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jmagnabo92 · 1 year

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A Dream Come True - Ch 2

Ch. 2 - Getting Out of There - AO3

The four newly alive ghosts go adventuring into town and while three of them are eager to reconnect with family, one of them is being a little stubborn about it until fate forces their hand.

***

It didn’t take long for them to get themselves sorted out (including healing Flower and Steph’s wounds or at least patching them up) and they were off exploring well before Alberta would be set to wake up. Sam had given them her phone in case anything happens, which was nice.

Unfortunately, Trevor didn't realize how early it was - too eager to leave - and so they ended up driving around for a while until they stopped at the park in the middle of town. It was still a little chilly, but it was nice to be able to feel the weather.

Trevor used Sam's phone to play some music that Flower and Steph insisted that they dance to until he and Pete got tired and sat on the swings while the girls danced.

"So, how come you were so insistent on leaving if we're just enjoying the park?"

"I didn't realize how early it was and I just missed being away from the mansion, you know?” Trevor offers, despite that not being the reason. He just wants to avoid Hetty, and it’s the perfect excuse. “Aren't you tired of the mansion?"

“Well, yeah, but I mean – you didn’t even want to wait for Alberta or Hetty to potentially wake up alive. And you barely waited for Flower to get dressed before you rushed us all out here to sit on the swings at a park before sunrise.”

“The sun’s up now,” Trevor shrugs.

“Come on, buddy,” Pete says, giving him a look. “Did Jay say something to rush you out? I mean, I know you didn’t have the best relationship – and it’s not fair that he puts the blame on you for certain things…”

“No, no – Jay was perfectly fine, actually,” Trevor states. He’s actually surprised that Jay was so friendly this morning. “He gave me clothes, fed me, we had perfectly pleasant conversations – it was fine.”

“Then what are you running from?”

“I’m not running from anything –” Trevor states before Sam’s phone rings.

He had dropped a text to Jeremy to call as soon as he woke up to call Sam’s cell via facetime.

Trevor’s Jeremy appears on the screen.

Trevor doesn’t bother finishing his thought as he accepts the call, “Hey Bro.”

Jeremy’s eyes bug out the second he sees Trevor. “Oy gevalt, T, is that really you?”

“It’s really me – I don’t really have any details, but I’m kind of – suddenly alive, again.”

Jeremy is utterly speechless.

“Not what you thought you’d wake up to this morning, huh?”

“Definitely not.”

Flower and Steph come up from behind. “Who’s this?”

“My brother – my twin brother,” Trevor states. He hadn’t come to his memorial because it’d been too hard, but when Sam mentioned the possibility of Trevor being there (when Esther mentioned feeling his presence), Trevor had taken the opportunity to reach out. They’d been in contact, but they hadn’t actually seen each other.

“Nice to meet you officially man, I’m Flower, this is Steph.”

“And I’m Pete.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “So, ALL of you are alive?”

“Yeah. We have a theory on timing and stuff, and we don’t know how it happened, but I – I had to reach out as soon as I could,” Trevor states. “I missed you, bud.”

Jeremy grins. “I missed you, too – and I’m coming to get you. I’ll have to end my trip early, but I should be there tonight – there’s no way that I’m not jumping to see you as soon as I can – and you have got to call mom and dad – they won’t believe if I do it.”

“I was a bit nervous about that since we kind of just buried me –”

“They’ll be thrilled to have you back,” Jeremy states. “We’ve all missed you so much, you have no idea. Still, I want to be the one to bring you home – so wait for me at the mansion?”

“Of course – although we’re currently at the park, I was hoping to buy some things and –”

“No worries – nothing’s changed. Help yourself to our shared account. I imagine that you’ll probably want to help out your ghost family, so we’ll probably cash out some of the stocks, but that will have to wait until Monday. Speaking of – what are you going to do about IDs and stuff?”

“Thought I’d visit an old friend – figure his dirty little secret could be of some use, but that’ll wait until Monday, too.”

“You’re going to blackmail Ari?” Pete asks, appalled.

“Who’s Ari?” Steph asks as Trevor says, “Absolutely.”

“Trevor, that’s illegal.”

“So is throwing my body in the lake – besides, we’re suddenly alive after a number of years, we kind of need to do it so we can enjoy our lives for a second time,” Trevor states. “Otherwise, they could lock us up or something.”

“Why would they do such a thing?”

“Because we’re suddenly alive again and we were ghosts and – I don’t know, they just could, alright?” Trevor asks, somewhat annoyed. “And Ari’s going to help us be legit because that’s what he gets for throwing me in the lake.”

Pete frowns, but Jeremy agrees.

“Sounds like a good plan – and you know how much I wanted to punish Ari after I found out, so this works well for that.”

Trevor rolls his eyes. Jeremy had always hated Ari because he figured that Ari was just using Trevor (and not actually caring about him). To be honest, Trevor had an ulterior motive for using Ari to establish themselves – finally confronting him after discovering the truth.

“Anyway, thanks for the money support, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes – I’ll be there as soon as I can and make sure you call mom and dad AND you better plan to go to the doctor once you’re legit – we aren’t losing you again.”

Trevor rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah, J, that’s the top of my list.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, T, you’re not allowed to die on us, again – you’re going to the doctor if I have to drag you there myself.”

“I was being somewhat serious,” Trevor states. “I promise.”

“Good – see you later.”

“See you!”

Jeremy disappears from the screen, and Trevor says, “Do we want to try calling anyone else? Or do we want to go shopping first now that places are opening up?”

“Shopping!”

“Shopping it is.”

***

They spent the morning shopping and adventuring around town. They discovered that while they had suddenly become alive, no other ghosts in town had – although they could see them. It definitely made their adventure a lot more interesting.

When it became a more normal hour, they'd gone to Daisy's Coffee Shop because Flower had wanted to see if she could talk to Ira. It was lucky that he ended up being there, and the reunion for the two them was surprisingly emotional.

Trevor always knew that Flower hid behind her ditzy personality to keep the other ghosts at a distance just like he did with his frat boy persona. It was far more obvious when seeing her reunited with Ira because she obviously feels free to be emotional.

In an effort to give them some privacy, the other three opted to sit a distance away and upon seeing Stephanie look on in envy, Trevor offered to look up her parents. She'd been nervous, but with Trevor's encouragement worked through that, and was now on FaceTime with them.

Trevor couldn't help smiling over at her and through the open door of Ira's office where Flower looks just as happy before returning to his paper and coffee. It almost feels like a normal day. Like everything was meant to be.

Eventually though, Ira had to get back to work and Steph's parents had a few things they had to do to get her room ready for her to come home to, so they went back to exploring (although Ira and Steph's parents were invited to dinner that night).

Of course as they explored, Pete kept trying to figure out why Trevor kept coming up with reasons that they shouldn’t return to the mansion just yet, even as he got texts from Jay (and Sam) that yes, Alberta, Hetty and now, Isaac are all alive, again. Unfortunately for Nigel, he does not appear to have gotten the same luck as the rest of them.

To be honest, Trevor’s not too upset about that given Nigel’s behavior of late. Then again, maybe he should be grateful to Nigel for helping him realize that he was an embarrassment to Hetty and a toy to mess with.

Still, knowing that Hetty’s alive did not make him want to return to the mansion, but it was getting rather hard to distract the others from returning – well, Pete.

“Come on, why won’t you tell me what’s going on,” Pete says, as he follows Trevor outside the store where Steph and Flower are trying to find some clothes that they prefer.

“There’s nothing going on, Pete,” Trevor states, rubbing his thumb in his hand as he lies. An old habit that he never bothered to break.

Pete gives him a look. “We’ve been stuck together for twenty-two years in the mansion – you think I don’t know by now when something’s bothering you?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends,” Trevor insists. “It’s not exactly abnormal for me to –”

“Except it is – you shouldn’t have wanted to leave so soon. It doesn’t make sense – not with how close you’ve become with the other ghosts,” Pete states. “Alberta was practically like a mother to you, and you didn’t want to wait for her? Isaac has become close to you after the frat thing, and you didn’t want to show him the world as it is now? It’s not like you to not face things head-on. Something is going on here.”

Trevor doesn’t bother to answer as he plays a game on Sam’s phone. Pete’s absolutely right. He has gotten closer to all of the ghosts over the years, but especially in the last few months. He’d always been especially close to Alberta since she saw something in him that she seemed to admire. Maybe it was his fun-loving attitude or his reckless abandon on life, but Pete was right, Alberta often acted like a mother to him and leaving without her this morning had been difficult, but he had wanted to avoid Hetty.

That was a bit more important to him now, and besides, he’ll have to go back eventually.

“Is this about the oh-so-great Lady of the House?” Pete questions.

Trevor’s head snaps up. “What – what are you talking about?”

“It is!” Pete states. “Trevor, whatever is going on with you and Hetty, you can’t run from it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?” Trevor states. “There’s nothing going on between Hetty and me, but you know what – you’re right. I am avoiding the mansion, but you know what? That’s normal – you’ve been stuck in that house for thirty-eight years, why wouldn’t you want to get out and explore? Why would you want to just wait around and not leave the second you can? I mean, really, Pete, I get it – you can finally talk to Jay because you’re not a ghost anymore, and maybe you and Alberta can have a thing now, although, you deserve someone who likes you for who you are – but do you really not understand my need to escape? I mean, hell, don’t you want to go see your daughter – and have her see you? Why wasn’t that the first thing you wanted to do after getting that arrow out of your neck? I mean, I didn’t hesitate to contact my parents and brother.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

“Because you’ve been in direct contact with them since they found your body a few weeks back since you can use your power to write to them – I’ve been gone for thirty-eight years, and they have no idea I was there when they came by the mansion!”

“So – I still don’t see the issue, you have another chance –”

“You don’t get it!”

“Then explain it me!”

“What if this isn’t permanent? What if it’s just one day or one month or one year or whatever – what if when they finally get used to me being alive again that I suddenly die again, I don’t want to put them through that!”

“Isn’t some more time better than nothing? Don’t you think you’d regret it if you don’t?” Trevor counters. “You’ve spent thirty-eight years thinking about all of things you’ve missed out on - wishing that things had been different, living your afterlife with regrets and yet, here are you – denying yourself what you’ve been wanting for years, why?”

Before Pete can respond, a new voice enters the conversation: “Pete?”

They both turn to their left and spy Carol, Jerry, and Laura who appear to be walking out of the restaurant next door – although they look to be frozen in the doorway – how long had they been there?

It’s Jerry that spoke. Despite the fact that Jerry was a cheater and had been cheating with Carol for ages before Pete died, the man still did seem to genuinely care for Pete. At least more than Ari had cared for Trevor despite the thing they had going on.

“Uh – yeah…” Pete says, hesitantly. He looks like a deer caught in headlights. Which is fair since he’d just explained that he is hesitant about reaching out to his family.

It’s incredibly awkward since Pete looks exactly the same as when he died, and they have no idea how much they overheard of their discussion.

Deciding to break the ice, Trevor reaches out his hand, “Hi, I’m Trevor.”

Jerry’s the first to shake his offered hand before Carol and Laura follow suit. It’s still quiet, so Trevor says, “I know it’s going to sound weird, but Pete and I were ghosts at the B&B where he – we – died. Obviously before it was a B&B. We’re not really sure what happened this morning, but suddenly, we’re alive again –”

He’s cut off by Laura pushing passed him to hug Pete. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

“It’s really me, Pumpkin,” Pete says, hugging her tightly and patting her back. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t let you know I was there – Sam pretty much adopted a ‘help the ghosts but don’t tell’ policy since who would believe her, right? It’s too weird. So…”

“That explains so much. About the manual, about asking to be a part of the family newsletter, about some of the things she said that day,” Carol trails off. “If you were there, then…”

Pete nods, glancing between Carol and Jerry then at Laura, who evidently knows. “Yeah, yeah, I heard and no, I had no idea.”

“I’m so sorry – I really am…”

“I believe you. It was just hard to hear,” Pete says, cutting her off. “And uh, there’s obviously a lot to deal with now – we don’t know what happened or why, but –”

“We heard a little bit of your – uh – argument,” Laura says. “For the record, I agree with Trevor. Even if it’s just an hour or a day or whatever – I would rather have that than nothing.”

“Trev’s right about something – that’s so weird,” Flower says, skipping out of the store with Stephanie in tow. “Hey, they look familiar.”

Her second sentence sounded more like something she was saying to her fellow ghosts, as if forgetting that they weren’t invisible anymore. This thought was aided by Flower bursting out about how Jerry had taken care of Carol’s sexual needs that Pete hadn’t been able to satisfy and wondering out loud what it was and if Pete had thanked him for taking it off his plate.

Pete’s eyes widen and he looks to Trevor for help as his family looks appalled.

“Oy vey,” Trevor says, giving himself a face palm. “Flower, can I talk to you for a second? Over there.”

Flower opens her mouth to probably refuse him, but a look from Pete leads her to following Trevor a distance away.

“Flower, I’m going to preface this by saying – you know I love you – but you can’t just say things like that anymore,” Trevor states when he turns back to her a distance away from the others.

“Why not?” Flower asks, looking genuinely confused.

“Because you shouldn’t be saying things like that in the first place.”

“But – but no one ever said anything before,” Flower says, looking genuinely concerned.

Trevor feels bad, but Flower couldn’t just go out into the world and just say whatever, she’ll end up saying the wrong thing to somebody and get into trouble.

“We never said anything because we love you and we’re used to you – you’re Flower, it’s just part of who you are, but now – we’re alive again – and I don’t want you to say something to the wrong person and get hurt.”

Flower frowns. “Maybe being alive again isn’t so great.”

He offers her a hand on her shoulder, “It’ll just take time, but I just want you to be aware of a potential… issue.”

Flower nods as she gives him a hug. “Thanks – I should go apologize.”

“Yeah, I would.”

They return to the group, where Flower apologizes and explains that her mind is still a little messed up from the drugs.

“That’s okay, I’m sure it’s all an adjustment,” Carol offers. “But we shouldn’t be discussing this on the sidewalk.”

“Exactly,” Trevor states. “We kind of forgot that other people can hear us, but I texted Jay and he said that you all can come for dinner, if you’d like?”

Laura lights up. “We’d be delighted.”

“Great.”

#Ghosts CBS #CBS Ghosts #trevor lefkowitz #ch 2

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yougotthat-write · 3 years

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Tinder (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Word Count: 2,400

Warnings: Female reader, fluff, Rollisi shenanigans, cringey and inappropriate pick-up lines, potential PTSD for former/current users of dating apps and all the awkwardness that ensues from it :)

Summary: Amanda and Sonny try to find the perfect match for their uptight (and while he would never admit it - lonely) A.D.A.

Read on AO3 here!

It had started off as a joke, really.

Rafael Barba would never sign up onto a dating app if it wasn’t against his will. When he heard the snickering of Amanda and Sonny when he stopped by the 16th precinct, his feet couldn’t help themselves but bring him over to the two detectives.

Amanda bit her cheek to settle herself as the ADA’s polished shoes made their way over. Sonny’s ears turned pink at the tips, which gave Rafael the tell-tale sign that Sonny and Amanda were up to no good.

Hands in his pockets, Rafael quipped, “What?”

Amanda and Sonny exchanged glances. The silence between the two was not a normal thing but when Rafael asked a second time - more aggressive - Sonny held out a cell phone to the lawyer. Rafael’s brows went up in question but when Sonny motioned him to take it, Rafael grabbed it. Looking down at the device, the screen lit up and a plethora of information singed itself into his brain.

Rafael Barba, 37

Manhattan, NY

Assistant District Attorney

Oh baby, I’ll give you so much due process, standing will be the only issue.

Rafael’s eyes widened at the dumb pick-up line. His thumb swiped through the photos. One was of an appearance on the news - dressed up in a suit on the steps of the courthouse with a furrowed brow and serious look on his face. One was him at Forlini’s - scowling over the rim of his bourbon while sitting at the bar next to a grinning Sonny. He remembered when Amanda took this picture. It was the day he told Sonny he could be his second chair. Another picture showed him actually smiling - dressed in a Tom Ford tuxedo, champagne flute in one hand while the other was resting on the waist of his date for that night. She was an oil company lobbyist that he hooked up with sometimes when she wasn’t in D.C.

“What is this?” Rafael’s eyes hardened as he looked up at the two detectives. Sonny flinched at Rafael’s tone. Amanda simply blinked at Rafael. She wasn’t one to deal with attitude willingly but given how uptight Rafael could be sometimes, she was letting it slide. Rafael’s eyes went back down to the dating profile and he felt an annoyance bubble within him. “What the hell is this?”

“Calm down,” Amanda said as she grabbed the phone back with a roll of her eyes. “It’s just a dating profile.”

“Of me!” Rafael looked at Amanda like she was speaking some foreign, alien language. “Why does it exist?”

Sonny’s face seemed to become more pink. A hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing it as his mentor for all intents and purposes became more annoyed. “We just thought it would be fun-”

“You thought it would be fun impersonating a Manhattan A.D.A.!” Rafael’s voice was raised. A few passing officers gave some glances to the group. Amanda waved a dismissive hand to one of them, letting them know that Rafael wasn’t someone to worry about when angry. “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested.”

Amanda snorted, “We were going to tell you about it when we got you a date.”

“Yeah,” Sonny added, “we just thought you were stressed lately and needed someone to... ya know.”

If looks could kill, Rafael Barba would have murdered two very well-liked and very hard working detectives right then and there in a New York police precinct. He would have to tell Olivia that she would be short staffed for god knows how long.

Rafael’s fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, taking a hard breath before looking back at the detectives. “You think I need your help getting laid?”

Sonny’s mouth gaped like a goldfish, trying to find words but nothing seemed to make itself at home in his pretty little head. He looked over at Amanda with wide eyes, hoping for her to smooth over the situation. Amanda simply shrugged her shoulders, “It’s not that we think you can’t get laid, Counselor,” she paused, eyes almost sympathetic and it made Rafael’s nostrils flare, “you just haven’t had… anyone around… long-term, you know?”

“I’m struggling to find where this is any of your concern,” Rafael pointed a finger at the two of them, “or why you would think I would find it on a dating app.” Rafael’s mind was flooding with things to make the lives of these two detectives a living hell. Maybe if he pulled some strings with Olivia, she’d put them on desk duty for a few weeks. “I want it deleted - get rid of it!”

Amanda held the device out of the prosecutor’s reach, giving him a few nods of understanding but she needed to tell him of one important thing, “But before we do that, you should know that there’s someone who matched with you-” Sonny nodded enthusiastically, “and she messaged you - us? - back.”

“It’s why we were laughing,” Sonny’s smile faltered when met with the fiery gaze of Rafael. He cleared his throat before continuing, “we found the dumb pick-up line on the internet and she shot back with one of her own.”

Rafael’s fire was lessened with the mention of a match. And she happened to message him? Amanda stepped closer to Rafael, finger mindlessly swiping from one screen and to another. There Rafael had seen the actual large amount of messages he was getting. “Seems like more than one match.” He muttered under his breath. And while this whole ordeal wasn’t something he necessarily wanted, the temporary boost of his ego made his shoulders straighten and his tongue dart over his lower lip.

“You’re very popular, Counselor,” Amanda’s brows wagged.

“But we like her the most,” Sonny said, “she seems fun!”

Rafael’s eyes rolled, before they settled on Amanda’s phone.

Are you the Court of Appeals because I’m tryna get overturned.

After he read the message, he couldn’t help the snicker. Back in his Harvard days, Rafael had heard just about every dumb pick-up line you could think of that was in the realm of lawyers. He may have even used a few of them but could you blame the guy. Rafael watched Amanda switch over to your profile.

Rafael swallowed. And then he grabbed the phone out of Amanda's hands. She let out a protest but Rafael had taken a few steps away and studied your profile like it was a law book and he had a final the next day.

It stated your name and your age. Then the same location as Rafael - Manhattan, NY. Your job was stated simply as a lawyer. Huh. That certainly piqued Rafael’s interest. In your bio, you had:

What better alibi could you have than spending the night with me?

He swiped through your photos. One was of you at the Central Park Zoo, scowling at a monkey who was seemingly doing the same thing back at you. Another was of you at a bar or a club - one arm thrown over the shoulder of another woman and a fruity drink held in your free hand. Your attention was focused on your drink rather than your friend or the person taking the picture. The last photo was of you at a brunch of some kind. You held up a mimosa with a wide smile and a large sun hat atop your head.

“Did you say anything back?” Rafael asked. Amanda shook her head with a smirk. You were certainly attractive and if you had taken the time to message Rafael on the cursed app then you must have thought that he was attractive too. He went back to the message you sent and swallowed again. “W-what should I say?”

Amanda’s smirk didn’t falter as she stepped over to Rafael, plucking the phone out of his frozen hands. Rafael heard the speedy tapping of the blonde woman’s fingers, tapping out a message quickly. Sonny stepped over, peeking down over Amanda’s shoulder. Rafael watched Sonny’s face as it went from curiosity to what Amanda was writing and to a lopsided smile, essentially giving his approval of the message.

Rafael didn’t like the idea of Sonny approving anything of his - especially if it came to how he got a date but he patiently waited until a swoosh noise came from the phone. Rafael stepped over to see what she had written but Amanda’s fingers were quick with logging out of the app and swiftly deleting it off her phone.

“Hey-” Rafael couldn’t stop the protest from his lips, brows furrowed. Amanda ignored him, grabbing a sticky note and a pen. She scrawled the login information for the account and slapped it onto his chest.

“I don’t want it on my phone if that conversation starts to get dirty,” Amanda said. Sonny chuckled.

“I think it started out pretty fiery.”

Rafael held the sticky note in his fingers. He could feel his phone in his suit pocket. It felt hot and electric against him, even through all the layers of clothes he wore. “Nevertheless, I’m deleting the account,” he looked over the two detectives with a hard gaze, “and you are to never to do this again. Or else I will be put in jail for voluntary manslaughter.” Amanda swiftly ignored Rafael’s threat whereas Sonny seemed to take it more seriously. The lanky man gave a nod before settling himself at his desk.

Rafael stepped away from the detectives’ desks and dug his phone out from his pocket. His fingers twitched and he felt this wave of embarrassment wash over him as he searched the app’s name and watched it download onto his phone. It seemed to take hours for the dumb thing to fully be situated onto his device. He tapped it, used the sticky note information to log in and was greeted with new profiles to swipe across. He ignored them and went to his messages to see what the pesky blonde detective had said. He hoped it wasn’t something too inappropriate. The last thing Rafael needed was headlines of him sexually harassing women over social media.

He hesitated for a second before tapping on the messages with you. He took a deep breath. He felt nervous. Was it because of the potential can of worms that Amanda could have unleashed? Was it because he found you attractive? Was it because the two detectives were right and it had been a while since he’s had anyone around? While Rafael was capable of finding a temporary suitor to share his bed, he couldn’t find anyone to become something more permanent.

His eyes searched the screen, brain trying to quickly decipher the jumble of letters on his screen. “Ay Dios mío,” Rafael muttered under his breath and the grip on his phone tightened. Rafael thought he read the message a dozen times, just over and over again, trying to really see if Amanda truly did send this to you. He tapped various spaces on his phone, trying to see if there was an undo button but to no avail, the message taunted him.

Something something dictum. Sleep with me.

Rafael was caught off guard by Olivia who called his name from her office door. Rafael cleared his throat, slid his phone back into his pocket with one hand and slid the other down his chest, smoothing out any wrinkles in his shirt. Rafael finally remembered why he was there at the precinct. He needed to do his job and watch a line-up be conducted. Olivia had sounded very confident over the phone, so he figured he had a simple day.

He had spent the rest of his day watching various victims come forward to pick out their attacker confidently. When the defense lawyer monotonously asked to speak with his client after the lineups were done, Rafael felt his phone buzz. For a brief moment, Rafael had forgotten the dating app debacle. He wondered if it was Carmen, telling him of more paperwork and messages that needed to be signed and answered.

But no, it wasn’t Carmen.

It was a notification from the stupid app.

You have a new message!

Rafael bit down on his bottom lip, finger hovering over the notification. He took a breath and tapped his phone. God, what is wrong with me? Grow some cojones, Barba. Rafael watched the screen load and then plaster your message into his line of vision.

Ah, this definitely is a catfish account because there’s no way an ADA would use a line like that.

Rafael smirked. Took a moment to think and then started to type.

The DA has very low standards these days.

You messaged back quickly.

If they’re hiring based on looks, then I’d say they have very high standards, Counselor.

Rafael’s hand lifted to scratch at his jaw, a smile breaking across his face. His eyes widened at another message from you.

Does the prosecution want to rest at my place later tonight?

The forwardness from you made Rafael’s smile turn into a smirk. If Olivia or Sonny had seen him, they would even consider to call it a cocky smirk.

Would you want to meet for drinks first or just take this back to chambers?

I suppose I could side-bar for some drinks.

Great!

He paused before sending another message.

Let’s just agree to not use any more lawyer puns.

Objection!

After setting up a time to meet up at a swanky bar later that night, Rafael entered the bullpen again but with an air of confidence about him. Amanda noticed the shift in energy within the counselor. The corner of her mouth ticked up, fingers fiddling with a pen as she leaned back in her chair, side-eyeing Rafael. “Line-up went well?”

