nesta’s every word, every movement… Her capacity for pushing away those that cared for her. For his promise that they would have time, only to see it wasting away before his eyes as she bedded male after male and drank herself into a stupor.

Cassian knew Rhys well enough to sense that he had opened his mouth to protest but had then closed it. But Cassian’s gaze didn’t break from Nesta’s as he mustered all of his strength into drawling the four words that he yearned would provoke outrage and indignation… some fiery emotion from her that would tell him that the Nesta he had known was still there under all of the layers of ice and trauma. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

Stalking out of the study into the small courtyard, Cassian stopped by the stone fountain at its centre. The water spilling down into the pool basin was the only sound — even the birds had stopped chirping, as if they too had sensed his wrath and had turned mute.

Nesta had floated out last, her chin raised, her shoulders back, as if she were a queen ready to greet her loyal subjects, despite the unkept drabness to her hair and the creases in her stained clothing.

Amren hadn’t even bothered to leave the study. She was picking her nails, a look of complete boredom adorning her feline features. Cassian hadn’t been privy to the barbed words between Rhys's second and Nesta on that summer boat, but it must have been bad if Amren hadn’t even unleashed the power that bubbled so close to the surface of her skin.

The threat of it looming over Nesta was worse, somehow.

As if sensing his thoughts, Amren’s upper lip curled slowly. Those stormy eyes flashed and those actions alone had his blood crawling… He needed to get them out of here.

Feyre looked anxious and small amongst them all, her worry coming off of her in waves. Rhys had his hands in his pockets — a telling sign that he was refraining from comforting his mate — most likely because he had spoken out of turn earlier.

“Nesta,” Feyre tried softly, clasping her sister’s limp hands in her own. “I think it will be good for you in Illyria. To get away from everything and get some space. Elain and I love you very much. It hurts us to see you like this.”

There was no response. No barbed words or venom. Nesta just held Feyre’s gaze, expressionless.

Cassian couldn’t bear it… those dead eyes, so he closed the distance between himself and the sisters, severing the moment.

Feyre glanced quickly at Cassian and then back to Nesta, as she promised, “I’ll write to you. Elain and I will both write.”

She nodded at Cassian, giving him the permission that he hadn’t even thought to seek, his mind too preoccupied with taking to the skies as soon as possible.

“Have Az bring her belongings,” he told Rhys and Feyre, securing his hair with a leather tie.

He didn’t falter as he wrapped his arms around an unusually compliant Nesta, and shot into the sky.

Air rushed into his lungs in a steady torrent, the bracing air anchoring him. He ignored Nesta’s sharp hiss at the sudden speed, at the half—moons of her nails as they dug through his leathers.

When he reached the perfect altitude, he gave a few powerful flaps before spreading his wings wide, giving himself a moment to soar and drink in Velaris for the last time before following the northern curve of the Sidra.

Neither of them spoke during the long journey. With each beat of his wings, Cassian’s anger gradually dissipated to a low hum… and then to total exhaustion. He had barely slept the night before — a constant these days — especially having known what was in store for him the following day. Somehow, the lack of verbal sparring had left him even more spent, the knowledge that things were far worse than they had thought roiling uneasily in his gut…

They should have interfered sooner. Much sooner.

Focussing on the slow burn in his wings to take his mind off things, Cassian expended some of his power to block out the climbing chill. It was a drain on his already tired body, but he hadn’t had the energy to fight Nesta into Illyrian leathers before they left. She’d have only given him hell for it anyway.

Not daring to glance down at her, Cassian kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead as he tracked his way through the sky. Despite the thick material of her dress, he could feel Nesta’s sharp bones digging into his arms and she felt too light — so light that he had to swallow down his worry. The first thing he was going to do when they got to Windhaven was make her eat something, even if he forced it down her. Perhaps he could bribe her by threatening to burn one of her beloved books — it was sacrilege, he knew, but when needs must...

Banking to the right at the first sight of snow capped mountains, Cassian flew straight into the thick snow clouds surrounding a wide mountain pass. Pure, white snow fell thick and heavy around them, so fast that if Cassian hadn’t grown up flying these skies then it would have been too easy to become disorientated. The wind was its own force now and even the best of Illyrian’s would have been tossed around like a moth on paper—thin wings. But Cassian wasn’t any Illyrian warrior and his seven siphons weren’t for nothing. As a howling gust threatened to toss them aside he dove, tucking in his wings tight as he shot towards the ground as straight as an arrow. He felt Nesta’s sudden death grip and the sharp tang of her fear as they raced towards the war camp, but he just watched the pitched tents take shape and the sparring plateau full of moving figures come to life beneath him as he waited… waited...

The wind dropped as quickly as it had come and Cassian flung out his wings, launching them backwards. Grinding his teeth, he back—flapped hard, his tendons straining and burning at the sudden drag of air.

He did not acknowledge the fear that slammed into him, nor did he express his relief that Nesta was capable of feeling something. He merely steadied himself before touching down on the powdery ground, his voice gruff from the hours it had remained unused, “We’re here.”

#nessian #cassian #acosf #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #nesta x cassian #acotar #nesta archeron

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nyctolovian · 4 years

Text

this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

This was written for @tma-safehouse-fest day 3-5 prompt (pining). But its sorta a dedication to the way the romance is written cos jon and martin legit try so hard to make things work :’ Please enjoy it!!

Summary: A study of Jon's love for Martin and why he kept it. (set in S4)

link to AO3

Jon knew exactly what this was—pining. Very useless and painful pining.

He was surprised by how quickly he recognised it. Less emotionally constipated people have taken longer to notice their romantic feelings for another. It was all rather strange and hilarious, if you asked him. (But he’d heard plenty of people criticise his sense of humour so he suggested you take this opinion with a pinch of salt.)

During the first few months in the hospital, despite his coma, he heard Martin—sensed him even. He noticed Martin not in words, though Jon knew he was being spoken to, but in presence and genuineness. And he came often, and would always be exuding tender care. Then, his presence began to dwindle with each passing visit, before it dropped off altogether.

Jon didn't (or couldn't, given his unconscious state) think much of it. Then, while asking Basira about what happened in the Unknowing, he was abruptly reminded of him—Martin, where was he? How was he?

Then, came the first thing he would Know after becoming an Avatar. Jon was overwhelmed with the somehow already deep-seated knowledge that he had feelings for Martin, something that had apparently been left brewing like wine in his chest during his Not-Death.

Almost immediately after he came to this realisation however, he was also struck with the fact that he hadn't been visiting lately. Not within the last month. Suddenly, cold dread that Martin didn't care about Jon anymore thrummed in his chest. Had their affections missed each other? Like two fleeting trains on opposite sides glancing off one another?

No, Jon was to learn that it was much worse. Martin was working for the Lonely.

Jon's chest tightened with worry at the thought. What was he doing? Didn't he know working for any of the Fears was bad news? Jon didn't want Martin to be put in danger like this. He didn't want Martin to become… like him, whatever that meant—not human, trying hard to be not-monster…

The dread expanded in his chest when he finally saw Martin. The sheer relief he had felt when he first set his eyes upon Martin could easily set him afloat. He had lost a little weight and grown slightly pale, but he was still alive and well nonetheless, cupping a mug of tea and wearing his usual large faded sweaters.

Jon, on the other hand, must have looked awful with his coma-induced haggardness and messy bun.

When Jon called out to Martin, a look of shock passed over his face at the sight of the man. His eyes darted down to Jon's outfit.

Self-consciously, Jon fiddled with the sides of his ankle-length skirt. His usual clothes had been more or less destroyed by his numerous kidnappings and near-deaths so he had to get new ones. He had made the decision to ditch professionalism entirely and gone for 100% comfort as a petty rebellion against the institution he was trapped within. Unfortunately, his outfits of choice resembled that of a little old Grandma, he belatedly realised.

When he glanced back up nervously, Martin's initial shock was already plastered over with composure. Cheekily, however, the Eye had let Jon Know that Martin's glances were rather appreciative ones and that sent his heart fluttering uselessly.

This short interaction replayed in Jon's mind for days and days, and he found himself drenching in mortification. Every interaction after that too. He would find himself thinking back to it and regretting his every word and twitch. (Not seeking Martin though. He never regretted seeking him.) And after the first sting of embarrassment subsided, he was left with the gentle aftertaste of his pining. To be frank, it was a bitter thing, as expected of something left brewing as long as it had.

He often found himself lying in bed, bolster held tightly against his chest, imagining Martin in his arms. And he'd feel a pang of pain. One that could only be relieved by the warmth of another.

Pining was not something Jon was familiar with. He was not the type to develop crushes to begin with. On the off chance he did, however, he had always been quick to stamp out the first flames of affection, with Georgie as the only other exception. Thus, the pain of yearning for someone you could only watch and think about from afar was incredibly foreign to Jon.

It was pathetic. It was embarrassing. It was unbearable.

But he cradled it in his palms, gently cherishing, refusing to let drop. Anyone who so much as implied that this feeling was something he couldn’t help would be dead wrong.

Jon chose Martin.

He had decided for himself—vowed it to whatever sick god that was watching him—that he was going to love Martin. He found the nascent affection growing in his chest and chose to keep it, let it bloom, chose to foster it even. He saw the red string of fate on his pinky and stubbornly wound it around his wrist, twice, thrice, over and over, tethering himself to this stupid love against all rationality.

He wasn't letting go.

He wasn't letting go of Martin.

Because everyone seemed to think he was gone, lost to doing the Lonely’s bidding. Not Jon. When Martin reassured him that he was doing everything for their sake, to protect them, Jon wholeheartedly believed those words. Martin wouldn’t do anything to hurt them. He didn’t just Know this; Jon trusted him.

But if Martin kept giving and giving, what would be left of him by the end? Surely somebody had to give something back. Jon couldn’t just watch him wither away into nothingness under the aegis of the Lonely.

Who was going to pull Martin out of the Lonely when it's time for him to return? (Surely he would come back. He'd come back when this was all over. He had to.)

Jon knew it had to be himself. Because Jon loved Martin, and loving him was the most natural thing to do. And, by god, Jon was fighting tooth and nail till his body fell apart to protect this.

If he had to die to keep his love, he would.

***

“Uh,” Martin muttered. “Jon, I, uh, I appreciate this but um…”

Jon looked down at their interlocked hands, not quite registering.

“I have to open the door.”

“Oh.” Jon’s face heated. “Oh. Yes, of course.” Reluctantly, he released Martin’s right hand, shivering as he did so. This was the first brush of cool air against his now-sweaty palms in hours.

He hadn’t noticed how long they had their hands linked like this. They must have been holding hands since their reunion inside the Lonely’s realm. He had been so petrified of losing Martin again that he had clasped his hand in an almost-death grip while he navigated through the mists and fogs.

Yet, Jon found himself missing the contact already. It hadn’t even been three seconds and already Jon was longing for Martin’s touch like a needy child. His fingers were growing cold and his heart was palpitating with the ferocious urge to just grasp Martin’s hand and superglue it to his. Never in his life had he ever felt this possessive but he really couldn’t be blamed after losing so much.

As soon as Martin got his front door to open though, he turned to look at Jon with the most tender smile, and held his left hand towards him. “How about we switch hands? My other one’s gotten quite moist.”

The warmth that swelled in Jon’s chest was a ridiculous thing but he quickly snatched up that offered hand anyway.

It was stupid, trying to pack clothes into a suitcase with two hands of two different people, but they somehow made it work. And when it was Jon’s turn to pack his bag, they allowed the same silly process to repeat itself. And if they shared a hug in the middle of the living room, no one would ever know.

Jon wasn’t letting go.

And Martin wasn’t letting go either.

#tmasafehousefest #jonmartin #pining #tma #the magnus archives #magpod #tma fanfic #fanfic #my writing #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #tma season four

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

Text

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] Also on AO3

Chapter 9: Jon

“Sit down, boss,” Tim says insistently.

“Jon, please,” Martin—the real Martin—says, his voice soft. “We’ll explain, just...sit down. Please.”

Jon doesn’t want to sit down. He wants to stay standing, to put himself between this—this thing wearing his assistant’s face, his skin—and the three people he’s already nearly lost tonight. But he responds to the please and sits, slowly, never taking his eyes off the creature claiming to be Martin Blackwood from the future.

It’s a good likeness, he has to admit. The...creature or whatever it is looks almost identical to his—the real Martin, down to the odd twist in one set of cables on his sweater (not that Jon’s spent a lot of time staring at Martin or his sweater, of course, only that it’s not quite even and the oddity catches his attention) and that one errant curl that never seems to do what he wants it to. But this creature is also...muted is the best way Jon can think of to describe it. As if someone has turned down the saturation on a picture, or coated the whole thing in a grey wash.

“How long were you waiting for us?” Tim asks the other Martin. It seems safer to think of him that way.

“Not long,” Other-Martin answers. “Maybe a minute.”

“Really? It took you that long to get here? Must’ve been a hell of a complicated route.”

Other-Martin gives a soft snort of laughter without a lot of humor in it. “Time in those corridors doesn’t follow the same rules. As far as I could tell, I was only in there five, ten minutes, tops.”

“Tim, you invited this here?” Jon exclaims.

Tim shrugs. “It seemed safer than leaving him in the tunnels under the Institute. You know, what with the worms and the police and everything. Hard enough to explain to us what’s going on, but someone who doesn’t deal with this every day?”

Other-Martin tilts his head slightly, but his gaze is directed at Jon. It makes him feel uneasy, for reasons he can’t quite explain. He tries to bring his chin up defiantly, but he’s aware of the fact that he’s terrified and wonders if this creature can smell fear. “And you expect us to just...believe you. That you’re—that you’re Martin come back from the future. There is no scientific explanation for time travel—”

“There probably is, actually, but that’s got nothing to do with how I came back,” Other-Martin interrupts. “And no. I don’t expect you to just...believe me. Not like that. I mean, especially not right now. I know you well enough to know you’re pushing the skeptic thing as hard as you are because you know it’s real and you’re afraid. You can feel something watching you when you’re recording the statements, the real ones, the ones that you have to do on the tape, yeah? That’s what you told me. So you believe in the supernatural and the paranormal and all that, but that doesn’t mean you want to. And it sure doesn’t mean you’re going to believe I am who I say I am without some kind of proof.”

For just a moment, Jon is speechless. He’s never told anyone about that persistent feeling, or his belief that the “difficult” statements are actually true encounters. He certainly wouldn’t have told Martin, although if he’s being honest, Martin is probably the only one he would have trusted with that knowledge. To hear it pour out of someone else’s mouth is startling, to say the least. It’s not really proof, of course, but it’s certainly enough to crack the shell of skepticism Jon hides behind.

“Wait,” Sasha interrupts. “You’re saying those statements...the ones that won’t go on the laptop...they’re real? Like, they actually happened?”

“They did, yeah. I know they’re hard to verify, but, well, that’s the thing about the paranormal. Ghosts don’t leave a lot of physical evidence. And...well, people see what they want to see, and they rationalize out a lot of things they don’t.” Other-Martin sighs. “It used to drive Basira nuts.”

“Basira?” Tim asks.

“Ah—you haven’t met her yet, I don’t think. Unless you...no, she was one of the officers on the scene when all this happened in my timeline, but honestly, I had a hard time concentrating on who I talked to that night and who I talked to later. I was too busy worrying about—” Other-Martin snaps off the sentence. “She’s a cop. One of the officers assigned to the investigation at the Institute. In our timeline, she...eventually got hired to work in the Archives. It’s—”

“A long story?” Martin says, sounding tired.

Other-Martin holds up his hands. “I know, I know. I promise, we’ll explain everything as soon as—”

“We?” Jon and Sasha say in unison.

“I didn’t come back alone. Well, I mean—we came back separately, but I’m not the only one who came back. We were warned we’d probably end up in different places, though.”

Tim lifts an eyebrow and grins. “Ooh, did you arrange a rendezvous at a secret meeting point? Send one another coded messages?”

“Tim,” Sasha hisses, elbowing him.

Other-Martin smiles, a little wistfully. “I wouldn’t say that, but...the plan we worked out before we came back involved us being at the Archives, so we were going to meet there. I have no doubt they’re on their way there.”

“And when they get there?” Martin asks quietly. “When they show up and see...everything that’s happening? What then? Did you have a—a backup plan?”

“Not really. But my guess? They’ll come looking for me. Or at least for you all.”

Jon tenses. “Looking for us? Why?”

“We were always planning to bring you all into it, after we...took care of Jane Prentiss. This wasn’t...exactly how we planned to do that, it got a bit out of hand, but I had to improvise, and I didn’t do it well.” Other-Martin gives another soft huff of not-all-that-amused laughter. “I’m quite literally lost without them. But I don’t doubt for a minute that if they can’t find me, they’ll come to you all.”

Jon is torn. On the one hand, he wants to shout at this creature, demand to know what its game actually is, chase it from the building, and keep it from coming anywhere near his assistants ever again. On the other hand...the more he talks, the easier it is to believe what he’s saying. Also, this isn’t Jon’s house and it’s not exactly his place to deny access to it.

“How did you get in here, anyway?” Jon decides a change of subject might clear his mind.

“Michael,” Other-Martin answers.

“That thing that attacked Sasha?” Jon exclaims. “You’re friends with it?”

“Oh, God, no,” Other-Martin says with another laugh that has no humor in it. “Michael hates anything to do with the Archives. Not necessarily without reason. I just managed to talk him into a temporary truce. Mostly I told him I knew what would happen to him and if he didn’t want to be utterly destroyed, he’d best help me out. I think that’s the only favor I’m actually going to get out of him, though.”

Sasha rubs her temples with her fingers. “Wait, wait. If he hates us so much, why would he tell me how to save everyone?”

Other-Martin hesitates. Beside Jon, Martin sighs deeply. “Is this another ‘telling you might be dangerous until someone who can protect you shows up’ thing?” In response to the startled look Jon shoots his way, Martin gestures at his doppelganger. “That’s what he keeps saying when I push too hard.”

“Look, I know it’s frustrating, but it’s also serious. You might be okay tonight, but...I’m just reluctant to risk it until—”

A firm rapping sound interrupts him. Sasha glances at Tim. “Somebody’s knocking at your door.”

Martin hums something under his breath, which brings that sad, wistful smile to Other-Martin’s face for a second. Tim gets up. “I’ll be right back. Try not to kill Martin Prime while I’m gone.”

“Really, Tim? Star Trek reference?” Sasha snorts.

“How about you? You understood that,” Tim shoots back at her before disappearing down the hallway.

Jon wonders whether to demand an explanation or not when a yelp comes from the direction of the doorway. He’s on his feet before he can think about it, nerves thrumming with adrenaline, not sure if he wants to launch himself down the hall to drag Tim to safety or stay where he is to protect Martin and Sasha. Sasha and...their guest rise from their seats, too, all of them tense for a moment. There’s the sound of voices, too low to be distinguishable, and then, unmistakably, Tim’s laughter, and Jon relaxes a little bit. Not hurt, at least. Then Tim comes back into the room, bringing with him a person who takes the breath from Jon’s lungs.

