#Let's pour all of resources into these five probably dead people and ignore these other 500 people hurdee der lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 3 years

Note

“After all, who doesn’t need a friend who has dirt on everyone?”

(OOC: This is a rare time that I’m writing actual Marauders continuity instead of alt-Marauders continuity. Let’s say this takes place shortly after Kate’s resurrection but before Emma and Kate’s ridiculous beat-down of Shaw.)

“We’re not exactly friends, though, are we Shaw?” Pyro shifted uncomfortably in the fine leather arm-chair that Sebastian had insisted he occupy. He was vaguely aware that there was some kind of bad blood between Shaw and Emma Frost, who was technically his “boss,” he supposed. And why on earth would a Quiet Council member invite him for a private meeting? Either Shaw was trying to bang him (that was a “maybe”), or he had some kind of dirty work in mind, the only reason the mutants “on high” would talk to someone like him. Pyro’s guard was up automatically.

“No,” Sebastian admitted. “And I doubt we will ever be. But we can maintain a cordial relationship that might be....mutually beneficial.”

Pyro sighed. This was exactly the kind of weaselly beating-around-the-bush he expected from the high society types. Never willing to get their own hands dirty, never willing to even outright state aloud the atrocities that they set into action. He took a generous gulp of the whiskey, and decided that it wasn’t worth staying for however long it would take Shaw to indirectly suggest that he’d like Pyro to commit just a teeny little spot of arson.

“Let’s not muck about, Shaw. You obviously want something from me. What do you want?”

“I see you prefer to be direct. I can respect that. I don’t like to waste time, myself,” Sebastian nodded, apparently willing to ignore the rudeness. “You are in a unique position to bring me valuable information.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. You see, I have reason to fear that the White Queen is using the Hellfire Trading Company for her own selfish purposes. Trust me, I’ve worked with her for many years. The woman is a snake. Constantly playing games.”

“I didn’t know snakes played games. Unless you mean that one with the ladders.”

“Don’t be flip, Allerdyce, this is a serious situation, and a unique opportunity for you.” A bit of the charm had dropped out of Sebastian’s voice as he continued. “I know she has Kate wrapped around her finger, the poor naive child, even though Emma’s own manipulations led to the girl’s unfortunate death. And the others onboard are no match for Emma. Iceman is just as naive as Pryde, and Storm and Bishop are too noble and high-minded to be able to counter the White Queen’s treachery. But you. You don’t have the same ideals. You are a practical man. You understand that the world is a dark, vicious place. I need you to be my man inside the crew. Pass along information about the missions. For the sake of Krakoa, and your own crewmates. Together perhaps we can prevent any more....tragedies.”

Pyro wasn’t entirely sure he believed any of that. But he also couldn’t say he entirely trusted that Frost woman. Of course, she HAD carefully arranged a psychic trick to get Yellowjacket out of his body without harm, even though the resurrections meant that it wouldn’t have really mattered if that horrid bug-man had exploded him from the inside. Plus she’d let him burn those awful children for a sadly short time. That counted for something, in Pyro’s book.

“If I’m so worldly and cynical as you say, surely you can’t imagine I’ll just take your word for all of this,” Pyro grinned, leaning back and finishing the glass of whiskey. “Or that I’ll do anything ‘for the good of Krakoa.’ Even if I did believe you, you’re asking me to take on a dangerous job that’ll piss off not one, but three Council members if I’m caught. And I’m not keen to get kicked off that boat, which would be the very least they would do.”

“Of course I wouldn’t expect you to work for free,” Sebastian said, leaning forward to refill Pyro’s glass of whiskey. “I recognize the risk involved, and I will see you handsomely rewarded. Surely you can see the resources I have available.” Shaw gestured at the impressive drawing room, just a small section of the luxurious Blackstone Keep. “And that’s just wealth. I have connections, political power. The question is, Pyro - what do you want for yourself?”

That was.....a damn good question, actually. Since coming out of the cocoon with the Brotherhood disassembled, Mystique acting distant, Blob playing bartender, Phantazia MIA and Avalanche bloody dead, he’d just been drifting with the wind. Or rather, drifting with the ocean currents.

“I’m sure it hasn’t escaped your notice that the rest of the crew occupies far more privileged positions than yourself. Bishop, a Captain. Emma, Kate and Storm on the Council. Iceman lacks political power in Krakoa, but has become something of a minor celebrity among the humans. They all live in luxury on this island, where all mutants matter but some clearly matter more than others. And meanwhile, I believe you are still spending most of your time in Krakoa at the Brotherhood compound.”

Pyro had a nice little hut in the area that they all shared. It was all he really needed, and very convenient for game nights. Which often turned into drinking-fighting-and-ripping-the-game-board-in-half nights, but it was all in good fun.