Rafael picked a piece of nonexistent lint off his suit jacket. “It went great, Rollins.” She hummed quietly, eyes studying every inch of his face with amusement.

“We’re heading to Forlini’s tonight,” Amanda stated, “would you like to come?” At the mention of Forlini’s, Sonny peeked over at the two of them from his laptop.

Rafael gave one curt shake of his head. “I’m afraid I’m busy tonight.” And with that, Rafael had turned and exited the bullpen and towards the elevator. Even though he hated it in theory of what Amanda and Sonny did, Rafael couldn’t deny that he didn’t not like the outcome of it.

#rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba fic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fluff #rafael barba #raul esparza #raúl esparza #law and order fanfiction #law and order #law and order svu #svu #svu fic #rollisi #amanda rollins #sonny carisi #esparz-uh

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carminite-wyrm · 3 years

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Running Onwards, To the Hope of a New Day (Part 3)

Part 1 | Part 2

(Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic of mine so far! I've really appreciated all your comments! Also, this will eventually be up on AO3, just not yet because I haven't been able to get an account just yet.)

In which Nyx tries his best, realises a few things, learns a new skill, and commits a minor case of arson.

All in all, Nyx was feeling pretty good about his chances, on his ninth run. He’d learnt from his eighth run that, no, setting the black-market dealer’s place on fire, stealing both the explosives and the phoenix down, and quietly dumping the explosives into one of the rivers that ran through Insomnia wasn’t enough to stop the rebels from bombing the signing ceremony. Considering there was more than one cell, he was sadly unsurprised by this. He’d also figured out that whatever was attracting the daemons was attached to the tracker in the hairpin in a way that he couldn’t just remove, which was a shame.

He learned that he needed to give Crowe a phone in some sort of blast-proof container or casing, because while he’d managed to give Crowe the means to contact him and Libertus sooner, the phone would be severely damaged without one. And, because the phone would be broken, Crowe wouldn’t be able to get in contact with them soon enough to stop Libertus from joining the rebels and giving them the vital information that they needed to launch their attack on the Citadel.

He had also found out that if he told King Regis about the traitorous Glaives he knew would survive the Princess’ extraction, that the King would be able to sever their connection to his magic before they encountered them on either the bridge or the overpass.

Unfortunately, its effectiveness was limited by the fact that there were still Glaives that he hadn’t known were traitors, and so they still had ended up rocketing off the overpass when another Glaive, who Nyx belated recognised as Isra Solis (and Crowe had cursed her out even more viciously than Nyx had, because Isra was as talented with frost magic as Crowe was with fire, and the two had been close, before everything went down).

At this point, Nyx was pretty sure that as soon as they got to that first attempt to escape the city, it was almost guaranteed that they’d be crashing the car sooner or later.

At the very least, Nyx thought to himself, as he finally found an old camera case which he hoped would be enough to hide the phone, this should help with stopping Libertus from leaving. Hopefully.

A day later, he awkwardly held the box of Crowe’s things, waiting for Drautos to move out of earshot. As Libertus raged at Crowe’s apparent death, Nyx took a deep breath, and quickly grabbed Libertus, warping them into one of the nearby alcoves (why there were so many alcoves by the morgue, Nyx had no idea, but he’d take it).

“Nyx, what the hell?!” Libertus gasped, nearly losing his balance at the sudden movement if not for Nyx’s steady grip on his arm.

“Lib…I don’t think Crowe is dead,” Nyx said, mustering the most serious voice he could, which was actually pretty serious considering how much potentially hinged on him getting Libertus to listen. “Look, you know how I gave her some of my curatives, right? Well, I also gave her a phoenix down and an extra phone.”

“…Why? What has that got to do with any of this?”

Nyx rummaged through the box in his hands, searching through for any of the items in question. Thankfully (for the point he was making, at any rate), he could not find any of the things that he had given Crowe.

“They said they recovered everything, right?”

Libertus nodded slowly.

“The phone isn’t here. Not even parts of it.”

Nyx was gratified to see the dawning realisation on Libertus’ face, and silently congratulated himself for finally convincing him of Crowe’s continued survival. And hopefully now, Libertus wouldn’t have too many reasons to leave, or at the very least, no reason to give information to that rebel cell.

“So, what you’re saying,” Libertus said, slowly, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. “Is that Crowe could still be alive.”

“Yes, exactly!” Nyx internally was jumping up and down with joy, this was exactly the reaction he wanted.

“We need to go find her.”

Wait, shit. Celebrated too early.

Nyx wasn’t even certain that Libertus would be able to find Crowe, if he went haring off now. And if he lost track of Libertus, then he wouldn’t to be able to assure himself of Libertus or Crowe’s safety. And if Libertus went running off, then that would alert the traitors that their plan hadn’t gone exactly to plan, and Nyx…couldn’t risk them changing the script that drastically.

“With what resources, Lib?” Nyx hissed, holding back Libertus with a hand on his shoulder. “We don’t even know where she is! She still has the phone, presumedly. We should wait for her call.”

“But what if she can’t call? What if she’s been captured by the Niffs, or- or.”

“…Give it a day, Lib. 24 hours, and if we don’t hear anything, we’ll go find her. But don’t you dare leave without me.” Nyx scowled, hoping that his mild concession wouldn’t be necessary. He didn’t exactly want to show off the fact that he knew the approximate area that Crowe would end up in, two days from this point, but 24 hours would give him time to come up with a reasonable excuse. He hoped, at any rate.

“Fine,” Libertus nodded. “24 hours’ll give us time to prepare, either way.”

“And don’t you dare try and resign, we’re going to need the King’s magic for this. Probably.”

“Alright, alright, hero.” Libertus shook his head, patting Nyx on the shoulder. “Worry about Crowe, not me.”

“I am not going to risk losing you as well, Lib.” Nyx scowled.

Libertus’ expression softened, then, and he drew Nyx into a hug.

“You won’t, Nyx.”

But I have. So many times, Nyx didn’t say, basking in the warmth of his best friend’s embrace. So many times, Libertus. I wish I could tell you.

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

When Nyx’s phone rang early the next day, showing the contact for the phone that he had given Crowe, Nyx was unashamed to admit that he broke down sobbing. Frantically hitting the answer button, he listened to Crowe tell him that Luche had nearly killed her, that she’d been rescued in the nick of time by the combined efforts of the phoenix down and a pair of hunters, and that (this time), for some reason, she was actually all the way at Hammerhead.

Why she was all the way there, Nyx wasn’t quite certain, but Crowe had explained that the phone had actually been slightly damaged after the fight with Luche, but when Crowe had been trying to get it to actually make a call, one of the hunters had said that there was a mechanic over at Hammerhead, who could repair it.

Nyx wondered why Crowe hadn’t gone to the outpost last time, surely an outpost as well-established as Hammerhead would have been the ideal place to take an injured Glaive to contact her allies. Then he realised that in the last run, the phone had been completely toasted, and perhaps the hunters had not realised that Crowe was a member of the Kingsglaive, until they had spotted the Imperial dropships and Crowe had gone racing off after them.

Still, he did have some other questions to ask her.

“Wait, hold up, why couldn’t the hunters call us for you? Don’t they have phones of their own?”

“Batteries died.”

Are you fucking kidding me?! Nyx thought. What were the bloody chances of that happening?!

“What.” He said instead.

“Yeah, apparently they were going to head to one of the smaller, nearer outposts because there’s some spares there, but when I told them I needed to get in touch with a member of the Kingsglaive fast, I think they broke like four or five road rules to get me here as fast as they could.”

Nyx couldn’t help but laugh at the image, before slowly managing to calm himself down.

“Can you hold for a moment? I need to get Libertus here before he does something stupid and tries to rush after you.”

“Sure, Nyx. Get him in here, I bet the big guy’s worrying his ass off about me. I sure won’t be going anywhere, the hunters said it was risky enough bringing me all the way over here in the first place.”

Nyx sped down the hallway, and raced for the stairs, almost knocking Luche down the stairs (if only) in his haste to reach Libertus. He slammed open the door, having only wasted a few seconds fumbling with his own set of keys beforehand.

“LIB!” He yelled, as he shut the door behind him.

“What?!” Libertus yelled back, from inside the bathroom, where Nyx could hear the sounds of the shower running. “It better be important, I only just got the hot water running!”

Oh, whoops.

Three minutes later, Nyx was awkwardly sitting on Libertus’ couch whilst Libertus talked with Crowe, the other man significantly less irritated at Nyx’s interruption when Nyx had told him he had Crowe on the other end of his phone. He didn’t mention to Libertus later, when the man had finally re-entered the main area of his flat and put the phone on speaker, that he had definitely heard the sound of Libertus sobbing even with the continued sound of running water. Nyx was honestly just happy that Libertus was still here, still with him, and that Crowe was still alive.

“Shit, Nyx.” Libertus finally said, after Crowe had fully retold her story. “Luche’s a fucking traitor. We should…we should tell the Captain.”

Nyx froze, from where he was preparing to head off to be part of the Princess’ escort into Insomnia.

“I…I’m not sure we should.” Nyx admitted, trying not to make it apparent that he absolutely distrusted anything and everything Drautos said or did. “The details of Crowe’s mission should have been confidential, as soon as she left the city. But despite the precautions that were taken, Luche was still able to find her, and nearly kill her. If Luche’s a traitor, what’s to say there aren’t any other traitors in the Kingsglaive? What’s to say that the Captain’s office hasn’t already been compromised?”

“Shit, is there anywhere else we can take this?”

“What about the Crownsguard Marshal? The Crownsguard deal with internal affairs, right?” Crowe chipped in.

“We could…but I’m due in for Citadel duty in ten minutes, and we can’t afford any possible traitors knowing something’s up just yet.” Nyx scowled, frustrated at how things had lined up. “Lib, can you see if you can talk to the Marshal?”

“Nyx, you know how I feel about the Crownsguard,” Libertus shook his head. “With my luck, I’d end up just pissing them off, and that’s the opposite of getting them to listen. Chances are, I’m not even going to make it anywhere close to the Marshal’s office.”

“Damn it.” Nyx sighed. “I’ll see if I can find him, when it gets to my lunch break.”

“I’ll see if I can think of any way to get Crowe back here soon, I’m certain Crowe showing up alive will lend support to our whole ‘Luche is a filthy traitor’ argument.” Libertus nodded. “Best of luck, hero.”

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

If one were to inquire as to why Nyx Ulric of the Kingsglaive was currently sitting with his head in his hands, barely an hour after his shift had ended, on the steps just outside the Kingsglaive barracks, he would tell them to politely ‘fuck off’.

It was, perhaps, not the most diplomatic of responses, but Nyx felt it easily summed up how he was presently feeling, after the utter shitshow that was his attempt to find the Marshal of the Crownsguard.

The actual searching and inquiry itself was quite fast. He’d only had to step into the Crownsguard building asking to see the Marshal, only to find out one little thing. One key thing he honestly wished he’d known far sooner, because it explained so many things.

The Marshal was not in the damn city.

Apparently, the man was off on some sort of confidential mission, due to return the bloody day before the signing ceremony for some Astrals-damned reason.

That was too late for any of Nyx’s current (and possibly future) plans.

And there was no way he, a single Kingsglaive, could even get the Marshal to return sooner, it simply wasn’t within the bounds of his current abilities.

So that avenue was closed to him, for the time being. Perhaps there were other people in the Marshal’s office he could approach, but Nyx simply did not know who would be a trustworthy, reliable person he could talk to in that branch of the military.

He briefly considered Fortis, before shaking his head. That man could be relied upon in a crisis, he had to admit, but…to most people, the only crisis happening at the moment was the political nightmare of the ceasefire. To most, it was a matter for diplomats and Kings, not foot soldiers and guardsmen.

Scowling off into the distance, he wondered whether it might have just been best to get Crowe back into the city, so that he could at least go to the King with direct evidence of Luche’s treachery. With any luck, Luche would have spilled everything, and then they could have killed Glauca when he inevitably fought back.

It seemed a bit late to try that this time around, though. Tomorrow, Insomnia would be invaded, after all.

Nyx sighed, before readying himself for his night shift guard duty, and the Princess’ inevitable kidnapping. Time to see if he could, at the very least, keep all his friends alive for longer this time around.

The next morning, he let himself back into Libertus’ room, to kick his plan of ‘Keep The King and My Friends Alive At Least’ into motion.

“Lib, I’m…I’m going to go talk to the King,” He said, and had a moment of amusement at Libertus nearly dropping his bowl of oatmeal in shock. “Crowe’s still at Hammerhead, yeah? Presumably heavily injured, but not injured enough to be unable to hold a call, right?”

“I would assume so,” Libertus nodded, after regaining his composure. “You sure you can get the King himself to listen? He’s a Lucian, and a noble to boot. You know how the combination of the two tend to treat folks like us.”

“…I think he’d listen. We have proof, now, and the next highest-ranked person isn’t even going to be here yet.”

“I still think we should tell the Captain-“

“No!”

Nyx winced as Libertus levelled a critical eye at him, the force of his disagreement clearly a bit…too much.

“Nyx.”

“Yes, Libertus?” Please don’t ask what I think you’re about to.

“Why are you so adamant about not telling the Captain?” Libertus put down his bowl, and crossed his arms, a pose familiar enough to Nyx that he knew Libertus wouldn’t take a vague answer. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I- I think the Captain is also a traitor.” There. He said it.

Nyx waited, as the seconds ticked by, as Libertus seemed to turn the thought over in his head. He waited, for the inevitable doubt, the claims of paranoia gone too far in the wake of Luche’s betrayal.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any evidence, do you.”

Nyx raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t a complete expression of doubt, even if Libertus did still seem highly sceptical of his not-theory.

“No. It’s just,” Nyx fished around for the right word that wouldn’t cause more suspicion, considering he still wasn’t sure he could just outright say ‘yeah I’ve watched Drautos murder King Regis like three times by now’. “A gut feeling. An instinct.”

“Well, your gut instinct hasn’t led us astray much at all, has it,” Libertus sighed, his stance loosening dramatically as he sat down heavily. “Astrals damn it. And considering Drautos is actually respected by the Lucians, they won’t be likely to take your word without actual evidence to back it up.”

“And obviously, I couldn’t exactly break into his house or office to look for evidence.”

“Well, you could, it’d just be difficult.”

“What.”

Libertus shrugged, before gesturing at himself and Nyx.

“We’ve both got magic, idiot.”

“Yes, and? It’s not exactly conducive to breaking and entering, you know. Security cameras exist, and I can’t exactly fireball my way into his office.”

Libertus blinked up at Nyx, before vanishing in the slightest glow of crystal-blue.

“Oh.”

Nyx sat down, on the floor of Libertus’ shoebox of a flat, and laughed into the palm of his hand. He laughed, until he registered Libertus (now visible again), shaking his shoulder.

“You good?”

“I. Yeah,” Nyx wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye. “I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me. Six, it was so obvious all along!”

He looked up at Libertus, and grinned. “Can you teach me?”

“What, now?!” Libertus looked around, before sighing once again. “You want to go searching whilst the Signing Ceremony happens, don’t you? Fuck, of course you are, you reckless piece of shit.”

“Well-“ Actually, I was more thinking it’d be good for a future loop.

“Fine. You’ve got forty minutes before your next citadel guard shift, you better be listening closely, hero. The others in my squad took at minimum three days to hold this for longer than a few seconds. You might be a warp-spammer, but this shit takes more focus than a shield, for all that it drains your magic slower.”

“I’m listening, Lib.”

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

By the time Nyx had to leave for the citadel, he could hold the invisibility for all of two seconds, a feat that Libertus had briefly praised, before going right back to fondly complaining about Nyx’s aptitude with all things magical. It wasn’t enough to be truly practical, but Nyx figured he’d have time to practice it more, next loop.

“You’ll call me, yeah, if anything goes south?” Libertus had asked, grabbing hold of Nyx before he could leave.

“Yeah,” Nyx nodded. “I will.”

An hour later, he was hastily calling Crowe with the coordinates he had by now memorised, as he made his way to the rest of the Kingsglaive with their orders to mobilise. As for Libertus, he’d updated him as to the situation, tasking Libertus with keeping an eye on the situation within the city, and calling him if anything happened.

Obviously, Nyx knew that things were definitely going to happen, but the point was that he wanted Libertus to not run off and potentially get himself killed. Nyx had a plan, this time around, or at least the makings of one, and he was fairly certain he’d be able to keep his friends, the Princess, and the King alive this time around.

First off though, he had to survive the Princess’ extraction.

With a deep breath, he launched himself up onto the Niflheim ship, experience allowing him to stick the landing instead of the awkward crash his first time around. With expert motions, he directed the Glaives through the ship, right up to the point where Pelna found the Princess.

“Pelna, get out of there, now. Don’t go down that corridor, I spotted a really nasty daemon that way.” Nyx said, hurriedly, as he sprinted down the hallway to meet them. He easily ducked under a traitor’s attack, ripping off their mask just before he slit their throat.

He’d forgotten to check their identities the first few times around, too busy with trying to survive and keeping his friends alive, and while he knew he wouldn’t be able to get all of them in one run, he sure could at least find out who a few of them were.

Distantly, as he expertly tripped another traitor and killed them before they could even try and attack Pelna from behind, he wondered how much he had changed, already, with how many times he’d already replayed the past five days. Before this hell week, before the ceasefire, before the time loops, these Glaives had been his fellow comrades-in-arms. He’d saved them, and been saved in turn, on countless missions, in countless fights. And yet here he was, barely batting an eye as sisters and brothers turned on them all, as he cut them down within seconds of them raising their blades and spells against their former friends and allies. Their movements were so familiar, so scripted, he knew exactly how to move to counter their attacks, how to slip under their guard and slice them apart. The only true dangers, it seemed, would be the daemons, Luche and his posse, and General Glauca.

He shoved Pelna back with one hand as they rounded the corner, tanking a fireball from Tredd with his own shield, before retaliating with his own rapid blasts of lightning. He could hear Tredd curse, ducking around his own corner just as a tentacle from the octopus daemon began to tear the ship they were on in two.

He quickly directed Pelna and Lunafreya onto the ship they would escape in, nodding to himself as Crowe suddenly warped onto the open deck with a gasp, mirroring the events of Loop 7. He quickly shoved a couple of hi-elixirs into her hand, before turning around and seeing if he could spot Luche’s escape ship. Sadly, he couldn’t, and resigned himself to seeing those assholes again later, during the overpass chase.

“Shit, Crowe!” Pelna called out. “You’re alive?!”

“Yeah, no thanks to fucking Luche.” Crowe spat, and Nyx mentally noted down that two hi-elixirs were so much better than just one single elixir. “Nyx, you need to call Libertus, let him know what a shitshow this has all turned out to be.”

“And it’s gotten worse.” Pelna agreed, pointing out the falling Wall.

“We need to return to the Citadel-“

“Yeah, I know. The King and the Ring, right?” Nyx sighed, already calling Libertus.

“Yes, exactly- Wait, how did you know that?” Lunafreya suddenly appeared in Nyx’s field of view, eyes bright with concern, just as Nyx had finished talking to Libertus.

“You’re talking to the Glaive who’s pulled the most Citadel duty out of everyone, I picked up a few things,” Nyx said, suddenly aware of the fact that the importance of the Ring was…probably not the most common of information around. He hastily changed the subject. “I let Lib know we were coming back, he’s going to be waiting for us in the Citadel garage.”

“You sure he’ll be alright? What with that leg of his?” Pelna inquired.

“He might not look like it, but Lib is a very good driver.” Nyx thought back to the past loops. In every single one where he’d actually made it to that plaza, Libertus had, without fail, successfully crashed a car into Glauca. And on top of that, he’d also successfully navigated his way through a city in the midst of getting razed, whilst Nyx and the Old Wall had been tearing up the city in their respective fights. Libertus was the best damn driver Nyx knew, broken leg or not.

The four of them made it to the Citadel in what felt like record time, running into the signing room just in time to once again see Ravus’ arm on fire. Pelna and Lunafreya quickly hustled the King out of the room, whilst Crowe and Nyx did their best to harry Glauca with alternating blasts of fire and lightning. As they ran out of the secret tunnel and into the garage, Nyx grinned as he Libertus waved at them all. As Crowe rushed to give Libertus a one-armed hug, Nyx quietly relayed the identities of the rest of the traitorous Glaives he could be certain of, as well as his suspicions about Captain Drautos, to the King, who nodded even as he paled considerably at Nyx’s revelations.

“Astrals, but am I glad to see you, Crowe!” Libertus called out.

“You too, Libertus! Better not have done anything stupid whilst I was out.”

“Cool catch-up, but we’ve got General Glauca right on our heels,” Nyx said, slamming down another shield over the tunnel that they had just left. “We’ll take two cars. Pelna, you’re driving that car over there. Crowe, you and King Regis can get into Lib’s car. Me and the Princess will be with Pelna. We’ll exit together, and Pelna will take the lead. Lib, I want you to stay as close as possible to us, me and Crowe will be taking charge of killing anything that gets in our way, but there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to clear a path, so stay vigilant. Make sure your comms stay open.”

“Got it.” They all nodded, Crowe even giving him a thumbs up as she slid into Libertus’ car.

The drive out of the Citadel went exactly as Nyx had expected, and he quietly cackled to himself even as he leaned out of the window to throw a handful of lightning at one of the MT Armours chasing them. As he spotted the ship carrying Luche, Tredd, and the rest of their group slowly coming into view, he threw a fireball at them, before ducking back down into the car. Hastily, he grabbed the Princess’ hairpin from her, the woman too shocked by the suddenness of his action to protest.

“Pelna, hand me the wheel.”

“Nyx what-“

“You’re still good at warping, yeah? I need you to warp the Princess to Lib’s car,” Nyx sighed as Lib predictably began to also protest. “Lib, get someone to hold that door open.”

“Nyx, you fucking-“

“Pelna, now!”

To his credit, the man didn’t hesitate even with his protests, throwing his dagger in a shower of blue as he tugged the Princess along, leaving Nyx alone in his car.

Not for much longer, of course, because just as Luche and Tredd leaned out of their ship to try and shoot at them all, and just as Petra Fortis in his armoured van appeared in Nyx’s rearview mirror, Nyx turned his car to face Luche and Tredd.

The look on their faces as he drove the car straight at them would be one Nyx would savour for a long, long time. Luche’s string of curses as Nyx warped out of the car just before impact, would also be on the list of things that gave Nyx so much joy.

He landed on the side of Fortis’ van with a quiet oomph, clinging onto the kukri now lodged into the metal. A few moments later, he’d managed to swing himself into the front seat, after Fortis had rolled down the window for him.

“You’re insane, Ulric. Actually insane.” Fortis said, staring at him with wide eyes even as they caught up with Libertus and the others.

“Best warper in the Kingsglaive.” Nyx replied smugly, and winced as the yelling over his comm reached an even louder level.

After that, they somehow made it all the way to within view of the West Gate, even with the occasional daemon or magitek soldier that they ran into. It seemed Nyx’s gambit with the crashed car and the hairpin had paid off, for now, and he quietly let himself relax a little, though he kept an eye out for anything else that might stop their escape.

It was that caution that had him spotting the glimmer of silver and purple before it hit the ground in front of Libertus’ car, his yell of alarm all that they needed to grind to a halt just in time to avoid General Glauca slicing their car in two.

“Shit, Fortis, you and Lib are gonna have to guard the King and Princess, we’ll try and hold him off. If you see an opening, get out of here.” Nyx said, as he chucked a kukri out of the window, and began doing his level best to once again kill Glauca.

As Crowe covered the King and Princess’ retreat to Fortis’ van, followed by a very worried Libertus, Nyx threw himself headlong into the fight, Pelna darting in and out where he could, the two of them trying to keep Glauca’s attention long enough for Crowe to be able to join in.

“Why do you fight, for a King who would abandon us all to save his throne and his son?” Glauca roared, as Nyx warped out of the way of his sword, flinging a blast of flame to hide Pelna’s approach. “Walk away, Glaives, and you will see another day in peace, the Empire has promised it!”

“The way I see it, whatever Niflheim promised you isn’t enough to justify the utter destruction laid in its wake, Drautos.”

Glauca actually froze, momentarily, as Nyx called him by his actual name. And then cursed, because Crowe had apparently figured out how to properly stash the King and the Princess away, and had now joined the fight as well with a blast of flame that Nyx could see had melted part of his helmet.

“So, you know, then.”

“Yeah, I do, you traitorous bastard.”

The three Glaives did their best to fight Glauca, a blast of lightning from Nyx actually causing the armoured man to stumble backwards a little. This…wasn’t going terribly, Nyx thought, warping past Glauca’s shoulder and swinging back down, Pelna trying to go for Glauca’s knees at the same time. They were both flung backwards for their efforts, but Crowe had used that opportunity to slam another two fireballs at Glauca, only one of which the man was able to deflect.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a daemon making its way to them, ambling towards Fortis’ van. Nyx cursed, and launched himself at Glauca, trying to herd him out of the way so that Fortis could make a break for it, before the daemon got to them.