It’s him.

Or at least, the tiny part of his brain that insists on remaining skeptical says, it’s someone who looks like him—albeit a bit less like him than the other Martin looks like his—their Martin. His hair is longer than Jon is wearing his right now—more like the length he wore it in uni, if he’s being honest—pulled back into a sort of half-ponytail and far more liberally streaked with grey. His face and hands are dotted with round scars, and Jon’s stomach lurches as he realizes they’re probably from the worms. There are probably more scars, but they’re impossible to see, as he’s draped in a dark green sweater several sizes too big for him. He looks weary, like he’s carrying far greater a burden than one would reasonably expect to fit in the pack on his back, but he’s also smiling a little. It’s Jon’s smile, that’s for sure, just...sadder, somehow.

He stops dead just inside the room. All the tension seems to drain from him. “Martin,” he gasps.

The other Martin’s face lights up. “Jon?”

Jon swears he doesn’t see his counterpart move. One moment he’s standing just inside the doorway and the next he’s in front of the sofa, and the two of them are embracing tightly. The other Jon’s bag slips to the floor with a soft thud, but neither of them seem to notice it.

“Oh, thank God,” Other-Jon chokes out. The words tumble out in a semipanicked, breathless rush. “I couldn’t find you, I tried to use the—to Know where you were, but it was—I c-couldn’t see you and I was worried, I tried to tell myself you would be fine, but I—I didn’t think about—I should have realized whatever hid you from the Eye would mean I wouldn’t be able to see you either, but I thought since it was you I’d—”

“Jon, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Other-Martin says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you all right? You’re not hurt?” Other-Jon pulls back enough that he can look up into Other-Martin’s face, but doesn’t let go of him. If anything, his grip seems to tighten just a little.

“I’m fine,” Other-Martin assures him. “I’m okay. Are you all right?”

“I am now.” Other-Jon pulls him into another tight hug.

Jon feels a bit like he’s watching something he shouldn’t be privy to, but at the same time, he can’t look away. Partly because the reunion is so compelling, partly due to what feels like the same thing that grips him when he’s reading those statements, but mostly because he does not want to see the look on Tim’s face right now, thank you very much. And he’s not sure he can look at Martin without making a fool of himself.

Whatever else happens in the future, he finds himself thinking, at least he loosens up enough that he can express how he actually feels instead of trying to hide behind a professional facade. Because this is pretty much how he wanted to react when he saw Martin emerge from the quarantine tent—to wrap him up in a hug, to tell him how glad he was that he was safe, to reassure himself Martin was alive and whole. It’s why he was so quick to help him walk. He almost envies his future self this freedom, the ability to just wrap his arms around Martin and know he’s all right. Whatever else they’ve gone through—and from their appearances, they’ve been through a lot—at least he has this.

He realizes the direction his thoughts are trending and clenches his teeth, mentally grasping the last bit of skepticism in his mind with both hands. He still can’t be completely sure these two are really them from the future. Yes, they look a lot like him and Martin, sound like them, but...what was it his cousin used to say? Correlation does not imply causation. There could be a perfectly normal explanation for this—a non-supernatural one, one that doesn’t involve time travel or the end of the world or anything like that. He’s just got to figure out what that explanation is.

Tim, naturally, is the one to break the silence. “So!” he says, settling onto the sofa and stretching out his arms along the back. “Should we be expecting Tim Prime and Sasha Prime to come along any minute now?”

“No,” Other-Jon says quietly, drawing back from Other-Martin with visible reluctance. “No, it’s only us.”

He turns to look at Tim and Sasha, and Jon finds himself torn between the desire to shift and stand between them and the fear of leaving Martin exposed if he does so. He takes a small step forward and speaks up, drawing the attention back to himself. “How do we know you’re really from the future? What proof is there that you’re really who you say you are?”

“Well, we believe them,” Tim says. “Or at least we believe him.” He waves at Other-Martin.

“Not good enough, I’m afraid,” Other-Jon says before Jon can. There’s a faint hint of amusement in his tone. “You’re all rather too credulous. It’s easy to convince you. He’s far less ready to believe on flimsy evidence. Proof, that’s what’s needed.”

Tim tilts his head sideways, as if considering that. “He’s certainly got you pegged, Boss.”

Jon narrows his eyes. He rather suspects he’s being mocked, and he doesn’t like it in the slightest. “If that’s the best you can come up with—” he begins.

“A Guest for Mister Spider,” Other-Martin interrupts.

Jon’s entire body goes still with horror as the memories come rushing in, not that they’re ever far from his mind. He fights very hard to keep it from showing on his face, however, and says as evenly as he can, “I beg your pardon?”

“Your grandmother bought it in the bargain bin a charity shop when you were about eight.” Other-Martin’s eyes seem to stare right through Jon, as if they’re seeing him all those years ago, walking down the streets unknowingly with his nose buried in a book. “It was your first encounter with the supernatural. Your first encounter with the name Jurgen Leitner. It’s why you came to work at the Institute in the first place.”

The words are as gentle and as inexorable as falling snow, and just as chilling. Jon’s very soul seems to freeze. He stares at the other Martin without really seeing him, without really seeing anything except the darkness within that door, the boy whose name he can’t remember vanishing in its depths, the growing smears of red on black and white drawings...

“Jon? Jon, are you all right?” Martin sounds worried, but he also sounds very far away.

Other-Martin looks slightly embarrassed as he turns to look at Other-Jon. “Too far?”

“No—no, I-I think that was...just about right.” Other-Jon reaches out and presses two fingers to Jon’s shoulder, pushing him downward. “Sit down and breathe, Archivist.”

It’s the word Archivist that pushes through the fog in Jon’s brain, oddly enough. It at least serves to remind him that he’s not actually eight years old anymore. He draws in a deep, shuddering gasp of air and sits down rather heavily, jostling both Sasha and Tim.

Other-Martin and Other-Jon sit down as well. Jon notices, with the part of his brain not currently paging through the Owner’s Manual to the Human Body for the instructions on breathing, that Other-Jon rests his hand on top of Other-Martin’s. Other-Martin strokes Other-Jon’s thumb with his own in slow, careful strokes. It’s a gesture that speaks of intimacy and tenderness, and a jealousy curls in his stomach that he has no idea what to do with. Other-Jon’s free hand taps on his thigh as his eyes flutter closed, and for a moment, Jon assumes it’s an idle fidget until his brain latches onto the regularity of it and realizes what it is. He’s counting out the seconds to regulate his own breathing.

All the fight goes out of Jon in that instant. He knows when he’s beaten. This other who bears his face is him, not some stranger or monster or evil being. Which means the other must be Martin. They are from the future. They’re telling the truth.

He’s not going to admit that out loud, not just yet, but they slide from being Others to being Primes, as Tim called them, in his mind.

After a moment, Jon Prime squeezes Martin Prime’s fingers briefly, exhales, and opens his eyes. “I...I suppose you have more than a few questions.”

“You could say that,” Tim agrees.

“So where do we start?” Sasha asks, the last word nearly being swallowed in a yawn.

Jon is burning with curiosity, but he also recognizes that Sasha is tired, and likely Tim as well. And Martin...Martin must be absolutely wiped out. His own energy, the adrenaline that’s been driving him since he saw the emergency lights at the Institute, is starting to flag. It’s late.

“As much as I’d like to know what the hell is going on here, I think most of it can wait until tomorrow, when we’re all fresh,” he says, putting as much authority into his words as he can. “I need to get your statements before you start forgetting the details.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Sasha says, not quite under her breath.

Martin Prime snorts. “It’s not. Best to get your statements done now, though. Trust me.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “I think Martin should go first.”

Jon turns to look fully at Martin. He’s visibly exhausted, but he nods, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Jon.

Jon exhales. “All right, then.”

#tma #the magnus archives #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#jonmartin #IT'S THE REUNION SCENE BITCHES #ollie writes fanfic

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allywrites360 · 4 years

Text

Falling Snow.

“if you meet somebody and your heart pounds, your hands shake, your knees go weak, that’s not the one. When you meet your ‘soul mate’ you’ll feel calm.” - Monica Drake

Written for the prompt ‘Road Trip’ for Sukka Week 2020!!

Suki drummed her fingers impatiently against the steering wheel, lightly tapping her boot against the gas pedal as she forced her car inches further. The car behind her danced against the trunk of hers, causing her to angrily slam her gloved fist against the horn, the loud noise raising far above the faint music trailing from the speakers.

She squinted ahead onto the highway, sighing. The snow was so thick she could barely see the faintly glowing taillights from the car in front of her. She wasn't going anywhere tonight. Suki could probably count on one hand the amount of feet she had travelled in the past hour. She shifted the pale green coat around on her lap in an antsy manner, rubbing at her tired eyes as they blearily remained on the road before her.

What a way to end Christmas break. At this rate, it’d take her all semester to make it back to the University. She kept her foot grazing lightly over the brake as she sat there, annoyance greatening as the thick snow flakes seemed to swirl around one another in an even faster manner, taunting her frozen status.

She tugged off one of her gloves, reaching for her phone from where it had been discarded on the passenger seat. The metal was cool against her skin as she flicked open her navigation app, long route back to the school etched onto the screen. Ice warning possible. Yeah. No kidding. The characters that had read ‘five hours remaining’ a few miles ago were now raised much higher due to road closures. Near double.

She tossed the device back where she had retrieved it from, not bothering to shut the offending thing off, glow contrasting the dark car. Suki caught a hint of a reflection from a sign to her right, squinting her eyes harshly in hopes of making out the characters. The car in front of her moved a few feet forward, Suki exhaling slightly as she pulled up behind it, sign now mere feet away.

It was an exit for a single cafe that she could barely make out just off the bustling road. In fact, the only discernible sign a building was there at all was the chipped neon sign baring the name of the establishment standing in the midst of a small sea of cars.

Flipping her turning signal on without a second thought, she edged her car closer to the boarder where the concrete met the grass, now buried beneath a heap of snow, hoping to slip into the exit along with the many others who had also grown sick of being stuck in the blizzard.

——

In hindsight, Suki probably shouldn't have been surprised to find the small restaurant completely filled. After all, everyone was searching for a way off of the rapidly closing roads. She glanced around the building, the heat much too high for a room with so many people as it pressed uncomfortably into her cheeks. A Christmas song that sounded vaguely familiar rang faintly from a cracking speaker in the corner of the room, clearly as exhausted as most of the customers.

She quickly scanned the room as she took a step in from the door. Every table was packed as waiters skated between them easily, barely wasting the energy to cast her a tired glance as they passed by. Finally, her gaze landed on a booth on the far side of the cafe, filled by only a single occupant. A cool relief hit her at that. Sitting in her freezing car or forcing her way back onto the highway didn't sound like the most pleasant ways to spend her night.

He looked to be about her age, dark brown hair tied back into a messy ponytail as he buried his face into his laptop. He typed quickly, faint blue glow lighting up the way his brow furrowed in concentration. Suki sat down on the seat across from him.

Sokka looked up from his screen, slightly startled by her sudden appearance. “Uh… hi?” he offered, raising his brow towards her.

“Look, I’ve been driving in that storm for the past four hours, and I really just need a coffee. If you haven't noticed, every other table is full.” She gestured out into the room, “Can I sit here? Please?” There was less of a question in her voice than a statement, but she was too tired to pay much mind to that.

“You already did,” he said, tossing her a playful wink as he turned back to his work for a moment, making a few errant clicks on the screen.

Suki blew her bangs away from her face as she pulled off her thick winter hat, tossing it haphazardly onto the portion of the cracked plastic seat lying next to her. “Maybe I should've picked another booth,” she said, sarcasm underlining her tone.

“Hey, you're the one who chose to share, not me. I humbly allowed you to take that seat. I could’ve had friends coming, you don't know,” Sokka said, every bit as snarky as her. He shut his laptop, pushing it to the side of the table, alongside a few discarded paper cups, as he looked over to her.

Suki raised her eyebrow at him. His worn sweater, crafted from a dark blue fabric, jostled slightly as he chuckled silently.

“I said I could’ve. I didn't say I did.” He laughed at the deadpan look she flashed him at that, loudly this time as his grin poured over into his crystal blue eyes.

It felt familiar somehow. She could've sworn she’d heard that obnoxious sound somewhere before. “You’re in college right?” Suki didn't wait for him to answer, “What school do you go to?”

He crossed his arms as he leaned relaxedly onto the small table. “The University over in Republic City, why?” he asked, clearly not having recognized her in return.

“I knew I’d seen you on campus before! You’re… friends with Aang, right?” she asked, smiling slightly as she peeled her coat off of herself, the room much too warm to warrant the layer of clothing.

He nodded, “I’ve known him since high school. I’m Sokka.”

“Suki.” She gave him her name in return, letting her annoyance slip away as they settled into their seats. After all, it looked like they’d be stuck there a while. A quick glance out the dark window confirmed that the storm had gotten even worse - something Suki hadn't really thought possible - the snowflakes growing larger as they mixed in with chunks of hail.

His next sentence cut off by a waiter appearing next to them. “What can I get you?” the woman said, not bothering with formalities as she slowly tapped the pen she held against her notepad.

——

“Sorry for taking your seat,” Suki said, hands cupped around her steaming cup of coffee, heat comforting as it bored into her skin through the cheap paper cup. She took a long sip, any remnants of the chill the storm had painted on her falling away. “Actually, you were really annoying at first, so maybe I’m not that sorry.” She smiled at him as she set her drink aside.

He laughed breathily in response, only half committing to rolling his eyes. Pausing for a moment, he shrugged. “S’not a big deal. Believe it or not, it gets pretty boring sitting alone in a cafe for…” He pulled his phone from the pocket of his hoodie, tapping it awake with one swift motion. Sokka audibly groaned; “Six hours.”

“Yikes. What happened?” she asked, watching as he buried himself in his phone for a moment.

“My dumb sister just had to visit her boyfriend, so now I’m stuck here,” he said, clicking on the voicemail glaring across the screen.

Suki raised her eyebrow at him, returning to her drink as she waited for his explanation. In response to her silent prompt, Sokka hit the speaker button, allowing Katara’s voice to crack through into the buzzing restaurant, barely loud enough for both to hear despite their closeness.

“Hey Sokka. Roads are still shut down here so I’m stuck overnight. Sorry you're still waiting at the restaurant… are you sure there isn't anyway you can get back to dad’s?” The audio cut out slightly before the message ended; a tribute to the still raging blizzard outside.

Suki winced in sympathy at that as he slid the device towards the corner of the table, right next to three empty cups resembling the one she held at the moment.

“She was meant to pick me up here, since it’s on the way back to school, but apparently couldn't be bothered to leave before the storm hit,” he explains, piecing together the missing info of the situation.

“How’d you get here then?” she asks, genuinely curious.

He loudly sipped his hot chocolate before he spoke. “Bus, but clearly-“ Sokka gestured towards the wall of white pressed firmly against the small window, inside lined with fog, “- they’re all shut down by now. I don't have a chance of getting home tonight even if they do open the main road.”

“The highway is open; not that it matters with all the traffic stopped outside,” she sighed, rubbing her fist against one eye, “Guess we’re stuck here for a while, huh?”

Sokka surprisingly smiled back at her, “Could be worse.”

——

The next few hours were a blur, and honestly, Suki probably wouldn't have been able to remember the specifics the next morning. She couldn't forget how it felt though, both throwing their heads back in laughter as the stars stretched across the sky outside, far beyond the steady beat of the snow. It felt warm, and not just from the constant thrum of the heater somewhere outside the booth that temporarily served as their own private world.

She couldn't help but notice the way Sokka’s eyes would light up every time he got excited about something; which she was learning was quite often, nor the way their conversation flowed freely, jumping from one topic to the next and never dulling, never fading. He made her laugh and roll her eyes more times than she could count, her sour mood carried away with the whipping winds of the storm.

Loud as he may have been, he would always fall silent to listen to her intently, quick to counter all her arguments as their discussions brimmed with banter over more hot drinks.

“Wait wait wait,” Sokka said, his voice bringing her wandering mind back to the present, “You mean you’ve never seen The Incredibles? It’s a classic!” He put too much inflection into his voice for the simple statement, making Suki bite down on a laugh as she shook her head.

“It came out like ten years ago! You can’t call it a classic,” she returned, barely a breath passing.

She snorted at the outright offended look that passed his face. He reached into is backpack, silent as he dug around one of the dark pockets for a moment. Fishing out a pair of earbuds, he moved to grab his laptop, headphones making a clicking sound as they lightly tapped against the device. “You can say that after you’ve seen it,” he declared, “And then you can humbly apologize for being absolutely incorrect.”

He stood, crossing the booth to sit next to her so they could share the small screen. As he queued up the movie, Suki grabbed her own headphones from her coat’s pocket, roughly shoving them into the splitter poking out the side of the computer.

“Comes with having a sister,” he said, mimicking her motions as he pressed play.

The opening theme filled their ears, much louder than it should've been, and Suki settled in to the film, leaning slightly into Sokka’s side. Their sweaters brushed against one another as they both intently watched the movie begin to unfold, surroundings fading away from them like melting snow as they did.

——

The screen faded to black as the final frame of the movie played. Suki’s mouth fell open slightly as she slowly tugged her headphones away from her ears. It took her nearly a full minute of aimlessly watching the credits scroll across the screen before she finally managed to turn to face him.

She was met with an expression so snarky she couldn't help but elbow him in the side, shock fading away as she slowly returned to the small cafe.

He laughed, halfheartedly rubbing at his side where she’d attacked. “I was right. You loved it.” Sokka’s smile was subtler now, more genuine as he shut the film off.

She let out a breathy sigh. “Yeah, okay. I’ll admit it; it’s a classic.”

Sokka stood to return to his seat set across from her, excited expression still dancing over his features as he shoved his computer back into his stuffed backpack.

The space next to Suki went cold as he moved away, despite the constant heat pouring from the building. She found a small part of herself missing the warm, comfortable way they had relaxed together.

“If we ever actually make it back… you should come to my dorm sometime to watch the sequel. I think you’d like it,” he said, stretching his arms tiredly behind his head.

“I’d like that.” Stifling a yawn, she turned her gaze over to the small window to her right.

The snowflakes now danced slowly downward, freezing midair for a fleeting moment on their path. They no longer created a picture made of solid white. She noticed she could see all the way out to the highway now, the rows of cars now thrumming in constant motion.

She dragged her eyes around the room, the quick gesture confirming that their table was one of the last ones filled, everyone else having filed back out into the cold long ago. Suki couldn't for the life of her recall if it had been before or after the movie started.

Sokka’s gaze followed hers to the window, his smile cracking slightly, “You should probably get going, huh?” Neither needed their devices to tell them it was long after midnight.

Suki nodded, standing to pull her coat back on, the melted snow long dried by now. “Yeah. Still a few hours back to campus. Thanks, Sokka.”

He turned back to his phone as he spoke, “Hope I see you around then.”