“Yeah, you really seem to care about economic disparity on the island with your giant castle and all that,”

“I’ll not apologize for the wealth that I’ve earned,” Sebastian said. “I’m offering you an opportunity to earn some of your own, with relatively easy labor. Be my eyes onboard the Marauder, and I’ll see to it that your life is vastly improved, however you see fit. As a reward for your service to Krakoa, of course.”

Pyro gulped down the entire glass of whiskey again, hoping that the jolt as it hit his chest might bring some clarity.

He wasn’t keen on betraying team-mates. Once he was on a team, he was there for that team. He’d only betrayed his team once, the last-minute “heroic” mistake of a dying man.

But he was also very keen on bumping Avalanche up the resurrection queue. Surely Sebastian could flex his authority to move things along, something even Mystique hadn’t bothered to do. He could imagine himself and Avalanche living in a castle like this, but with more fancy cars, big-screen TV’s and titty posters.

Assuming that Shaw was telling the truth about any of this. Assuming that Shaw was successful going up against three Council members at once. Assuming that Shaw would actually follow through on his promises and not immediately throw Pyro under the bus. It was something the powerful mutants tended to do with lackeys. Pyro had many years experience as a lackey to back that up.

In the end, Pyro supposed it came down to this - who did he trust? The corrupt businessman who might generously reward his service? Or the squeaky-clean X-types who might kick him off the boat or even into the pit if he got a little too enthusiastic with his fire?

Who would have his back, when it came down to it?

Pyro made his decision, and poured himself more whiskey.

“Shaw, I think we can work something out. Let me tell you everything I know.”

____________________________________

20 minutes later, Sebastian Shaw had learned that Iceman was cheating on Christian Frost with Bishop, who was also carrying on a passionate affair with Storm, and that Kate had come back “wrong” in her resurrection, but was hiding her ill health from crew-mates while searching for a cure. Jumbo Carnation had been secretly captured by a human anti-mutant group and brainwashed into being a sleeper agent assassin, but had been subdued by Callisto who had taken him off for deprogramming in the Swiss Alps while also rekindling her love of fashion modelling. “Storm” had actually been replaced by her evil twin sister “Zalastorm” who stole her powers and appearance, while trapping the real Storm in the Negative zone. Christian Frost was somehow pregnant. And Emma was being haunted by five identical psychic ghosts that represented the loss of her childhood innocence.

It was, quite possibly, the most obvious steaming pile of bullshit Shaw had ever heard. Like something out of a dreadful daytime soap opera. Downright insulting.

“You know, you could have just said ‘no,’ Allerdyce. There was no need to waste both of our time.”

“It hasn’t been a waste of my time,” Pyro said cheerfully, drinking again. “I’ve been having great fun.” Sebastian reached out and snatched the glass away. Whiskey was for people who were useful, not obnoxious “guests” now overstaying their welcome.

“You’ve thrown away a tremendous opportunity for the sake of what? A cheap joke? You really are as stupid as everyone says you are.”

“No, I’m not,” Pyro said, suddenly straightening up with a serious expression. “I know who really has my back. Those X-Men might be self-righteous pricks, but they’ve looked out for me since I came aboard. They treated me like a team-mate. I doubt you’d do the same.”

“I would have treated you with the respect that you earned,” Sebastian said honestly. “Which, at the moment, is less than nothing. Get out.”

“Suits me fine,” Pyro said. He snatched up the whiskey and took a long chug directly from the bottle, winking at Sebastian as he did so. Sebastian yanked the bottle back. Not because it was worth anything now, but because he wasn’t going to give Allerdyce the satisfaction of walking away with it. He grabbed the Australian mutant by the collar, dragged him to a window, and tossed him down into the turbulent waters of the bay, taking some small satisfaction in the splash. Pyro could probably swim to the shore. Probably.

He spun and tossed the whiskey into the fireplace, flames flaring up as it shattered. A 25 year-old bottle of Chivas Regal, $425. Thank God he hadn’t wasted any of the good whiskey on trash like Allerdyce.

Sebastian needed another plan. Pyro might run and tattle. Emma had made it clear that she wanted his head. And Kate had seemed smugly hostile at her resurrection party. After some thought, he sent out a summons to his worthless son, and the slightly less worthless Fenris. A storm was obviously coming, and Shaw would be a fool to sit alone in his castle unprepared. And anyone who knew Sebastian - who knew him and truly understood his character - would know that he was no fool.

(OOC again: I’m afraid this might have leaned too far in the direction of Pyro making a fool of Shaw, which really wasn’t my intention, especially after that last Marauders issue. Instead, this was meant to be ‘Sebastian makes an offer, and Pyro acts like his obnoxious asshole self.’ Also, I stole the joke about Sebastian thinking of really expensive alcohol as something that can be ‘thrown away’ on someone like Pyro directly from your own excellent writing.)