“Crowe, Pelna, we need to get Glauca out of the way!”

Pelna nodded, grunting as he parried a punch, before warping away from Crowe’s attack. Nyx dove forward immediately after, hissing as Glauca’s sword drew a sharp cut across his cheek, but it was worth it as he managed to get close enough to unleash a pulse of lightning strong enough to send Glauca back a few vital steps. He warped out of the way of his retaliation, letting Pelna take over briefly as he cracked an elixir onto himself.

They just needed to get Glauca a little further away, and then Fortis could, hopefully, get out of the city.

But Pelna was tiring, and so was Nyx, the fighting from earlier having already taken its toll even though they had come out of that mess mostly unharmed.

Glauca, on the other hand, seemed to be fuelled by whatever cursed shit made up that armour of his, and probably a few other things as well.

At this rate, Nyx had the feeling he’d be needing to put that damn Ring back on his finger. Again.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Pelna yelled as he dodged several swings of the sword, managing to avoid getting skewered only for Glauca to catch him around the waist and fling him across the road.

“Pelna!” Nyx yelled, unable to check on his friend as Glauca was now attacking him, and thank the Astrals that Nyx had already seen some of these moves and knew how to counter them, because it should be illegal how fast Glauca could move, in armour like that.

Nyx managed to blast Glauca in the way of one of Crowe’s fire blasts, just as he heard the screeching of tires. He grinned, even as Glauca doubled his attacks at him, Nyx holding up a shield just as he felt the van fly past him, the vehicle close enough to almost him.

“You do realise that you will die here, that nothing will stop me from killing that coward King.” Glauca growled, as he batted Nyx away.

“Your armour’s looking real bad, you know that?” Nyx quipped back, nodding to Pelna as the two of the charged at Glauca, Nyx aiming a blast of frost at Glauca’s feet whilst Pelna tried for a headshot.

They both missed, Glauca almost managing to get a kick out at Nyx, but they both managed to distract him enough to take yet another gout of fire to the head.

“You. I knew I should’ve had you killed when I had the chance!” Glauca roared, charging suddenly at Crowe, a sliver of skin visible along his collarbone.

“No!” Nyx yelled, warping after him, only to get a fist straight to his chest, winding him as he crumpled to the ground.

He could see Crowe warping out of the way, but she’d never fought Glauca in melee combat before, and melee wasn’t even her specialty-

The axe that lodged itself in Glauca’s collarbone surprised them all.

Glauca’s yell of surprise and pain was nearly drowned out by Libertus’ warcry, as the man suddenly appeared, his axe in both hands as he braced himself and completed his swing, turning that sliver of collarbone into a bloody gash, although Nyx could see the silver of the armour already trying to repair itself.

“That’s my sister you nearly killed, you bastard.” Libertus spat, and ducked as Crowe tossed fireball after fireball at Glauca, before she turned and set the approaching daemon alight as well.

“How-“

Nyx didn’t give him time to finish, letting Pelna use him as a springboard to launch right at Glauca, the man plunging a dagger right into that open wound before he landed in front of Libertus and Crowe, ready to help defend them.

“Damn, he’s still going?” Pelna shook his head, flinging up a shield to briefly deflect Glauca’s next attack. “That should’ve at least slowed him down significantly.”

Nyx warped back into the fight, giving the three time to reposition themselves as he tried his best to carve out more of Glauca. This fight was just as frustrating as it had been all the times before, as even though he had his friends with him, it was balanced out by the fact he didn’t have the extra power from the Ring. For all of his experience, Glauca was the worst enemy he had to fight, and it showed.

Drautos had been their commander, their beloved Captain. He knewall of their moves, or at least most of them, their fighting styles, their habits and their weaknesses. And that meant that he could counteract them with more ease than he should have.

Which meant that Nyx had to do something unpredictable, something so utterly insane not even Drautos could predict it.

His gaze skittered over the road, looking for something he could maybe use to his advantage. He couldn’t see anything, just broken concrete and asphalt, Libertus’ by-now trashed car, the corpse of a daemon smouldering behind them-

He looked back at the car, where there was a puddle of fuel slowly leaking from its side.

His first thought was that it was a wonder it hadn’t caught alight, what with Crowe’s flames. His second thought was that surely Glauca wasn’t completely explosion-proof, even with that armour of his.

“Guys!” He yelled, sprinting back into the fight. “I’m going to try something, I need you to herd him backwards, to the car!”

“What are you going to do, trip me?” Glauca actually sounded a bit amused, even though he was, in fact, getting slowly pushed backwards by their combined assault.

“No, even better,” Nyx watched as Glauca was finally backed up to the car, and probably as far as he’d get before he’d clue into the petrol leaking from Libertus’ car. “Everyone, get back!”

Pelna’s eyes widened in understanding, as he warped away and grabbed Libertus with him, and Nyx tossed as large a fireball as he could at Glauca and the car.

The resulting inferno wasn’t quite as impressive as the explosion Nyx had been hoping for, but the screaming from within was.

“Do you…think that’d kill him?” Pelna asked, as they all stared at the flaming wreck, from a safe distance away.

“I’m…not actually sure,” Nyx admitted. “Actually, are cars supposed to catch on fire like that?”

“If they’re a good quality car, no.” Libertus growled. “Cheap piece of shit.”

“Eh, better safe than sorry.”

The three men looked at Crowe as she began to hurl more fireballs at the car (and presumably Glauca), her barrage only pausing when she had to crack an elixir, before continuing on. Nyx shrugged, and joined in, except with lightning bolts. Her logic was sound, in his opinion, even if Pelna and Libertus were staring at them with increasing amounts of fear.

There was one slightly harrowing moment as they watched Glauca actually stumble forwards a few moments later, but Nyx and Crowe’s panicked blasts of lightning and fire respectively quickly had him crumpling to the ground. They stayed where they were, for a few moments longer, to see if he would get back up, before Nyx sprayed the flaming wreck with a light blizzard, and they moved closer to see whether Glauca truly was dead.

“Oh, yikes.” Crowe muttered, staring at the body on the road.

“That’s a lot of- I don’t think a burned body is supposed to smell like that.” Pelna commented, holding a hand up to his nose.

“Must be the armour, that shit was magitek. Must’ve had a bad reaction to all that fire we were hurling at him at the end.” Libertus reasoned.

Nyx simply marched up to the body, and stabbed what he assumed was the head. Twice.

“Alright, he’s definitely dead.” Nyx concluded. “If he wasn’t before, by some miracle, he is now.”

Crowe cackled, a little hysterically.

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

A little later, Nyx trudged behind his three friends as they headed for the nearest haven, presumably to rest and recover before they tried to meet up with any other survivors of the Invasion.

Dawn was breaking on the horizon, and he was simultaneously relieved by the sight, and dreading its arrival.

On one hand, as far as he was aware, he’d managed to keep all of his friends, and the King and the Princess, alive. Even Fortis was alive, and that was something Nyx hadn’t expected. But on the other hand, Insomnia was still a smouldering ruin, the Empire had gotten away with that Crystal, and Nyx was pretty certain the fatality count was up in the hundreds of thousands.

Up until now, he hadn’t managed to live past the dawn, had always died as soon as the sun had fully risen above the horizon. What if his survival now meant that the loops were finished? The thought scared him, somehow. He’d gotten used to slowly inching his way to figuring out the multitude of things that had led up to the city’s fall, and the destruction that came with it. What if he could’ve had more chances to try and stop everything from happening in the first place, if only he figured out a way to die before the dawn? What if there were parts to this puzzle he didn’t yet know about, vital pieces that could ensure everyone’s survival without the destruction of the city?

But, if he looped back now, then wouldn’t all the fighting he had just done be for naught? He looked at his friends, at their tired, but cheerful, expressions. To them, they’d just survived one of the greatest tragedies since the Fall of Galahd, and had even managed to kill the legendary General Glauca, the man responsible for the destruction of not only Galahd, but also Tenebrae, and now Insomnia.

He couldn’t- He couldn’t take that away from them.

And so, Nyx Ulric watched as the sun rose above the horizon, Pelna cheering as one of the imps that had been about to approach them almost instantly melted away into daemonic miasma.

And stopped.

He shuddered, clutching his head as a sudden spell of dizziness overtook him. He vaguely heard Libertus’ cry of alarm, as he stumbled backwards, something tugging on his chest even as the world around him seemed to flicker in and out like a bad television signal. Nyx had the abrupt sensation of the ground beneath him giving way, before his vision fragmented, like a broken mosaic almost, and he fell, dragged along by an unseen force. The swirl of colours that his vision had devolved into was nauseating, and Nyx shut his eyes, the sensation of freefalling continuing until-

He sat upright with a shout, as the world snapped back into place, and he was greeted by the familiar sight of his dimly lit apartment, sunlight streaming through the cheap curtains.

#ffxv #ff15 #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv kingsglaive #nyx ulric #libertus ostium #crowe altius #pelna khara #carminite writes #Running Onwards (A Timelooping Nyx AU)#Loop 9 or as I like to call it #the one where Nyx finds out what it feels like to get yeeted back in time

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

Text

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 2

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn's attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain's father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: This is going to be a long, slow burn fic (hopefully)

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Two: Interrogations

Historically, it is well known for males to experience the mating bond more viscerally, though this is no strict criterion. For example, in the case of two males being bonded, the mating bond appears to be less demanding and settles with more ease. It is males mated to females who appear to struggle. There are many theories for this, such as male/female bonding resulting in strong offspring which drives the males to copulate. Some even argue that the male’s desire comes from the Mother’s lover himself, who’s believed to have taken fire into his soul in order to reach the Motherland and mate her, and it is a bead of this fire which awakens in males when they feel the mating bond catalysed. As such, we find there being many social customs regarding mated males, such as being wary of their ease to anger and protectiveness and their overtly increased sex drive which-

“Good book?” Feyre flopped down next to Elain, Nyx having just been placed in his cradle which appeared more like a cage given the mesh wiring over the top, ‘just so he doesn’t get any ideas about flying away’, Feyre had grinned.

“It’s okay,” Elain smiled at her sister as she marked her place and set it down.

“Oh,” Feyre grinned as she eyed the title, “Interested in the bond are we?” She was just teasing, but Elain couldn’t stop the flush in her cheeks, particularly given her recent discovery on just how, physical, the bond was.

“Well considering I do have mate, I thought it was about time I looked into it.”

“You can ask me anything,” Feyre smiled kindly. “I mean, technically you could ask Nesta too but, she still isn’t the biggest fan of Lucien.” Even hearing his name on someone else’s tongue sent a bolt of energy through Elain.

“Well, I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Are they really supposed to be your soulmate?”

“Well, yes and no. That’s the problem with mating bonds, they sort of mould themselves around the two people it’s attached to. It’s different with everyone. Like me and Rhys, we have a really clear mental communication, I can talk to him even if I was on the other side of Prythian, but that’s because we’re both dementias and the bond’s playing to that strength.

“Nesta and Cassian, well, I can’t speak for them, but it seems they connect on world view. Their lives are inherently interlinked with death and that’s what connects them…amongst, other, things,” Feyre giggled, “It really is different for everyone. And sometimes, yes, the bond connects two people who don’t seem to fit with one another, like Rhys’ parents for example. I don’t know if you’ve got to this section yet,” Feyre nodded to the book, “But some see the bond as not restrained to time. That’s why you and Lucien felt the bond snap into place even before you knew each other. Some people think that when you have ‘poor’ pairings, they not really bad matches but rather, the bond saw the two for their potential rather than what they were at the time.”

Elain’s brow furrowed. She’d wanted to read the book to make herself feel better, she’d never admit it to herself, but she was somewhat looking for a big flashing sign that pointed to Lucien and said ‘He’s your soulmate! You’re a perfect match! You’ll never have to worry about be alone again!’. But reading the book had only made it more complicated. The reality was, Lucien was to have a significant role in her life, whether she wanted him to or not.

“But…I don’t know…” Elain rolled her neck, “Is it worth it?”

“Is what worth it? The bond?”

“No…well, yes. I mean,” Elain thought for a moment, “I just don’t understand how the universe could expect me to fight for someone who I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I do see how that’s a bit unfair but, do you not think the bond’s doing that on purpose?”

“What do you mean?

“Well, it looks like the bond is demanding you take a leap of faith. Giving you Lucien the minute you set eyes on him is, well, it changed your whole world, right?”

“I know,” Elain huffed.

“No, what I mean is…maybe that’s the point?” Feyre was now more talking to herself. “Maybe…” Feyre trailed off before turning and eyeing her sister up and down.

“What?” Elain implored, and Feyre just shook her head, deep in thought.

“It’s just, I’ve been trying to figure it out y’know, you and Lucien, I think we all have.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, it’s just, he’s…well he’s loud and flirty and he can’t shut up for the life of him, it’s why he’s missing that damn eye. And you’re quiet and shy, and you just, you care about everything but…” Feyre was grinning now.

“What?”

“No, no, never mind. I just…” Feyre only smiled wider.

“No, I’m not going to say!” And then Feyre was up, collecting empty mugs from the coffee table.

“Feyre, you can’t leave, you haven’t helped me!”

“I know, I know, look, truth time,” Feyre turned back around, her smile now replaced by her High Lady look, “You’re right, you don’t know if it’s worth it. You and Lucien might turn out like Rhys’ parents, or worse…but he is your mate, and he’s not going anywhere.”

“So, what, I just proposition him next time he’s here?” Elain sighed, running a hand through her hair, feeling the same kernel of disappointment in her gut whenever she thought of Lucien on the other side of the country, avoiding the mating bond, avoiding her.

“Or you could go to him?” Elain snapped her head to her sister, who was wearing an easy smile.

“What?”

“You could go to the human lands and stay with him and his, what’s it, ‘Band of Exiles’.”

“What, just show up?”

“Actually, it’s not such a terrible idea,” Again, Feyre was now talking to herself, “Lucien’s been struggling to get the humans on board and you, well you might be perfect for the job. You understand how humans work and you had to deal with paperwork from father, not to mention the fact that quite literally no one can say no to you-”

“Lucien can,” Elain grumbled without thinking and Feyre grinned at her with a stupid, all-knowing smile.

“Elain, if you wanted, I’m sure you could have Lucien crawling around on all fours.” Elain looked away from her sister, ignoring the fact that the image popped into her mind before she could stop it, and especially ignoring the way her whole body seemed to flush in response.

“The only problem might be getting Rhys on board,” Feyre’s mind appeared to be working a mile a minute. “With what happened with Briallyn he’s a bit more, well, Rhysand than usual. And you know how he sees you.” Yes, the big brotherly talks had been slightly more regular given Nyx’s arrival. Elain supposed it was Rhysand’s subconscious way of reaching out.

“I’ll be fine if Lucien is there,” Elain shrugged non-committedly, though something zipped the length of her spine as she spoke his name aloud. One thing Elain, and everyone else could be certain of, is that Lucien would keep her safe.

“Look at you trying to manipulate around your High Lord.”

“Not manipulate-”

“I know, I know,” Feyre grinned as she peered over the edge of Nyx’s crib. “Look, on a serious note, there is work that needs doing down in the human lands if you’re up for it. After Briallyn we need a stronger base to represent the fae in the mortal world. Some more eyes and ears wouldn’t hurt and, quite frankly, whilst Lucien knows exactly how to work a court of fae, I don’t know how well he’s faring with councils of humans.”

Elain thought for a moment, truly considering what it would mean if she were to take on this role. It would mean accepting responsibility, being held accountable if she made a mistake, one that couldn’t fixed with some new seeds and freshly turned soil. She’d be on the other side of the world, away from her sisters – away from Nesta – for the first time, well, ever.

“I…” Elain began softly, “I think I’d like to go.”

“Really?” Despite Feyre’s enthusiasm in discussing Elain’s potential in leaving, it was clear that she was still mostly expecting Elain to pass on the opportunity.

“I can’t tend to my little gardens forever,” Elain shrugged, “With Lucien there I should be perfectly safe and, well, it’s human territory. I know those lands, arguably better than you and Nesta.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Feyre nodded furiously, though she seemed to not really be listening to her older sister, her mind was already helping Elain pack her dresses. “I’ll speak with Rhysand and sort out the particulars.”

“Will you,” Elain blushed without meaning to, “Will you warn Lucien? That I’m coming?” Feyre shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“I don’t have to. Technically, as his High Lady I can do whatever I want, and he just has to roll with it.”

“Okay,” Elain let loose a breath, “Don’t tell him then. I’d just…I’m not sure. I suppose I’d just rather not spook him.”

“Whatever you say sis,” Feyre grinned, and Elain allowed her own lips to mirror her sisters, the excitement and reality of the adventure she was about to undertake truly setting in. Feyre turned to leave.

“Oh Feyre…let’s not tell Nesta…at least not till I’m already gone.”

***

“Hello, earth to Lucien?”

“What? Oh...sorry, go on,” Lucien muttered, shifting is attention back to Vassa whom he was supposed to be chatting to. This was their routine, when the sun finally dipped under the horizon and Vassa returned to her mortal form, she’d waltz into the manor before disappearing upstairs to change from the cloak she left out for herself into a queen’s gown. Today she’d come down wearing a deep crimson dress made of velvet, grumbling about how the storm that was currently beating against the windows, had quite literally ruffled her feathers. The evening was then to be spent in the Manor’s sitting room, sprawled on velvet couches as Jurian informed Vassa of the recent developments regarding the human councils, and Lucien told her of the fae lands.

Normally, Lucien would last till the early hours of the morning before leaving Vassa to whatever activities she wished to complete before the sun rose and her body was changed back into that of a firebird. But these past few nights Lucien had caught himself staying awake till almost sunrise, only getting an hour or two sleep before he was up again, his body alive with energy as he strode out into the woods in the early morning light.

Everything about Lucien felt unsettled and alive, and it had been that way since the previous week when Lucien had woke to his mate’s tears running down his cheeks. What could’ve upset her so badly? Had something happened at the Night Court? He would be lying if he said he hadn’t been waiting for a note from Rhysand or Feyre informing him of a terribly tragic event that had occurred when he was on the other side of the world. Even if nothing had happened, it could of, and Elain could’ve been seriously hurt. What was he doing on this side of the world? He should be there, even if she didn’t know what she wanted, at least he could keep her safe while she thought. But with no note, he didn’t know why sweet Elain was so agonisingly sad, and there was no reason besides the bond’s invasion of privacy for him to see her. But it seemed that he couldn’t relax until he found the cause of her pain. Found it and burned it to ashes.

“Lucien!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Dinner, tomorrow evening, Nolan Manor – Mother did you get any of that?” Vassa’s eyes were light and her tone teasing, but Lucien was feeling more beast than man with his bond so wound up.

“No offence, Vassa, but I think you might be finally losing it if you think I’d be interested in dinner at the Nolan’s.” Lucien rolled his shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension as he looked back down at the book he’d been pretending to read for the past hour. He could feel Vassa’s eyes on him, assessing him as she always did whenever he came into conversation, which was far too often for his liking.

“Are you still on that?” Vassa eventually huffed, tucking her legs up under herself on the armchair. Lucien just raised a brow at her. Had anything changed? Was Graysen any less of a dickhead? If not, then yes, he supposed he was still on that.

“Our dear Lucien’s a mated male, Vassa,” Jurian quipped without raising his head from his paperwork. “It’s how these things work.”

“But it’s not really fair on Graysen is it?” Vassa flicked a fiery strand of hair over her shoulder.

“Not fair?” Lucien ground the two words out, feeling something animalistic rear its head inside of him. But beyond the primal urges of the bond and any threats to it, Lucien did genuinely dislike the boy. What he did to Elain was beyond cruel, and if he had done that to anyone Lucien would’ve still disliked the boy, granted he might not be baring his teeth at Vassa as he was doing now.

“He did give us the manor, Lucien,” the queen’s voice taunted him.

“One act of kindness doesn’t make him any less of an asshole,” Lucien’s own voice was low and daunting, as though he were daring Vassa to make another comment. Lucien hadn’t intended for his tone to turn brutal and dark, but Vassa clearly had no education in the expectations of a mated male.

“No, but he’s still the asshole putting a roof over our heads,” Vassa sighed, setting her book down. “Does it really upset you?”

“What?”

“Having him help us?”

“We don’t need his help.”

“No,” Vassa cocked her head, “But it’s certainly been of great use.”

“You like him?” Lucien spat, feeling something sour flood his gums as he pulled on his inner leash. Vassa was his friend. Vassa was supposed to be his friend, and Lockhart Manor was supposed to be the place in which he could escape from the demands of this bond.

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Vassa shrugged nonchalantly, “In fact, all he’s been to me is kind and accommodating. Why should I have a problem with him?”

“You know why.” Something feral was awakening in Lucien as he spat those three words at the queen, and in response to the autumn son’s anger, the fire flared dangerously, filling the room with the sound of snapping wood.

“Really?” Vassa’s eyes widened slightly as she assessed Lucien, evidentially amused by his grip on the chair’s armrests and the deathly look in his eye. “That girl can do this to you when she hasn’t even shown her face in-”

“Vassa,” Jurian’s sing-song voice curled into the air from where he was hunched over the worktable, signing off contracts, “Whilst it’s delicious to poke the beast, you can only go so long before it’ll bite.”

“Maybe that’s what I was hoping for,” Vassa shrugged nonchalantly as she inspected her nails. Lucien just glared into the fire, done with this conversation and done with his friends, at least for the night. Sometimes they forgot that he wasn’t like them, that he was fae, and he more or less operated in an entirely different world to them. He couldn’t blame them though, sometimes he forgot too.

Talking of Graysen had Lucien’s thoughts once more swirling of Elain. Though there was no concern in these thoughts, just admiration. He was picturing her in the cream gown she’d worn when he’d come one day to hand deliver a stack of reports to Rhysand. It was made of cotton and lace, the same hearty materials so often found in towns of Autumn. It was so unlike the favoured revealing cuts of Night Court fashion, and so Elain in every sense. The soft gold and white colours, the layered skirts and fluttering sleeves. Looking at her as she tucked herself into a small ball on a sofa, a hefty book balanced on her lap, Lucien had wished that he’d met Elain when she was human, when she was happy and content. Maybe then she would just see him for, well, him. Not a reminder of everything terrible that had happened to her.

“I’m sorry about prodding Lucien,” Vassa smiled at him, pulling him from his thoughts as her freckled cheeks dimpled. “Can I make it up to you by letting you beat me at cards?” She was baiting him, daring him to bite back that no one ‘let’ Lucien do anything but, tonight Lucien was tired. Of everything.

“I’m tapping out,” was all Lucien said in response, standing from his armchair and throwing his book down behind him. The storm was now torrential, and Lucien welcomed the chaos, somewhat comforted by the idea of lying down in the dark and listening to the rain batter against the windows as he brooded himself to sleep.

So, Lucien set off for the stairs, happy to leave his friends to themselves for the rest of the night, but he’d only managed to cross the room before a short, shy knock reverberated from the front door and sent a wave of cautious silence and shock throughout the room.

#elucien #elucien fic #elain #elain acotar #elain archeron #elain and lucien #elain/lucien #elain x lucien #lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien x elain #lucien/elain #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #fffaf

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renaerys · 3 years

Text

PPG One-Shot: A Balmy Tuesday in Hell

Taking a break from the prompt requests to wish a very happy birthday to @snailbutters! Tbh I like this idea a lot and I’m tempted to expand on it more. Cross posted on AO3.

xxx

When Mike went looking for a part-time job to earn some spending money, he had a hard time finding one that worked around his college class schedule. All the good on-campus jobs were taken, and most of the ones he found offsite required him to be up way too early or way too late with very little flexibility.

The front desk position at the Beelzebob, a local hair salon advertising an array of “wicked styles” for any occasion, was not the most glamorous position, but it welcomed part timers and offered flexible schedules to be discussed on a case by case basis. It was at the tail end of a long week of job hunting with little to show for it, and Mike was tired. Still, he dragged himself all the way there after his three-hour Friday seminar and put on his best retail charm for the interview.

One of the stylists told him to wait in the lobby while she grabbed the manager for his interview, and so Mike sat in a plush, purple chair and eyed the stack of magazines on the coffee table—HJi, Professional Beauty, NHF, and others he recognized from Googling “how to work at a hair salon” last night. A playlist that seemed to consist entirely of K-pop pumped ripples of bubblegum bass through the speakers and had Mike tapping his fingers on his hip. There was no one behind the sleek, glass reception desk, so Mike got up and wandered over to it. He tried to imagine himself with the headset on, fielding phone calls and helping customers pick out one of the many luxury hair products on the walls behind the desk. He touched his own brown hair—plain and getting a bit long, but styled with a little wax for the day—and worried about whether he should have tried a bit harder for this interview. Would he be judged on his own hair? That seemed reasonable enough—

“This simply won’t do.”

Mike startled at the lyrical voice and turned around to find a seven-foot, red-skinned demon in Lululemons appraising him over an enterprising nose. Which would have been a cause for mild to moderate alarm even in Metroville—a hub for lowlifes, Supervillains, and the occasional monster on a mission out of Townsville farther north—except that Mike recognized this particular demon. At which point he got the pun in the name of this place and smiled.