She frowned, feeling slightly guilty about just leaving him stuck there the rest of the night. After a moment of hovering next to the booth, Suki wanted to smack herself for taking so long to speak her next sentence; the obvious solution. “Come with me.”

Sokka smiled after a moment, looking up to meet her eyes, “You sure?” She nodded. “Thanks, Suki.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder, quickly packing up his things as they began to exit the building. The remaining staff cast them tired glances on their way out; evidently glad to have less customers to deal with as late as it was.

She shivered as the harsh winter air slammed against her, wind picking up in her ears as they stepped out of the warm light. She cast Sokka a look out of the corner of her eye, “You really don't have a coat? Aren’t you freezing?” Her voice was louder than intended as it cut through the silent parking lot.

“We used to live pretty far up north, guess I got used to the cold.” In contrast to his words, he shrugged deeper into his sweater. Suki rolled her eyes as she opened her car’s door.

The second they escaped the frigid air into the small car, Sokka snatched the aux cord from where it was tangled on one of the seats, quickly plugging it into his phone.

Suki snorted at that, “Way to takeover my car,” she said, flicking on the heat as she started towards the highway.

Sokka didn't miss a beat with his reply; “Way to takeover my booth.” They both laughed softly at that, silence falling over them for a moment as he searched for ‘the perfect song’.

As they merged into one of the lanes, headlights cutting a path for them through the night, the all too familiar chords made their way through the air. “No. You are not playing this song.” Suki was glad it was too dark for him to see the smile she was fighting off her lips.

Sokka merely smirked in return, beginning to jokingly sing along to the male vocals of the song, “Baby it’s cold outside,” he started, elbowing her to join in.

“It’s not even Christmas!” She talked over the radio as she forced herself to keep from laughing at the way Sokka dramatically mimicked holding a microphone.

“I’ll hold you hands, they’re just like ice,” He couldn't keep a straight face to hit the right note at the end of that lyric. “C’mon Suki, you know you wanna.”

She sighed halfheartedly, turning up the volume as she joined in, the pair laughing every bit as much as they were singing (something neither of them were particularly skilled at). The notes poured through the car, making the long journey before them seem a little less tedious as they lost themselves in the rhythm.

——

The song came to a close, and honestly, Suki had lost count of how many they had flipped through, a portion of their journey already behind them. She coughed into the silence as Sokka searched for the next one, throat tired from belting out the familiar lyrics to old Christmas songs.

“Suki, look!” His voice startled her slightly after the few minutes of fragile quiet. He eagerly gestured out the window to a vibrant neon sign splashed bright against the darkened sky, snow lightly grazing the letters boasting the name of the cafe; not unlike the one they had just parted from. “We have to stop there for hot chocolate!”

“We’ve only been driving for, like twenty minutes! We’re not stopping.” She laughed breathily as she shook her head.

“But they make the best flavours! Please? Dad used to take Katara and I there all the time growing up,” he countered, eyes still locked on the passing building.

“Sokka, it’s two thirty in the morning, do you really think it’s still open?”

Sokka’s mouth fell open, a protest dying on his lips as he took in the darkened windows. She was right. His mouth fell shut into a frown as he sighed slightly.

The building disappeared into the night behind them, and vast fields took its’ place to their side as they continued silently biting into their journey. The roads were mostly empty now, a few blips of light only crossing their paths inconsistently; most were wisely home by now.

After a few minutes of driving quietly, Sokka finally smiled, turning to fully look at Suki. “I’ll just have to take you there next year then.”

——

The sun spilled over the edge of the horizon as it rose, bathing the parking lot in a soft glow as it crested against the mounds of snow shoved to the sides. The familiar buildings that made up their university towered on all sides of them, now lying completely silent at the early hour as Sokka pulled into a free spot.

He reached over to the passenger seat, gently shaking Suki’s shoulder to wake her. “Suki? We’re here.”

She slowly forced herself to sit up, stretching her neck as she did so. Turns out sleeping curled up in a moving car isn't the most comfortable thing in the world. She yawned, “What time is it?”

“Too early to be awake,” he muttered, still smiling regardless of how exhausted he felt. Sokka slung his backpack over his arm, stumbling slightly as he stepped outside, cool air refreshing as it sent a jolt of energy through him.

Suki grabbed her own things, not bothering to put her winter jacket back on as she fell out into the morning air.

“Thank you,” Sokka said quietly, “For everything.”

Her lips turned up into a smile, “Never thought I’d have that much fun getting stuck in a blizzard.”

Their eyes remained locked for a long second that seemed to freeze time for a fleeting moment. Blue met violet and swirled together in a beautiful painting.

Sokka cleared his throat finally, ducking his head as he turned to head towards his building, footsteps echoing loudly as he did.

Suki did the same, after a few paces calling out, “I don't want to wait till next Christmas for our first date though!” She didn't have to turn around to see his goofy smile.

#atla #sukka #sukka week #Sukka Week 2020 #sokka #suki

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sinemoras09 · 4 years

Text

Solatium excerpt: elevator

@innovativestruggles another excerpt XDD Obito, Madara, and Kakashi get trapped in an elevator.

(background: Obito’s been negotiating with Tokyo-like civilians to help modernize Konoha)

-----------

They're in the sleek glass lobby of a civilian high-rise building, coming in for another meeting. Their escort smiles apologetically, then opens a slim suitcase. On the velvet lining are four syringes filled with some sort of serum.

"It's a synaptic dampener," the business escort explains. "It will inhibit you from molding chakra."

"Is this really necessary?" Obito says. Kakashi glances at Obito uneasily. The escort spreads her hands.

"My apologies. But my superiors have given me clear instructions that your being in the building is contingent upon receiving these injections."

Obito is about to refuse when Madara steps forward. "Give me the injection," Madara says.

Obito starts, "Madara--"

"A true shinobi is just as deadly without chakra as he is with it," Madara says. He turns. "Consider this checking our weapons at the door."

Obito's jaw tightens. Grudgingly he pushes up his sleeve, letting them give him the injection.

*****

There are two front-facing elevators in the lobby; it's too small to fit all of them, so the escort and the backup negotiators take one elevator, while Obito, Kakashi, and Madara take the other one.

"We're meeting at the 67th floor," the escort says. "Suite 652-A."

"Thank you," Obito says. The escort nods as the elevator doors close.

Madara strides toward them. "What are we waiting for? Let us take this 'elevator' to the 67th floor."

Kakashi presses the "up" button. The lights above the elevator doors blink.

Madara crosses his arms. "What is this contraption, anyway?"

"I'm not sure, from what I understand it's a room that's pulled up several storeys. It's what civilians use instead of taking the stairs," Obito says.

The elevators open. A crowd of business people step outside.

"This is kind of small," Kakashi says. He glances at Obito, frowning.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Madara says. He steps in, bedecked in his battle gear and his hair waving from the air vent above them. Kakashi glances over.

"Obito, would you rather take the stairs?" Kakashi says.

Obito stares up at the numbers above the elevator. "It's 67 floors."

Madara smirks. "Feeling a little claustrophobic, are we?"

Obito scowls, then walks in. The elevator doors close.

Ding. First floor. Second floor. Third. Madara cranes his neck, looking at the wonders of all this modern technology, while Kakashi thumbs through their papers. Obito stands silently in the corner.

"Hm," Madara says, crossing his arms. "I suppose I was a little hasty accepting that synaptic dampener. You could have used your Kamui to teleport us up there. A pity. But I suppose it's fine to experience life as a mere civilian, at least once in awhile."

"We're almost there," Kakashi says to Obito, and he points at the numbers. 30. 31.

The elevator grinds to a stop.

"The devil is this?" Madara says, as the lights flicker before changing from normal to red. Kakashi presses the button.

"I think we've stopped," Kakashi says.

"Well that much is obvious. How do we get it to start?"

"There's an emergency button," Kakashi says, and he presses it.

Madara's eyes slide sideways as Obito stares intently at the corner of the elevator, muscles tense and not saying anything. Kakashi keeps pressing the button. "I don't think it's doing anything, I think it's just making a sound," Kakashi says.

Madara can see Obito is struggling to maintain his breathing. The muscles in his neck and shoulders are tense. Battle ready. He can see the thrum of his pulse beating rapidly at the skin of his neck.

And then the elevator rocks, the red lights flickering again. The three men stumble.

"What was that?" Kakashi says. He presses the emergency button again. The elevator is dark except for the ambient glow of red lights from the floor.

The speaker on the panel crackles. "Did somebody call for help?"

"Yes, yes." Kakashi presses the button. "Our elevator stopped moving and the lights went out."

From the corner of Madara's eye, he can see Obito fumble in his pocket, before shakily pulling out a small bottle of pills. His hands are trembling as he shakes out the anxiolytic, quickly popping it into his mouth and dry swallowing. "Calm yourself, Obito," Madara says, in a low voice. His eyes slide sideways, meeting his. "This is nothing compared to what we've faced before."

"Okay, we've notified our technicians. They're currently offsite but they will be here shortly."

"Do you know how long it will take?" Kakashi asks the technician. The speaker crackles.

"We don't have an ETA for their arrival, but usually a couple hours, including repairs."

Obito swallows, trying to steady his breathing. The walls around him seem to be dark and shrinking.

"I'm sorry, did you say 'a couple hours'?" Kakashi says.

"Yes, a couple hours, unfortunately."

Obito can't breathe. His throat is constricting. He hunches over himself, sinking onto the floor, his breaths sharp and shallow and his heart beating rapidly.

"Obito?" Kakashi rushes over. "Obito, are you okay?" He runs back over to the intercom. "Hello? Hello can you hear me? My friend is having a medical emergency--"

Rocks. A thousand rocks, crashing on top of him. The feeling of helplessness. He can't move. He can't breathe--

"Obito!" Madara says, sharply, and Obito's head snaps up, jolted by the sound of Madara's voice. It's as if he's in a deep, dark pit, where above him is a sliver of light, a coin-shaped opening where he can barely see Madara's head peeking in.

"Obito, listen to me. Think of the world that we trained in. The genjutsu world of endless white space. Think of that world. What would be in it?"

"I-I can't..."

"Focus!" Madara snaps.

"Gray skies." Obito swallows, then takes a breath. "Rin."

"And what would she be doing?"

Obito imagines it. Rin in her summer dress. The wind rising. Storm clouds rolling while she holds her skirt down and laughs.

Obito's eyes lose focus. Madara snaps his fingers. "I asked you a question. What would she be doing."

"Standing in the grass, in the wind outside."

"I cannot see this scene you're describing me, what else."

"Storm clouds," Obito says, and he can see the image with his words. "Cold air, the treetops moving outside."

"Excellent," Madara says, and Kakashi watches, awestruck as Madara crouches in front of Obito, staring into his eyes. "She is the reason you've done this all for, is she not?"

In the darkness of the pit, Madara reaches out hand. Obito reaches upward and clasps it.

Madara rises. "Have you calmed yourself?"

Obito nods, taking a breath. "Thank you," he says. Madara sniffs.

"Do not thank me," Madara says. He crosses his arms. "If my idiot apprentice were to shit himself, the two of us would be in even worse of a time."

"Tch." Obito stands and glares.

*****

"Does anyone have a watch in this sorry place, or must we guestimate the time?"

They're all sitting on the floor of the elevator, Obito with his elbows on his knees while Madara idly twirls his battle fan. Funnily enough, the civilians didn't recognize it as a weapon, so when Madara breezily told them it was ceremonial they believed him.

Kakashi holds out his watch. "It's been an hour and a half, now."

"Ah, excellent," Madara says. "Clearly your subordinate is more well-prepared. You would do well to learn from him, Obito."

Obito glares at him. "Obviously we wouldn't be in this mess had you not agreed to take that synaptic dampener."

Madara shrugs. "I just assumed the assassination attempt would be more interesting this way."

"Assassination attempt?" Obito and Kakashi stare. Madara stretches, eyes closing luxuriously

"Clearly, if one wanted to kill the Hokage of the Hidden Village of the Leaf, the best way would be to isolate him from his companions, deprive him of his weapons, and take away his ability to weave chakra." Madara's eyes open. "I just thought weathering an assassination attempt without our usual abilities would be interesting."

Obito balks. "Wait, you suspected this was a trap - and you willingly led us in?!"

"You are the Hokage." Madara sniffs. "You could have overruled me at any time if you wanted to."

"Why would you do that?!" Obito says. Madara shrugs.

"I thought fighting a civilian assassin on their level would be interesting." His eyes glitter. "It has been awhile since I've been challenged. Other than Hashirama, I've yet to meet a worthy opponent. The thought of it makes my war blood boil."

Obito throws an incredulous look at Kakashi, who's reading an ero novel he had snuck in his pack. "Kakashi are you hearing this?" Obito says.

Kakashi turns a page. "No one's attacked us yet," Kakashi says. Madara frowns.

"What are you reading?" Madara says. Kakashi doesn't look up.

"It's an ero novel. Do you want to see?"

He hands the book to Madara, whose eyes widen.

"What sort of trash am I reading?" Madara says.

"Oh, this is the best part," Kakashi says. "The damsel has awoken to find she's surrounded by seven princes, and--"

Kakashi stops. His eyes grow vacant, rolling back behind his head.

"Kakashi?" Obito sits up as Kakashi wobbles, then crumples onto the floor. "Kakashi!"

"He is fine." Madara flips through the novel. He looks up and Obito can see his Sharingan is activated. "The genjutsu worked. It seems my visual prowess is returning."

"You can use your Sharingan?" Obito looks around. Madara sniffs.

"Can you not activate it?" Madara says.

"No, of course not, my chakra's dampened, I couldn't mold it if my life depended on it."

"Lucky for you, you are in the company of Uchiha Madara." And Madara closes his eyes, opening them to show his Mangekyou. "Rest well, my idiot pupil. Soon we will be making our escape."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Obito says, standing. He sees Madara start to activate his Susanoo, blue chakra flaring around his body.

"Wait! You can't do that! If you activate your Susanoo you'll destroy this building!"

"Your point being?" Madara says.

"There are people here. You could kill them."

"And?" Madara says. Obito glares.

*****

"How many euphemisms for the female orifice are there?" Madara says. He flips through Kakashi's book, Sharingan spinning as he turns the pages. "Hm. I don't even know why I asked you that question. Considering up until recently, you've had no intimate experience with other women."

Obito doesn't take the bait, which disappoints him. Madara leans back against the elevator, relaxing. He stretches and puts his feet up on Kakashi's head like a foot rest. "I know well enough that you had been celibate, and before that, you were an innocent child, so clearly going into this, you were still a virgin," Madara says, pleasantly. "Which is not anything to be ashamed of, mind, but it is unusual. Suffice it to say, it is admirable how much you dedicated yourself to the cause."

Obito is still looking at the elevator buttons, ignoring him. Madara leans forward.

"You did finally do the deed, I'm assuming? Or perhaps you are waiting until you're formally married? Well. I suppose if you've waited this long, it shouldn't matter that much. Of course, I am assuming everything is in working order. I cannot remember just how much of your body was crushed...."

Kakashi groans under Madara's foot. Madara frowns and kicks him in the head again.

"Can you not kick him?" Obito says.

"Why? He will not remember."

Obito makes a frustrated sound.

"There must be some way for you to share your chakra with me," Obito says. He gets up and paces, pressing his hands along the panels of the elevator, as if there were some secret button that could get them out. "If you could lend me your chakra, I could activate my Kamui and get us out of here."

Madara flips a page. "Once again, you are letting yourself be ruled by fear. You should enjoy yourself. Read this terrible novel. Revel in the momentary peace before the inevitable assassination."

"There won't be an assassination attempt." Obito bangs on the door. "Their shitty civilian technology is what's keeping us here. Besides, they'd have nothing to gain if they killed me. We're the ones with nothing to bring to the table."

"Listen here, my dimwitted disciple, there is always something you cannot anticipate." Madara flips a page. "'Expect the unexpected,' as it were. You were the one fond of excess plans, were you not?"

Silence. Obito paces around the elevator while Madara reads.

A sound. Madara and Obito turn.

"What was that?" Obito says. Madara lowers his book.

"I sense the heat signature of someone approaching." Madara's Sharingan glitters. He stands up slowly, crouching in a defensive position.

There's the sound of metal scraping on metal, the sound of footsteps stepping inside--

Madara lunges, slams the intruder against the elevator panel. Another man comes running and Madara grabs him and flips him hard against the floor. It's only then he realizes Obito is yelling.

"You fucking idiot!" Obito says. "They're the fucking repairmen!"

"What?" Madara says. He looks down. Two civilians in overalls are groaning loudly.

Madara frowns. "Well that was unexpected," Madara says.

*****

"Okay, we can still salvage this," Obito says.

He's kneeling next to the unconscious repairmen, hefting one man onto his back and checking his wounds. Madara stands towering above them, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. "Okay," Obito says. "All we need to do is heal their wounds and genjutsu them so they don't remember the last ten minutes. We'll have to replace their memories with a false one. How is your medical ninjutsu?"

Madara sniffs. "You are asking me, Uchiha Madara, if I do not have mastery over something?"

"I'm asking you because I can't mold chakra yet and Kakashi's unconscious, you're the only one who can do this," Obito says.

Madara smirks. "Of course I can," Madara says.

"Oh, good--"

"But I fail to see why I have to."

"Because they need to fix the fucking elevator," Obito says. Madara sniffs loftily.

"How do we know they were not assassins?"

Obito spreads his hands. "Would assassins be this incompetent?"

"Certainly he is," Madara nods over to Kakashi, "and he is a trained shinobi. Isn't he one of the best in your village?"

"Fine, whatever. Can you heal them, please."

Madara's eyes narrow. "It does not suit my purposes."

"You can't do medical ninjutsu, can you?"

"How dare you," Madara says. "I kept myself alive for centuries healing myself with only the Gedou statue's chakra. I survived a battle of attrition and a stabbing by Senju Hashirama. I am a survivor of the Warring Clans Era, whose comrades fell all around him and needed medical attention. I am the reason why you are alive, and yet you question me about my medical ninjutsu."

"Then can you please heal them and genjutsu them, so when they wake up they can fix this stupid elevator?"

"What happened to your silver tongue? I was told your powers of persuasion were unmatched," Madara says. Obito huffs.

"Obviously I layered my words with genjutsu, which I can't do since someone made us get a synaptic dampener. Why won't you heal them?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Madara's mouth stretches into a malicious grin. "How often is it that I can spend time with my adorable apprentice?"

They both stare at the unconscious repairmen.

"You don't know medical ninjutsu, do you?"

#my crappy fic #solatium #birdsong #doing the five things thing #as usual #uchiha obito #uchiha madara #obirin

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 5 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “Queen of the Journey”

Stuck on a bus traveling home for the holidays, so I decided to do some writing. I’ve had this idea since the beginning, but one of you readers recently reminded me of this idea again, so thank you and enjoy :)

There is something indomitable about the human spirit. It’s something no one, not even the humans, will ever truly understand. There are two ways of doing things in the rest of the galaxy. You can be isolated, and individual that understands only the genetic knowledge of his species. You may interact with others, you may have family units, but you will never understand those around you on a personal level. Or you can be connected, this comes in many forms, a hive mind or a collective well of knowledge the entire species pulls from. They understand each other quite fully. No one is ever alone.