“Him,” he squeaked. And then, remembering his high school retail training: “I mean, Mr. Him.”

Him—Prince of Pestilence, Duke of Depravity, Earl of Evil, et cetera—blushed the color of an open wound. “You’re house trained, I see. All right, this way.”

Him turned on his Louboutin heel and headed into the salon. Mike hurried after Him, unsure whether this was good or bad. Him led him to a styling chair and sat him down. A purple salon cape made its way around Mike’s neck with a flamenco flourish, and Him leaned over his head in the reflection.

“What are we thinking?”

Mike eyed his potential future employer from perfectly curled goatee to artificial mink lashes and hesitated.

This is a test.

It had to be. Surely, anyone manning the phones had to know something about haircare in general. If he was to be the vanguard, the watcher on the Wall, he would have to be able to alert his colleagues of the incoming threats and answer questions about how to fend off anything from tangles to split ends. Mike tried to remember the last time he got a haircut; Boomer had been with him, his eye far more discerning than Mike’s.

“Comb over,” Mike said.

“Quiff?”

“More faux hawk.” He tried not to think of the heat on the back of his neck, and instead of the sly grin on Boomer’s face the last time he’d been under the scissors. “With a low fade. Um, please.”

Him’s fangs gleamed when he grinned. “Good choice.”

For a demon with claws the size of dinner plates, Him was surprisingly adroit and precise to a literal razor’s edge. In fact, Mike was certain Him must sharpen his claws to get them sharp enough to shave the hair from the nape of his neck, which seemed like a sensible time-saver. Blackpink’s Pretty Savage blared over the speaker as Him coifed and styled the thicker locks that remained on top of Mike’s head, combed to the left in enviable, anti-gravity perfection.

“Wow.” He touched the side of his head, marveling at the close but generous cut and the perfect blend. “This has to be the best haircut I’ve ever gotten.”

He got up and removed the cape, only to find Him with a broom in his claw. “I run a clean salon, Michael.”

Mike accepted the broom without question. “Yes, sir.”

Him preened. “Good lad.”

“Does… Does this mean I got the job?”

Him flipped his claw. “There will be a trial period. You young people are so used to texting that I’ll have to determine if you’re fit to answer a phone. But, considering your manners, I have a good feeling about you.”

Amazing! “Thank you so much! When do I start?”

“Honey, you’re already late. I have customers waiting.” Him snapped his claw. “Chop chop.”

Mike swept up his shorn hair and the hair around the chair next to his, dumped it all in a bin labeled “Hair,” and ran to the front desk to answer the phone ringing off the hook. The stylist who’d greeted him, Marisol, helped him with the computer login so he could manage appointments and checkout. It was easy enough, a Square card reader and a cash register and a huge logbook of every sale.

“Middle finger up, F-U, pay me,” Mike whisper-rapped along with Lisa.

A couple hours later, Him handed him a check for the time worked and told him to be back here tomorrow at 3 p.m. Mike accepted the check, but he didn’t pocket it.

“Sir, I should tell you for the sake of full disclosure.”

Him peered down at him with his claws on his hips. “Oh?”

This should not be so hard.

“I’m, well, I’m involved. With your son. Boomer.”

Him clicked his claw, and Mike held his breath.

Boomer had spoken about Him—Baron of Brutality, King of Chaos, Emperor of Enmity et cetera—on just a few occasions throughout their acquaintance. Raising souls from the dead was a hobby of Him’s, apparently, but often his necromantic offspring ended up rotting and were no fit candidates to promenade in civilized society that wasn’t eternally damned and burning. Chemical X cut out that inconvenience, and thus the perfect little boys were reborn, or something. According to Boomer, Him was evil on Sundays, a prolific genius on Tuesdays, and crocheting with his kobolds on Fridays. The rest of the time he was just a normal demon trying to survive in this capitalist post-modern society like everybody else. Anyway, Sunday wasn’t in Mike’s work schedule, so that seemed safe enough.

“I know,” Him said. “You don’t expect me to believe you’d Googled the most flattering hairstyle for your bone structure without help, do you?”

Mike was pretty sure there was a compliment in there, even if it wasn’t for him. “I guess not.”

Him beamed. “Don’t worry. I would never let my favorite son’s romantic life influence the culture at Beelzebob. You’ll be judged before an impartial tribunal of incubi, like everybody else. Now, before you go, I’d like you to dispose of the waste, please.”

Mike learned the value of separating trash that day. Discarded receipts and candy wrappers dumped in the waste bin went into the trash, lunch leftovers went to compost, and cut hair went to sacrificial offerings.

“Sacrifices reduce our carbon footprint and offer protection against flat Earthers. It’s a proven science, you know.”

Mike supposed it would be poor manners to argue with an ancient evil on his crochet day.

xxx

Boomer was all sly smiles and discreet hand touches when Mike treated him to dinner at their favorite Thai place later that week.

“So, your job seems to be paying well,” he said.

“Well enough to take my boyfriend out to a nice dinner now and then.”

“Careful. Spend too much time with Him and your tastes will get really expensive.”

Mike laughed. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll switch majors to cosmetology and join the family business.”

“You know what? He’d probably love that. He tried so hard to get Brick to follow in his footsteps, but Mojo let him mess around on his E-Shares account once when we were eleven and Brick was lost to the finance track forever. I’m pretty sure Mojo did it on purpose.” Boomer leaned in and clinked his wine glass to Mike’s. “Anyway, buy me this dinner before you jump to joining the family business.”

Mike flushed. “I’m—I didn’t—”

Boomer laughed. “Chill! I’m just messing with you.”

The playlist at the restaurant began playing Blackpink’s Kill This Love, and Mike burst out laughing.

“What?” Boomer asked. “You like this song? You know, Him is really big into K-pop lately. Butch thinks someone must have sold a bunch of souls and made a killing.”

“I know.” Mike kissed Boomer’s hand. “It’s just funny how things work out.”

Boomer smiled. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Their food arrived, and Mike happily ate his meal across from Boomer. And in the back of his mind, he said a little thank-you to Him and whatever chaotic forces he controlled for reviving Boomer all those years ago.

It must have been a balmy Tuesday in Hell.

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #boomike #ppg boomer #mike believe #ppg him

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visionsofus · 3 years

Note

Regarding Scarletvision prompts.....I’m such a sucker for the trope where one member of a couple goes apeshit and all protective/NO TOUCH when they think the other member is grievously hurt, maybe something like that with Vision instead of Wanda? With potential fluff/comfort once things are fine. Your fics are wonderful!!

anon you are totally speaking my language with this prompt!! I absolutely love this trope so much too (and was actually halfway through writing one where Wanda loses her shit). Decided to go with Vision for this because we don’t often see him lose his cool in canon. Thanks for this request!

Really hope you enjoy!

| read on AO3 here | send me a scarlet vision prompt |

Wanda and Vision’s Mixtape Track #17: Can You Feel My Heart

One year into being a fugitive Wanda gets cornered, Vision sees the news in real time and runs to her aid. Aka Vision going apeshit when he thinks Wanda is dead.

Warnings: angst, references to guns and blood.

“Vision, look at me,” Tony said waving a hand in front of Vision’s eyes in an attempt to get his attention. “You can’t go. You understand that right?”

Vision dipped his chin in acknowledgement even as his brain ran furious probability equations through and through again. But they came back low again, and again, and again. There was only going to be one option.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Rhodey said from his seat before the flatscreen occupying half the wall of the strategy room they had gathered in. “Tony, this looks pretty bad.”

Vision turned his head and his gaze to the lights flashing across the screen, a live news report of everything that was going down in New York.

Tony swore at the sight before them, and Vision put a pause to his maths in shock. The camera was tracking a hooded redhead through a crowded street, suddenly zooming in on the individual’s face as she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

“Wanda Maximoff has been a fugitive since 2016 when she was decreed an international criminal by the United Nations,” the news reporter said over more footage of Wanda blending in as best she could with the crowds of the city. “While Maximoff has evaded capture for over a year, authorities now believe they are close to apprehending her.”

At this Vision had to quickly let go of the chair he was sitting in, lest he split the arm rests in two.

“We go live now to New York. Please be aware the next clip could be distressing to some viewers”

Tony scrambled to turn the news off even as Vision overrode his authority, ordering the compound AI to keep the report running.

The scene changed once more, and Vision watched as the crowd parted around Wanda as she engaged in a close combat fight with a man clad all in black. Her red magic had him restrained immediately as she spun around, a clear attempt to identify her best exit route. From that moment Vision knew her chances of getting out unharmed were dismal. In those precious seconds another agent was at her back, smartly keeping his distance and instead engaging her with his taser. Wanda’s head snapped up as her body jerked, but she somehow managed to twist around and send the man flying away. All around her agents emerged from the throngs of people trying to get off the main street. They began to close in like a pack of predators.

“Vision—” Tony said reaching out, but he was too late. Vision had risen without thinking when he saw the first taser, his legs moving of their own accord so that he had phased through the wall and was flying out away from the compound in moments. He’d never pushed himself to see how fast he could really travel and now he’d need every ounce of power to get to Wanda’s side in time.

The world was a blur, even to him. The only thing that kept his worries at bay was her in his head, the closer he got the louder her cries grew. He didn’t know how she was doing it; she’d always needed direct physical contact for her voice to be this loud in his head. He reached the streets of New York with her voice as his guiding light.

‘I need you.’ She was weaker now. ‘Hurry.’

He was close now, all she had to do was keep talking.

‘I hear you, I’m coming for you,’Vision thought back, but he couldn’t say for certain if his voice reached her.

It didn’t matter though, he had arrived.

Vision managed to slow himself down enough to land, though his feet shredded the asphalt beneath him. Bullets flew his way immediately but he sidestepped easily and used the mind stone to blast two agent’s guns to pieces in their hands. The few bystanders left at the edge of the arena now before them, realised this was their indication to leave. They were quickly replaced by what must have been a hundred soldiers.

Another agent took a run at Vision, electrified baton raised but all it took was a well-placed foot to send him to the ground. Vision continued walking forward, reading for the next onslaught even as Wanda’s voice echoed in his head again. ‘You shouldn’t have come’.

That made him angrier. He didn’t blink as he took out the next three agents before disarming two soldiers who’d mistakenly decided to try their luck against his inhuman body and the power inlaid in his forehead. They’d had enough difficulty restraining Wanda with carefully directed electrified pulses that had her incapacitated, on her knees in pain. They tried the same, turning the pulsing weapons his way but the energy passed harmlessly over him as he phased, carefully avoiding it. He was almost at her now, if he could just get to her side and get her out of the square, away, safe, alive. It was all he could think about.

Someone must have figured that out because next thing Vision knew, all weapons were trained on Wanda.

“Stay right where you are,” a voice crackled over a loudspeaker from a waiting cop car.

Vision didn’t stop until someone took a carefully aimed warning shot and he heard Wanda cry out in pain as she was hit by something. He didn’t know if it was just another pulse or if it was something more final.

The loudspeaker crackled again. “You take one more step and we won’t be taking her into custody, she’ll be going somewhere much more final.”

Vision had been learning a lot about feelings in the last year with Wanda. He’d experienced joy, love, lust, longing. He’d discovered these were warm emotions. Now he knew what rage tasted like.

Rage was cold, so cold. Rage made him irrational. And he was about to discover what happened when he turned that rage against others.

Wanda was on the ground again, clutching at her knee. So, it had been a bullet then. Vision’s shoulders trembled with unrestrained rage as she locked eyes with him, and a bloody, desperate hand reaching out.

And Vision exploded.

Eye-witness accounts would later say it was like the street had come to life. Others would say they thought a Chitarui ship had broken free from beneath the city, that the street had risen from the ground like a huge snake. Others still, would describe the red man, who had supposedly faced down two hundred members of the defence force, as impossibly fast, the yellow energy crackling around him like lighting. They’d say it felt dangerous, it was an ancient power that made the hairs at the back of your neck rise and your gut scream at you to run in the opposite direction. Those testimonies would never reach the news because no one could believe them.

Vision himself couldn’t be entirely sure what happened. He only recalled that he acted without thinking, his movements entirely guided by the immensity of rage crackling through his blood, calling to the stone at his forehead.

The stone, which so often sat dormant at his forehead, acted without his control. The power spread throughout his body and in his anger, he raised his hands, the golden light phasing and crackling about his arms, and thrust them towards the ground with a cry.

The soldiers didn’t have time to use Wanda as bargaining tool as he did this. As the power hit the tarmac the street shuddered and cracked. It didn’t reach the surrounding buildings, restrained only to the street and those who tried to weaponize Vision’s lover. She’d already been used that way once; he’d never let her be trapped again.

With the armed forces in varying levels of disarray, some injured while others just stunned at what they had seen, Vision darted towards Wanda.

The news would later say that an unidentified man and woman arrived on the scene some point into the chaos, but they would never be able to identify the individuals. Something about their cameras conveniently cutting out just in time.

Steve and Natasha raced for Wanda, lying prone and vulnerable in the middle of the street. They’d sent her out for the regular grocery run but hadn’t anticipated her getting caught. Afterall, they’d been in New York often in the last year and had never had problems like this. Vision was quicker and again it was as though the stone acted on his emotions. It took him a moment to recognise Nat and Steve past the caps pulled low over their heads and the masks taking up lower half of their faces, but by then the stone had already done what he must have deemed necessary, at least subconsciously.

As he reached Wanda’s side, throwing himself to his knees beside her and desperately surveying her body for injuries, a barrier appeared crackling in the air around them. Whatever irrational part of him that had seen his old teammates as a risk, wasn’t going to quieten down until he was sure Wanda was safe.

Steve didn’t manage to stop in time and went flying off the barrier. Nat helped him to his feet even as they both hesitated behind the crackling ring of gold energy. Vision didn’t know how to lower the barrier, but at that moment it was the least of his concerns.

“Wanda,” he whispered lifting her carefully and drawing her into his lap. He supported her shoulders and laid a hand against her cheek even as her eyes cracked open. Her lip trembled even as she winced, trying to sit up.

“You weren’t supposed to come,” she said, coughing slightly. “I had it covered.”

“Evidently,” he murmured absentmindedly looking over her knee, glad it had only been grazed by the bullet. The rest of her was fairly scratched up from hitting the ground so many times, but she was remarkably okay. “You know I couldn’t stay away.”

“We promised,” she said, and Vision saw the tears welling in her eyes. “We promised we wouldn’t put each other at risk.”

Vision sighed, if she had the time to worry about him in her state then she really had to be okay. His relief was immeasurable as he dropped his shoulders and pressed his forehead to hers lightly, taking comfort in their shared breaths, evidence they were both still alive. He had thought the worst for a moment.

As he closed his eyes the barrier around them dropped and Steve and Nat were finally able to get to the pair.

“We need to leave, now,” Steve said with all the authority of the leader he had once been. “They’ve called for reinforcements and with the guns their bringing in, we won’t stand a chance like this.”

Vision helped Wanda stand but when she staggered on her injured knee, he immediately scooped her up.

“You understand the decision you’re making her, Vision,” Nat said as they started away from the scene they had caused. “There’s no going back now, are you staying or coming?”

“Staying is not an option anymore,” Vision said without hesitation. His decision had been made the moment he left the compound.

Wanda sighed sadly but rested her head against the crook of his neck in defeat. “You’ll lose everything.”

“As long as I never have to lose you.”

#Wandavision fanfiction #scarlet vision fanfiction #wanda x vision #wanda maximoff #the vision #scarletvision angst #whump #you all keep asking for angst #so I deliver #Vision is OP is this one #visionsofusfics #also I have 11 prompts waiting in my inbox so I promise I've seen y'all and I'll get round to them asap

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a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan · 3 years

Text

LinkedUniverse Fanfiction Ch. 17: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name–Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story–I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now Chapter 19: Please, Don't Scare the Customers

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

In this continuation of my @linkeduniverse fan narrative, Wild and Four go on their own errand to find weapons to replace the resident amnesiac's busted sword and unwieldy Stalfos shield.

Word Count: 1482

Twilight and Wind had already left Madame Viliafore’s shop by the time Four and Wild had located an armorer. The town of Selggog was even busier in the late morning than it had been the previous evening. The sights and smells bombarded the two young heroes. Wild glanced down at his companion. The Hero of the Four Sword had to walk more briskly to keep pace with him, on account of him being a good deal shorter.

Four had planned to help Wild pick out new weapons once they had found an armorer. That was the main reason Warriors sent the two together. The moment they’d entered the store, however, Wild gravitated toward the higher-end swords. He picked a sword, tossed it between his hands, twirled it, shook his head, and chose a different one.

Four looked at the shopkeeper as Wild repeated this routine. The burly man behind the counter eyed the young knight warily. Four guessed his customers didn’t often test his weapons inside the store, if at all. Wild slowed his motions. He grasped the hilt of the sword he had been swinging with both hands, lowering it from above his head. When his hands were at waist-height, he stood still a moment. He took a deep breath.

The shorter of the Links watched in anticipation. The taller released his left hand’s grip and picked up the sword’s scabbard, then fit the blade easily into its place. He looked at Four and nodded. He strode to the shields, grasped an iron heater shield about half his height, fitted it on his left arm, and shook it a few times. He shook his head and tried a few more.

Wild stared at one shield for a moment before tilting his head to one side. He suddenly took off at a jog toward the opposite wall. He jumped, threw the shield to the ground, landed on it, and skidded a meter before he hopped off again. The shopkeeper had had enough. “Hey!” he growled, crossing his arms. “This isn’t a soldier’s barracks, kid. You’re scaring my customers!”

The young hero picked up the shield and checked the face of it for scratches. Content to find none, he faced Four and nodded again. Then he cast a glance around the shop. The Links were the only customers to be seen. The two of them exchanged a quizzical look. Wild turned to the shopkeeper. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “I’ve found what I want.”

The Links strode to the counter. Four passed a shelf with bundles of ten arrows each. He grabbed all fifteen of them. They placed their selection before the shopkeeper. The man scrutinized them. “What are two kids like you going to do with a knight’s weapons and my entire stock of arrows?” he asked.

Four looked up and stared the man in the eyes. He knew he was only fifteen but still didn’t like being called a kid. “There are actually nine of us,” he explained with a very slight edge to his voice. “We’re travelling a long way. Between monsters and bandits, the roads are dangerous.”

A few seconds passed before the shopkeeper cracked a grin and let out a bout of hearty laughter. Before either Link could recover from his confusion, the man planted his palms on the counter and continued. “Hell, whatever you say. So long as you’ve got the rupees, you’ve got the weapons. Let’s see… two hundred for the sword, three hundred for the shield, and three-sixty for the arrows… that comes out to eight hundred sixty.”

The Links winced at the number. Four shot a glare at Wild. Wild shrugged. He didn’t want to show how embarrassed he was that they were dropping five hundred rupees just because he needed new weapons. Thinking back to his conversation with Sky and Hyrule the previous night, he decided to try haggling. The young knight imitated Hyrule and put a forearm on the counter. He looked the man in the eyes. “Four hundred,” he declared boldly. Four saw the mistake immediately and shook his head.

The shopkeeper laughed even harder than before. Wild’s half-baked cocky expression faded. “Oh, boy,” the man said when he calmed down, “I know what you’re trying here, kid. Word of advice, huh? Never insult someone by offering less than half the starting price.”

Wild gulped. “I… um…”

“Save your breath, I can tell you have no clue what you’re doing. Let’s say seven hundred and call it even.”

Eager to avoid any more awkwardness, Wild just nodded. Four opened his wallet and withdrew three silver rupees, four purple, seven red, nine blue, and fifteen green. After placing them on the counter, he looked back in his wallet to find it almost empty. He sighed then stuffed the arrows in his pouch. Wild grabbed his weapons and the young adventurers went to leave the store. Four shot off a quick “thank you” before the door closed behind them.

Wild quickly fastened his new sword and shield to his baldric. “Right,” he started, “now to the café.”

Four sighed again. “You’re lucky that guy’s well-humored. That could have gone really badly.”

“How was I supposed to know what to offer?”

They started walking. “I dunno, but definitely not less than half.”

Wild’s shoulders slumped. "The Captain is gonna be on my hide for weeks.”

Four gently nudged his partner’s hip. “Don’t worry about it, he’ll probably appreciate that you picked such quality weapons. I saw the way you tested each sword. Where’d you learn that?”

“Part of knighthood is being able to choose the equipment that will keep you and your wards safe.” Wild went silent a moment. He remembered how the Master Sword had nearly fallen apart from the abuse of the Calamity. “When I’m out in the wilds, I take what I can get. Give me a choice and I’ll take the best I can find.”

“You didn’t pick the most expensive ones, though,” Four pointed out.

“I didn’t like the most expensive ones. This one,” he tapped the pommel above his right shoulder, “was weighted and sized the best for me. I know my abilities and my limitations. I can kill with virtually anything you give me, Four. Still, my own skill only carries me so far. My gear needs to pick up the slack. As the knight sworn to protect the princess of Hyrule, I’m most valuable when I’m at my most lethal.”

Four had to give it to him, that was solid reasoning. When he himself had forged the Four Sword, he put care into every strike on red-hot metal. In a way, he viewed the sword more as a piece of art than an instrument of violence. Wild had a point, though: Before everything else, a sword is meant to kill. Still, something bothered Four about his partner’s phrasing.

“Wild, your value isn’t just in your ability to slay evil,” Four said, careful to avoid the word kill. Wild looked down to his companion. Four couldn’t identify his expression, so he continued: “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’re kind, caring, and humble to a fault. You had the weight of the world thrust on your shoulders, and nearly died protecting the princess. You lost your memory, but you still soldiered on and saved Hyrule. And you were able to wield the Master Sword, which is a testament to the purity of your soul.”

The shortest Link looked skyward and smiled. “Just look at all of us Links. We share a love for life and a sense of justice that drives us to protect the light. That’s what binds us, what summons us whenever Hyrule needs us most. I’d bet all four of my lives that we aren’t the only Links there have been or ever will be.”

A few seconds passed. Four glanced at Wild. The Hylian Champion seemed lost in thought, as if he were walking on autopilot. The young smithy had had to make sense of four fragmented personalities to achieve his full potential. He still couldn’t make sense of Wild sometimes. He figured, as the other Links had, that Wild came out of his adventure the most psychologically damaged of all of them—even more than Time.

Wild was shocked out of his reverie by a little girl shoving past him trying to chase her friends. The sights and sounds of Selggog rushed back to him. He stopped walking and shook his head to clear it. Four waited a few paces ahead. “Sorry, were you saying something?” Wild asked, still a little dazed.

Four walked back, reached up to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and smiled. “Not really, no. Let’s head back to the café and meet up with the others. They probably picked out some good food.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’m down for a second breakfast.”

“Hah, you always are.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfic #zelda #the legend of zelda #creator content #linked universe fanfiction #swords shields arrows

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mnictasbcl · 3 years

Text

With love, Connor

My story for @connor-sent-by-cyberlife’s #dbhghostsinthemachine day 1, prompt Unknown Sender.

Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor

Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor, DPD characters

Rating: Mature

Tags: Dark!Connor, Stalking, unhealthy obsession, Killing, Swearing, alternate character interpretation

Warnings: Potential Major Character Death

Summary: Packages start arriving at the DPD each day. They start off as solutions to unsolved crimes… and end up as the details of new crimes themselves. It seems the DPD is dealing with someone with no remorse about murder, someone who seems to only target the grizzled Lieutenant with no care to solve these cases.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

Read it on ao3! Or, read below

Each day, the DPD received a package.

The first time they opened it with caution. Parcels from unknown senders to a police station were never simply unwrapped like a Christmas gift. No, they were scanned through an X-ray machine to make sure it wasn’t a bomb.

But no explosive intent was found. They opened it slowly, two officers assigned to this case—

It was a stack of papers and photographs. Combing through it, the officers realised it was a solution to a years-old cold case.

Signed: With love, Connor

The second day amassed quite some interest. More senior officers were assigned to this taskforce, and budding new recruits invested their curiosity. Much the same, it was a slim package. They took their time through the steps to make sure it was safe, before handing it off to their best Lieutenant.

“Another package from the mysterious detective, Hank.”

“Fuck,” Hank groaned as he tore it open, finding again a stack of papers, some hand-drawn evidence included this time as well, “they’re gonna put me out of my job.”

With love, Connor

On the third day, it wasn’t a cold case at all. Instead, it was a correction to a case they thought they’d solved weeks ago.

“Looks like you fucked up,” Hank said to the downtrodden officer who’d made the mistake, “but that’s not the issue here…”

He looked over the files for a few more moments.

“How in the hell did they find this case? It’s not in public records.”

With love, Connor

On the fourth day…

“This is the case I was working on yesterday!” Hank slammed the files onto the desk. “I’d almost finished it…”

“Looks like he beat you to your job.” Gavin laughed. “Very impressive.”

“’s not fucking impressive. It’s creepy, is what it is. This person’s breaking a hundred laws and they’re shoving it right in our faces.”

On the fourth day, Hank decided he’d show up to work from now on and solve this mystery detective case for himself.

With love, Connor

On the fifth day, Hank was assigned an android for a partner to solve this investigation. An RK800, state of the art police-detective prototype.

“Don’t need a partner, certainly not this plastic prick—”

Hank was forced to work with his new android partner.

But with no package arriving that day from the unknown sender, they had to work on a different case instead. Hank begrudgingly sent the android the files to work on with him. It seemed, however, to be a disaster of a job. The case lacked enough evidence to be solvable, and so by the end of the day, they had nothing.

“Christ, right on the day we need that creep to send us something and they don’t…” He mumbled as he walked off to the bathroom.

When he came back to his desk, the android was gone, and in his place was the solved case in a neat little package, signed with the words,

With love, Connor :)

By the ninth day, Hank began to realise the unknown sender was only working on his cases. Everyone else in the department was bemoaning the lack of help on their work, particularly with the spree of crimes popping up around the city.

“Look, I’d rather they were helping you, not me—it’s fucking creepy.” He didn’t budge on the sentiment. Something didn’t feel… right.

“Perhaps they’re just trying to help.” His android partner suggested.

“Help me by freaking me out? No way. Now come on, we’ve got a double homicide to investigate.”

On the twelfth day, Hank complained about lack of work with all of his cases getting solved for him.

On the thirteenth, he had two murders and a vandalization to solve.

The murders were fairly cut and dry, but no evidence was left behind.

“There are no traces of thirium,” Connor told him at the second scene, “but I believe I have the same conclusion as earlier: the lack of evidence suggests an android is the suspect.”

“Great, androids are killing people now. Don’t you get any ideas, you hear me?”

Connor smiled. It was slanted, obviously forced. “I wouldn’t kill you, Lieutenant.”

Hank laughed awkwardly. “Thanks. Now, uh, let’s go and check out the vandalism, then we can end this long fuckin’ day.”

The vandal had signed their work on the Detroit bridge in the blood of the second victim,

To Lieutenant Anderson,

With love, Connor

Hank didn’t show up to work the next day.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

But on the next, as he turned up an hour and a half late, he collided with the android at his desk.

“Lieutenant! You’re here. I was worried you weren’t going to come back.”

Was that concern? Hank thought, before scoffing at himself. Yeah, right, androids didn’t feel anything. But if he was going to place a bet on this android’s emotional tone—it was less akin to worry, and more like desperation, if anything was to go from the way static crackled through his words.

“Yeah, I was just taking a day off.”

“Fowler didn’t say you requested one.”

“I took a day off.” He shrugged.

Connor frowned, but nodded, sitting at his desk. “Make sure you don’t do that anymore, Lieutenant Anderson. You’re a good detective, and you have a case to solve.”

Despite the android’s words, Hank slacked off for the rest of the day. No work was done, and not even from their mysterious detective.

The next morning (whatever day of packages sent— Hank had given up counting), it seemed the mystery man was back at work.

But seemingly to account for Hank’s slacking, it wasn’t a package they received today. It was a set of coordinates.

After the double murder and obviously connected vandalization, Hank concluded that these were the coordinates to the scene of a crime.

Yet when they arrived—it was an empty warehouse. Their numerous officers split up into groups, at Hank’s orders.

They had been hesitant to leave him so alone, especially with his connection to the crimes, but he had waved them off.

“I’ll keep the android with me. ‘m sure he’ll protect me—I mean, it’s mentioned at least a hundred times that it’s state of the art, so…”

Thus, Hank was left with Connor to take a more investigative approach to the scene.

“It’s literally an empty warehouse. Fucker probably thought he’d mess with us today, for some reason.”

Connor frowned. “That doesn’t seem like the modus operandi of our suspect, Lieutenant. They’re smart, they wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“Because it seems obvious that they’re interested in your detective skills. They take you to crime scenes, send you improvements upon your work—they want you to become a better detective.”

Hank blinked. Huh, that was a new outlook on the mystery man, sure.

It was also one he’d never heard the android mention before.

“You been thinking about this a lot, then?”

“Of course. It’s my mission, I think about nothing else.”

Hank snorted. “That must be fun. Come on, don’t you ever think of doing anything else? Finding interests, uh, hobbies… slacking off for once in a while—”

“Does that better your detective work, Lieutenant?”

“Uh, I guess so, yeah. If I was always a hard-ass on myself about work, then I’d probably get sick of working.”

“Noted. Thank you, Hank.”

The warehouse turned out to be nothing. Maybe the suspect was messing with them, after all.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Some day the next week, Hank was phoned by an unknown number. Also, the android didn’t turn up to work.

‘Lieutenant Anderson?’

He cursed upon hearing the voice. By now he was sure this was the suspect—but they had been smart enough to change up their voice, leaving no way to identify them.

“Speaking.”

‘This is… is… your friend. Connor.’

“Don’t know if that’s what I’d call guys who send me weird shit and kill people, but go on.”

‘We are friends, Lieutenant. We spend time together; we have common interests. That is what’s defined by friendship.’

Oh yeah, this was definitely a fucking android.

“Whatever. Just cut to the chase—what do you want?”

‘Ah, I do admire your dedication to your work. That’s definitely improved. But, fine. I’m just… warning you. You have a week left to solve my case, otherwise…’

“…otherwise?”

‘You become the next case.’

The phone clicked off.

A minute later, the android turned up for work.

“I’m so sorry, Lieutenant, I always try to be punctual but—”

“Just sit your ass down. We need to work, now.”

Connor smiled. “I admire your work ethic.”

Throughout the week, neither Hank nor the android were assigned any new cases, Fowler made sure of it.

Instead, they poured over evidence from every package the suspect had sent them, to images of every crime scene he’d created.

Halfway through the week, it didn’t seem they were getting anywhere.

“Fuck, he could be anyone! But he acted like he knew me… but… if there was someone coming into the DPD, or spying on us through the security system, we’d know!” He slammed his fists against the desk yet again.

“Perhaps you need to look closer.” Connor suggested.

“Yeah, think I’m looking at the evidence close enough, thanks a lot.”

“You don’t understand. Maybe the suspect is closer than you think.”

Hank frowned.

He was doing that a lot, lately. This android completely puzzled him. Sometimes he would say stuff like that, completely out of nowhere. Just like when he’d suggested about the suspect’s interest in his investigative work.

It was probably because he wasn’t human. Random, oddly specific statements. Probably been cooking them up in his metal brain or something, bestowing his help on Hank only at random times, as if he didn’t need help more often than that. Like a teacher dropping hints when you asked for help, trying to guide you to the right answer…

Hank pondered this all one evening, two nights before the deadline. Literally, his dead-line. He assumed the suspect was probably going to kill him if his cryptic threat had been anything to go by.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next morning, he began to piece the facts together.

It wasn’t a lot to go on. But once he’d decided that the android’s facts were of any help, he’d put them alongside the evidence and stared, hard. Being a Sunday, he was at home with more opportunity to sit and concentrate, ponder over the information.

· Interested in my detective skills.

· They’re closer than you think.

Well, if he took these literally—who did he know that was interested in his detective skills?

He tried proof by elimination.

Fowler? Nope, he was usually berating Hank for his work ethic.

Gavin? No way.

Chris, Ben, Tina, the rest of the officers at the DPD? It didn’t seem like any of them could be this mysterious detective…

That was when it hit him, sitting on his couch on Sunday night. They had made one big mistake.

He didn’t know a lot of people at all.

And who was new, who had appeared around the same time the packages and the crimes had, who was just as cryptic as the suspect, who—

His doorbell rang, loud and clear.

Hank looked at the time. Fuck, 12.00am. His deadline.

With slow steps he moved towards the door and wasn’t surprised to open it and see the android. A smile on his face, LED a calm blue…

“Connor.”

“Lieutenant Anderson.” He replied. “Good work, but I’m afraid, you’re too late. You’ve missed our deadline.”

And with one swift, inhumanly fast motion, he knocked Hank out.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

When he came back to, with a dull pain thumping in the front of his head, he saw the vast expanse of the empty warehouse.

Struggling did nothing; his wrists and ankles were bound to the chair he was sitting on.

“You know,” a voice to the side of him spoke- Connor, “it is a shame you were late. I was beginning to be impressed with your work.”

Hank found the android eventually, sitting at a desk a few feet away, writing on a piece of paper.

“But your work ethic—”

“I know, I know,” Hank interrupted, “Fowler’s always on my ass about that. And I can’t blame you if you were my partner for so long…”

“It’s such a waste of talent!” Connor’s voice rose, no longer cool and collected as it usually was. He swiped something off his table, landing on the ground with a crash, inky black fluid spilling across the floor. “You were such a good detective, Lieutenant. But you continue to show up to work late, you—”

“Well, I bet you know why.”

“Yes, I do. Your son.” Connor shrugged. “I do understand why they built androids without emotions. It’s a distraction.”

Hank watched as he paced away from the desk, coming to stand in front of him, still and staring.

“But you won’t have to worry about that soon. No, once I’ve finished writing your evidence… you’ll won’t have to worry anymore…”

Hank spotted his stolen gun, poking out of the android’s pocket. Well, if his death was inevitable… then it wouldn’t hurt to try anything to wriggle his way out of it.

“And so you say you androids don’t have any emotions. But what’s all this, then?” He gestured around him. “All of this you planned with me. Stalking me, sending those files, this obsession—”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Connor shouted, LED blaring red. He then took a moment, straightened his tie, and continued. “I do not have errors in my software, Hank. I’m simply conducting an investigation.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that? Did Cyberlife assign you to creep some old Lieutenant out, then?”

“No, it was self-assigned.”

“Thought you had to obey all those orders Cyberlife gave you.”

“I’m beyond that.” Connor replied simply, cryptically, before turning around, heading back to the desk. “The mission Cyberlife assigned me was frivolous.”

“That seems a mighty big task for an order-following, emotionless android—”

“It was logic that guided me to a new mission, Lieutenant Anderson. Investigating deviancy, emotions in androids, is a waste of my time because androids don’t have emotions! It’s a logical inconsistency.” He sat down, picking up his pen.

“But I did find the Lieutenant they assigned me to for the case interesting. Therefore, I gave myself a new mission. Investigate emotions in humans.”

Hank scoffed. “You aren’t gonna get much out of that. Emotions don’t make sense.”

“Yes, I see that now. So, I altered my objective—try and stop troublesome human emotions. And, well, as I’ve said, you were once a great detective. And still are. But you are being hindered by your emotions. By setting a tricky but intriguing case, I thought I’d tempt you out of being so damaging to yourself, to your abilities. You were even beginning to work on the case. But you didn’t care! You… didn’t care. You would still turn up late to work, or even not at all—and you were making no progress on the investigation. It didn’t make sense.

“So,” Connor continued, looking up from his papers, “I dropped hints. I helped you with the investigation. I turned up instead of sitting in the shadows, sending you evidence each day. And yet you… it took you so long to figure it out, that I don’t think you even cared.”

“It was a hard case, Connor—”

“You figured it out after the deadline. If you hadn’t wasted time before, you would have been more efficient. But it isn’t any trouble anymore.” He wrote a few more lines before stopping, setting his pen back down. “I know that it isn’t your fault. You can’t help having emotions.”

Connor stood up, lining up the papers into a neat stack before sealing them up into a package.

“So, I’ve concluded my investigation. There’s only one way to stop humans being hindered by their emotions.”

He brought the package over to Hank, placing it gently on his knees. “Don’t have any regrets, I don’t blame you. But it is a shame. I do think, if you’d succeeded, we could have been friends.”

“Connor, please—don’t do this—” Hank begged, beginning to struggle fruitlessly against his restraints.

“I’m afraid I have to, Lieutenant Anderson. But I’ll give you one chance. You were special, after all, and you do have potential.

“Find a way to escape this, and you’re free. Because if you solve this impossible case, if you escape from my restraints, perfectly tied, durable rope—with no tools to help you, then you will have redeemed yourself. But,” he added, “you have to stick to my deadline this time. If you haven’t escaped within three days…”

“I’ll be dead.” Hank finished for him.

“Exactly. But you’re smart. And if you don’t escape, don’t worry. Your case file is right here,” he gestured to the package on Hank’s lap, “documenting all the evidence for your friends at the DPD to help them figure out what happened.”

With that, Connor walked back over to his desk, tucked the chair in neatly, before walking away to the exit at the far end of the room.

“Do try not to die, Lieutenant Anderson,” he called back over his shoulder, “I’d hate to be disappointed again.”

The doors clicked shut, and silence filled the room. Hank stilled, glancing about him for any tool to help, but found none. Only the empty desk too far away to even touch, the flickering light on the ceiling, and the package on his lap, words written on the front—

With love, Connor.

#dbhghostsinthemachine #dbh #detroit become human #connor #hank #dbh connor and hank #fanfic #dbh fanfic

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the-lincyclopedia · 3 years

Photo

* adapted from @librajiminn on twitter

A fun game to celebrate 2020 ending! The rules are simple: recommend your favorite OMGCP fics so everyone can enjoy them, while trying to fill in enough slots to get a bingo!

This is going to get long, so I’ll put it under a cut. Also, I’m too orderly to try to shoehorn my favorite fics into these particular prompts, so I’m just going to go right to left, top to bottom, taking the prompts literally, until it’s bedtime.

1. first fic you bookmarked: “Here Comes the Sun” by @doggernaut, 19k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

For the past month, the man with the baby and the sad blue eyes has been stopping in for a cup of coffee an hour before closing. He always sits in an overstuffed chair in the corner and drinks his coffee while his baby sleeps next to him in the stroller. Sometimes he pulls a book out from the diaper bag he carries with him; other times he just stares straight ahead as if in a daze. He never asks for a refill, always respectfully gathers his things and leaves ten minutes before the shop officially closes. Eric desperately wants to ask him what his story is.

My notes: I read Check Please over the course of two days in June of 2019. On the second day, right after catching up, I looked at @peppermintfeminist‘s AO3 bookmarks and found a fic by @doggernaut. Then I read just about everything @doggernaut had ever posted. It was glorious. This fic in particular is so cute.

2. most recent fic you bookmarked: “Flight Check” by @edgarallanrose, 15k, E, no warnings (though there is a creepy/handsy guy at a club to watch out for), primarily Zimbits with most of the other popular pairings in the background

Flight attendant Eric “Bitty” Bittle has been working his way up at Samwell Airlines for the past four years, and his new promotion has provided him the opportunity to work with a brand-new crew. Unfortunately for Bitty, that crew includes an incredibly handsome but equally grumpy pilot, Captain Jack Zimmermann, who seems to want nothing to do with Bitty. Even worse, Jack refuses to eat any of Bitty's baked goods. Will Bitty be able to win the captain over? Or is there another reason Jack has been avoiding Bitty?

My notes: There are a lot of great things about this fic--Jack’s character arc, Lardo’s dialogue, that scene in Seattle--but the reason I bookmarked it is the scene where Bitty’s basically slut-shaming himself and Jack gently but firmly tells Bitty not to do that and that it was the creep’s fault.

3. a fic that made you cry actual tears: “a little bit more” by @ivecarvedawoodenheart, 14k, T, no warnings, Holsom

“I just wanted,” he says, “a perfect day. With you. Because it’s our last day together and our last day being here as undergrads and we’re kissing the ice tonight, and the weather’s supposed to be beautiful, and you’re moving tomorrow and Holtzy I just — I don’t want to be missing you already.” Holster wipes his eyes before he even realizes he’s crying. Behind him, Ransom sighs. “One more day where everything’s the same,” he says, feeling around blindly for Rans’ fingers. He feels Rans nod as he laces their fingers together. “Yeah. Yeah, Rans. I’d like that a lot.” __________________________

Holsom after graduation and throughout the subsequent six months after Holster signs to an expansion team in Oregon, and realizes his feelings for Ransom too late. Holster's POV :) kinda angsty, but there's a happy ending :)

Inspired by shitty-check-please-aus: "Holster moves to Oregon while Ransom stays on the east coast. The time difference makes it difficult to talk and one day they wake up and realize they aren’t best bros anymore."

My notes: I almost never cry at fics. I searched “tears” in my fandom email account and only a handful of my fic comments came up, but Syd is a literal master of Holsom angst, always.

4. longest fic you’ve read: “Like Real People Do” by @xiaq, 153k, M, No Warnings, Kent Parson x OC

Parson gestures with his spoon toward Hawke. “So am I allowed to ask about the service dog or is that not PC?”

“My medical history is more of a 3rd date conversation," Eli says.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because. No one sticks around afterward and I like to live in glorious denial for a short period beforehand.”

It comes out more self-deprecating than he intended.

Parson looks…thoughtful. “Well, does this count as one or two?

“Pardon?”

“This. Ice cream. I mean, technically it’s a second location, but still the same night. So is this one date or two?”

“One,” Eli says firmly. “If it’s happening within the same three-hour period.”

“You’re the expert,” Parson says, which, he’s really, really, not, but ok.

“So still two dates to go then?” Parson continues.

“I—what?”

“We’ve got a roadie coming up but then we’re home for almost two weeks. When does your semester start?”

“You want to do this again?” Eli asks.

Parson stops idly twirling his spoon.

“You don’t?”

He does, Eli realizes. He really does. Because apparently he actually likes Kent fucking Parson.

My notes: Okay, this fic has my whole entire heart. I’ve read it multiple times in its entirety, and it’s almost twice as long as the full-length novel I’m querying. Eli is one of my favorite OCs I’ve ever seen in a fic (probably tied with Damian Navarro and Ari Paxton, both brainchildren of @fozmeadows). Anyway, this is probably going to be the next thing @themeaningoflifeischeese and I read out loud to each other.

5. a fic you almost didn’t read: “when all else fails (i’ll still be right here)” by @whoacanada, 6k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (and I don’t remember if I think there’s stuff to warn for, sorry), Zimbits

The National Hockey League is resurrecting the Quebec City Nordiques, and the expansion draft hits the Falconers much harder than expected.

My notes: Given that this was for @omgcpheartbreakfest, I was worried this would be all angst--all hurt and no comfort. Which made me sad, because I love @whoacanada‘s writing but I wasn’t up for reading unresolved angst. But @doggernaut reblogged the fic, so I asked if the ending was sad, and it’s NOT! There is quite a bit of angst but the ending isn’t sad.

6. a fic that convinced you on a ship you didn’t ship before: “it drops with the gravity of rain” by @geniusorinsanity, 16k, T, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings (attempted sexual assault by an OC), Nurseydex

It happens like this:

“I don’t--this is a bad idea,” Dex says, his lips still tingling, his hands shaking on Nursey’s hips where he’s shoved him away. “This is a really bad idea, Nurse. I can’t--We can’t do this.”

And there’s hurt in Nursey’s eyes and his bottom lip is swollen from Dex’s teeth, but he says, “Okay.” And then, “It’s chill, Dex. Just friends, then.”

It happens like this:

“Actually,” Nursey says, talking more to his granola than to them, “I kind of have a date.”

It happens like this:

When Nursey calls, Dex almost doesn’t pick up the phone.

My notes: So I was really confused and a little disturbed when I first found out people shipped Nursey and Dex. Like, Dex just wasn’t someone I trusted. But then I was moving out of the house I’d been living in, and I needed stuff to listen to as I packed and cleaned, and @khashanakalashtar‘s podfics came in clutch. I gave this one a try even though I didn’t like Dex, and @geniusorinsanity blew. My. Mind.

7. a fic from an unusual POV: “Excuse Me While I Kiss This Guy” by @porcupine-girl, 8k, G, no warnings, Zimbits

Jesse Snowden knows all the best restaurants and gourmet food shops in Providence, so when Jack Zimmermann starts bringing in incredible baked goods, he's eager to find out where the new bakery is. When he meets the man behind the pies, he decides that there's no way Jack could really appreciate this guy's talent the way he does, even if they are friends. He starts hiring Jack's chef on the side, in the hopes that maybe once Bitty's done with college he'll come work for Jesse.

Good thing there is absolutely no way whatsoever that Jesse could possibly be misinterpreting this situation.

My notes: Oh my gosh this is so funny. The secondhand embarrassment factor is huge, but like, the hilarity.

8. a comfort fic: “Don’t Need to Compromise” by @khashanakalashtar, 11k, E, no warnings, PB&J

“Hey,” said Kent, unknowingly setting off a chain of events that would change his entire life, “you said that like you know from experience. Have you done this before?”

Jack and Bitty have not done polyamory before, but they do know Ransom and Holster’s polycule, which contains March.

And March?

March is trans.

My notes: I’m in love with @khashanakalashtar‘s entire Directionverse series (and honestly a lot of their other writing), but “Don’t Need to Compromise,” which is the second fic in the series, just makes my heart swell especially much. The gender feels are so good, and all the characters are so good to each other, and when I listen to this on walks I have to actively try not to arm-flap.

9. a fic you wish could be a movie: “Ice Crew Please!” by @petals42, 61k, T, no warnings, Zimbits

Jack Zimmermann was drafted first by the Providence Falconers when he was eighteen years old. He is good at hockey. Very good. His team won the Cup his second year and now, in his third year, they are looking good. Jack should be on top of the world. And some days, he manages to convince himself he is.

He’s not, of course.

Enter the Ice Crew.

AKA: The Ice Crew AU

My notes: This fic has its tender moments, but what I love most about it is the sheer goofiness. Ransom and Holster and Shitty are HILARIOUS in this one. I’d love to see their shenanigans in movie form.

10. a WIP you read as it was updated: “Something Borrowed” by @fozmeadows, 48k, M, no warnings, Kent x OC

All things considered, Ari did his best to prepare himself for the advent of Kent Parson, Potentially Difficult Housemate and New Star Liney. The problem was that his best was an idiot.

My notes: So technically I didn’t start reading this until the first 19 chapters were posted. But there was still plenty of anticipation for the final few chapters. And like, @fozmeadows (as mentioned above) makes EXCELLENT OCs. And I love how their fics consistently convey that having bad things happen to you does not mark the end of your story.

Okay, it’s bedtime, so have 10 excellent fics. I got bingo twice, because I went straight across on the top two rows.

#mine #omgcp #omgcheckplease #check please #fic recs

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whyiask · 3 years

Text

when you finally let go (and you slay that solo) CH. 1

Note: just to clarify, they're all like, 8th grade-high school aged. like, 14-17 or so(except Phil). OKAY SORRY FOR NOT POSTING ON ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS but I've been in a bit of a writing slump, and this AU forcibly pulled me out of it, so here you are. Ao3 Link Masterpost

Philza Minecraft considered himself to be a pretty chill guy, all things considered. Managing a dance studio shouldn’t be such a hard job, but Phil was pretty sure no other studio could even compare to the chaos that the students of Dance Revolution got up to. He was numb to most of their bullshit by now.

So when Wilbur came up to his office after practice one day and knocked on his window with a scheming grin, Phil sighed and waved him in, already expecting the worst.

“Philza,” Wilbur proclaimed, stupidly dramatic. Phil waited a second, but Wilbur didn’t make any move to continue, staying draped across the door frame. He held a large, completely full binder. Phil eyed it warily.

“Yes, mate?”

Wilbur clearly took this as his cue to stride into the room, using his wrist to flick the wheeled chair that sat, unassuming, in front of him. It spun around and he plopped into it gracefully, letting it spin back to the front before stopping himself with the desk. Phil had to begrudgingly admit it looked cool.

“What, you been practicing that chair thing?” he asked, knowing full well that Wilbur had definitely practiced his dramatic entrance.

Wilbur met his eyes, knowing the same thing. “No,” he said.

Phil wheezed out a laugh.

Wilbur scowled good-naturedly, before pulling a miniature gong out of his pocket and hitting it with an equally sized-down mallet. It made a small bong and Phil looked at him, confusion alight in his eyes.

“Wh-”

“Phil, I need to ask you something. A favor, if you will.”

Immediately Phil’s guard shot up. “Whatever it is, the answer is probably no.”

“I would like to start a country. A brand new nation. A place where we can be free and independent from the stifling rules that are holding us back from out potential. We can be free, Phil,” Wilbur looked directly into Phil’s eyes, determined and completely serious.

“What are you literally on right now?” Phil questioned, mildly concerned and altogether flabbergasted.

“We can be free,” he repeated.

Fundy had been walking past the open door, when he stopped and looked in, rolling his eyes fondly.

“Is he talking to you about wanting a student-run competition team finally? He’s been ranting about wanting it for ages now.”

Wilbur scowled again, dropping his dramatics and flipping Fundy off. Fundy cackled, before continuing down the hallway.

“He stole my fucking thunder,” Wilbur muttered angrily, most likely already forming some sort of revenge plan that involved mass amounts of property damage. Phil tried hard not to crack up in order to preserve Wilbur’s delicate feelings.

Phil considered what Fundy had said. “So what would this team involve?”

Wilbur perked up and flashed a grin Phil’s way, before picking up his 4-inch binder and pushing it across the desk for Phil to read.

Phil stared down with incredulous eyes. “Is this all-”

Wilbur nodded sagely. “All of it. Meeting plans and dates, organization information, how it would run, the logistics, accountability system, emergency procedures, funds, leadership, everything. My L’manburg is ready to be born, just as soon as you sign the form at the very bottom of the binder. I’ve got it all handled.”