But then there are humans, I won’t start by saying that humans are special or unusual because I think that has been said before. What I want you to understand is that humans are isolated in their knowledge of themselves. There is not a specie wide well of knowledge from which they can pull their behavior and understanding. There is not a template by which they live their lives, yet, somehow they can experience a welling of empathy to understand others around them. They seem to know the struggles of their fellows without the hive mind to connect them.

Not only this, but no matter where the human comes from, there is always an understood knowledge of thing humans can connect with. They speak of the same anthems, stories, photographs, and memories like they all have a personal connection. Though the humans were not born with a hive mind to connect them, that did not stop them.

They made one.

They share their knowledge by casting it out into the ether, to an unknown server of vast knowledge to access at their leisure no matter their location across the galaxy,

I know it sounds farfetched, but because of this man-made hive mind, the humans understand each other’s experiences in a way that any other species like them will never understand their fellows. A human from earth and a human from Mars may still understand each other and connect over the same things.

They have been doing this for thousands of years.

***

“Keep moving, human!” Captain Vir stumbled a bit against the weight of the slap delivered to the back of his head. Krill could hear the sound of his bionic leg desperately trying to react to the imbalance and keep the man upright.

With a glower, the human turned to the alien soldier eyes narrowed. He probably would have spit at the creature, but the aliens had taken precautions against the human’s poison breath, placing a spit shield over his nose and mouth. Not only that, but the human’s hands were bound behind him.

A soldier grunted turning to ignore the human to look down at Krill, “What do we do with this one?” He asked

A slightly larger beast, likely the soldier’s commander, trundled up turning to look down at Krill’s small, trembling frame, “He has chosen his side, let him suffer the same as they.”

Krill was pushed aggressively forward violently careening towards the ground, saved only by a last minute inflation of his hydrogen sack.

Behind him, the creatures laughed cruelly.

Up ahead, Captain Vir had turned to watch him. Krill desperately looked to the human for an idea, and while the man’s gaze was reassuring, Krill didn’t dismiss the worried twist of the human’s lips as he stared around at the hulking soldiers.

Like a big, slow tide of dripping syrup, the herd of humans trudged slowly down the mass corridor at the behest of their captors. Isolated instances of rebellion were put down with extreme prejudice leaving the rest of their counterparts cowed.

Krill kept to the captain’s side seeing out his quiet confidence and indomitable optimism to trick himself into thinking they would be alright. He could see the human’s brain working, gears grinding along in his head as he tried to think his way out of the situation.

It was looking less and less likely.

Ahead, the hallway slowly opened expanding outwards into a massive cavern alive with the sound of hushed voices and the oppressive heat of many bodies.

Captain Vir paused at the lip of the room eyes widening at the sight before him. Krill paused at the same time and for the same reason. There were HUNDREDS of humans here, many shapes, colors, sizes, and races all packed together side by side. As the new visitors arrived, they lifted their heads sunken eyes and pinched cheeks demonstrating their defeat. They looked on with disinterest and apathy as the newcomers were shoved forward to join their midst. They did not speak, they did not laugh, and they did not rebel.

It was a terrible sight, the hollowness of so many humans given up from ever escaping their captivity.

Krill had never imaged something so terrible. So impossible. Humans didn’t give up.

Humans could not be brought low, but here was his proof.

They had waded a good way into the cavern by now, and at the behest of their captors, they were shoved to their knees to sit next to their dead-eyed counterparts.

Captain Vir took it upon himself to immediately make conversation with the next human over.

“Where are we/”

The human turned to look at him sad dark eyes glazed halfway with his defeat, “Does it matter?”

Captain Vir sat back frowning as the human went back to his contemplation. Head down, silent.

He took another look around the room glancing at Krill, “We could take them. There are so many more of us than there are of them. If we all moved at once, than there would be nothing they could do.”

Off to the side, the first lieutenant shook his head, “That doesn’t matter if they’ve given up.”

The captain frowned, “Than I guess we will just have to increase morale.”

The other members of the crew shook their heads in exasperated admiration. There was no getting that man down.

Captain Vir tapped his foot softly listening and waiting as the hours past. He kept his head down, but his eyes were sharp. Vir wondered what the man was concocting, what could he come up with that would lift the spirits of a thousand humans all at once.

There couldn’t be something that powerful, could there.

The hours dragged on.

Krill was just beginning to fade into his sleep-like trance, when Captain Vir sat up suddenly. The rest of the crew sensed his movement and turned to look eyes expectant and hopeful.

“What?”

The Captain shook his head, “You’ll see.”

And then he began to sing.

Just a small town girl

He stopped quickly as around him, the humans lifted their heads in confusion and recognition. The deep thrum of his voice echoed around the cavern causing an immediate shift as the other humans turned to see who was singing. Krill felt a burst of shivers run over his body, but despite the human’s voice, he didn’t see how this would help.

Living in a lonely world!

Around him the crew members shifted in confusion and surprise, but slowly they joined in. Krill wasn’t really surprised that they knew the song.

She took the midnight train going anywhere!

All around the room eyes were raised and bodies shifted.

Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit! He took the midnight train going anywhere!

A sudden crack of noise, and a soldier stepped forward, “STOP!” A whip cracked, the humans flinched. The captain clutched his arm in pain.

The cavern went silent.

The soldiers turned back to their duty satisfied the humans had been cowed. Krill slumped, oh well it was a long shot anyway.

And then, from across the cavern, a voice responded.

A singer in a smoky room.

The smell of wine and cheap perfume.

The alien soldier hissed and turned, but the singer had gone quiet. He stalked forward.

For a smile they can share the night it goes.

And on

Each time the lyrics rang out a different voice, or many voices accompanied it. Never the same person twice. The soldiers shifted around in circles doing their best to identify the source of the sound.

Humans weren’t supposed to have hive minds were they! Than how were they doing this!

Strangers waiting up and down the boulevard.

Their shadows

Searching in the night.

There were too many voices now, too many human voices rising into the dark making the cavern shake and ring.

Don’t stop! Believin’

Captain Vir turned to the crew a grin spreading across his face at Krill’s confused awe. Humans around them that had once slumped in defeat raised their voices to the tune of defiance. Eyes once dull sparked to life with the glow of human spirit rill knew so well.

“Now on to phase two.” Around them, the song was trailing off. They were moving to the end and the humans weren’t sure where to go, “A battle anthem.”

Thud thud Clap…. Thud thud clap

Grins

The rest of the crew easily joined in, and then the humans close to them took up the rhythm as easily as only humans could.

Buddy you’re a boy make a big noise

Playin’ in the street gonna be a big man some day

More feet, more fists, and a hundred more voices.

We will we will rock you

Humans were rising to their feet now straining against their bonds as the soldiers rushed around in panic and horror.

You got blood your face!

You big disgrace!

Now they were all surging to their feet in one mass wave. Soldiers everywhere snapped their whips and brandished their weapons, but there were so many humans, and they were so close. Their voices raised louder and louder till their overwhelmed any other sound. Krill felt as if he was being carried upwards on a wave of exaltation as the humans roared their battle cry. He leaped to his feet with them surges of pride and anger rolling through him.

Somebody better put you back into your PLACE!!!

Somewhere a set of bonds snapped. Krill watched in stunned shock as another man broke his own thumb in order to slip out of his bonds.

WE WILL WE WILL ROCK YOU

They moved forward like an unstoppable wave taking back their freedom in a matter of moments in the space of two iconic songs

***

The Captain says that not EVERY human knows those songs, but he had wagered to bet that the majority of them would know. It’s a weird thing about humans, they connect to each other in ways that other species don’t understand.

Their writers and their singers capture emotion and shackle it to their songs.

They speak through the ages with these emotions victory, and oneness that every human can understand.

The humans don’t understand the power of their collective understanding, and I don’t think they ever will.

You cannot capture the spirit or the pride of a human, you may hide it, or you may lock it away for some time, but there is no capturing, and there is no defeating their true nature.

You cannot bind a human’s soul.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is space australia

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txladyj-blog · 5 years

Text

This Time Around - Chapter 1

This is posted with permission from @xmistressmistrustx, the amazing writer who helped me bring a story I had in my head into the world. She’s been an inspiration and has become a dear friend, one I hope to meet in person someday.

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx by request of @txladyj-blog

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 23/?

Screaming. High-pitched, desperate screaming, piercing the air and echoing all around, bouncing off the trees like rubber balls, ricocheting and growing louder with every thud of her boots on the dry, cracked ground. Or, was that her imagination? Her heartbeat thrummed in her head as she sucked in breaths to try and propel herself forwards, her chest burning with every gasp and her feet aching after each rapid step. She scolded herself for every single excuse she’d thought up to stop herself from going to the gym, or for a jog, or to the tennis courts. She really wished she wasn’t so inclined to sitting inside and gaming or reading. If she’d known she’d need such stamina to save herself from the jaws of another human being, she’d have jumped on a treadmill occasionally.

Twigs broke under her boots as branches snapped at her sweat covered face but still, she pushed on, further into the woods, away from the screaming. The snarling grew quiet as the inferno in her lungs grew hotter, her breathing became labored and she stumbled, her hands shooting out and grabbing at a nearby tree. Bark and dirt filled her mouth and obscured her view. She blinked, only to find her vision blurred by mud. It took a few precious seconds for her to realize that she’d fallen before she quickly hauled her body upright and carried on along her jagged path through the woods.

She thought there had to have been at least ten people behind her when she had flown off into the tree line from the highway, all terrified with eyes bulging and hearts hammering. Now, her surroundings had fallen quiet and it occurred to her that she was wandering alone in the thick darkness, meandering between trees with no weapons or idea where she was headed. She stopped in her tracks, leaning against the trunk of a tree and trying to catch her breath. Her ears strained to hear the slightest sounds around her so she could sprint off at any hint of danger. Her hands found the straps of her back pack, tugging it from her shoulder and swinging it around to her front. Inside, she selected a torch and quickly flicked the switch. A bright, beam of light shot through the velvet dark, illuminating her surroundings and proving that she was now alone. She swallowed hard and gradually edged around the trunk, shining the torch between the surrounding trees and listening, above the sound of her own breathing for the slightest snap of a twig of a distant groan.

She was walking the highway after being unable to drive any further. The city saw thousands upon thousands of people flee when the chaos hit and spread like wildfire. She watched from a distant hill as the roads filled up with panicked, angry refugees that were offering each other money and all manner of expensive and luxury items for passage out of the highly populated area that had fast become a death trap.

After losing her companion shortly after fleeing into the woods, she was forced to shake off the shock of what she had witnessed. Her best friends throat ripped out in a split second, a river of crimson blood flooding over his bright, white clothing, the contrast somehow making the horrendous scene even more macabre. With no time to cry, no breaks in which to grieve, she raced off with blurry eyes into the night with her friend’s assailant hot on her heels, snarling and snapping its jaws until the sound was gradually replaced by the terrified screams of others, dotted about in the trees around her.

She kept walking until her heels ached and her knees grew weary and her stomach grumbled so loudly, she wrapped her hands around it to muffle the sound. Knowing she had to get some rest, she chose the sturdiest looking tree she could find and began to climb, her hands gripping the harsh bark and heaving her weary body up the structure until she was perched on a thick branch that was wider than her own body. She settled against the trunk. The contents of her backpack dug into her spine but she cared little for anything except being able to rest someplace that meant she wasn’t about to be consumed by what once was somebody’s son or daughter, somebody’s husband or wife. Now, just a ravenous, monstrous shell of what they were.

When she awoke, light shone through the trees, a slither hitting her face and heating up one cheek. She blinked and shook her head before leaning over the edge of the branch and checking it was clear to climb down. Finding nothing, she was soon ambling back over the leafy ground in search of some semblance of shelter.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Carol watched as her young daughter gently plucked at the fabric of her doll. Such delicate fingers poised over the cloth face of an effigy she’d become attached to ever since she was a baby. She was a quiet child, even more so since they’d arrived at the camp. She’d seen things no one of her age should have, the same things that other children across the world had now seen. Not to mention the violence she’d witnessed before the turn. Violence at the hands of her own father. Carol’s heart hurt for her and not only the memories she would have to carry, but the new, even more brutal things she was unavoidably going to have to endure in her bleak and uncertain future.

Her dirty blonde hair glistened in the sun and her skin, still so young and flawless, had yet to display the pallid gray that some of the others had. Her freckles were still noticeable and each one reminded Carol of the times when she’d cradle the girl in her arms, counting the subtle dots across her nose and smiling to herself.

“Mom?” Sophia squeaked from the waters edge.

The quarry boasted a deep, teal body of water that provided the camp with a means to wash clothes, bodies and was a much-needed source of drinking water once boiled of its impurities. The blazing sunshine, intense temperatures and picturesque view from the top made it the ideal place to set up and stay for a while and most of the camps population had no designs on moving anywhere.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Carol cooed back.

“There’s a woman up there.”

The small girls tiny finger extended, pointing out a lone figure stood, buckled over at the top of the quarry. A red backpack was hanging from the woman’s shoulders and she used the front of her black T-shirt to wipe sweat from her forehead, exposing a pale stomach. Carol squinted and slowly got to her feet, shielding her eyes from the sun in order to gain a better view. Her brow furrowed and her heart began to race in her chest.

“Shane!” She suddenly shouted, her voice thrown around the quarry and traveling up the hill to the main camp. “Come on, Sophia. Come with me. We have to go and get Shane.”

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

She had been at the camp for three days before she summoned up the courage to talk to anyone. An introvert by nature and traumatized by her experience, she chose to retreat into her tent and sleep while others went about their daily tasks. She ate alone, sat alone and read her books alone. Carol was the woman that first approached her at the top of the quarry, flanked by a group of four men. She didn’t remember the names of any of them at the time, only Carol’s as she backed away like a frightened deer. Coaxed along to the camp on the promise of food and a tent, she hadn’t breathed a word then and still hadn’t as she sat, hugging her legs and peering up at everyone on the third evening.

She flinched when a man crouched down in front of her and offered her a square, metal camping bowl of food. She didn’t care what it was, her stomach protested loudly at its emptiness and she slowly took the bowl from his hands. Carol had been the one to make sure she ate, it was always Carol. Nice, non-threatening, motherly Carol. Now, it was this man with his sunken eyes, dark, military haircut and thin lips.

“How you doin’?” The man asked.

She half shrugged, not able to manage much more for fear of having to get into a conversation.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I’m Shane. Over there…” He pointed to a man dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. “…That’s Rick. Then ya got T-Dog next to him and then Glenn. That’s just some of us. You’ve been pretty quiet; just thought I’d let you know who people are. You need anything, just ask anyone, OK?”

She nodded a thanks and leaned forwards, taking a small sniff of her food. Some kind of meat stew, laden with herbs. It was the most amazing thing to grace her nostrils in four days.

“You got a name?” Shane asked.

“J-Jess.” She uttered through chapped, cracked lips.

“Well, Jess. I know you’re scared n’ all. We all are. But you’re safe here.” He assured her.

“OK. T-Thank you.” She stammered, picking up a spoon from the bowl and beginning to stir her food.

When Shane left her, she hungrily demolished the stew and picked up her journal from beside her. She knew she’d soon run out of ink for her pen and resigned herself to the fact that she would at some point, need to ask someone to fetch her a new one from one of the supply runs they seemed to frequently go on. As she scribbled, jeering from the other side of the camp caught her attention and she glanced up to see two more men emerge from the trees, one was carrying a crossbow, his sleeveless arms shiny in the light as he approached the glow of the fire with a string of squirrels hoisted over his shoulder. He wore a leather vest and his expression was sour, despite the cheering and jokes being cracked by his companion. The other man was visibly older, bald and also wore a leather vest, he swung a dead opossum by his side as he walked, soon throwing down in front of the fire with a dusty thud and laughing.

“What would y’all do without us, huh?!” He cried with a voice louder than any of the others Jess had heard so far. From his body language and his attitude, she could tell this one was going to be trouble.

Jess saw Shane get to his feet and whisper to the man to keep the noise down, but he was met with nothing but a snarl. The man with the squirrels was already stalking over in the direction of Jess’s tent, suddenly veering off and slamming the dead animals onto a makeshift table and propping his crossbow against the structure at his feet.

“Merle, get ya ugly ass over here. I’ma get to skinnin’ these.” He announced.

Jess retreated back into her tent in an attempt to stay out of the sightline of both men, judging them both to be the kind of people she would have steered well clear of before she found herself running through the woods for her life.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

In the time it had taken for Carol to persuade Jess to emerge from her tent and meet some of the others, her presence at the camp was now being noticed by just about everyone. She had briefly conversed with the younger members of the group; Carl, who was Rick and Lori’s son and Sophia, Carol and Ed’s daughter. Children were altogether less intimidating and energy draining than adults could be to Jess, especially in such a setting, where noise and rigorous activity needed to be kept to a minimum, as were the rules.

There were two other girls of Jess’s age which she deliberately steered clear of without hesitation, Sarah and Jodie. Initially met with outwardly false smiles and raised eyebrows, the transparency of the two females that peered back at her was evident and enough to make sure she knew her place was not with them. Her history with female friends not being one to shout about, other women never seemed to take to her due to her obscure and nerdy interests and quiet nature. Constantly a source of ridicule at high schools she'd attended, she kept herself to herself and spent her free time at comic book stores and conventions with her handful of close, male friends she would undoubtedly make eventually. All of which were now dead.

The loud man from the previous night, whose name she had learned was Merle, had already proved that her suspicions about him being trouble were correct. Jess always knew to trust her gut; it hadn’t let her down yet. Walking past her as she hurried along behind Carol, he slowly looked her up and down, running his tongue along his bottom lip and rubbing his chin. Beside him, was the other man in the leather vest, his younger brother; Daryl.

“Ain't she a meaty one? Lil’ more cushin’ for the pushin’, huh, Daryl?” He sneered.

His brother merely glanced up and caught Jess’s eye as she passed, his blue irises flashing before her. She had never seen such icy blue eyes before.

“Shut up, Merle” She heard him mutter in response.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Since arriving at the camp, Jess hadn’t seen any of the dead ones. She figured she’d wandered so far up the mountain, that hardly anyone alive, let alone dead would be likely to follow her. She noticed that they had coined the name ‘Walkers’ by those around her and felt safe in the knowledge that no one had seen one enter the camp for weeks due to the surrounding makeshift alarms comprised of tin cans and other noisy materials. Whispers around the campfire had indicated that the city was full of them and they were now starting to run out of food and disperse into the surrounding areas.

Sat in her usual spot just inside her tent, she jotted down what she thought was the date at the top of the next page of her journal, although she couldn’t be sure if it was correct or not. Giggling in the distance caused her to look up, where she clocked the unmistakable sight of Sarah and Jodie making fun of her from across the clearing. Jess couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow in disgust at the typical nature of their body language. Hands deliberately blocking mouths as they spoke, eyes intermittently locking on her and childish giggling that she expected from the likes of Sophia or Carl, but not from two women in their twenties. She shook her head and sighed, turning her attention back to finishing the date on the page when her eyes lowered further, to the extra flesh around her middle, her thicker thighs than the other girls, even her fingers. Bigger, softer. She flattened her hand on the page and sighed. Then, screaming rang out across the camp.

Everyone seemed to move simultaneously, grabbing at everything that could be used as a weapon. Jess froze to the spot until she saw Carol making her way towards the children with several others and whisking them away. Curiosity fueled her to move and find out how high the threat was, knowing she needed to keep a safe distance but still get close enough to see what the fuss was about.

Just inside the tree line, Dale, owner of the groups RV and resident, straw hat lookout was busy beating the hell out of a single Walker with Rick and some of the others with blunt objects, bats and even a broom. Jess looked on in disbelief at the Walker that had eventually fallen to the floor and quietened, beside it, lay a deer with an arrow in its rear end and a myriad of bite marks taken out of its side. The small huddle of people exchanged glances, their chests all rising and falling.

“Never seen them this far up the mountain before” Dale commented.

“Well, they’re running out of food in the city” Carol remarked to the cluster of concerned and sweaty faces.

“Son of a bitch!” Came another, angry voice from further back. “That’s my deer!”

Daryl emerged from the bushes, crossbow in hand, sweat beaded on his chest and forehead, yet more dead squirrels thrown over his shoulder and ripped the crossbow bolt from the deer’s rump with one swift movement.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearin’, motherless, poxy, bastard!”

With each new word, his boot collided with the Walkers body on the floor, Jess sidestepped slightly to gain herself a better view of him in his entirety through the bushes.

“Calm down, Son. That’s not helping” Dale scolded.

“And what do you know ‘bout it, ol’ man?! Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to ‘on golden pond’? I been trackin’ this deer for miles!”

As he finished his sentence, the Walker at his feet began to writhe and gnash its jaws. Jess felt her throat constrict at the thought of it not being dead and wondered just how the hell they were meant to be stopped if gunfire emitted too much noise.

“Oh my god” Glenn groaned as he resumed beating the corpse with a stick.

“C’mon, people! What the hell?!” Daryl exclaimed as he aimed at the Walkers head with his crossbow and pulled the trigger. A neon bolt embedded in its skull and instantly, the threat was eliminated. “It’s gotta be the brain. Don’t y’all know nothin’?”

Retrieving his bolt from between the Walkers eyes, he huffed and threw everyone an exasperated look. Before she could even think, Jess found herself face to face with him as he stormed through the brush, unexpectedly running into her. She quickly stepped back and tried to drop her gaze, but his stare was so intense that she found herself rooted to the spot while he paused to take in the view of her. She swallowed hard and finally managed to step aside and let him pass. When he did so without a word, she almost tried to blink the shock from her eyes as she turned on her heels and made her way back to her tent.

That night she braved sitting around the campfire with everyone else at dinner, although she sat further back than the rest. Nibbling on strips of squirrel, Jess didn’t follow any conversations that were taking place. Opposite her, sat even further back than her in the shadows, was Daryl, who had just finished up licking excess meat from his fingers and was now watching her over the flames, his arms draped over his bent legs. She was aware that his attention was firmly fixed on her and grew increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was he looking at her at all?

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

After another two days, Jess was still finding it hard to settle in amongst the masses at the camp. Only speaking briefly to a handful of people, she decided that Carol was the easiest person to converse with, except Rick, who never seemed to give her a choice but to answer when he asked after her welfare. Her days were spent reading, writing or tagging along with Carol by the water and helping with the laundry. Her knowledge of certain historical periods meant she knew how to wash clothes without the aid of a washer dryer and was able to lend a hand in getting through the huge piles of dirty clothes that appeared in the crate at the start of each day.

Carol wasn’t shy about encouraging Jess to learn new skills and on one particular occasion, caused a great deal of anxiety when she handed her a knife and a pile of dead squirrels and told her to start skinning them. Before Jess could protest or express her ignorance on such a subject, Carol had vanished from sight, summoned by her aggressive and overbearing husband, Ed. Her hand shook as she looked down at her fingers clutching the knife, Daryl’s presence on a rock behind her niggling away in her mind. If anyone knew how to skin squirrels, it would be him. She turned her body slightly so as to block his view and began prodding one of the small animals with the sharp end of the knife.

Daryl, able to see over her shoulder from his higher vantage point, furrowed his brow and threw his smoke away. He climbed down from the rock and approached her.

“Kinda shit show is that? Give it here.” He snapped, reaching for her knife. She stilled, wide eyed and tried to focus on what she should say.

She slowly looked sideways at him with the squirrel in her hand. She still gripped the knife and he beckoned with his fingers for her to pass it to him along with the dead animal. She gingerly handed him him both and stepped aside, letting him take up her spot. Before he set to work, he noticed her discomfort and awkward expression.

“She uh-she left before I could tell her I have no idea what I’m doing.” She said quickly.

He grunted and turned his head to see Carol with Ed, whose voice was raised and echoing around the quarry. Shane stood nearby, arms crossed, keeping a very close eye on the arguing couple. Ed’s arms were flailing in the air as Carol stood meekly in front of him. Daryl bit his bottom lip for a second and decided to leave them to it, getting involved in other people’s drama wasn’t something he made a habit of. He turned his attention back to Jess.

“What exactly do ya do around here?” He asked her.

It was a good question and one she didn’t have much of an answer to. Since she’d arrived, she slinked about in the shadows, folding her collectible superhero T-shirts that she happened to have bought on the day the world went awry and scribbling in her journal. She’d only recently started to lend a hand with the laundry but other than that, she could honestly say she’d been nothing but a leech.

“Um… I got a pretty loud scream. It’s like a…Walker alarm. Just haven’t used it yet.” She said with a small smile.

He huffed, unimpressed and figured she would be even more useless unless he showed her what to do with the knife and the squirrel.

“Pay attention.” He mumbled, motioning to the animal with the knife. “Gotta start right here, cut up to the tailbone”

As he spoke, he physically showed her what to do, pointing out each part and showing her exactly how to angle the knife in the process. Jess winced at the sound of the knife slicing through the flesh and tried to act as though the blood didn’t bother her. But she was never a good liar and her stomach flipped at the sight. Her face paled and she took a deep breath.

“Then, down each leg. Gotta make a flap of skin on each. Can grab it and yank it right off, cut as ya go.” He explained, focused on his task and missing Jess’s pained expression. He ripped the skin from the animal and tossed it aside before holding the bloodied knife out to her and finally noticing her pallid skin and sweaty forehead.

“R-right.” She stammered, slowly taking the knife from him.

“Practice. Make ya self useful.” He said, his tone now less antagonistic and more akin to someone with a helpful suggestion.

“Right. Yeah.” She mumbled, taking the knife back and dragging the back of her wrist across her forehead.

Relief washed over her when he finally departed, leaving her to her task. While it took her probably double the time it would have taken Daryl, she eventually finished it and cleaned up with a sense of pride and accomplishment welling in her chest.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

'I'm not entirely sure I’ll ever fit in with this group. I know I don’t really fit in anywhere else either, but no matter how hard I try, I always seem to get left behind. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been thinking a lot about mom and dad and my asshole brother who I miss so much. Seeing people that still have their families, I hope they know how lucky they are. I know I never really fit in with them either, but they were my blood.

It’s a miracle I survived on my own, I see that even more now I’m around people with actual survival skills. There are fighters, hunters, people that are good with weapons, even people that think more strategically than me. I feel kind of useless. I’m slower and a liability compared to these people. A guy called Daryl had to teach me how to skin a squirrel today. I almost hurled on the table in front of him and I felt like an idiot at first but at least he took the time to show me instead of making fun of me. If I’m honest, I was really expecting the latter.'

She closed the journal. Shoved it back in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then, she picked up the bunch of skinned squirrels and made her way to the top of the hill. The heat from the sun was starting to lessen and she was grateful for it, she wasn’t used to building up much of a sweat, so her new surroundings up in the sky, a top a mountain had been a shock to the system. People wandered about the camp and children played quietly as the fire in the middle started to intensify, ready to provide warmth from the sudden cold snap that came as soon as the sun vanished below the horizon.

Jess spotted Merle on the outskirts of the group. He sat with a tree stump in front of him and a large knife, dissecting meat and driving it onto skewers for cooking. Jess took a deep breath and made tracks towards him, passing the RV in the process, where Daryl sat on the roof, watching her. She kept her head up when passing Sarah and Jodie, Sarah brushing through her blonde hair with her fingers as they ambled along.

“Better get in quick before she eats every scrap. Girl definitely isn’t starving.” Jodie whispered to her friend.

The comment hit Jess’s chest like a bulldozer but outwardly, her reaction was minimal. She carried on walking and handed the squirrels to Merle wordlessly before turning on her heel and stalked off back to her tent. She could hear Merle chuckle to himself behind her but paid him no mind. He wasn’t the one that could stamp on her feelings so easily. It was other girls. Always other girls.

Daryl was noisily chewing on some beef jerky when he heard Jodie’s scathing comment and saw Jess hesitate as she walked, her head dropping and her shoulders slumping. Sarah and Jodie rounded the RV on their random path and as Daryl looked down at them, his eyes fell on a cup of water set down on the roof of the RV, near to the edge. The temptation proved too great to ignore. Dale must have left it there. Convenient. He kicked the cup, sending water flying over the edge and onto the heads of the two girls below.

“Hey! Watch it, Redneck!” Sarah shrieked as she flicked her hands out, ridding herself of any water droplets. Jodie merely stood there and seethed, her jaw clamped shut and her eyes narrowed up at Daryl. Her sweater was splattered with a dark and no doubt, cold stain.

“Sorry” He smirked.

Rudely awoken by a cooking pot being thrown against the side of her tent just before sunrise, Jess startled and considered herself lucky the foreign object that had collided with the canvas had missed her head by inches. She crawled out of her sleeping bag and poked her head out of the zipper to the sounds of Merle and T-dog shouting obscenities to each other and brawling in the middle of the clearing. Curse words were yelled and a plethora of racist remarks left Merle’s mouth as he swung another punch in T-dogs direction. Jess winced at the sound of some of his comments and thought herself grateful she’d been brought up in an accepting and open-minded family and didn’t have to endure the seething hatred Merle seemed to feel every time he set eyes on someone that didn’t share his skin color.

The two men wrestled on the ground, dust kicking up and clouding their air as more and more people filtered out from their tents to observe the spectacle. Jess could hear the moment T-dog’s fist collided with Merles face, a kind of sickening thud followed by a loud grunt and a roar as Merle launched himself up and ran at his assailant. Bowls and utensils flew through the air as they thundered through a nearby table and took out the peg of a tent in the process. The shelter sagged and Jess felt a stab of panic as they neared her. She stepped back in an attempt to put some space between her and the fight as Daryl shot out of nowhere and drove himself between them, taking a hard right hook from Merle that made Jess jump with the loud crack that it made. But Daryl simply emitted a loud grunt and shook it off and she suspected that this was far from the first time he’d been punched in the face.

“Back up! C’mon! Back up, Man!” He instructed, hovering in front of his brother with his hands on his chest. Shane arrived seconds later, just in time to catch T-Dog and pull his hands behind his back in true cop style. Jess raised an eyebrow.

So much drama. She thought.

“Leave it. Just leave it. What the hell is wrong with you?!” Daryl was now hissing at Merle, who was desperately trying to skirt around him. But wherever Merle was, Daryl was firmly in front of him. “Let it go, Merle.”

She bit her lip as she witnessed Daryl manage to de-escalate his brothers rage and she knew that no one else in the entire group would have been able to handle him in quite the same way. His leather vest flapped at his sides in response to him shifting all of his weight into his muscular arms in order to hold his brother still. With one leg placed in front of the other, he leaned forwards, a stable grip on each of Merle’s shoulders. Shane was busy dragging T-dog off and whispering in his ear when Glenn’s voice startled her, snapping her away from an image that had suddenly become a little easier to look at.

“You alright?” He asked. If he’d been there the entire time, she had no idea after having completely missed his presence. “Thought you might have gotten hit in your tent.”

“It just missed my head.” Jess replied with a small smile. “Just.”

“Lucky.”

“Yeah. Just glad I wasn’t up and sitting by the fire.” She expressed.

“You and me both. Those two have been gunning for one another for days now.” He told her.

She responded with a thin smile and turned her head back to where Daryl was now shoving Merle towards them. As they passed her tent, Daryl’s eyes managed to meet hers. He looked furious, unsettled. Uncomfortable. Taking it as her cue to make herself scarce, she climbed back into her tent.

It was almost a ritual now, everyone sat down to eat at the same time, like a giant, dysfunctional family. As far as altercations were concerned, everything was usually forgotten about in time for dinner, food being on the top of everyone’s list of priorities. It wasn’t surprising to Jess to see Merle and T-Dog sat in the same vicinity after such a violent fight, both of them seeming content enough with devouring their food than having any more fights. Merle had situated himself slightly further back than everyone else and made a few un-classy remarks under his breath that had so far been ignored by everyone. Jess heard every word but pretended she didn’t as she finished up her meal and made her way back to the cooking pot. Spooning the rest of the stew into a bowl, she dunked a plastic spoon into it and set off to find Daryl, who was the only one absent from the dinnertime ritual.

Sitting far away from the group, on a fallen tree on the edge of the woods, Daryl could hear both Jodie and Sarah making fun of Jess as she passed. Anger simmered in his chest and he grit his teeth at the sound of their incessant, immature and annoying giggling.

“Here”

Jess’s voice cut through his thoughts and he peered up at her with suspicion. He threw the piece of bark he was picking at on the floor in front of him and locked his gaze on her.

“You haven’t eaten. Your brother has. So, I took this before he noticed there was seconds.”

“Why?” He grunts.

She licked her lips and exhaled, her shoulders sagging.

“Saved us all from getting caught in the middle of a pretty nasty fight earlier.”

A grunt was all she received in response. Expecting him to react in any other way would have been futile, it was written all over his face that he was not in the mood to socialize.

“How’s your face?” She asked.

His right eye was beginning to swell and she knew that by morning it would be fully blackened. She wished she had a bag of frozen peas or an ice pack to offer, but figured it would only be met with a snappy remark or shrugged off anyway. But Jess wasn’t one to give up easily on something she believed in and in that moment, she believed that Daryl could use a distraction from his bad mood. Shoving away her doubts and shyness, she kept her eyes trained on him.

“Had worse.” He mumbled.

“You should eat, here.” She offered him the bowl again, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was not about to give up. After a small huff, he looked back up at her, slowly dropping his vision to the steaming bowl of food before eventually taking it from her.

“Thanks.” He grumbled, taking hold of the spoon and shoveling stew into his mouth without any regard for manners or decorum. Jess sat next to him and ripped up a handful of grass from the ground, gradually picking through the blades and discarding them in the breeze.

“Actually, it’s you that deserves the thanks. You hunted the food and then showed me how to skin it instead of just doing it yourself or showing me up in front of the others. So, thanks.”

“Ain’t nothin’.” He dismissed with his mouth full of food.

“Don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Jessica.” She told him.

Why didn’t I just say ‘Jess’? No one calls me Jessica. What am I doing?!

“Jess. You can call me Jess.” She corrected.

He turned his head, quickly scanning her from head to toe and swallowing the contents of his mouth.

“Daryl.” He stated.

“S’nice to meet you. I mean, as nice it can be, What, with corpses wandering around trying to eat us. That’s not exactly nice. But, there’s nothing like an apocalypse to bring out the best in people. But then again I guess some people are just crappy by nature.” She rambled.

He stared at her for a moment before shoving more food into his mouth. He was animalistic, almost feral somehow and he had an aura of unpredictability that made Jess nervous. Like a lion that appeared tame and calm but just below the surface lurked a danger that she didn’t want to see.

Jess was by all accounts, a self-declared introvert that didn’t actively seek out social interaction and felt the need to withdraw from situations or people that sapped her energy. Daryl was obviously not like everyone else and she would have hazarded a guess at him also being introverted, which meant that they possibly had something in common. It was unheard of that she made a marked effort to talk to someone that appeared so outwardly hostile, but the end of the world had brought with it a new found attitude in Jess; Just try it. See what happens. It was a philosophy that had kept her alive so far.

“It’s cold tonight, huh? I mean, I have enough blankets and stuff but it still gets through. It’s like ever since the world went to shit the nights have gotten colder” She expressed.

He finished up his food and dropped the bowl on the ground between his bent knees.

“Ya always talk this much?” He asked.

She wasn’t expecting such a question and didn’t know if she should be offended or amused.

“Uh… yes? No? I’m not sure.”

And she wasn’t. Not anymore. Now everything had changed and apparently so had she. If someone had told her she’d be sat beside a violent redneck and attempting to make nice during the apocalypse, she’d have laughed in their face.

Remaining at his side for half an hour more, she’d refused to move partly out of defiance. She braided grass into patterns and watched Carl and Sophia play at the side of the group while Daryl smoked and sulked, about what, she wasn’t sure. But he hadn’t got up and left, nor did he ask her to leave and she took that a small success.

Since she was a child, Jess always poured her deepest thoughts and feelings into a journal. Each entry left her feeling like she’d been cleansed and was ready for whatever the next day held. Sometimes, if she wasn’t in the mood to write huge paragraphs, she’d write, poetry, haiku’s or draw simple pictures in biro. Even with everything else destroyed and gone, Jess still made sure her journal was not neglected.

That night, in her tent. She opened up the thick, black leather-bound book and began writing.

'Daryl intrigues me. He has a brother that made himself known to me way before Daryl did. In fact, Merle leered at me as I walked by and told me I had ‘more cushin’ for the pushin’.” He’s vulgar and rude. I’m pretty sure he’s a raging racist too from what I’ve seen. I’m not sure Daryl is like that although there is a possibility. He just seems quieter, more thoughtful somehow. He’s kind of cute. In a dangerous kind of way. He broke up a fight between Merle and T-dog today. I have no shame in admitting I was impressed by his courage, even if he did get punched in the eye. I took him some food and tried to talk to him but he now just thinks I talk too much. I don’t think I said too much to him though, he’s just super quiet. Or did I? Oh god. I don’t know.

I’m not sure about everybody else. Rick seems like a nice guy; he’s checked in on me a few times. Shane too, although he’s a little… odd. I think there’s something going on between him and Rick’s wife. I keep catching them whispering to each other. But I shouldn’t make such assumptions. I could be very wrong. I like Carol, she’s the safest person to be around and I think I trust her, when she’s not with Ed. I don’t like him one, little bit. He’s a bad egg. I can tell. Rick’s kid, Carl is pretty cool. He sees a lot more than people give him credit for and he’s smart. He reminds me of me when I was his age.

I’m making an effort to stay away from Sarah and Jodie. They don’t like me and I don’t like them. My fat offends them. Good. I hope it makes their empty heads explode. It seems that no matter what happens in the world, those types of girls are everywhere. Like a disease or a bad smell that won’t go away. When they’re around, I just feel like I’m back in high school and I wouldn’t go back to high school if I was paid.