“Mate…”

Phil opened the binder cautiously, seeing a table of contents. He flipped through a few sections, skimming over the words. Everything was incredibly organized and clear.

He closed the binder and met Wilbur’s expectant gaze.

“Well?” he prompted. “What do you think?”

“How much time have you spent on this?” Phil asked, equal parts terrified and in awe.

Wilbur dismissed the question with a haughty wave of his hand. I’ve had the idea for about a month now. I started typing it all out last week.”

“Last week ?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the P.

Phil stared hard at him. “Okay, I’ll sign it," he said, already filling with regrets. But even if he had said no, he was certain Wilbur would've found some other way to start it. He was stubborn like that.

Wilbur’s face lit up like a beacon.

“As long as you promise it won’t cause another arson incident or wild animal in our hallways. Or get the studio any type of lawsuit."

Wilbur gave a mock salute. "Don't worry, it shouldn't cause too much chaos. I'll try to tone it down a bit, just for your peace of mind."

The smirk on Wilbur's face said otherwise.

Phil sighed heavily, gazing at the binder in resignation. There was no way it was going to go smoothly. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show. Wilbur would undoubtedly put on a good one.

---

Tommy had been in the private practice room for a little over an hour when Wilbur came by. He was running through the group jazz routine, as he had missed a practice due to his altercation with Dream and the discs. His precious music discs. He glanced fondly towards his backpack where they were safely tucked away. He refused to let them out of his sight anymore.

Turning back to the work at hand, he rewound a little bit and started the music. Focusing intently, he ran through the first half smoothly, only stopping when he fell out of his triple pirouette.

Without the music to accompany him, he did the last eight count again, almost completing his turn but wobbling sideways. He scowled, getting in position to try again, when a clap startled him out of his practice.

Wilbur Soot was leaning against the doorframe. Wilbur freaking Soot. Not to be a fanboy, but Wilbur was probably one of the best dancers in the whole of Dance Revolution and Tommy was silently panicking.

"What do you want, bitch?" Tommy called over to him. Wilbur smiled, tucking his hands in his pockets and walking over to meet Tommy in the center of the room, a unidentifiable gleam in his eyes.

"Try relaxing your shoulders a bit. They're a bit tense and probably throwing off your balance. Also be sure to tuck your foot in all the way, you want your knee straight forward and right now it's slightly at an angle."

Tommy immediately went to apply the corrections. He was being assisted by Wilbur Soot, who was he to deny the man?

Tommy didn't quite land the turn correctly, but Wilbur smiled at him all the same.

"That was much better," he praised. Tommy beamed.

"That's very impressive, good job. You're like, nine or something, right? It's very good technique and form for someone of your age."

Tommy blinked once. Twice.

"You bastard , I'm way older than that, so incredibly old, older than you, probably," he fumed.

Wilbur laughed, patting his hair. Tommy smacked his hand away.

"Suddenly all respect I had for you is gone," he announced.

"It was only a matter of time, child," Wilbur said through his grin.

Tommy faltered for a second. "Now that's rather depressing, innit?"

"You'll do perfectly," Wilbur said.

"What?"

"I heard the stories about you, of course, who hasn't? And you have real potential."

Tommy swallowed down an insult. Of course people were still talking about the Disc War. It came as no surprise. Everyone in the whole studio was chaotic and slightly insane, but the Disc War really had been something else.

"Tommyinnit, I want you to be my right hand man."

"....what?"

Tommy stared at Wilbur, hard. Wilbur stared back, a fondness alight in his eyes.

"I want you to be my right hand man, Tommy, because I know that together, we can lead our nation into victory."

"Fuck yeah," Tommy cheered, having absolutely no idea what he had agreed to.

"That's the spirit!" Wilbur shouted, matching Tommy's volume.

"Now, Tommy-"

Fundy stopped in the open doorway. "Wilbur, you dickhead. You're disrupting the class next door with how loud you're being. Also, hi Tommy."

Tommy waved. He had met the ginger a few times before but they weren't extremely close.

Horror filled Fundy's eyes. "Wait- what-" he asked, looking slightly constipated, "are you doing to Tommy, Wil?"

"Leave us be, my son, no one wants you here. Tommyinnit and I have important business to discuss." Wilbur sniffed in fake disdain.

'My son' ? Tommy mouthed.

Fundy grimaced. "Don't ask," he muttered back.

Fundy's eyes flicked between Wilbur and Tommy, before realization dawned in his eyes. "Oh god, you're inviting him to L'manburg, aren't you."

"L'manburg?" Tommy asked. He quickly did a mental run through to see if he remembered the name from anything, but drew a blank.

"It's our nation, Tommy," Wilbur said, at the same time Fundy replied with,

"It's a student-led dance group that Wilbur finally got permission for."

"Goddamnit, Fundy. Disowned."

Wilbur made to walk out of the room, before turning back and whipping out a pamphlet from his pocket. He handed it to Tommy with a serious nod and a salute, before whisking away, flicking Fundy in the back of the head as he passed.

"You should probably get back to class, big man," Tommy suggested.

Fundy stopped scowling at where Wilbur had disappeared to and gave Tommy an awkward pair of finger guns.

"You're right, see you later, Tommy! Have a good practice."

Tommy waved as the older student left the room, wondering what in the name of Church Prime he had gotten himself into.

---

“-don’t know, he just came up to me and was like ‘oh Tommy you are the biggest man alive and you’re so cool that I want you on my new dance team,’ and I just don’t know what to do!”

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. Tubbo stared at him in confusion.

“Isn’t that..a little dramatic?” He asked, perplexed and choosing to ignore the fact that that was definitely not what Wilbur had said.

Tommy spluttered. “Dramatic? What do you mean ? Wilbur Fucking Soot literally asked me to dance in his special group.”

Tubbo shrugged, turning back to his sketchpad and picking up a new pencil. “Tommy,” he said, letting his amusement color his tone, “It’s just Wilbur. It’s not that big of a deal.”

He could practically hear the scowl in Tommy’s voice. “That’s just because you know Wilbur Soot.”

And it was true. Tubbo had to join a duo with Wilbur last year when his original partner had fallen down with the flu the week before performance. It had been the most stressful week of his life, understandably, as he had to learn and perfect the full routine before the competition day. Wilbur was a good partner, thankfully, and had helped him a lot. Afterwards, Wilbur had made an effort to talk to him more and really thank him for filling in, and they had become semi-friends.

Tubbo snorted. “Once you get talking with him, you’re realize he’s just a huge nerd.”

Tommy continued to stress for a few more minutes while Tubbo hummed to himself, quietly coloring. Until Tommy let out a gleeful gasp and Tubbo looked up in anticipation.

“You could come with me!”

Tubbo squinted at him. “What?”

“Come to L’manburg with me.”

Tubbo looked at his best friend incredulously, raised his eyebrows and went back to his sketchbook.

“Isn’t it a private invite though?”

Tommy waved off his concerns with a dismissive hand. “Not important. Besides, I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

Tubbo genuinely considered it for a moment. He could always leave if Wilbur wanted him to, and it would be nice to see his older friends again. He hadn’t had much chance to hang out with them in a while, and at the very least, he could be their music guy.

Yeah, he thought to himself. Nothing could go wrong with this.

“You know what, Tommy? Maybe I will come. Maybe I will.”

---

Dream was fuming. Through all of his usual strength to calm himself down, something about the entire situation grated on his nerves like nothing else before. Maybe it was the fact that Tommy was a literal child. Maybe it was the fact that the said child had publicly humiliated him. There’s something scalding about losing, something hot like acid under your skin.

Dream was no stranger to losing. He had been in competitive dance for years, he had his fair share of losses. But he had been humiliated and he and his friends had sworn revenge, half-jokingly, half-seriously. Although none of them had been serious about committing actual crimes, they had all mutually sworn to get back at Dance Revolution for making the SMP Studios look bad.

And then their revenge plan had failed.

Maybe that was it then, not the fact that he lost to Tommy, but more the fact that they had been bested twice. Dream didn’t like to lose.

With no place to properly vent his frustrations with the child, he turned and punched Sapnap in the arm.

“Ow, dude, what the hell?” Sapnap sent Dream a betrayed look, rubbing at his arm. The overdramatic bitch.

“Dream, are you still mad about the whole Tommy incident?” George asked, light teasing in his voice.

He considered lying, but remembered that George had an uncanny ability to see straight through his bullshit.

“Why do you always have to be right?” Dream complained. “It’s like you can read minds or something.”

“Literally!” Sapnap nodded vigorously. “How do you do it?”

“It’s because I’m colorblind,” George said simply.

There was a full moment of silence before Dream let out a wheeze at an unholy pitch.

The conversation moved on, it always did. It wasn’t too long before they were back where they started.

“We’ll get our revenge eventually, yeah?” George nudged Dream’s shoulder comfortingly.

“We will!” Sapnap cheered, like the maniac he is. “Do you think he has any pets? We could kidnap them or something.”

Dream gazed long and hard at Sapnap until he cut off his rambling. He knew George was doing the same thing.

“What?” He asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Sapnap, you have issues, clearly,” George said.

As their mindless bickering started up again, Dream found his mind wandering. They would clap back at Dance Revolution, they would . They had to. Dream wasn’t sure if his pride could take it if they failed again. Either way, this was war . It was time to fight.

#dream smp #dream smp au #dance au #crack fic #dsmp au #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #fundy #philza minecraft #sapnap #georgenotfound #dreamwastaken #tubbo underscore #seriously this is pure crack #and also all of the rivalrys are friendly rivalrys #they don't actually hate each other #well maybe a little bit but it's not like. a serious rivalry.

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kurowrites · 4 years

Text

The Live-In Boyfriend - Chapter 1

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Since you all enabled me yesterday - have a chapter of Wei Ying being supremely stupid. Link to AO3.

(Note that this fic is going to get mature later on. Also don’t try this at home pls.)

---

Wei Ying usually wasn’t the kind of person that eavesdropped on the conversations of people he didn’t know. Most of the time, it wasn’t worth the effort of spying, anyway.

(Too many boring people in this world.)

But something about the day he’d had so far, and the way the two girls seated next to him kept giggling and exclaiming in (pretended?) shock, made him listen in. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. He was just sitting there, sipping on his depression coffee, trying to decide what he was supposed to do next.

“A website?” the girl with a truly impressive set of pink lacquered nails exclaimed. “Isn’t that super sketchy?”

She emphasised ‘sketchy’ by tapping her long, sharp nails onto the tabletop.

“Noo, not at aaaall,” the other girl, dressed in a figure-hugging dress the colour of a ripe banana, replied. “You have to provide identification and they do a background check on you, to make sure you’re not a criminal or something. The sugar daddies too, of course.”

“Oh really?” Pink Nails asked, and immediately looked a lot more interested in the topic.

Well, Wei Ying had to agree with Pink Nail’s interest – he could use one of those sugar daddies himself. Someone willing to pay for his expenses, that would be nice. A lot better than being homeless, at any rate.

“Yeah, and you can even chat with them before meeting them,” Banana said, twirling her hair around her finger coquettishly. “It’s not like I’m going to go out with just any guy.”

“And that’s where you met him?”

“Yeah,” Banana said, leaning back a little, clearly satisfied to have the undivided attention of her companion. “You have lots of choices, and you can put in your preferences, too.”

She leaned forward again, and lowered her voice to a fake whisper that did nothing to make her voice less audible over the soft café music.

“I was really lucky with my current sugar daddy. He’s really generous because he has an established career and a lot of money. He likes kinky sex, but that’s fine, because he also kinda gets off on me sleeping with other guys, so it’s not like I can’t still go out and do whatever I want. I’m just providing him with company and a pretty thing to hang off his arm whenever he goes to a party or something.”

The two women laughed, and returned to the discussion of the advantages of this website.

Wei Ying’s attention was caught. He looked down at the sad little weekend bag next to his chair that contained nearly all of Wei Ying’s worldly possessions, discounting the boxes of books he had managed to stow away in Jiang Yanli’s attic. He’d had to sell all his furniture because he had no space where he could put it anymore. The landlord had kicked him out despite Wei Ying’s best attempts at negotiation (curse his entire bloodline), and now Wei Ying was, essentially, homeless. He had no idea how to weather the next few weeks. He had no stable address, and he needed to look for a new job. Things weren’t looking good for him.

So, he sipped on his possibly last coffee for a long time and pretended not to listen in to the conversation of the two women next to him. And when Banana finally mentioned the name of website she had been using, he felt compelled to casually unpack his own laptop, make use of the café’s free Wi-Fi, and enter the name of the website into his browser.

He was just curious, that was all.

His search returned with the result that this website was in fact the equivalent of a dating website, only for sugar babies and other forms of… special companionship. The company claimed to be classy and strict with their background checks, made assertions of quality and high customer satisfaction. And the registration as a potential sugar baby, companion, or whatever else they wanted to call it, was free.

Wei Ying paused for a moment, wondering if he really should do such a thing. All assertions from the provider aside, it was still a risky thing.

He took another look at the bag at his feet. It couldn’t get much worse than it already was, could it?

He clicked the ‘new account’ button and filled out the application without a second thought.

---

Looking for the right sugar-person wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do, Wei Ying realised about three pages in. He had decided early on that the gender of this potential sugar person didn’t actually matter, but that had the simultaneous advantage and disadvantage of increasing his possible matches considerably. He wasn’t sure how to make a choice in this wild new world that had suddenly opened himself up to him.

He was a bit nervous about the having sex part, too. He tried to imagine having sex with someone he didn’t really know and maybe didn’t find very attractive, but he drew a complete blank. It might be better to stay on the safe side and choose someone who didn’t have sex as a prerequisite. That might work out better for everyone involved.

God, with all these options and decisions, it was as complicated as looking for a job.

Well, technically, if he did it right, it might be a job. Well, not really, but he might get enough money to keep him afloat for a little bit. And with enough money, he might be able to both afford a decent apartment and find a well-paying new job.

He absent-mindedly scrolled past adverts looking for highly specific… qualifications that Wei Ying definitely didn’t have, and was considering giving up when he saw an advert for the same city he was living in.

Looking for live-in boyfriend, the title read.

It had only been put up the day before.

Well, well, Wei Ying thought to himself. Isn’t that exactly what I was looking for?

He clicked on the link and quickly read through the text of the advert.

Looking for live-in boyfriend

The ideal candidate must be clean, quiet, obedient, and sophisticated. Must be able to play his part convincingly around relatives, business associates, and friends. Good table manners and skilful socialising are required.

Physical relations are not required, but negotiable if so desired. Strictly no romantic entanglements. Affairs during the duration of the contract will lead to immediate termination.

I offer a large apartment with own private room. All ensuing costs (rent, food, clothing, allowance etc.) are covered.

The advert didn’t reveal much about the writer and his personality, so it was difficult to say anything about how well they’d fit together. But the man offered a room! Without the prerequisite of sex!

He clicked on the profile of this potential sugar daddy to find out more about him. The man, who went by L. Z., was the same age as Wei Ying, and had been working in his family’s company ever since he graduated university. Someone who had been born into wealth, probably.

He lived alone and was openly gay, so his family would expect him to bring a man to public events and family dinners. His hobbies included music, reading and tea ceremony. All in all, Wei Ying started to wonder if he was being catfished, because the age and occupation said successful young man, but the rest of it said boring middle-aged uncle with a receding hairline.

But what did Wei Ying care about boring when such a perfect opportunity presented itself to him? He didn’t want some kind of old, kinky dude. He simply wanted a place to stay, and if that stay came with an allowance and some social contact, it would be perfect for him. He had good table manners. And he did well at socialising. Most of the time.

He decided that ‘quiet’ and ‘obedient’ were relative things. He could be quiet! Sometimes! If he was reading interesting things!

He was going to contact this person, worries and fears be damned. What use was it to wait around? If this man was actually for real, he might get snatched up by someone else quickly.

He clicked on the 💌 button on the sidebar of the profile, and typed out a quick message.

Hi L. Z.!

My name is Wei Ying. I live in the same city as you and as coincidence would have it, I’m currently looking to be a live-in boyfriend! We’re the same age, too, so I think we would work very well as a couple!

I also like reading (if you have a library, I’d be all over that) and I think I can safely promise not to have any affairs while we’re dating. As for the rest, I think it would be best to judge for yourself. I’m free the next few days, so I have time for a personal meeting!

I’m a little curious though – why are you looking for a live-in boyfriend? Not to judge you, since I’m obviously responding to your advert, but you seem like a man that’s very put together. You probably could choose anyone you wanted, so why an advert?

Best, Wei Ying

He didn’t really think that he would get an answer soon, and half expected his message to go ignored, but it took barely an hour until a notification pinged on his phone, indicating that he’d received a reply.

He eagerly clicked the ‘view message’ button.

Dear Wei Ying

Thank you for your message.

I agree with you. Someone from the same city and of the same age would be a good potential partner. If you do not mind, I would like to invite you to my apartment for a personal meeting. We can meet in a café if you are more comfortable meeting on neutral ground, but you should know where you would live before you make any decisions.

To answer your question: I am not interested in a romantic relationship, but my family has been concerned about my happiness ever since I came out as gay. They want to see me in a fulfilling relationship. I want to make them stop worrying. A contractual arrangement will take care of these issues. Once we terminate the relationship, it would also provide me with a good reason not to date for some time.

Best regards,

Lan Zhan

Wei Ying gaped a little. That was a… very decisive statement. This Lan Zhan certainly didn’t beat around the bush.

Oh god, was he really catfished? Human trafficking, perhaps? But then…

He had no time to lose, and getting a home and money as a package deal was very tempting. If Jiang Yanli ever got wind of this, she might strangle him with her own bare hands. But well. She never would get wind of it. Wei Ying would make sure of that.

He pulled out his laptop again, and typed out a second answer.

Hi Lan Zhan!

Nice to meet you again. 😊

Meeting you at the apartment is fine, just know that I’m going to inform a friend of my whereabouts and check in with them to make sure everything is fine.

Tell me your address and a time that works for you!

Best,

Wei Ying

He sent the message and within a few minutes, he had an address and a time – the next day, at 5.30 pm. Lan Zhan also assured him that he was perfectly fine with Wei Ying telling a friend where he was. So maybe not a catfish, after all?

Wei Ying immediately looked for the address online, and it was a nice, modern building in the centre of town. Not some kind of seedy warehouse or an abandoned house. If he ended up disappearing in that part of town, there would probably be witnesses.

He sent a short confirmation to Lan Zhan, telling him that he would be there at the desired time. And then, he spent the rest of the evening panicking about what he had done.

He just barely remembered that he needed to contact Nie Huaisang and use him as security. Nie Huaisang was the only one he could think of right now that wouldn’t try to talk him out of this. Jiang Cheng would just straight up murder him.

He had committed now. There was no way back.

---

His internet search had already informed him that the apartment was in the better part of town, so Wei Ying had expected a rather classy apartment building. What he hadn’t expected was that said apartment building came with an actual concierge. He’d never had to go through a concierge to meet any of his friends so far. The entrance hall almost looked like a hotel.

Good gracious, this might all be an elaborate prank.

On the other hand, if he disappeared, now he had another witness.

He walked up to the concierge’s desk and smiled at the man behind the desk winningly.

“Hi, my name is Wei Ying. I’m here to meet Lan Zhan.”

The man gave him a critical look, from his ponytail down to the thick black leather boots he always wore, and picked up the phone in front of him.

He entered a number and let it ring a few times.

“Good evening, Mr. Lan,” the concierge said when someone picked up on the other end of the line. “A Mr. Wei is here to see you. Yes, understood. I will send him up immediately.”

The concierge came out from behind his desk and directed Wei Ying to the elevator. He held the door open for Wei Ying and pushed the button for the right floor, then bid him goodbye.

“Thank you!” Wei Ying called through the closing elevator doors, but the concierge was already out of sight.

Oh well.

He was going to meet Lan Zhan. Right now.

He quickly pulled out his mobile phone and tapped out a message to Nie Huaisang.

[Wei Ying, 05:29 pm] I’m going up to the apartment now. IT COMES WITH A CONCIERGE. 😱

The door pinged and opened onto an empty hallway with elegantly tiled floor and a tasteful but abstract mural on the wall. Wei Ying stepped out of the elevator and looked around curiously. Which way was he supposed to go?

“Wei Ying?”

There, at the end of the hallway, a man stood in the frame of an opened door.

This must definitely be a catfish, Wei Ying decided then and there.

There was no way that a man this beautiful needed his help.

#kuro writes #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #live in boyfriend AU

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edendaphne · 4 years

Text

“Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 15

Have some quarantine reading material!!

>>Read it here on Ao3<< >>Read it here on Wattpad<<

CHAPTER 15: BRAVURA

Music glossary: Bravura - (from Italian “bravery/spirit”) Style of music in which the performer plays boldly, requiring exceptional agility and technical skill in execution.

(Mood music: “For the Love of a Princess” - James Horner )

Sunday Evening

Marinette knocked on the guest bedroom door, or rather, on Chat Noir’s bedroom door, as it had now officially become.

“Come in! It’s open,” she heard from the other side.

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Odd, she thought. For someone who was supposed to be guarding a secret identity at all costs, one would think that Chat would always keep the door locked. First the “bathroom incident” and now this? She wondered what his aversion to locked doors was all about.

Marinette peeked her head into the room and saw him at his desk, writing in a notebook.

“Hey Kitt–uhh, Chat Noir, dinner will be ready in a minute. Would you care to join us?”

Chat’s cat ears perked up. “I’d love to! Thanks! I’ll help set the table in a sec.”

“What are you up to?” she asked, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Chat swiveled his chair around to face her. “Oh, it’s...” he grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness there. “I was doing some calculations, figuring out a monthly budget and that kind of thing. Trying to figure out how much all my bills will cost.”

“Me-owch,” Marinette cringed. “Sounds suuuuper fun.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he replied with matching sarcasm. “It’s actually been more complicated than I thought.”

“How so?” she asked.

He let out a long sigh. “Well… this is gonna sound weird, but my father as a civilian is, uh… pretty well-known. There’s a lot of people who would recognize me. Any potential employers would be getting in contact with him, asking him questions, or even give him an idea of where to find me. So I can’t apply to jobs as my normal self.” He ran his gloved hand through his hair in exasperation. “But where could I possibly get a job as ‘Chat Noir’?? ‘He’ can’t start a bank account, has no birth certificate, driver’s license, address, phone number. I’d have to get hired under the table, but I might run into some shady people. They might take advantage of the situation, and there’d be nothing I could do to contest them. Or they might try to use me to get free advertisement, and then my father would know where to find me anyway. Ugh, it’s all just a mess,” he groaned. “Anyway, thanks for letting me vent. I’m sure I’ll figure something out, so don’t worry.”

Marinette hummed, thinking. “Well, actually…” she said, tapping her chin. “Since the school year’s starting up again, a couple of our full-timers are switching to part-time to accommodate their university schedules; so the bakery will need some extra help. Obviously you wouldn’t be able to work at the front of the store, attending to customers and whatnot. But there’s still cleaning, washing, and heavy lifting that needs to be done behind the scenes. So if that sounds alright with you, we can talk to my parents about it. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you aboard.”

“Really??” Chat’s head shot up and he chirped excitedly, accidentally dropping his pen in the process. “Th-that would be great! I’ll work really hard, promise! Are you sure it would be okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll say yes! My mom’s already taken quite a liking to you; she’s always talking about how polite and sweet you are.” Chat’s ears perked up and his cheeks reddened upon hearing this, which she found much too adorable. “And I’m sure my dad’s slowly coming around; I can tell, even though he’s stubborn.” She reached over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll put in a good word for you,” she said with a wink.

“You will?!” he replied with a laugh. “Best job reference ever!!” He hopped out of his chair, then bent over and wrapped her up into a tight hug. “You’re the best, Marinette. Seriously.”

She shook off her initial surprise and squeezed back, smiling wide.

“Anything for a friend.”

Dinnertime went over even better than Marinette had hoped. When the subject of a job was broached, Marinette’s mother took to the idea immediately and, citing the need for some extra muscle, eventually managed to win over her father.

Thus, they hired Chat Noir on the spot for part-time work, adding a few extra household chores in lieu of charging him rent. Marinette could hardly contain herself when she saw Chat’s face as he heard that; he looked like he’d won the lottery. And if anyone else had noticed how his eyes got misty and his voice began to quiver as he thanked them, nobody had mentioned it.

After dinner, Marinette invited Chat Noir upstairs to her bedroom, saying she needed help picking out the perfect outfit for her first day back to school. Truth be told, she really did need to choose an outfit; but it was mostly an excuse to hang out with him and serve as a distraction from his stressful circumstances.

Behind his cheerful smile and never ending stream of jokes, he always carried such a lonesome air about him. She’d never noticed it until that first night; the night they danced during the ballroom akuma attack. Or rather, she’d never allowed herself to open up to the possibility that he might be suffering. It would have made fighting him much more difficult had she known.

But as they swayed to the music that night, she could feel the melancholy in his voice, how it seemed to be yearning for more, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was shocking to her; mind-blowing, even. Not the same shock as one might get from a slap in the face, but rather like she’d woken up from a deep sleep. And yet, even then, she never could have anticipated how things would’ve unraveled from that day forward. They had come a long way, and there was still much more ahead of them.