I could be in worse places. I could be dead. But I can’t shake this overwhelming urge to just be alone. I know it’s not safe and I know it’s not wise. I thought maybe if I talked to someone, tried to gain a friend, it’d help. So, I’m trying with Daryl. Out of everyone, I think he and I might be similar. What am I even talking about? The world ended and here I am, worrying about my social anxiety.

I should sleep. I rarely sleep more than a couple hours at a time now. I can’t stand the nightmares anymore.'

NEXT CHAPTER

#daryl dixon #daryl x oc #daryl fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd

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ertrunkenerwassergeist · 4 years

Text

Born Into the Wilds - Chapter 9

*slams hands on the table* This chapter is finally done! Sorry for the long wait, in compensation this is extra long. I'm prepared to get screamed at. Also a big thank you towards @noctanotherone for helping to get my thoughts in order on this one.

Here’s a Link to AO3.

In which a battle happens and General Glauca appears.

Featuring: the absence of Captain Drautos, confusing military stuff the author made up on the fly, Nyx' usual planlessnes, Crowe ex machina, lightning and awkward dialogue.

Warnings: blood, injuries, death (this is a battle)

Words in Hadnissa:

makti-oir = war chief, commander-in-chief, warlord; lit.: leading hunter Galahkari = people of Galahd Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas = Eos' light be on you; a formal greeting kohna = swearword; along the lines of shit ohtahi triantafe = a type of rose native to Galahd with black petals, it's highly poisonous and even the smell can cause hallucinations thuir = father makuwid = hunting group, squad mates zehstir = foreigner, enemy; very strong insult namakar = huntress; lit.: she-hunter

09. A Complication

The attack couldn't have happened at a more unfortunate time. Nyx had been back from his two week medical leave for a few days now and had been in the middle of planning the second set of training exercises for the newly structured Kingsglaive with Libertus and Luche.

It was still a right mess. The members of the Kingsglaive took to the change with an enthusiasm tinged with relief that had surprised Nyx. The troops he had interacted with regularly had been mostly stable, with the most extreme exception being Troop Rani.

Captain Drautos wasn't happy about any of this. He had stood at the edge of the training field at the first day of training, with a dark scowl on his face and hadn't said a word as everybody made their best attempt at working together within their new groupings. When the first exercises had resulted in people screaming at each other, Nyx had thought he had seen a gleam of grim satisfaction in the Captain's eyes. But that couldn't have been correct. Right?

In the end, it had taken Libertus yelling at them to behave like professional hunters, to calm everybody down. His best friend and hunting-brother may have a temper and grouch about things he didn't like in above average volume more often than not, it took quite a bit, however, to actually get him to yell on the top of his lungs – and what powerful lungs they were. Everybody knew that.

At the end of the day, those training exercises could have gone worse and no one had been permanently maimed or killed. That could definitely be considered a victory in some cases. Nyx could understand the hiccups, he really could. All members of the Glaive had found ways to work around the problems of each Unit and Troop over the years. Even Troop Rani with its two feuding members. And now they had to get used to new people hunting at their sides.

It was Pelna who burst through the door of the tiny office Nyx had commandeered, since he, to his utter consternation, actually needed one now, his face a grim mask that grabbed the attention of all in attendance at once.

“Border Patrol just sent the message: Niflheim is on the move again. They say Glauca was sighted with them. The King wants us out there as soon as possible.”

For half a second no one said anything. Nyx jumped up from where he had sat down not a minute ago, nearly knocked a pile of papers off the desk and cursed. Libertus' face looked caught halfway between a snarl and an expression as if he had just smelled something unpleasant, while Luche's face could have been made out of stone.

Nyx took a deep breath, suddenly deathly calm. The smell of ozone started to creep through the air. “Luche, get the others moving and call as many as you can out of their vacation. With Glauca there we need every hunter we can get. Pelna, make sure everybody gets what they need from the inventory and I don't care if some idiot says 'Crownsguard only'. Take it, I'll deal with it once we're back again. Libertus, round up the trucks and tell those damned drivers to be there on time or we'll drive ourselves. We can't let that son of a she-devil any further into Lucis. Also tell Sonitus to get in touch with the Border Patrol, I want to know exactly where the Niffs are. You all have an hour. I'll-”

“You'll get ready and calm down your magic, Nyx. If you fry the truck you're in because you can't control yourself, or worse, blow it up, you won't be getting anywhere,” stated Libertus rather forcefully.

For a moment they stared at each other, both willing the other to back down with their gazes alone. But his hunting-brother was right. He himself may be rather calm, but his magic was a torrent beneath his skin.

“All right,” he conceded. “All right.”

Libertus looked at him a moment longer to make sure he actually meant it, before he nodded and stormed out of the room after the others that had already left the moment they had received their orders.

An hour wasn't a lot of time to prepare, and they hadn't done any exercises for it – Nyx put them on his ever growing to-do list – but they really needed to hurry.

He stayed in the office a few minutes longer, minutes that felt like an eternity, until the animal-deep jungle-instinct raging beneath his skin was reduced to a distant echo thrumming in his mind. But instead of going towards the locker room to get ready, he left the tiny room to get to the Captain's office.

Nyx had tried to stay out of the older man's hair for the last few days as much as possible. But now, makti-oir or not, the Kingsglaive needed their Captain.

In the hallways it was like somebody had poked a beehive. People were everywhere, trying to do whatever they were doing as fast as possible without actually running in the halls. A crowd was assembling around the Glaive's armoury, voices clamouring over each other in a bit to get what they wanted, and fast. Through a gab Nyx could see Tredd trying to keep order with a grim face, and continued on his way. People should know better than to question Tredd within the armoury. The Furias may be traditionally artisans, but if Tredd understood one thing best, it was weapons.

“Captain?” Nyx half asked, half yelled as he knocked on the man's door.

No answer came.

Nyx frowned. Should he open the door anyway? He could feel the gazes of the passing Glaives in his back and decided he could deal with the consequences, should the Captain be in his office. Settling his shoulders and chin in a stubbornly determined expression, he opened to door with one last unanswered knock.

“Captain, I'm coming in.”

The office was empty.

Nyx closed the door behind him to keep curious gazes out and started to search the room for a clue to where Captain Drautos could be. There were no new messages or notes pinned to the walls, no file on the desk that could tell him anything, and he didn't quite dare to actually rummage through the cabinets or the desk.

With a displeased frown Nyx gaze wandered one last time around the relatively spacious room before he whirled around and left. He had better things to do right now than to look for the Captain.

There was a crowd forming outside the headquarters. People stopped and gawked as the Glaive assembled outside in their new groups, while non-fighting members loaded the trucks with field packs, half of which Pelna had managed to wrestle from the Crownsguard's clutches somehow.

Nyx ignored the Insomnians as best as he could and tried to decide how to divide the Troops into Companies. He hadn't had the time to really do that until now, which was coming back to bite him into the ass. He hissed like a disgruntled cat, displeased with himself and those damned onlookers. They had ten minutes left before wheels up and still more Glaives arrived, those having been called in from their vacation.

All in all, Nyx estimated that there were around 200 Glaives assembled, which was less than he liked and more than he had expected. Their numbers had been dwindling steadily for years now. They needed new recruits, but that was a problem for another time. Nothing he could do about it now.

He looked for Libertus. His hunting-brother had the loudest voice he knew and could probably make himself be heard over the noise the easiest. The man stood at the edge of the plaza where the noise wasn't as prevalent and talked into a clunky military phone with a fierce scowl on his face. He hung up before Nyx could reach him.

He gave a lazy salute in greeting and hung the phone that could probably be used as a murder weapon, onto his belt.

“Bad news: only half the usual drivers are there. The other half is 'indisposed' because the call was too short notice,” he sneered.

Nyx suppressed the urge to growl. “Then we won't ask for their services anymore,” he said.

“I have nothing against that,” Libertus shrugged. “We could probably hire a few Galahkari that could use the job, as soon as Crowe figures out our budget. But we need to somehow arrive at the battle before the Niffs stand in front of Insomnia.”

“We can do that,” agreed Nyx. It was a good idea. “Could you do me a favour, big guy?”

At once Libertus eyed him suspiciously. Nyx just rolled his eyes at his best friend's behaviour. He wasn't that bad.

“Hey, it's nothing bad. I just need you to help me with organizing the Troops and getting everybody into the trucks. Oh, and ask for volunteers to drive them.”

Libertus still looked sceptical but nodded and followed Nyx back in front of the crowd.

For a moment Libertus took in the group in front of him, all in the individualized uniforms of the Kingsglaive, and took a deep breath.

“Okay people, listen up!” he yelled so loudly Nyx was tempted to cover his left ear. “Into your Units and Troops! Don't fall asleep people! Troop leaders to the front!”

To Nyx' satisfaction, it didn't even take half a minute for the whole Kingsglaive to stand in front of him in orderly lines. There were eleven Troops in total, ranging from a total strength of ten to thirty-one people.

The two Troops specializing in stealth and hit-and-run tactics would be grouped into one Company, three Troops could be grouped under heavy hitters and assault, he supposed, and a further two fell under demolition. The last four were a bit trickier. One specialized in ranged fighting, one in magic, another was the supply squad and the last could be called a rearguard, he supposed. In the end the mages were stuck with the ranged fighters.

Under the curious eyes of the growing Insomnian crowd and camera flashes, they piled into the trucks as to Libertus' yelled instructions, and departed with only a ten minute delay. The streets were empty of any traffic as they made their way towards the wall and Nyx realized that somebody must have told the City Watch that they were coming through. He sent a quiet blessing to the person who had thought of doing so. Probably either Pelna or Sonitus.

Nyx had absolutely forgotten about it.

Their long convoy passed through the gate and over the huge bridge connecting Cavaugh with Leide without any interruption.

It was shortly after nightfall when they neared the latest known position of the Niflheimr army. They were very close to the Taelpar Crag now. Until now Niflheim had not managed to bridge it and take Duscae. They had gotten close more than once, though, and it showed in the many natural stone and crystalline arches spanning the Crag, that had been fortified or destroyed in the fighting.

Secullam Pass was chosen as their base of operations. Within minutes near blinding floodlights were set up to keep the daemons away, a watch was set up and Unit Kresch, under Sonitus, was sent out to stake out the enemy.

Waiting for a battle to begin had always been the worst for Nyx. It made him restless with pent up energy and broody. It reminded him too much of his time with the resistance in Galahd.

To keep himself from crawling up the rocky walls surrounding their camp, he hunted down Pelna, the newly baked leader of the Gebo Unit. It was a part of the Ulnen Troop which was responsible for their supplies. Right now they were responsible for keeping their floodlights running and distributing the field packs.

“Ohlro ar fahl Eohsas, makti-ori,” greeted Pelna when he saw Nyx coming and crossed his wrists in a formal greeting.

Nyx stared at him and very pointedly rose a hand to his collar bone. Pelna actually rolled his eyes at that, but didn't comment on it. Instead he stepped up to his friend and said: “How can I help you, Nyx?”

“I know it's kind of late to ask, but how did you manage to convince the Crownsguard to part with their stuff? The last time the Captain tried, I heard it nearly ended with somebody dead.”

Pelna stared at Nyx with a raised eyebrow as if to say and this is why you keep me from working? “It's pretty simple. I kept to the tried and true method of 'better ask for forgiveness than permission'. Don't look at me like that, I learned that from you, you know? Damn idiot that you are. I bribed Hephaistos into helping, and he was the distraction while I and some of my new Unit mates got the stuff out.”

It took Nyx a few seconds to actually understand what Pelna had just said, but when he did, he couldn't help himself. He laughed. It was a roaring full belly laugh that made more than one head turn, but Nyx didn't care. This was just too good. Pelna cast him a sour look.

“What's so funny?” asked Libertus as he marched towards them along with Crowe.

Nyx wheezed as he tried to get his laughter under control, only for it to start up again as he opened his mouth to explain.

“It would be so embarrassing, if you died of laughter and took us with you because you guided the Niffs towards our base,” stated Crowe in that typical deadpan of hers, when she found something hilarious but refused to laugh herself for whatever reason.

“I- I'm sorry,” Nyx gasped, fighting to keep the laughter down. He pressed a hand over his mouth. His eyes started to tear up with the effort it took.

“Our dearest First Hunter seems to find it hilarious how I got us the supplies we desperately need,” grumbled Pelna, and got a sage nod from Libertus and an amused huff from Crowe as an answer.

“Don't get me wrong, this is funny and all, but Luche is looking for you. He wants to go over the attack plan with the rest of the lead hunters. Which you should actually organize since it's your job, Nyx,” said Crowe.

“Alright, alright. I'm coming,” Nyx answered as soon as his breathing was steady enough and he didn't fear to burst into laughter again.

They attacked at daybreak. As soon as the sun was high enough in the sky to ward the daemons away. As far as they had been able to tell this was the time the Niffs were most vulnerable since they couldn't depend on their growing mass of daemons. Until now, when it had come to open battle, the Captain had always insisted to wait for the Niffs to attack and defend from a stronger position.

Nyx had decided to do something different.

Units Kresch and Roh, who now belonged to the Tahrolin Troop, and were their stealth specialists, were to circle around the enemy force with a demolition Unit and attack the pens where they kept the beasts they used as an attack force. Hours ago, Luche had taken Roh Unit and had gone to join Sonitus to give him his orders. Simultaneously the heavy hitters would stage a full on frontal attack along with Senehrin Company to give them cover fire.

As soon as Luche's voice came over the comms, reporting that they were in position, Nyx gave the order to march over the wide stone arch spanning Tealpar Crag. Not far behind it, on the other side, was a wall the Niffs had hastily erected, and span their whole compound. It was barely more than a few slaps of concrete stacked onto each other.

A slight breeze ruffled Nyx' hair before the world grew still. Not even the distant calls of the birds could be heard. There was only the warmth of the early morning light, the sound of his own breathing and the feeling of animal-deep jungle-instinct crackling close beneath his skin. A rumbling growl resonated through his chest as his field of vision widened and narrowed down at the same time. Only the wall and what lay behind it were important now. New colours joined the old and some grew muted as his eyes grew more sensitive to light.

Then the crudely erected wall exploded as a combination of old Galahdian seal traps and Lucian fire spells crashed into it.

Nyx stood close enough to feel the hot air lick across his skin. His lips twisted into a snarl that could have been a bloodthirsty smile, as the sound of screeching metal and yelling voices reached him over the roaring fire and falling rubble.

All nervousness was gone as anticipation curled in his gut, and sparks of lightning travelled up and down his arms.

As soon as the rubble had settled, Nyx bounded into the thick oily smoke churning in the air and blocking out the light. Formless shapes tumbled through the thick smoke, and all within the reach of his kukri fell in gurgling screams and burbling whimpers.

The smell of burning metal and rubber, oil and blood clogged his nose, but still he found his way to the other side of the burning hell. Nyx jumped onto the nearest MA Veles and toppled it with a volley of lightning until nothing but a smoking husk of useless metal was left.

A roar echoed between that walls of this area in the base, as he wedged his blades free of the machine he had driven them into. It travelled over the twisted metal and MT and MA units attempting to form a defensive line. It made the air quiver and the hairs on his neck raise in anticipation. It took him a moment to realize that it was him who made that sound. A challenge and announcement of an assured victory at the same time.

Nyx clamped his mouth shut behind his face guard and shook his head. He needed to keep a clear mind. A shot cracked through the air, missing Nyx, who was still crouching on top of the smoking MA Veles, by a hair. Only years of training suppressed his initial instinct to flinch. Instead he threw one kukri into he direction the shot had some from.

The world around him dissolved into a nauseating display of shards of Lucian magic and then he was on top of an MT. His chest slammed into its front and made him groan as the air was knocked out of him. Even through his clothes and armour he could feel the icy cold the MT emitted. The thing couldn't react fast enough and fell lifeless to the floor as Nyx rammed a blade into the masked forehead.

He now stood on a metal catwalk spanning the Niflheimr compound overhead. His new vantage point let him see the Glaives who were now pouring through the opening that had been blown into the wall. A large part of the magitek had blown up along with it. Their fault for storing their shit along the outer wall. Nyx snorted and watched for a moment as the Glaive practically descended upon everything that was still able to move.

Satisfied, he turned away and looked where still a series of explosions shook the air, along with the resounding roars and snarls of furious behemoths and sabertusks. He couldn't really see anything that was going on over the other walls between him and the other Units, but he trusted in their ability to get the job done.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw movement. It was a pair of MT, both of them snipers, aiming at the Glaives below. They hadn't seen him until now. Within seconds he was on them, tackling the first as he aimed a shot and drove a kukri into the knee of the second, who toppled over, off the catwalk and into the fray below. Snarling and eyes blazing, he slammed his now empty hand against the MT's face and sent lightning through it until its mask was nothing more than a warped mass of metal and its limbs stopped twitching uncontrollably.

Again he looked towards the closest inner wall which prevented them from getting further into the strangely improvised base. He had an idea. But as he reached up to activate the communication device, he ripped it off his ear with a foul curse as it fried with a painful pop-spark.

Shit. So much for that, he thought with a twist of his lips. I really should have practised more.

Nyx warped down towards the kukri still lodged into the now dead MT's leg and grabbed the nearest Glaive by the shoulder. It was Axis.

“I need you to relay some orders for me!” he yelled over the cacophony of screeching metal, gun shots, the dying roar of a furious behemoth and the sounds of discharging magic, as people cried and fought and died.

Thankfully Axis didn't bother to ask what had happened to his device and just raised his hand.

“Attention, all Glaives. I'm about to relay orders of the makti-oir in his stead.”

“The most talented warpers are to gather near the wall leading further into the base. We need to get past the gate to prevent the Niffs from organizing a counter attack, so we'll warp over the wall and open it from the inside. Luche is to do the same on his end as soon as those damn behemoths are dead. Oresch Unit is to secure the breached wall as soon as we're finished here.”

Nyx took a deep breath. His magic was pressing against his mind, urging him to hunt, to kill and feast on his prey. Another breath. Not now. Pack came first. Their safety was paramount, and to keep them safe he needed to be able to think.

Dutifully, Axis repeated every word.

With a thankful nod Nyx turned away and made his way towards the targeted wall. It wasn't very high, five metres at most, which was below average for a Niff base, but like in all bases, this one had an opening which was blocked by a series of red lasers that could melt flesh from bones, if someone was stupid enough to touch it.

Axis followed him. The man may specialize in magic based close combat, but his warping skills were above average. Not far from him, Nyx could see Libertus decapitate a MT with a kukri that looked more like a traditional Ostium battle axe than anything else.

Three others met them by the wall. Nyx grinned. Five. Five people for this was a good omen.

“Axis, you're to concentrate on shutting down those lasers, the rest of us will cover your ass. On my mark, we warp. Ready- go!”

In unison they threw their blades. Lucian magic burned like acid on Nyx' tongue as he appeared above the wall for a second before he warped down on the other side, the others following him in a protective formation around Axis in which Nyx was taking point.

His feet barely touched the ground, before he was swarmed by MT. They were those guys with the heavy serrated swords. Nyx cursed and dove out of the way. A sword whizzed past where his head had been not a second ago. Nyx managed to kick the thing in the hip as he evaded another horizontal swing of the sword. The kick caused the upper body of the MT to rotate just enough that it buried its blade into the machine next to it, caving its breastplate in with a high pitched metallic shriek and a sickening crunch.

Before his target could wedge its blade free, he severed the sword arm at the elbow and drove the other blade into its neck. His weight caused it to fall backwards and take another two MT with it. He made short work of them.

“I've got it!” cried Axis and with a hiss the lasers deactivated.

Suddenly the air was filled with the electric whirr of MA units activating. There were eight of them. Kohna. So they hadn't been fast enough.

With a snarl Nyx hurled himself over the last two MT in front of him, twisting the right one's neck and clipping the other in the shoulder. He knew his blades couldn't do much against the MA units, so he sheathed one and used his now free hand to fry the nearest one with a powerful bolt of lightning.

Not far from him Axis was doing something similar, attacking a machine's weak spots with calculated shots of lightning. They needed more mages here. Again Nyx cursed himself for frying his comm. He couldn't distract the other four with him now, so he had no other choice but to retreat.

And nearly run into another Glaive right as he stepped through the gate. Blinking sweat from his eyes, he recognized Libertus. His facecloth had slipped off and revealed a bloody nose.

“Libs! I need you to comm Lesan Unit! Our blades won't do anything against those MA units!”

Without further ado, the man did just that. His voice was drowned out as something further into the base crumbled with a deafening blast. The ground shook.

It was only due to the fact that Nyx stood so close to the wall, that he didn't fall. Libertus didn't fare as well. He fell heavily onto his side and had to quickly roll away as a magitek spear buried itself into the ground where he had just lain. Nyx killed the thing with another blast of lightning.

“Come on, big guy. No time for a nap,” he said as he helped his hunting-brother to stand back up.

The fighting continued in that vein, until they met Luche's Troop in the heart of the base. It was here the officers were housed as well as logistics and communication. Or there should have been.

Instead there was nothing here but a large empty space.

Something was very, very wrong.

He could see the same thought echoed back at him from Luche's face. The man had discarded his hood and facecloth sometime during the fight. His normally slicked back blond hair hung into his forehead and was covered in soot and ash. Other than a few scrapes and a nasty bruise forming over his cheek bone, he seemed to be fine.

The sun beat down upon them, signalling the nearing midday. The air was hot and sticky and stank of ozone and molten metal and rubber. It left an oily film at the back of his throat with each breath Nyx took and made him wish he hadn't already used up all of his meagre water rations.

His muscles ached from the continued fighting and he could feel a stasis nearing. He had simply used up too much of his magic. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, however, as it had saved more than one life.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he ordered. “This stinks of a trap.”

Next to him Libertus shifted his weight in anxiousness. “I've got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered just loud enough for Nyx to hear.

Suddenly Luche raised a hand and the growing mutterings between the Glaives stopped at once. He activated his comm, clearly listening to something. The longer he did so the paler his already fair complexion grew and a raw look of fear flittered through his eyes. It made Nyx' stomach plummet in dread. Luche looked him in the eye and suddenly Nyx knew.

Glauca.

Ruthlessly, Nyx shoved down the urge to order a full retreat. It had never been stated directly during the planning of this attack, but they would take this chance to kill the monster in the armour, one of the main reasons they had had to flee Galahd seven years ago.

With a resolute nod towards Luche, Nyx opened his mouth to issue new orders, but was interrupted by the sudden cry of “Dropships incoming!”.

“So this really is a trap,” someone behind him mumbled, despair lining the voice.

Nyx gritted his teeth. He knew the sensible thing to do was to order a retreat. At once. Before the trap napped shut.

“Libs, contact Crowe.”

“What? Nyx, we need to fucking go, right now!” his best friend hissed into his ear.

“No!” Nyx half yelled, half growled.

He refused. He refused to let Glauca slip through his fingers again. That man had collapsed the tunnels he, his sister and his mahir had been in, killing the last of his immediate family. He bared his teeth in a snarl.

All eyes were on him.

The high pitched whine of the air ships' engine ground against his sensitive ears.

“Contact Crowe,” he repeated, his voice a harsh rasp. “Ask her if she and her Unit managed to master that storm field spell they have been practising.”

Realization crossed Libertus' face like a ray of sunlight in a dark, cloudy sky and the tense atmosphere eased the tiniest bit.

“This plan is madness,” growled Luche as he came closer.

“I won't let Glauca slip through my fingers this time, if I don't have to, Luche,” Nyx growled back.

The blond man stared at him with hard eyes. Exhaustion was edged into his face, a testament to the overall state of the Glaives present. Damn it, he shouldn't have let all of their main attack force fight from the beginning. It must have been hours now that they had fought without much of a break, safe for a few moments they had been able to steal here and there.

MT didn't grow tired. Humans did.

“She says yes,” interrupted Libertus before Luche could respond.

“Good. Tell her to blast as many ships out of the sky as she can. Units Arl and Sevah, trap this place to Pitioss and back. Those tin cans aren't to take a single step without something going off. The rest of you, regain as much strength as you can before one of the ships make it through. Share any elixirs you might still have left over. I'll go after Glauca.”

“Have the ohtahi triantafe finally cooked your brain? This is madness, Nyx. No one has gone up against that man in a direct confrontation and lived,” Libertus practically yelled.

“Libertus is right. They say not even the Royal House dared to do it, back when Regis still deigned to leave Insomnia,” Luche cut in.

“I won't go alone,” defended Nyx.

“Oh, and who exactly will help you? Our strongest fighters will be here because of your hair brained scheme,” his hunting-brother growled.

“Oresch Unit,” answered Nyx before he could stop to think about what he was doing. “They are by the breached wall. Luche, where is Glauca now?”

Luche was clearly unwilling to answer, but after a few seconds he sighed. “Fine, you win. The Fathers must have blessed you, for your stupid ideas to work so often. He was seen outside the base, close to the Crag and to the north. Don't lose, Nyx. If you do, the whole Glaive is done for.”

Nyx nodded, eyes flashing in a silent promise, and ran out of the base as fast as he could, as the sky darkened with roiling clouds and lightning flashed.

Oresch Unit had not been idle during the fighting. Nyx' experienced eye could see the signs of traps half hidden in the rubble. Discreet lines were drawn into the dust and dirt, and he wondered who had sacrificed their water to make these. Most of them were old Galahdian scourge wardings that had been modified to work against Niflheimr magitek. Their presence read dangerously close to that of a daemon.

Their leader was a petite woman with shoulder length dark, brown hair that, at the right side of her head, was braided close to her head in a series of small braids forming a wave pattern. Her name was Ladone Najad, Tethys' aunt, and was approaching her fiftieth year. She had somehow mastered the art of startling even a behemoth with her presence alone, if she so desired, or she could make herself be completely overlooked.

That was exactly what he needed in this situation. Should he not be able to do it, she could use her talent to catch Glauca unawares and kill him.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Ladone listened to his plan with the gravitas of a person who had seen it all. She didn't say a word until he had ended and looked at her expectantly. One of her thin eyebrows rose the tiniest bit, as she thoughtfully chewed on one of those fireleaves she carried around everywhere.

“You're worse than your thuir ever was,” she drawled and spit a reddish blob onto the ground. “My ancestors and the serpents in the water help me, I'll do it. But I want my makuwid to stay here, makti-oir. I won't let this wall be undefended should something happen, and if I've learned one thing with those zehstiris, it's that there's always something going on with them. I'll follow you, to death, if need be, but be aware that, if I get the chance, I'll take it. This isn't your kill alone.”

Her eyes were piercing and hard as flintstone as she looked at him. He nodded respectfully. Ladone Najad wasn't somebody he wanted mad at him. Ever.

“Of course, namakar,” he answered.

“Good. Then we shouldn't waste any more time. Iase, you're in charge until I get back,” she barked.

A woman in her late thirties and hair cut so short it was nothing more than fuzz on her head, gave a salute. Ladone nodded and turned her attention back towards Nyx.

“Before I forget, here.” She threw a flask at him. It contained a yellowish liquid flecked with blue. “My son-in-law made this. It's better than the dishwater the Lucians try to sell us as an ether. Take it. You look like shit.”

Nyx' only answer was a tired glare, but he emptied the small flask without another word. It tasted kind of like he imagined a swamp to taste like. The thick liquid travelled down into his stomach, leaving a warm and revitalizing trail in its wake. At the very least it worked gentler than the punch in the gut that was a Lucian ether.

“Well?” she said, her head cocked in a way that clearly communicated they should go now.

Without another word Nyx started walking north. They stepped into the shadows of the trees growing close to the edge of Tealpar Crag, and from one moment to the next Ladone seemed to vanish into thin air. Nyx breathed an exasperated huff that just covered how anxious he really was.

Around him nature was unnaturally still. The animals had probably all fled when the fighting had begun this morning. Storm clouds swallowed nearly all of the daylight and lightning shrieked in the sky as it hit a dropship. The combined magic of nine mages weaving the field spell, was a growing weight prickling against his senses. Wind howled through the trees and across naked rock. It reminded him uncomfortably of the first hints of a Galahdian autumn storm.

He snarled to chase away the dread pooling in his gut, making his hands slippery with sweat and his senses going haywire at the sensation of being watched. Which he was. By Ladone. An alley, he reminded himself firmly and stepped out of the thinning trees and into the open. The ground was bare rock with a few stubborn bushels of grass growing here and there, and behind him the enemy base loomed, smoking and wreathed in lightning.

Suddenly, there he was.

General Glauca.

He emerged from the shadows of an erratic boulder like he was a daemon himself.

Each step the mountain of a man took sounded with a dull thud over the lighting roaring in the sky, his very presence filled the air with dread. Nyx crouched down, muscles suddenly too tense as his instincts screamed at him to run, and bared his teeth in a warning snarl.

“Your attack on the base was surprisingly effective, Glaive. You have my compliments,” Glauca snarled in a warped voice that set Nyx' teeth on edge and made his hair stand on end. The decidedly mocking tone didn't make it any better. “But now you are exactly where I want you to be.”

Nyx crouched even lower, nearly on all fours now. The handles of his kukri dug into his palms and he readjusted his grip.

A bone-grinding laugh travelled through the air and suddenly Nyx realized that this... person in front of him couldn't be human. It radiated an energy uncomfortably close to a powerful daemon and through the crevices and seams of the armour shone a dark light that betrayed its true nature. That of absolute malice for malices sake.

Unbidden, an old adage of protection and warding tumbled from his lips.

Another unholy laugh.

“You think this will help you, little Glaive? Words for beings that are nothing more than hot air themselves? Let me tell you one thing: there are no Gods. There are only those strong enough to lord their power over those too weak to do anything about it.”

“I'm not interested in what you have to say, zehstir,” Nyx hissed.

His field of vision widened, and he could now hear the near silent whirr Glauca's armour emitted as he dragged the tip of his huge sword in an arch across the dirt in a mock salute.

“Ah, how long has it been since somebody called me that?” Glauca drawled each word, rolling them around his tongue as if they were a fine wine. “That name brings back memories.”

With a roar of sudden fury, Nyx threw the kukri in his right hand and pounced.

The warp was quick and instinctive. For a split second, he saw nothing but magical particles glowing a near blinding blue. His fingers closed around the grip of his kukri without hesitation as he twisted in the air to strike his prey where his neck met the shoulder.

An ice cold hand clamped around his wrist in an iron grip and tossed him away. Nyx rolled across the dirt, using the momentum to twist into a crouching position again. His breath came in quick bursts and his lungs burned. Damn it. He was too tired for this fight. It had made him a second too slow.

“How pathetic. I expected more of a challenge from an esteemed warrior like you,” mocked the thing masquerading as human.

Thundering steps drew slowly nearer, but this time Nyx wouldn't let himself be goaded into attacking too early.

He stayed still.

Waited.

Magic, free and wild and powerful like the coeurls of his home, thrummed beneath his skin, giving his tiring muscles the opportunity to react fast enough.

Glauca's blade rose and Nyx darted beneath his arm and behind him. He jumped onto the General's back as the man took a jerky step forward, his blade cutting nothing but air where he had without a doubt expected Nyx' head to be.

This tiny mistake gave him enough time to find a grip on the armour as he slammed one of his kukri into the left shoulder guard. Lightning shrieked, bright and deafening, as it travelled from his hand into the blade and then into the magitek armour.

Glauca roared. More in fury than in pain, but it was still loud enough to make Nyx' ears ring and his vision blur. The inhuman sound sent goosebumps up and down his spine.

The armour started to glow as too much energy travelled through it and began to melt away. With a triumphant growl, Nyx challenged even more lightning. Slowly, oh so slowly, he could feel the armour give away. But it wasn't fast enough.

His prey started to struggle, trying to get him off.

In response Nyx slung one arm around the helmet and watched as it started to light up as it was assaulted by bolts of lightning. With another roar of fury his prey stumble backwards. One step. Then another. Farther and farther until Nyx' back hit the erratic boulder. Hard.

Dark spots danced across his vision and the air was pressed out of his lungs. His grip slacked and the lightning stopped as his concentration broke.

Something hit him hard in the face. He could taste blood on his tongue and blinding pain exploded behind his eyes as the back of his head collided with the boulder at his back. Again he was thrown through the air. Only this time he landed painfully on his side.

He lay there as he struggled to pull air back into his lungs. Only luck had allowed him to not lose his grip on both kukri. Shit, he hoped he hadn't broken any ribs.

Harsh laboured breaths echoed mechanically through the magically charged air. It stank nauseatingly of ozone, hot metal and something putrid that made Nyx retch.

“Do you... really think that... something like this... will kill me, Glaive?”

I hoped it would, Nyx wanted to say but couldn't, too busy with just breathing and dragging himself up onto his feet again. He couldn't allow himself to stay down. To stay down was to die. And he couldn't die now when things were finally changing.

Finally he managed to clear his swimming vision enough to be able to focus on Glauca again. The monster in human skin still stood by the bolder. He did not quite lean on it, but it was clear that the melted armour on his shoulder was giving him trouble. The destroyed parts on his helmet were already regenerating, giving Nyx only the most fleeting of glances at a patch of pale skin at the temple.

He cursed quietly inside. He had nearly had him.

His limbs trembled as he forced himself to stand upright. Stasis was looming dangerously close. He had put nearly all of his newly regained magical strength into that attack.

Movement on top of the boulder caught his eye. Barely a moment later Glauca howled. Still eerie and hair raising and mechanical. But this time in pain as a long and thin kukri found the weakest spot of his destroyed shoulder guard.

Ladone twisted the blade with a thundering war cry before ripping it out again. She was gone again within the blink of an eye. As if she had never been there in the first place.

A sword slammed into the boulder and nearly cut it in half.

“I will make sure there is nothing left of both of you to bury once I'm finished with you,” hissed Glauca through clenched teeth.

Nyx barked a laugh. An idea started to take form in his mind. It was madness, but it could work. He hoped Ladone would catch onto it. Otherwise he was pretty much dead.

“For that you need to catch me first,” he rasped with sharp grin full of teeth and retreated back the way he had come between the trees.

As he had hoped Glauca followed him, each step a tiny earthquake.

Wood splintered as his huge blade hit the trees Nyx duck behind, just dancing behind its reach like a cat playing keep-away.

A gust of wind that shouldn't have been. Metal rang against metal as Ladone struck again and vanished just as quickly as she had before. As Glauca made to follow her Nyx charged in a half hearted attack that missed its mark by an embarrassingly huge margin, to keep the man's attention focused on him.

Further and further Nyx lured Glauca between the trees. Closer and closer to the edge of the Crag. To an arch close to the one the Glaive had used to cross it, but still far enough away from the others. Hopefully.

Nyx' movements started to get sluggish. The burning in his lungs had exceeded uncomfortable and passed into painful a while ago. Each new breath he took was a struggle between his need for oxygen, to just keep moving a little further – nearly there, nearly there nearlytherenearlythere – and the instinctive need to avoid the pain it caused to suck in each new gulp of air.

His concentration had shifted from avoiding the sword chasing him to just keep moving. He knew, if he stopped, it would be over.

Suddenly the trees were gone and the Crag gaped at his back, beckoning the unwary to a horrifying death. A death Glauca had a scheduled meeting with, if Nyx had anything to say about it.

Oh so carefully he started to inch his way over the arch, concentrating only on Glauca and what his prey was doing. His steps had grown uneven and his left arm hung uselessly by his side. There were obvious chinks in his armour now. Nyx grinned a bloody grin. Ladone had gotten the bastard good.

Voices sounded from his left and behind him, but he ignored them in favour of Glauca. They were so close. So close to killing the second nightmare of Galahd.

Suddenly the man stopped right at the edgy of the arch. Nyx tensed.

“Do you think this cheap trick will work on me?”

Too late Nyx realized what Glauca meant. He flung himself forward in a futile attempt to stop it, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. Exhaustion ate away at him, both magical and physical.

A dark shadow slammed into Glauca's back with a defiant cry as the sword was driven into the arch, crumbling it with a nauseating wave of something that was neither magic nor scourge.

Nyx stumbled. One step, then another.

Then the ground beneath him fell away.

#ffxv #born into the wilds #blue mage!nyx #*cackles*#finally done with this one #extra long chapter #I have no idea on nearly all things military #but I tried #I really like ladone najad #she's up there as one of my favourite ocs #glauca is a bastard #nyx stop your stupid plans #but they actually work most of the time #people should also stop enabling him #yes glauca killed nyx' family #I'm just now realizing how much potential for angst this is #my fics #the spirit writes

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pynkhues · 5 years

Note

You’re welcome to post that super long fic you’re working on unfinished! I’m dying :) no need to post this just wanted to let you know I love the stuff you write and get so excited when I see a new one added!

Haha, thank you, anon! I’m so glad you like what I write! I won’t be posting the whole thing until it’s done (I promise it’ll be worth the wait!! I mean. I hope it will, haha) BUUUTTT since I’ve had four or five asks about it, and because I don’t think I’m going to get a chance to finish it until tomorrow night (Australian time), you can have the opening scene! It’s pretty long (the whole fic is pretty long, haha - I think it’ll finish at about 12,000 words), so I’ve thrown it behind a cut.

(While it’s not an official series - although I might change that potentially - in my head, this is set in the same Beth-and-Dean-have-recently-separated-for-real-universe that Summer in the City and Try Sometimes are!)

For once, she hears him before shesees him, his voice loud over the bustle of the playground, a familiar, cuttingline through the disarray.

“Pop, no,” he says,exasperation obvious in his voice, and Beth’s oddly pleased to hear that tonedirected at somebody who’s not her for a change, even if that person is a sixyear old currently clambering onto the roof of the playground clubhouse. Riomust have only just pushed off the park bench, if the way he lurches forwards whenBeth’s gaze finds him is anything to go by, striding forwards across the grass towardshis son. “Get down.”