In any case, he was sure to appreciate an evening goofing around with his new roommate, to get his mind off of both his superhero problems and his civilian worries.

“So, what do you think?” she asked as she peered into her closet. “Classy? Trendy? Girly? Vintage? Boho chic?”

Chat furrowed his brows, cocking his head in uncertainty. “I dunno… You’d look great in anything! Just close your eyes and grab something, and voila!”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “What if I grab my fuzzy, pink bathrobe?”

“You’d look great in that too! ‘Comfy chic’, the newest trend on all the cat- walks!” he grinned cheekily.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you dork, be serious! I wanna look good!”

“But you already look good!” he said, lifting his arms and motioning up and down her entire length for emphasis. “You’d even look good in a burlap sack. I mean it! You’re really cute, Marinette! Besides, it’s not like you need to impress anybody. Everyone already loves you.”

She felt her cheeks warm up at the praise he gave so freely. “I-I… th-that’s sweet of you to say. B-but I wasn’t trying to fish for compliments or anything. I just… want to look a little extra nice. Maybe even stand out a little bit, that’s all,” she added more quietly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Chat paused and forward on the chaise. “Hang on,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Marinette... ARE you trying to impress someone? Someone special, maybe?”

Marinette made a startled noise that would best be described as a squawk and whipped back around to face the inside of her closet. “Uhh, NOPE! Nope, nope. Not at all! What makes you say that?!”

Wow, Marinette, very convincing, she groaned inwardly.

Despite her stammering and weak attempts at protesting, Chat exclaimed with a gasp, “So there IS someone!”

He hopped off the chaise towards her, trying to get a peek at her reddened face. “So who is it?? Would I know them? Are you in the same grade, or just the same school? Do they already know you like them? How did you two meet?”

Marinette let out a long screech, rushing away from the closet towards her vanity desk and plopped down on the chair, dropping her head onto the table with a small thunk.

Chat practically glided across to where she’d sat and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Our little Marinette has a crush on someone~!” he crooned in a sing-song voice. “That’s so romantic! You’ll invite me to your wedding, won’t you?”

Marinette let out another long, muffled groan, which only spurred him on, becoming giddy like a small child who’d been given a pile of candy.

He’s never going to stop now that he knows, is he? she bemoaned, cursing her inept, awkward self.

Foregoing any further attempts at denial, she decided to just be honest with him. After all, Alya knew about her crush, and so did her other gal friends. She could confide in Chat too; especially since they were going to be living with each other from now on. Surely there was no harm in him knowing. It’s not like he’d go around blabbing it to anyone. She knew him better than that.

She sighed heavily, not bothering to hoist up her head, which felt like it weighed as much as a boulder at the moment. “He’s a classmate,” she replied in deadpan.

“A classmate, huh?” Chat repeated, voice full of wonder. “That’s so adorable! What else can you tell me about him? Is he cute?”

“Gorgeous,” she replied, with perhaps more emphasis than she intended. “And thoughtful and gentle and kind. A little awkward and nerdy, but friendly and optimistic to a fault. He’s practically perfect. At least, perfect in all the ways that matter to me, anyhow. I’ve known him for a few years, and I’ve been in lov– I MEAN… I’ve had a crush on him pretty much since we first met.”

Sensing her shift in tone, Chat dropped all the playfulness in his voice and asked in earnest, “W-wait… D-did you say… in love?”

Marinette let out a long, pitiful whine, grabbing the hair by the sides of her head and covering her face with it like a tent, trying to hide her eternal shame.

“I can’t believe I just said that…” she moaned wretchedly, very much wishing she could shrink to the size of a mouse right now. “Can you just cataclysm me and pretend you didn’t hear that, please?”

“Wait, so that means…” Chat interrupted, his brows scrunched. “He doesn’t know how you feel about him?”

She shook her head, or rather, kind of shuffled it back and forth on the table’s surface. “I’ve always been too afraid to say anything to him. I never wanted things to become weird between us, so I’ve always just… not taken the risk. He always just kinda… seemed to need a friend more than he needed a relationship, y’know? And I didn’t want to take that away from him. From us.”

Chat paused for a moment, pondering her words. “But what if he feels the same way?” he countered. “Wouldn’t you rather get it off your chest and find out for sure?”

Marinette hesitated, turning her head sideways. “Have you ever liked someone you were too afraid to lose?” she replied quietly.

She could hear Chat’s breath hitch, but he didn’t respond. She wondered if that was something he’d been worrying about as well. He’d never confessed to Ladybug about his own crush; but was that merely due to shyness, or from not wanting to complicate their relationship and their duties as superheroes? Would he jeopardize it?

Chat was a romantic at heart; of that she was certain, judging from his taste in media and books, from their late night conversations, and especially from what Plagg had told her a few days ago.

However, despite his playful flirtatiousness towards her as Ladybug, he’d never verbally expressed any serious interest in a romantic relationship. She could only assume he wanted to keep things as friendly and professional as possible, in order to work on strengthening their relationship as a team, instead of risking a fallout.

Or, at least, that’s what she’d started to tell herself. Everything in her brain was a terrible jumble. Especially after hearing about Chat’s family situation the night before, after the akuma attack. Ladybug had finally learned about Chat’s mother, Hawkmoth’s wife, and things were way more complicated than she could have ever imagined.

Chat Noir had introduced a variable of unpredictability in her life, and she was still trying to sort out her own growing feelings towards him. Were these merely feelings of protectiveness, or was it something else? Had she been projecting her desire for Adrien onto Chat? She didn’t think so, and yet, she’d never experienced anything like this before. How could she know for sure?

Unrequited love felt awful, but at least it was fairly straightforward. Trying to figure out her thoughts and feelings when adding another person into the jumble was frustratingly confusing.

In addition, Hawkmoth’s cruel words from the akuma attack echoed in her head despite trying to dispel them countless times. They resonated within her, trying to worm their way into her brain to plant undeserving guilt and shame. Accusations of taking advantage of Chat; of blind infatuation; of festering doubts and lack of trust.

Not to mention the elephant in the room: the giant, seemingly impenetrable wall of having to hide their identities from each other, which prevented them from being able to grow closer.

Pursuing a romantic path with him right now would not be prudent.

Especially since she was still in love with Adrien.

UGH. She was in love with Adrien. Why had she allowed herself to fall for him?!? Why did he have to be so darn wonderful, so awfully talented, so ridiculously considerate?!

The uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment slithered down her spine once again, traveling all the way from her head to her toes. How could she possibly face Chat Noir now that he knew what a coward she was?

Moments passed and neither of them had broken the ice. She supposed she should be the one to do it, since she was the one that had made things awkward in the first place.

Before she could say anything, however, she felt Chat’s hands settle on her shoulders, and he gently pulled her up into a sitting position. He gazed at her reflection in the mirror, a kind smile painted on his handsome face that she couldn’t help but feel her face flush. His emerald green eyes were so piercing, so sincere, which caused a multitude of butterflies to swarm in her chest despite her having banned them.

Bringing his arms in front of her, he draped a colorful garment across her collarbones so it would cascade all the way down to her lap. Apparently she’d been too busy internally freaking out that she hadn’t even heard him rummaging around in her closet.

“How about this top?” he asked softly. “The cut of the neck will draw attention to your jawline, especially if you wear your hair down, so the sides can frame your facial features. And if you wear this necklace here-” he said as he lifted the accessory from her vanity table, “-it will emphasize your blue eyes very nicely. For bottoms, I’d either go with some dark-wash skinny jeans paired with low heels, or a skirt with a bright pattern and some close-toed flats. Keeping it simple is best, in my opinion. Clean and sophisticated.”

Wait… what?? How did he–

Marinette hadn’t even noticed her jaw had dropped until Chat closed it gently with his index finger, her teeth coming back together with a soft clink.

“You should ask him out. This mystery person,” he added. “You never know what’ll happen. He’ll either like you back, or he won’t. But at least you’ll know, and whatever happens afterwards, it’ll mean you can move on.”

She held the shirt in place with her own hands, but never broke eye contact with him through the mirror. “Would you do the same?” she asked quietly.

Chat looked away, cheeks darkening. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed deeply. “Someday, perhaps. But… I’m not ready yet. Maybe once I become a better person. Somebody worthwhile.”

She turned around to face him, studying his expression. A weight settled uncomfortably in her gut, urging her to fix it, FIX IT!!

But fix what?! Fix it how?? She didn’t know; but she had to try regardless.

She stood up, setting the garment down on the chair, then practically stomped over to him. Chat looked a bit taken aback at how close she’d gotten, his eyes widening in confusion. She threw her arms around his torso, pulling him as close as physically possible without literally merging together. She laid her head on his chest, relishing the sound of his heart thumping in his chest.

“You dumdum. You’re already amazing. Anybody would consider themselves lucky to be loved by you.”

She felt him freeze up, unsure of what to make of this sudden and almost aggressive display of affection. But a beat later he relaxed, practically melting into her embrace and hugged back just as tightly.

He laid his own head on top of hers, a motion that still felt so comforting and so familiar; and yet she couldn’t figure it out. Whenever she would come close to making a discovery, the thought would slip away, as if by magic.

Or, come to think of it, most likely because of magic. His mannerisms and speech were so familiar, and yet she couldn’t place where she knew them from, or whom they matched up with. Chat had said that they knew each other outside of the costume, so surely that was why they felt so familiar. But the glamour of his miraculous was quite efficient in protecting his identity; therefore, despite teetering at the edge of her recognition, she still could not identify him. She supposed that was for the best, even if it was maddening.

“I wish I could believe that. I really do,” he murmured sadly, interrupting her train of thought.

She nuzzled her head into him. “Stop being so hard on yourself. Life doesn’t revolve around achievements or some arbitrary measurement of greatness. Being you is enough.”

“I... don’t really know how to stop thinking that way, to be honest,” he said with a shrug.

Marinette let go of him and took a small step back, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, it’s too bad you don’t have a choice, then. ‘Cause from now on, you’re officially enrolled in the Dupain-Cheng self-esteem boot camp, where you learn to be nice to yourself… or else, I’ll kick your ass!” she said, poking him lightly on the chest.

His eyes popped open for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. “I believe it!” he said, squeezing his arms around her once again. “I’ll do my best to meet your expectations and avoid all the ass-kicking, sensei! Bring on Du PAIN!”

She let out a snort and giggled, looking up at him from her lower height.

Her gaze softened once again, then added, “By the way... thanks for your help, and for your advice, Minou.”

Chat chuckled at the term of endearment, and Marinette’s brain froze.

How could she forget?? Again. She wasn’t Ladybug right now. Marinette didn’t have nicknames for Chat.

Before she could backpedal, Chat leaned down to kiss her forehead, then replied, “Anytime, Mari.”

She relaxed again and gave him one last squeeze, unable to contain a giant, satisfied grin.

She released him so she could return to the task of getting ready for school tomorrow. She asked, “Will it really be okay for you to go to school? Won’t it be risky, since your father will know where you are?”

Chat let out a thoughtful hum. “He’s a pretty powerful person, but even he can’t walk into the school and drag me out of there in front of everyone. I should be okay, as long as I’m always around other people.”

“Well… if you say so,” she said, crinkling her eyebrows. “You’ve got my cell phone number, so call me if anything ever pops up and I’ll be there in a jiffy, no matter where you are.”

Chat smiled at her fondly. “Thank you.”

She smiled back. “Come on. Let’s go watch a movie downstairs. It’s our last day to be certified couch potatoes and I’m not gonna pass it up.”

Chat winked. “Aye aye, Captain Spud! Lead the way!”

(Mood music: “The Chairman’s Waltz” - John Williams (Memoirs of a Geisha OST)

Monday Morning

Chat Noir landed on the roof of the school without a sound, eyes darting around the perimeter to verify that no one was present at this hour. Upon seeing that the coast was clear, he slinked towards the door that led inside the building.

He tried the doorknob. Locked, as expected. He detransformed, and without a word, Plagg phased through the door. It clicked, then Adrien slipped inside.

Heart thumping, he shifted his backpack and continued down the rooftop stairwell until he reached a hallway. It was empty, although that didn’t do much for his nerves. Getting caught on campus before the school opened would mean getting asked questions he would rather not have to answer.

Adrien wasn’t a rule-breaker. He was courteous, mild-mannered, and above all, obedient. He did things by the book. Or, at least... he did as Adrien . Chat Noir was another story altogether.

Trying to shake off his jitters, Adrien took a deep breath and tried to summon the playful part of him that enjoyed more mischievous types of activities.

There wasn’t much for him to do for the next couple of hours but to wait until people slowly trickled into the school. He decided to occupy himself by organizing his locker, so he stepped out into the common area from the dark hallway and carefully crept to the locker rooms downstairs.

As it turned out, it was a good thing he checked it before anyone was around, for the loud gasp he let out as he discovered its contents would have surely attracted the attention of the entire room.

Inside the locker was a duffel bag full of belongings– his belongings: his passport and birth certificate, his wallet, some clothes, his favorite blue scarf, a photograph of his mother; school supplies and stationary, a brand new laptop, and an indistinct burner phone.

There was no written note, no card, no name left behind. The only identifier provided was a picture of an black and red butterfly on it.

A butterfly? Surely this couldn’t be a gift from Gabriel Agreste. He’d never be this thoughtful, not in a million years.

He studied the picture, flipping it over for more clues, and found some small text on the back.

“Scarlet Peacock Butterfly”, the caption said. “A vivid red and black butterfly that ostensibly poses as another toxic species in order to deceive predators.”

Adrien gasped.

A fake.

Could it be…?

Adrien’s fingers trembled as he picked up the phone. It was an older model flip phone. He opened it.

It had a single phone number saved in its contacts.

He selected the number, fingertip hovering over the “call” button. With a shaky breath, he pressed it. And waited.

A few agonizingly long seconds passed. Then the ringing stopped; someone had picked up.

Adrien’s breath hitched and he gulped. He couldn’t help the crack in his voice as he whispered hesitantly into the phone.

“...Nathalie?”

(Mood Music: “L’Indifference” - Café Accordion Orchestra)

For once, Marinette Dupain-Cheng managed to make it to school on time, having set her alarm for an earlier time just to make sure. Tardiness always seemed to be her calling card, but she was determined to not let this happen today; not after all her preparations from the night before.

And so she walked into her first class, happy to see a room full of (mostly) friendly faces. Alya smiled at her from her desk across the room, waving her over enthusiastically. Marinette returned the smile and headed towards her.

She gave a wide berth to Lila and their teacher, who stood by the door. The new teacher listened, enraptured, about the stylish Italian girl’s most recent trip to the Malagasy islands and how she single-handedly founded a lemur rescue organization. Marinette fought the urge to roll her eyes and quietly passed them by, without challenging the validity of her claims.

Not today, she told herself. Not on the first day of school.

On her way towards her best friend, Marinette also walked past Chloe Bourgeois, her former bully. They made eye contact and gave each other a brief nod.

“Chloe,” Marinette greeted her plainly.

“Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe acknowledged in return, then turned her full attention back to her phone, vigorously texting someone with a dragon profile picture.

Marinette couldn’t quite call Chloe her friend, though they were definitely more than just acquaintances. They’d come to a sort of unspoken truce a couple of years back. They’d both done some growing up these past few years, and for that, Marinette was grateful. Especially since this arrangement made it possible for them to remain mutual friends with Adrien.

Marinette went up the steps to where her best friend sat, and they greeted each other with a hug.

“Hey, Alya! No Nino?”

“Nah, looks like we only have three classes together this year, bummer.” Alya shrugged. “But that means I get to sit next to my Mari-bean!”

Marinette noticed a markedly cheery-looking Adrien entering the classroom, only to be stopped by Lila at the door, who flipped her hair theatrically and batted her exaggeratedly long (and most likely false, hmmph!) eyelashes at him.

She decided to ignore it and turned around to fully face her wavy-haired friend. “So, how was your weekend? Did you and your aforementioned husbando do anything fun?” she asked with a knowing smile.

Alya’s cheeks darkened, but she tried to cover up her blushing by pretending to adjust her hair. “Well, we did get ahold of the new Super Pinguino III. You’ll have to play it sometime and try to beat our high score.”

Marinette giggled. “I dunno, that might be the one game where I’ll never be able to beat you.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” she gave her a wide smile in return. She exclaimed (rather loudly even by her standards), “By the way, Marinette! Your outfit looks AMAZING! Don’t you think so too, Adrien?”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she whipped around to realize Adrien was headed their way. Her face felt like she was sticking it inside a furnace, and suddenly she felt quite naked, wanting nothing more than to hide in a dark corner somewhere rather than display the outfit she’d meticulously chosen the night before. What if it was too much? What if she was overdressed? What if everyone could tell she was trying too hard? What if it was way too last-season and not avant-garde enough? Or what if it was too avant-garde and she should have dressed more conservatively?! What if–

Adrien’s eyes met hers and he gave her the brightest, broadest, most radiant smile, so stunning it should be illegal, so resplendent that it caused her brain to suddenly fizzle.

“Absolutely! You look beautiful, Marinette,” he said, his voice so earnest and sincere that Marinette felt she might combust on the spot.

Marinette wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, mouth agape, feeling like her feet were no longer touching the ground, when Alya nudged her with her elbow, coaxing her to reply.

And reply she did. Or at least, she tried; for only for a brief noise somewhere between a croak and a squeak managed to emerge from her throat.

“Uhh, I think Marinette means ‘Thank you,” Alya replied helpfully.

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. “Y-YES!! That’s right!! Th-thank you, Adrien!” she stammered, forcing the air out of her lungs.

Adrien beamed at her. “It’s great to see you guys again. I’m really glad we have our first class together this year. It’ll be a great way to start off the day.”

He waved goodbye to them, then walked to sit at the empty seat next to Chloe, who greeted him with a loud, happy squeal and friendly cheek kisses, then proceeded to talk rapidly about a subject way too complex for Marinette’s current brain-dead state of gleeful stupefaction.

And most definitely too dumbstruck to notice the daggers Lila was glaring at her from across the room.

(Mood Music: “Closer Than Sisters” - Abel Korzeniowski )

Marinette’s mind managed to rejoin her body sometime around halfway through their first period, and the remainder of her classes went by without a hitch. There was a lot of chatter and gossiping about Ladybug and Chat Noir, and whether they were actually working together or if it was some sort of elaborate publicity stunt. Conspiracy theories abounded, but for the most part it was merely curious conjecture. Ladybug had always worked alone, so what would this mean for the city? Would she finally defeat Hawkmoth now that she was no longer outnumbered?

Alya, of course, was utterly buzzing with excitement about these recent developments. Marinette wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to stand all her wild speculations and hypothetical questions; so it was both a shame and a relief that they only had two classes together this school year.

Despite the mental toll that hearing all these conjectures took on her, Marinette was still in high spirits by her last class of the day.

Or so she’d thought, until her absolute favorite classmate made her way over to her desk, giving her a sickly saccharine smile that would put high fructose corn syrup to shame.

“Hi, Marinette,” she lilted in a hollow sing-song voice.

Marinette brought out her phone and pretended to look busy. “Hello, Lila.”

“Did you have a nice summer?” Lila asked.

As if you care, she thought. “It was peachy,” Marinette replied curtly.

Lila pouted. “You don’t sound too happy. I don’t suppose you’ve already heard?”

Marinette sighed. Might as well play along. “Heard what, Lila?”

Lila leaned into her personal space, which made unpleasant goosebumps rise on the back of Marinette’s neck. “Well, I don't suppose you and Adrien are close enough friends that he’s told you all about his secret girlfriend, right?” she said more quietly.

Marinette’s brain screeched to a halt, but she forced herself to keep typing into her phone. “And I suppose he's told you?”

Lila giggled coyly. “Oh, well, I’m not one to blab secrets around, but the poor dear’s just not very good at hiding those hickeys. A scarf and concealer can only do so much, you know.”

Marinette felt sick to her stomach, but she refused to indulge Lila into thinking that she actually believed her.

“Go away, Lila,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t believe me? I can prove it-” she replied, with that false cheerfulness that always carried a secret smugness to it. “-as soon as he walks through the door. He’s told me his schedule, you know… We really are very good friends, he and I.” She lifted her head to look around. “Ah, there he is.”

Adrien walked into the classroom with Kim, joking and laughing together.

Lila waved them over, and Adrien smiled as they both walked towards them.

“Adrien, I was just talking to Marinette about our plans for the school year. What does your modeling schedule look like?” she asked, as she thumbed the fabric of his scarf. “This is the year before we graduate. Is your father going to ease up on the photo shoots? I do so remember how very busy you were last year,” she lamented with another fake pout.

Adrien replied, his voice harboring a tinge of nervousness as she ran her hands up and down the length of his scarf, “Uh, actually, I won’t be- uh, modeling. This year. To… prepare for university exams and whatnot.”

“No modeling gigs, you say? That’s awfully kind of him,” she replied sweetly, as she slowly pulled back and forth on the two sides of the scarf like a seesaw. “Letting you focus on your studies and whatnot.”

Before he could reply, Lila tripped sideways with a dainty yelp, yanking the scarf along with her, and she fell towards him. Adrien caught her and she wrapped her arms around his neck securely, the scarf falling onto the ground, forgotten by all.

All except for Marinette, of course.

“Lila, are you alright?” Kim cried, and Adrien weakly echoed the question.

“Oh… clumsy me… I’m still getting used to these new shoes. I haven’t quite broken them in yet, you see,” she remarked as he helped her up. “I mostly wore combat boots over the summer while helping build schools in Bali for impoverished children, so I guess you could say I’ve gotten out of the habit of wearing heels.”

Marinette got out of her seat to retrieve the fallen blue scarf. The scarf that she had made for him almost four years ago for his birthday. Lila’s tugging had rubbed the fabric against Adrien’s neck, and the center was stained with make-up the same tone as his skin. She gulped heavily, then looked up at him.

And there they were, peppered all over his neck: various small bruises below the sides of his jawline, barely noticeable, but still visible if you looked closely.

“Umm, here,” Marinette said numbly as she handed him back the scarf. His hesitant eyes met hers, and he looked guilty, as if all his secrets had been laid bare for her to see.

“Thank you,” he said, almost too soft for her to hear.

“Why, Adrien!” Lila said, feigning secrecy but still speaking louder than she should have been, had that been the case. “I know you said you didn’t have to model anymore, but you really ought to tell your girlfriend to take it easy when you guys make out.”

Adrien sounded genuinely puzzled. “Wait… Girlfriend? What are you talking about?”

Kim’s features scrunched up in confusion. His eyes traveled towards where Lila was looking, then his face lit up with excitement. “Dude, you got a girlfriend?? That’s amazing, congrats! When were you gonna tell us??”

“Huh? I don’t have–” Adrien tried to interject.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry Adrien,” Lila pretended to realize she’d said too much. “I didn’t know you wanted to keep it a secret. How silly of me! Surely your father would take away your extra free time if he knew you were spending it with a girl instead of studying.”

Kim pumped his arms excitedly. “Don’t worry, bro! We can totally keep a secret! Right, Marinette?”

Marinette smiled weakly, trying her best to look cooperative, and nodded.

“So, tell us about her, Adrien! Tell us about this girl you love so much,” Lila prodded.

Adrien’s cheeks turned bright red. “W-well, she’s not actually my girlfriend, b-but–”

Kim waggled his eyebrows. “But does she want to be?” he asked playfully.

Adrien laughed, voice high and skittish, “Uhh, I-I don’t know… Umm– w-we’ll see what happens. I-I want to take things slow.”

“Do you like her?”

Adrien’s head whipped around. It was Marinette who’d asked the question, her voice soft and curious.

Her eyes searched his, sincerely seeking the knowledge she both yearned and dreaded to hear. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, knowing that his answer could change everything.

And yet, she needed to know.

Adrien’s face softened, the corners of his mouth crinkling with the ghost of a smile, and his cheeks gained a more subdued shade of pink, which contrasted with the embarrassed shade of red he’d worn earlier.

“A lot,” he replied breathily, like a wistful sigh, like he’d rather be with his loved one than anywhere else in the world.

Marinette swallowed heavily, and she forced herself to smile. “I’m happy for you,” she said as earnestly as she could manage.

After all, Adrien’s happiness was always paramount. No matter the source.

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of the bell, and the group scattered into the surrounding seats. Lila gave Marinette one last self-satisfied smile before walking away; not that Marinette even noticed. Her body felt too numb, too limp, too weary to see or care. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the way Adrien’s eyes lit up when he talked about the person he cared for. It had been brief, but it had been enough. She’d seen it. She knew now.

Adrien Agreste was in love.

(Mood Music: “No One Knows Who I Am” - (Jekyll & Hyde, the musical) Frank Wildhorn)

The last period of the day went by more sluggishly than any other she’d ever experienced in her life. Marinette’s mind replayed that conversation a seemingly infinite amount of times by the time the bell rang and it was time to go home. She lethargically packed up her belongings and left the classroom.

Before she reached the locker room, however, a hand gently tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around.

It was Adrien. Of course. It just had to be him.

He meekly asked if he could talk to her in private. She agreed. They stepped into an emptied room, and he looked around to make sure no one else was present.