Beth’s not the only woman watching himeither – in the process of seeking him out, her eyes meet a clutch of mothers standingby the swing set, their gazes fixed on the long, leonine line of Rio’s body ashe moves, and God, Beth thinks, walking towards the park bench Rio’s only justabandoned, adjusting her grip on the container in her hands and the bags overher shoulder, feeling every bit a pack mule, was she ever that desperate.

She hopes not, but –

Probably.

She sighs inwardly, letting her gazedrift back to Rio and Marcus. There’s a brief moment where she seriously thinksMarcus might not follow the instruction, but as Rio gains in proximity, heslides quickly back down off the plastic roof of the playhouse to the ground,having the good sense to look bashfully up at his father, kicking the dirt withhis shoe.

Even from here, Beth can see it, theway Rio rocks his jaw in obvious disapproval, but any reprimand he might have,he bites his tongue, crouching down before him. She doesn’t hear what he saysnext, but she can make out his tone – somehow both firm and soft, like itusually is with Marcus. Like it is with nobody else Beth has seen him with.

She slides down onto the bench,leaning back enough to put the drop bag on the grass between her feet and thecontainer of cupcakes she’s been lugging around beside her on the bench. It’sbeen a day, to put it lightly. The kids were at Dean’s for the week, but Beth hadstill had to fill their part of the bake sale quota (Emma had begged) and the minivan had failed to start – she’d triedcalling Hank from Boland Motors out to take a look at it, but he’d been swampedwith (paying) work, and even though he’d offered, she hadn’t wanted tooverburden him, so she’d ended up instead with a mechanic from the nearestshop, some guy half her age who’d ogled her chest and talked to her like shehad the brain function of the oil rag in his back pocket, and it had just - -

It had been a lot.

She’d ended up catching an Uber to thepark, with Ruby promising to pick her up as soon as she finished her shift atDandy Doughnuts to take her via the school to drop off the cupcakes and then outfor girl’s night drinks. They were overdue after all, and Beth was lookingforward to it more than she could say – hell, she’d circled the date with starand heart stickers on her calendar.

Pushing her hair back off her shoulder,she watches as Rio finishes admonishing Marcus, turning back around, spottingher and heading over, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. It’snot all that cold, but he’s dressed like it is – beanie, coat and all. Thenagain, she thinks he might be allergic to sweaters, and he never zips hishoodies all the way, giving any cool breeze the ability to whip straight throughhim. She’d made the mistake of telling him this once, trying to button up his jacketfor him, and he’d taken it as an invitation to push his freezing hands down theback of her pants and purr lewd things in her ear about all the ways she couldwarm him up.

The memory makes her cross her legsnow, thighs clenching, and she rolls her eyes a little at herself, her gazefinding that gaggle of moms again, still watching Rio attentively.

So, sure, she’s that embarrassing tooapparently.

Right now Beth is only dressed lightherself – a pair of black jeans, boots, a sky blue sweater that hugs her chest (notthat most things don’t – a mixed blessing of having a cup size that bypassesthe first five or six letters of the alphabet), a faded black bomber jacketover the top.

It’s still early – can’t be much pastthree, but there’s a slight, dragging exhaustion to Rio’s step that makes Bethfrown. Her frown only deepens when he just nods at her when he finally reachesher, pulling his hands out of his coat pockets and going straight for the containerof cupcakes. He makes quick work unclipping the lid and prying it open.

“Oh, baby, you shouldn’t have,” he says,and his tone is light – lighter than she knows is genuine, and Beth just rolls hereyes, snapping the container lid shut against his fingers before he can pull acupcake out.

“They’re for something at the school.”

She hopes its firm, figures it is, ifthe way Rio fakes at surrender is anything to go by, raising his hands like Beth’sgot a gun and this is one of the John Wayne Westerns her dad used to love. Andit’s stupid, right? It’s just cupcakes, but still. She knows him well enough toknow that if she gives him one, she’ll somehow be getting to the school withhalf of them. It’s just what he does. Beth scoots along the park bench, overtowards the middle, giving her enough room to move the container to the otherside of her hips, out of his arms reach, shooting him a filthy look in theprocess.

He mostly just looks amused, lipstwitching as he makes a production of flopping down onto the bench, a littletoo close to her, and sitting on his hands. His gaze finds her briefly, softly,in a way that makes her breath catch, before it’s back out across the park, searchingout Marcus like a spotlight might find its star.

The afternoon is bright, bustlingwith parents and kids younger than either of their own. There’s an energy tothe park at this hour of afternoon that Beth’s always liked – joggers, peoplewalking dogs, ice cream trucks and pretzel carts setting up in the nearbycarpark. It’s a thrum of activity that, during her days where her world wasreally just her house, before Fine & Frugal, before she knew who Dean reallywas, before she knew who she was, had felt exciting. Now itjust feels warm, familiar, something easy to lean back into and breathe in.

She moves her leg below the bench,finding Kenny’s ratty old sports bag and hooking her foot into the strap.

“Your cut,” Beth says, discretelypushing the bag towards him below the bench. “It’s all there.”

He waits a minute, looking brieflyaround before he stretches forwards, unhooking the strap from her foot, fingersbrushing the sliver of exposed ankle between her boot and her jeans, making herbreath catch all over again, before he’s tugging it over between his own legs. Herifles through it, counting out the cash.

And she knows that he trusts herenough these days to know it’s all there, so she can never quite tell if thispart of it is about keeping her in her place or if it’s just habit. Either way,it makes Beth roll her eyes, her gaze finding Marcus across the playground, brimmingwith energy as he finally gets to clamber up on the monkey bars. She grins as helurches gracefully across, something inherently Rio in theway he confidently finds the next rung, swinging his little body across. When hegets to the end, he leaps down, and immediately circles the playground to re-jointhe line to do it all again.

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of herjeans, and she tugs it out – the message from Ruby reading bright across thescreen.

Leaving DD now. Ready fordeath’s sweet embrace. Pls tell me you have a cupcake and a cocktail waiting atthe gates of hell for me. I’ll be passing thru in 10.

Beth grins down at her phone screen,making quick work of typing out the reply.

No death embrace here, but MYembrace is waiting for you! And no cocktail but Y to a cupcake! 😊 I’ll get Annie to have drinks waiting for us at the bar though?

She pockets her phone, checks herwatch, like the time there might be different, and she’s surprised when Riomakes a noise of irritation beside her.

“Oh, sorry, ma, am I keepin’ you?”

Looking back at him, Rio’s gaze isstill fixed down at the bag at his feet as he finishes sifting through themoney, and Beth has to resist the urge to scowl at him. He’s in a bad mood. She’dthought it earlier, but there’s a set to his shoulders she doesn’t like, a liltto his voice that puts her teeth on edge. She sits up a little straighter.

“Always,” she says, a little too sweetly,and it’s enough to make his gaze flick up to her, his jaw to rock backwards andthen forwards again in obvious irritation, and Beth just meets his gaze headon.

She thinks he might say something –probably sharp, probably biting – but then his own cell is buzzing in his ownpocket, and he kicks the bag of cash back to Beth and rocks up off the seat to answerit, striding far enough away that she can’t eavesdrop, but close enough he canstill keep an eye on Marcus.

And it figures, she thinks, leaningback into the seat, finding the bag of cash again with her feet. While that’shere, she can’t just leave. She hopes his call isn’t long, or if it is, that Rubyisn’t left long in the carpark. Beth scrubs a hand over her face, annoyed, whensuddenly a small weight collapses onto the park bench beside her.

“Where’s Emma?” the small weightasks, and then, quickly, remembering his manners. “Hi.”

Beth can’t quite help the grin.

“Hi,” she says, watching as Marcuswriggles up onto the bench beside her. He really is cute. Almost too cute, as Annie would say, but still. Adorable. He’s in khaki pants today,sneakers, a little checked button down and a blue sweater not unlike her own,and it’s not really like Beth thought all that much about what Rio might dressa potential child in before she realised that he had one, but still. She neverwould’ve figured this. “Emma’s at her daddy’s. She’ll be back to play next weekthough.”

Marcus looks only brieflydisappointed by that as he sits up a little straighter on the bench. He looksover Beth’s lap at the container of cupcakes, his mouth suddenly falling open.

She’d decorated them all to be water themed.After all, the school bake sale is supposed to be raising funds to send theswim team to nationals, and Beth won’t even pretend not to love a theme. She’ddone cupcakes with frog heads and shark fins, crab claws and mermaid tails, anda few that just had wave-shaped icing to balance them out for the display. Hell,her fingers were still a little blue from the food colouring.

And yes. They were gluten and nut free this time.

Beth’s already grabbing the containerto give him one, when Marcus’ voice trills through their relative quiet.

“Are they for my dad?”

Beth blinks, her gaze finding Rioagain, still a few feet away, his own gaze on the ground, his mouth set in atight line as he argues something she can’t hear into his cell. She frowns,trying to stifle the tightness in her chest at him looking so unhappy, before shelooks back at Marcus, who’s watching her inquisitively.

“They’re actually for Emma,” she says,instead of no. “She has a very special thing on at her school, and they askedall the mommies and daddies to make something, so I made these.”

Marcus gives her wide eyes, mouth openingsomehow wider.

“You made them?” heasks, voice loaded with amazement, and Beth can’t help but laugh, pulling thecontainer into her lap and cracking it open. She offers it over to him.

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Would you likeone?”

Marcus wriggles over in his seat, soclose Beth can smell his shampoo, something soft and boyish, and she watcheshis little hand hover over the mermaid, then the crab, before finally grabbing thefrog. He shuffles back into the bench, looking at it almost in awe, clutchedbetween his hands, and Beth opens her mouth to say something when Marcus suddenlysays:

“Can I get one for my dad too? It’shis birthday tomorrow.”

And it’s said so innocently, so innocuously,that Beth finds herself briefly at a loss for words. She looks at Marcus, whostares brightly, sweetly back at her, and then her gaze shifts to Rio, twelvefeet away across the park, pacing, irritated, on his cell still, and it’s just- -

She blinks, unable to stop the loudexhale escaping her lips.

“Of course,” she says, covering it,offering the container to Marcus again, and this time he taps his chin, lookingover her icing sugar creations. His hand briefly hovers over the shark, then thewaves, before finally settling on the mermaid, pulling it out and propping iton his leg.

Something in Beth’s chest stutters atthe image of it (Why’d he pick the mermaid? Does Rio talk about women in frontof him? With him? Are there women who - - ) but she shakes it out of her headas quickly as she can. Marcus is just a boy and he’d wanted the mermaidhimself, and besides, she and Rio are just - - well, she doesn’t know what theyare.

“Did you get your daddy a present?”she asks instead, sealing up the container, and putting it back beside her,resisting the urge to look at Rio again. Marcus just hums, nodding, pluckingout the bit of white chocolate she’d made one of the frog’s eyes with andeating it.

“Yup. My mommy got a cup for hiscoffee and I painted it special for him, and I made him a card, and I helped abuelapick out two shirts and tía and me got him a new necklace whichwe’re gonna give him at special dinner tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you good? You’re spoiling himrotten,” Beth says with a the easiest laugh she can manage, and she can’t help it this time, whenher gaze finds him across the park, something unfamiliar and tight winding inher gut. This time, he seems to feel her looking, and his gaze fixes back onher, and she doesn’t know what he sees, but something in her face seems to takehim briefly aback.

Marcus suddenly gasps, sitting up alittle taller, and Beth blinks back down at him.

“It’s a secret til tomorrow though,”he tells her suddenly, voice full of childish urgency, and Beth grabs the airat the corner of her lips, zipping it clean across her face.

“Your secret’s safe with me, SirMarcus,” she says, weighing her voice down to sound like an English knight, andMarcus beams back at her, smile as bright as the sun.

#beth x rio #my fic #beth boland #rio #marcus #nbc good girls #welcome to my ama #i still need to think of a title too haha

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incarnateirony · 5 years

Note

Hi. So, since you seem to know what you're talking about, I wanted to ask if you could give like ... a short list tips ... of things to always be aware of/think about/question when analyzing something or getting into writing? Have a nice day.

well I had typed something but X’ed out like a dumbass without sending it because my RP group is crack and consumes my focus so lemme try this again.

A few things to track, but I’ll expand on:

Author intent

Cinematographer intent

Production intent

These are in no way mutually exclusive and are very collaborative. However, recognizing that they are not all the same can help you figure out who’s putting in what level.

Realistically, anyone involved in the visual part of the art – directing, camera operation, set design, lighting – could be considered about on par with authors in regards to the validity of their storytelling, as they generate elements to the screen that if this were a book, the author would be etching out themselves. On the other hand, it’s important to recognize the limitations of screenplay format. Pull up some screenplays – SPN, or anything – and recognize it’s almost comedically barren on details. And that’s not to undermine the amount of thought that goes into screenwriting, either.

Screenwriting is an art of packing as much of your intent as you can into as few words as possible, leaving it to the director that takes on your work. Certain directors have made statements (it’s escaping me who it was–Sgriccia?) about understanding how the writing room works and what they’re aspiring after. And that’s good.

But even after you get a collaborative writers room working with a collaborative cinematography team, you also get editors that run full circle back to the showrunners and other office end team that polish, rearrange, pin together, and trim.

So we have multiple phases of a process that’s really difficult for most people to casually eye, and I get that.

Generally speaking, if you’re looking at seeing primary plot arc direction as the authors at the start of this process intend, you need to look at what’s in the script. And we don’t get access to all scripts, but on reviewing a plethora of scripts both SPN and non-SPN, you can at least have a fairly clean shot at what kinds of things likely are or aren’t.

The directors collaborate off of work started by the writers, so the writers are the cornerstone in direction, characterization, etc; these are the primary things that propel our story, the rest just fulfills it. Knowing where to divorce these things from each other can be a huge step.

That’s not to say you completely ignore visuals either. There’s a vast wash of art in the crafting of set, the framing of shots, the choices in lighting and so on.

One of the problems I find, however, is that people will just get hell bent on an idea that X color will always mean X thing in X situation. Taking a few days to research color theory in film is something I very loudly suggest as a start. There is, most definitely, color theory but it’s not so clear cut as like “the drapes were blue here and the chair three episodes again was blue and Dean sat in it while talking about Cas so clearly the drapes are his window to thinking about Cas” because that’s… That’s not… I promise you that’s not how creators think. I literally just promise you that.

Hue, Saturation, Brightness, scale of color, there’s all kinds of psychology attached to the use of these in film, or different color coding. It’s the same logic on why most trashy high volume fast food places make their logos red and yellow or red and orange, because that evokes a feral side that induces hunger (or, depending on HUE, SATURATION, BRIGHTNESS AND TONE, anything from fear to rage to passion). Basically, lighting and elements like this are your Big Mood. Big Mood matters. But a random prop happening to be a random color is very unlikely to have major significance unless it is a focal point object. Objects that are chosen as focal points often have meticulous consideration put into them.

Ambient set design is huge. It can be everything from light to shape of a room, to a consistent theme in the background. For example, if Sam and Dean are reading a lot about exorcisms, the books we see littered around and most disturbed are all about exorcisms or demons. Sometimes it’s less front-facing than that, like perpetually taunting the background with themes related even if they aren’t textually searching for this. Modernly, that’s hermetic books and emblems, for example. These are all very relevant to the overall story arch. But if you’re looking to find that one Red or Blue or Green book binder to compare to a lamp shade from several episodes ago, you’re probably gonna have a bad time and sort of wander off into an area that ends up completely unfulfilled later.

Just like the writers all have their own style – and they do, and recognizing these styles can help with a lot – the directors do too, and how they choose to work and frame sets with the lighting team are not identical. You wouldn’t try to directly conflate the art of Munch with Gauguin, I hope, and that’s something we have to recognize here. The writing is the subject and they are the painters. And there is a strong stylistic theme, wherein the later production ends like editors mostly tie it into a product that doesn’t look like a wild disaster, but each of their styles bleed through.

Sgriccia’s directing is not Wright’s directing and never will be. They’re both great. They both visualize the elements and empower things being lifted from the script masterminded from the authors to render it to us, but where they choose to put That Orangish Lamp is going to be in the microcosm of their episode/painting/works, not the macrocosm of the season, as given by the writers, who still will drive our direction.

The directors know and deeply understand what the writers are after, but there’s a bit of a hazard in conflating everybody like they’re one singular artist, rather than dozens of collaborative artists manifesting this on different tiers.

Directors can, to some extent, know the story arena in the future too and choose to frame shots in it with strong visual storytelling. Knowing keys to visual storytelling is also really important, rather than getting lost chasing the story behind a black pipe that set designers just put in there because the building needed a damn pipe. Because part of building a set is also making it coherent and a lot of elements simply exist. Understanding if the director is dynamically framing it to call attention to it, however, is something else.

One of the boldest examples I can think in recent history was when I had random directing drabbles about 14.7 (x) I simply observed very pointed plot (re)construction that changed depending on angle in a conscious decision. Dean being “boxed in” was a statement I wouldn’t even understand the full ironic dickslap of for a while, but it was right there, in visual storytelling, in something I couldn’t ignore. Or another one about the difference of focal point objects, such as the keys to the comic legacy (x) which finalized my faith that John was, in fact, returning.

Or in text, the literal dialogue of Michael (and, before that, Lucifer), over daddy issues, that had me swearing Chuck literally was going to come back this season, non-negotiable, in echo to resolving John-Sam-Dean issues as well.

The thing is, many of these do boil down to the script - focal point items (mix tapes, literal keys by the ghost, dialogue). And the directing drabbles picked out a specific set of frames that literally required purposeful (re)construction which caused a visual storytelling element.

Personally, I am very, very picky about what I meta over or point out. And that’s not popular around here. Somebody’s always gonna crow “how do you know better”, and any time they get that answer they get offended like “well now you’re just rubbing it in my face!” – in the end, anyone CAN analyze anything, the point is whether people are wrapping their brains up in an idea that’s sort of sending them off to never-neverland and won’t pay out.

Key focal point objects versus ambiance; text versus cinematography; they’re all important, but all don’t drive our forward motion with the same thrumming baseline as the writers churning out content beneath it all. The others bring it to life and yes, collaborate with them, but there needs to be a certain level of judgment applied before diving off chasing dogs in picture frames if you actually expect it to lead anywhere.

And again, I point out to scene ambiance, which can be great to discuss! But those need to be held as microcosms unto themselves or at least that director’s hand. It can be interesting to study little things painted in the layers. My Red, Yellow, and Blue studies for Optimism are an example of that. I do enjoy color theory, but I often restrain myself from engaging in it because people tend to get ahead of themselves and not apply the other… stuff. *gestures vaguely above*.

Honestly, read about things like color theory, dynamic cinematography methods and more for that front, and read through some scripts to recognize the levels before trying to study and pitch into them entirely.

#supernatural #my meta #meta adjacent #ask me anything #authorial intent #directors #cinematography #editors

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