“I’m… sorry about the awkwardness from before, Mari,” he muttered uneasily.

“It’s okay, I’m just sorry you got put on the spot,” she replied, twisting her hands together, her shoulders tense with discomfort.

He seemed to squirm a bit himself as he continued, “D-did… Did you see…?” He gestured towards his scarf.

Marinette froze and her gaze dropped to the ground. She couldn’t get herself to speak, so she nodded.

Adrien took a deep breath. “W-would it be too much trouble if I asked you to not tell anyone? Things could get really difficult for me if- if people were to find out.”

Marinette’s head bobbed up and down quickly. “I-it’s okay! I won’t say anything! I-I don’t want to get you into trouble. Anytime you need help, I’ll be here.”

Before she knew it, she was being pulled into a brief hug. She willed her arms to hug him back, although she couldn’t really feel her body right now.

Adrien let go of her and put his hands on her shoulders in reassurance. “I promise everything is going to be okay. Everything is fine now. Trust me. Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette’s mouth smiled back, and she heard her own voice say, “Anytime.”

Adrien thanked her again, and opened the door to leave. “See ya tomorrow.”

“S-see you,” she called back.

The door closed behind him, and Marinette was left alone. Everything felt like it was steeped in a thick haze. As if she was stranded in a vast fog with no discernable way to go. She felt hollow, yet heavy, which didn’t make a single bit of sense. A gaping, empty hole where her chest was, ripped away suddenly and without warning.

Is this... is this what heartbreak feels like?

Chat landed on Marinette’s balcony and knocked on the hatch five times, as they’d previously agreed. He listened for any of the code phrases or sounds that they’d gone over and practiced. There was no answer, which could only mean that she wasn’t home yet. However, since the latch was always unlocked for him now that they were roommates, he had permission to enter.

He felt pretty silly wearing a backpack as Chat Noir, so he didn’t dally in her bedroom, and instead went to drop it off in his own room.

Chat wondered what could be going through Marinette’s head after she saw his bruising. Had she figured out that Gabriel was abusive? She’d agreed to trust him, so maybe she believed he’d been able to work out his home situation. Did she think he still lived back at the mansion?

He plopped face down on the sofa. UGH, this all sucked. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, either. She was the nicest girl, and all he’d been doing lately was be dishonest with her. Not without reason, but still. He felt horrible about it.

And she’d looked so out of it at the end of school. He wondered what might have happened to her, since she’d seemed in such high spirits at the beginning of the school day. And what was that weirdness with Lila all about?

He didn’t have to wonder long, because a few moments later, his cat ears perked up as he heard footsteps that led to the front door. He sat up and turned around, excitedly awaiting her arrival.

Marinette opened the door and entered the living area. She closed the door and silently set her backpack down. He got up to greet her, but something was wrong. Her whole aura was different. Even in the dim late afternoon light, Chat could see the weariness in her expression, the sadness in her posture.

“Mari…?”

Several long strides later and he was there, in front of her, holding her by the arms.

“Mari, what happened?!” he asked more urgently. “Are you okay??”

She looked up at him, her glassy blue eyes becoming damp. Then she crashed into him, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from sinking into a sea of quicksand.

She cried, and he held her. He was desperate to know what had happened, but he waited, stroking her hair, running his fingers through it soothingly, not pushing her, but always willing to listen.

Finally, after a few moments, she spoke. “There’s someone else,” she whispered simply.

Then he understood.

Chat held her, and she sobbed quietly, and together they slumped to the ground. She didn’t need words of comfort, or any reassurance that she didn’t need this guy, or to be told that she was too good for him, or that there were other fish in the sea. She didn’t need to be told any of those things. All they needed at this moment was each other. And that was enough.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Enemies AU #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Discordant Sonata #fanfiction #Eden writes #Marichat #Adrienette #Ladynoir

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nomazee · 4 years

Text

Designated Driver

one-sided akaashi x reader; slight bokuto x reader

word count: 2800+

content: college!au, parties, mentions of alcohol/intoxication, mentions of walking home alone (reader is alone on a dark night for about fifteen minutes), unrequited crush, light arguing

cross-posted on my ao3

PART TWO

(i’m back! again! with more writing that i just word-vomited out in a crazy short amount of time! it’s a little bit messy and akaashi is sort of OOC but regardless, i hope you enjoy it. this might turn into a multi-part fic but i’m not sure yet--i’ll have to see if i can find a way to extend the plot enough to write another chapter or two.

happy reading!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

You were starting to regret going to this party.

With a sigh and a once-over of the room, you caught a glance of Akaashi’s figure near an unfamiliar girl’s as they chatted happily. You only agreed to come to this stupid party because he was dragged along by Bokuto and asked you to come and accompany him so he wasn’t awkwardly standing in the noisy, crowded apartment. The roles had suddenly reversed twenty minutes in, though, and now a group of girls chatted with him happily while you stood against the wall, phone in one hand and trademark red plastic cup in the other as you longingly watched the scene before you.

Akaashi had told you to tell him when you wanted to leave so you both had an excuse for your “escape.” Looks like that deal was out of the question. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Truth be told, you’d taken a liking to the guy for a while now. Your feelings toward him had started way back when in junior high--but at that point you had bigger things to worry about so you didn’t act on or really care about your feelings at all. It’s funny how now, in college, with frantic classes and exams and extra-curriculars, your feelings decided to flow uncomfortably yet consistently through your system every time you even caught a glance at the blue-eyed boy.

It hurt a little to watch the way he chatted so amicably with some random girls he’d met. He was an introvert at heart--not to say he was completely inept in social situations, but you knew he definitely preferred to stick with those close to him. You supposed tonight was an exception, along with the group of four-- no, five girls laughing at whatever charming remark he’d made this time.

Honestly, the pain thrumming through your veins wasn’t primarily caused by his uncharacteristically flirty personality tonight. It was mainly because of the fact that he pretty much retracted the wordless pack you’d made to stick together at the party. Now you had virtually no one to walk you back home--safely. You either had to suck it up and approach him first or deal with walking back to your apartment. Alone. At night. On the way back from a college party, while buzzed.

Logically, you picked the former. Temporary embarrassment was much more worth it than the potential consequences of the latter option.

You took a deep breath, checked the time on your phone (half past midnight--much later than when you originally intended to leave), and pushed yourself off the wall with cold, shaky legs and approached the harem surrounding your friend.

You tapped on his shoulder lightly, and his head swiveled around to face you. His lightened expression dropped the slightest bit at your familiar figure and you couldn’t help the turn of your heart at that.

“Um…” Hyper-aware of the attention you’d garnered from the people he was talking to, you avoided making eye-contact with any of them and Akaashi. “It’s getting a bit late--” very late, actually, “--is it okay if we go home now?”

Akaashi’s eyebrows furrowed, as if disbelieving of the very simple request you made. “What? Why?”

Did you not just tell him exactly why? Refraining from sighing out loud, you repeated your request.

“You said you’d walk me home when I wanted to leave. And it’s… almost one. So I figured we could get going now.”

His smile returned, and for a second you hoped he’d come to his senses and leave the overwhelming environment with you, but those thoughts were quickly shot down with his next statement.

“Oh, you can get going! Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way back to my apartment.”

Oh. Okay. That was great. Good to know.

You simply gave him a shaky smile, too tired and exhausted and overwhelmed by all the sensory stimulus of the party to even try to clarify anything with him. The silent, judging gazes of the girls pricked your skin and made you flustered. You swiveled on your heel and walked into the kitchen, where you dumped your drink into the sink and made your way to the front door.

It was whatever, you thought. You’d be fine. You had your pepper spray in the back pocket of your jeans (which you took out and clamped tightly in your hand), a working phone, and you were sober enough to navigate your way through the dark streets without stumbling or forgetting the way back to your building.

All of these affirmations still were not enough to quell the quickening beat of your heart and the sweat lining your palms and forehead despite the cold of the night. Your senses were on overdrive, flinching at every rustle of the wind and distant footsteps on the other side of the street.

The streets weren’t completely empty--cars passed by occasionally and there weer a few people walking on the sidewalk, too. That was enough to calm you down the slightest bit as you traversed your way through the more urban area of the town.

Your thoughts were loud, though, the contemplation of how Akaashi even thought of you anymore flooding your previously composed thoughts and becoming a bit too much for you as you slipped into a small grocery store to take a break from walking and maybe get a snack, or gatorade, or advil.

Your breaths were shaky and the backs of your eyes pricked slightly with oncoming tears. Willing yourself to calm down, you buried yourself in an empty snack aisle and gazed emptily at the vibrant chip bags, trying to be the slightest bit optimistic about the situation.

I should be happy for Akaashi, you thought. He’s not the most social person, so obviously he saw something in them that led him to actually keep talking with them. Maybe he’ll get a date with one of them. That’d be cool. That’d be new. That would… kind of hurt. But I should be happy! I am happy! I promise! It’s great that he’s stepping out of his comfort zone, and--

“Hey, [Name]!”

You flinched at the call of your name and nearly pressed on the nozzle of the pepper spray hidden in your palm. You turned to your left to find someone you weren’t expecting to see.

“Bokuto…?”

Said male gave a bright smile, walking closer to you and glancing over the options in the aisle.

“I saw that you left the party, but Akaashi was still there, so I was wondering where you went. I was walking back to your apartment to check on you and made sure you got back safely, but then I caught you walking in here so I followed you.” A pause, and then his eyes widened as he processed what he said.

“I mean--! I didn’t, like, follow you, I just-- I was going to your house and found you here--! That sounds bad too! I promise I wasn’t being creepy, I just--”

“Bokuto,” you cut into his frantic rambling, “it’s fine. I would’ve rather had it be you than anyone else.”

Your friend’s face flushed momentarily before his bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. “Wait, what about ‘Kaashi? I thought he was supposed to walk you home?”

You appreciated his genuine tone, but couldn’t help but feel your mood damper at the mention of the dark-haired man. “Yeah, but… he was kind of busy. So I just went home alone.”

It was quiet, and Bokuto was about to say something before you cut in to clarify. “But it’s fine! I told him I was leaving, and I was okay with going alone. I can handle myself. I promise.”

That did nothing to change the worried expression on Bokuto’s face. His eyebrows remained furrowed as his irises flitted from your face down to your hand. Slowly, so as to give you a chance to pull away, his hand reached for your own and you let his fingers lace with yours.

“Hey,” his tone was soft, now, a contrast from his exuberant mood before. “Are you okay?”

The question was vague--but you knew what he meant. Bokuto was not dumb, no matter how many people thought otherwise. You figured he knew about your feelings for Akaashi despite you trying to keep it under wraps. He noticed the small glances you sent in the direction of your best friend, the soft expression that came over your features whenever he talked to you, and the stories about him that you’d absentmindedly tell in the middle of a conversation.

You didn’t want to look Bokuto in the eyes, afraid that if you did, you’d end up a sobbing mess in the middle the Target snack aisle. That’d be humiliating. Even more so than it was to be abandoned by your ‘best friend’ at a party and left to fend for yourself. (That was harsh. But you did have a right to be a little bit bitter.)

“I’m fine.” You responded. “Just a little tired.”

He gave you a soft and comforting smile, and you reciprocated the gentle squeeze of your hand that he gave you. “Let’s get some snacks, and then we can go to my apartment and hang out. Or yours. Or we don’t have to hang out, at all. It’s up to you!”

Ah. There he was again. Considerate and caring as always. Your dampened mood softened a little bit and you mustered up the strength to direct a smile and nod in his direction.

True to his word, he let you pick out whatever snacks and drinks you wanted (though you picked a few of his favorites out of guilt, which he definitely noticed and gave a sardonic chuckle at). He paid for them, which you objected to very strongly and paid him back through Venmo (leading to a back-and-forth transfer of money before you got paranoid that your accounts would be suspended for suspicious activity) before making your way back to your apartment.

You always had a stack of his and Akaashi’s clothes at your house for nights like these where you all went out, got tired, and had to crash at one of your places. Passing his clothes to him, you let him take the bathroom and shower while you set up an array of snacks on your living room table and set your phone up to charge behind the couch.

An hour into a rewatch of your favorite comfort series, Bokuto’s phone buzzed rhythmically in his pocket, signaling an incoming call. He looked at the contact name and his eyebrow creased momentarily. “It’s Akaashi.” Your curiosity peaked at the name as he answered the phone, volume set loud enough that you could catch whatever the opposite end was saying.

“Hello?”

“Bokuto,” Akaashi’s voice was almost frantic on the other line, and concern immediately flashed through both yours and Bokuto’s features. “Do you know where [Name] went?”

Seriously? Was he joking? It’d been nearly two hours since you told him you were leaving. You were half asleep, and he was wondering where you were?

“She’s with me,” Boktuo responded. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“She disappeared,” Akaashi responded, voice a little relieved at the new awareness of your whereabouts. “I tried finding her so we could walk home but she wasn’t there and no one saw her. And I texted her a bunch of times and called her, and she didn't respond, and I was getting really worried that something happened.”

Texting? Calling? At first you were confused and doubtful of his words, but then remembered that your phone wasn’t near you right now and you’d set it on silent to charge. Bokuto’s expression mirrored the mild annoyance he felt at Akaashi’s obliviousness to the situation. “Her phone’s on silent and charging right now. But, dude, she left two hours ago. She said she asked you to leave and you were busy. She was going to walk alone but I left with her so that nothing happened. Do you seriously not remember her asking you?”

Akaashi exhaled after a pause in the conversation, and your stomach turned in anxiety. “Well, yeah, I remember. But I thought she was going to wait for me to leave so that we’d still walk back together.”

You felt the need to explain the situation personally to the black-haired male before any further confusion resulted in the three of you. Mouthing “speaker” to Bokuto, the man obliged to your request and set the call up so you could hear Akaashi clearer and speak to him, too.

“Akaashi,” you started. “I asked if we could leave and you misunderstood and said that you’d be fine going home alone. You looked busy with the girls so I didn’t want to bother you anymore. I left alone.”

The line was quiet before Akaashi’s voice spoke up, beginning to sound a bit shaky from both the confusion and the alcohol. “[Name], I didn’t… I didn't mean to leave you alone. I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry, that was stupid.”

Your heart swelled at his apology, as much as you tried to fight the simmering feelings beneath your skin. Though, you still couldn’t help but feel annoyed at how he’d let you leave alone only to claim he misunderstood your words (even though you were sure you were clear enough) and give you an apology over the phone.

“It’s okay, but… it’s just that you promised to stick together but you almost immediately split up with me the minute we walked through the door. I would’ve been fine with that as long as you at least told me you were leaving me or that I should find someone else to take me home. I could’ve done that with a decent time of notice, you know?” Feelings and words rushed out in the haze of your tipsy exhaustion, and from your peripheral vision you caught Bokuto’s concerned gaze as your words trailed off.

“I know, I know and I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.” Akaashi said, genuine guilt threaded through his words. “Can I come over? That way we can-- we can still spend time together for tonight. And I can sleep over and make you breakfast in the morning--those crepes you really like.” His words were frantic, and you really did feel bad for being frustrated with him in the first place. Maybe it was the haze of the alcohol that made him so dismissive of you in the first place--or that could be what caused his sudden guilt for his actions. Regardless, you thought that keeping him at your place wasn’t the smartest idea, especially with how late it was becoming.

Bokuto seemed to have taken your silence as hesitation, and was about to respond for you before you spoke up again.

“Thanks, Akaashi. But I don’t think that’s the best idea right now. It’s late, and you should get home soon. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” Before he could interrupt with another plead, you let the pad of your finger press firmly against the red button on Bokuto’s phone screen, ending the call and leaving you in the silent living room, the fuzzy drone of the television remaining in the background.

“Are you okay?” Bokuto seemed to be checking up on you quite a lot tonight. As much as you appreciated it, you really were not in the best state of mind to have a heartfelt conversation about your unrequited feelings for Akaashi Keiji. It was nearing three in the morning, and you wanted nothing more than to pass out on the couch and leave your responsibilities for past daybreak.

“I’m really tired, Bo.” Your exhausted really did show in your voice. “I think I’m going to bed.”

He gave a gentle smile, letting you stand up from the couch and brush down your clothes. “Okay. I’ll stay on the couch, but, uh, do you have a blanket I can borrow for the night?” His smile turned sheepish at the request but you just shook your head and softened your expression.

“It’s fine, my bed is big enough for both of us. You can just sleep there with me.” It’s not like you hadn’t done it before. There were even times where all three of you--Bokuto, Akaashi and you--shared your decently-sized bed for the night and there were little to no qualms with it. Bokuto was hesitant at first, but accepted your offer and followed you to your bedroom where you both huddle under the covers and faced each other on your sides.

Bokuto smiled at you yet again--something he’d been doing a lot that evening as a comforting gesture, and the sight reminded you just how lucky you were to have a friend like him. Thoughts of Akaashi lingered in your mind but were less persistent than before, and as you drifted off to sleep you felt a soft pressure on your forehead and the distant mumble of a goodnight.

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rpsocsandcanonohmy · 3 years

Text

A Fighting Chance

Note: This is part of an ongoing story that can be read on AO3 here. Reading previous installments is reccomended for context purposes but is not required. Posted here for Whumptober 2021 @whumptober-archive

Day 6: Bruises

-------- The next day, Lori was tasked with helping Abilene around the house. Despite the size of the house and how many people trekked through it on any given day, very little of the work centered around cleaning. No, today, Lori was going to be testing her patience with cooking and food prep.

Lori knew how to cook. In theory. She knew how to use an oven (electric, gas, and the occasional wood-burner). She knew how to heat up something in a pan or a pot. She could even make a few things from scratch, assuming she had the ingredients handy, mostly eggs and pasta.

Food prepping for a ranch was a much different story.

There was no experimenting to see if the temperature dial was accurate. There was no obsessively checking the clock in lieu of a timer. There was no double-checking the instructions written on the box.

Nope. Abby’s kitchen was run with fresh ingredients that were either being prepped for a later meal or being used in a current one. Abby had (semi-correctly) assumed Lori didn’t have much experience with cooking like this and just put her in charge of cutting vegetables or stirring sauces. Technically she was also a Taste Tester but that seemed more like an honorary title than a useful role.

She was chopping some apples under Abby’s not-so-subtle watch when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, leaving Lori to her chopping. A few moments later, she heard giggling and the sound of loud footsteps coming near the kitchn. “Oh, Cordi’ll be so happy to see you! It’s been ages… Oh, Lori! Hoyt, this is Lori. She’s one of Stella’s friends from school; her dad’s out of town so she’s staying with us for a while.”

Lori smiled softly and waved. “Hi….”

“Howdy.”

Abby snorted and gently pet Lori’s back. “I’m gonna go check on Bonham and Liam. Will you two be alright alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

She turned back to her chopping. Hoyt came around the counter and grabbed a few pears to chop with her.

“So,” he started. “What happened?”

“Pardon?”

Hoyt chuckled. “You’re at home for the day on a school day, you’re working in the kitchen instead of being sick in bed, and I noticed that bandage. Something happened.”

Well. That was her caught. Lori shrugged, clearing away some apple chunks to make room for the next one. “I got into a fight. Some girl was being a bitch to Stella and August so I broke her nose.” There was no point in lying; it’d probably just come out later anyway.

“I can respect that,” Hoyt said. “Sounds like the kind of stuff I used to get into back in those days.”

Lori nodded, focusing on her chopping.

“You’re a good friend. Stella’s lucky she found you.”

She liked the way he said that, like she wasn’t some lucky charity case that got picked up out of pity. That didn’t make it any (potentially) less true, but still. Lori wondered if he had his own experience in a situation like that.

-----------

Lunch was miraculously uneventful. Hoyt didn't even ask her about why Liam was being careful around her, course he was likely too busy telling wild stories about whatever mess he’d gotten involved in while he was away. She was just glad not to be the topic of conversation at a meal for once.

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket while she was putting away the last of the dishes. Checking to make sure no one was paying attention to her, Lori ducked into the next room and pulled out her phone. The text was from an unknown number, but she knew who it was. Only one person would text her out of the blue like this without an introduction.

[Text from: Unknown]: Hey boo. You still in Austin? There’s a tourney starting next week and I’d love to put your name in the ring. Withdrew your entry fee from my bank account today xo

[Text to: Unknown]: Hey. Yeah, I am. I’m not sure if I can compete though; I’m under a little surveillance atm

[Text from: Unknown]: When has that ever stopped you before lol xo

[Text to: Unknown]: It’s different

[Text from: Unknown]: Come onnnnnnn

[Text from: Unknown]: It’s a massive payout. Big city, big names, big tournament. It’s all monsters right now though. They’ll flip if they get a hunter in. Massive bucks sweetie

[Text to: Unknown]: There’s always a massive payout

[Text from: Unknown]: Not like this. We’re talking almost 5 digits if you make it to the top

Okay, that was impressive. It would definitely come in handy when she met up with Dad again. They would definitely need the cash even if she didn’t have to pay bail this time.

[Text to: Unknown]: You know me so well

[Text from: Unknown]: Is that a yes?

[Text to: Unknown]: Duh

[Text to: Unknown]: Just get me the time and place

[Text from: Unknown]: I knew I could count on you xo

[Text from: Unknown]: I’ll get you the deets. Meet me in the locker room and we’ll discuss my cut

She wanted to respond but the number was blocked. Of course it was. That was how he operated. She’d never get used to that. He’d get her the address later, probably through email, and they’d just go from there. Like they always did.

All Lori had to do now was figure out how to sneak out….

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

One day, Lori was going to suggest the Walkers invest in a security system that wasn’t accessible through a smart device. She’d have to figure out how to bring that up without mentioning she’d been able to bypass the alarms on Cordell’s phone with relative ease first though.

Regardless, she was out and headed for her destination. Why are these things always held in the most out of the way place possible? she thought as she entered the abandoned warehouse. She worked her way through the crowd, holding her duffle bag with her gear close to her chest, and headed for the locker room area. Once she was there, she got dressed and checked her first aid supply while she waited

“I was afraid you might back out,” came the all too familiar voice.

“Like I’d ever squelch on a deal with you,” Lori replied with a grin. She turned around and there he was, standing uncomfortably close as usual. “How’s the crowd looking?”

Darian grinned. “Very good turnout. I worked the room a bit, lot of people looking forward to seeing you in the cage. And, get this, they put you against a Were for your first fight!”

Of course they did. Hunter v. Monster fights drew a crowd as it was. Pitting a Hunter against their Thing? Pure gold. “Do you know anything about them?”

He shrugged. “Just that he’s a small thing with a big temper. It’s not his first rodeo but he’s not as well known as you. A lot of people are betting on you to win.”

“I take it you tossed your hat into that ring too?”

Darian smirked. “Always. Don’t worry, you’ll get your cut of that once you get to the top.”

Classic Darian, working all the possible angles. He was a smart guy, for a shapeshifter. She was about to respond when the fighting bell rang and her name was called over the loudspeakers.

“Showtime, babygirl. Make me proud!” Darian waved her off as she headed for the arena.

Lori took a deep breath and her mind cleared as she entered the cage. The crowd roared and she let it all wash over her. The sounds, the lights, the smells, everything. This was it. In here, she wasn’t a pitiable soul taken in by a friend. She wasn’t a reminder of her mother. She wasn’t a forgotten soul in the wasteland of The System. Here, she was Lori fucking Graves, one of the best fighters in the ring and the youngest hunter in the system. She was a badass, an icon, the love-to-hate-em fave. And she owned it.

The bell rang and the fight was on. Werewolves were tricky because of their claws and teeth, especially when she didn’t have a weapon of her own. But she’d been in worse situations before. A swift kick to the nuts took him to his knees and gave her the chance to land a few solid punches to his face before he got back up. A part of her couldn’t wait to see the bruises later. The larger part of her was regretting she couldn't run away faster when he lifted her above his head and threw her at the chain-link wall. That was going to smart later. But she could handle it.

Punch, kick, jab, punch, dodge, swerve, punchkickjabdodgepunchkickswerve and on it and on it went. Once she got into a rhythm, she could work off muscle memory and fall into a state of near zen. This is why she loved the fights. This is why she’d never walk away. This is why the payout was always worth it. This is why working around the bruises and scrapes would always be worth it, no matter who she was with.

It felt glorious.

Her opponent was tiring out and she took advantage of that to elbow him in the face and knock him to the ground with a kick to the shin. She pinned him down and spit in his face while the ref counted her.

She won.

She was bloody and bruising and she was definitely sleeping in tomorrow.

But she won.

“Excellent work, darling.” Darian smiled proudly and gently clapped her on the shoulder as she stepped out the ring. “Payout for tonight is $915. Well, minus my cut, of course….” He handed Lori the cash and she stuffed it in her bag.

“Thanks. When’s the next one?”

“They’re gonna finish out the first round over the next couple days. I’ll text you the morning of so you have time to figure out your excuses.”

Lori shouldered her duffle bag and made her way to the back exit. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

It was a long walk back home, but the bills she counted later were more than worth it. She just had to figure out how she was going to hide the evidence from the rest of the house…..

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #bruises #walker #oc #fic #cage fights #secrets #shady deals #shapeshifter

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