6 notes · View notes

themanicmagician · 5 years

Text

Scapegoat - FFXV Oneshot

[AO3] Summary:

“King Noctis?”

He barely holds back a sigh—had ten minutes alone been too much to ask?—and forces an amicable smile on his face.

He turns to greet the newcomer. And freezes.

A man he’s never met has the barrel of a gun trained on his chest.

Insomnia is slow to recover. The crown city had been ravaged during the clash between Niflheim and the Old Wall. After Insomnia fell, the empire held the city but did not maintain it, instead letting the infrastructure crumble, leaving it all to rot. Then came a decade of darkness, and the city became home to daemons and animals, as well as a handful of humans too concerned with living day to day to concern themselves with burst pipes and rubble in the streets.

Noctis had hesitated, at first. He’d done all that’d been asked of him. With the help of his brothers, he’d given Ardyn peace at last, and returned light to the world. Surely, no one would begrudge him the choice to tuck himself away in some quiet part of the world and let everything continue on without him.

But then they’d returned to Hammerhead, the morning sun at their backs.

The gathered scraps of the crownsguard had wept—even Cor’s eyes were suspiciously damp. They’d knelt before him, pressed their lips to his knuckles and called him Majesty. At once, there were volunteers to patrol the city, people scrambling to summon their families from wherever they were holed up, talk of the equipment that’d be required for the rebuild. No one could even fathom that Noctis would want anything otherwise. With the empire in shambles, they needed a stability to their world that only he could provide. It would be selfish and cruel of him to leave them now.

And so he stayed.

News of the king’s return spread throughout Lucis. In the weeks that followed, people entered the city in a steady stream. Some were eager to reclaim their lost homestead; others just sought security. Noctis threw himself wholeheartedly into the revitalization efforts among his people, becoming just another pair of hands sifting through the rubble. Tensions ran high initially, Lucians unhappy with the Niflheim refugees working alongside them. Noctis nipped that enmity in the bud, shaming them into better behavior. He meant what he’d promised Prompto, all those years ago in the keep; he craved above all a unity between the nations, so nothing like the war between Lucis and Niflheim ever happens again.

Once they’d cleared the streets enough that cars could make it through to the Citadel and back, his coronation was held. The ceremony was less fanciful than those past for want of resources, but they made due with what they had. His father should have been the one to place the crown onto his head, but the duty instead fell to Cor, the last remnant of King Regis’ reign. On the steps of the Citadel, the newly-crowned King Noctis pledged himself to his people, to rule and protect them as best he was able.

The coronation ceremony had been televised. Now with tangible proof of his ascension, emissaries were quick to reach out to establish alliances. Ravus surprised him by being the first to step forward and pledge Tenebrae’s loyalty and assistance with Insomnia’s recovery efforts.

Reluctantly, Noctis began to sequester himself from the physical, tangible aspects of the rebuild effort. He turned his focus inward, to learn what it meant to be king. The Citadel, miraculously, had been left largely untouched all this time. Sure, windows were smashed out here and there, but its resources had been left mostly intact. Noctis spent countless hours holed up in the library, pouring over books on past treaties and tactics. He wasn’t about to risk his ignorance ruining the peace everyone had sacrificed so much for.

Today they’re holding a reception in one of the Citadel’s ballrooms for visiting dignitaries from Lestallum. The thought of that still throws him. Ten years ago, Lestallum had been a lively but small city, nothing next to Insomnia. His friends had caught him up to speed on how the city had evolved into much more of a city-state. Lestallum’s reactor made it uniquely suited as a hub for safety in a world of darkness, and it’s now six times the size it’d been when he’d last visited it. With Lestallum’s proximity to Insomnia, it’s imperative they become firm partners in trade.

Insomnia will be as grand as it once was, but to get there, the capital city needs all the aid it can get. So Noctis puts on his most pleasant smile and mingles with the people of influence from Lestallum.

This gala is a mockery of what such parties used to look like. But they simply don’t have the supplies and reserves yet for anything better. Instead of caviar, there’s fish caught fresh from the reservoir. Instead of fizzy champagne, they’re serving wine that they’d raided from some deep cellar in the Citadel. Staff had dusted the bottles for hours to make them look “vintage” instead of ancient.

All the diplomats Noctis speaks with are gracious enough not to comment on Insomnia’s sluggish pace of improvement, instead taking pains to praise the empire’s defeat and Noctis’ return.

Noctis has to be very careful with his words. Since his return, people have seen King Noctis Lucis Caelum the Lightbringer first, and Noct second. Attendants trail in his footsteps, hoping to glean some blessed wisdom, imitating his every mannerism. At the tail end of a meeting he’d lamented offhandedly to Ignis that he missed skittles. Days later, a veritable mountain of the sugary candy was delivered to the Citadel. He’d been touched, but also kind of embarrassed. He kept a few packets despite Ignis’ grumblings, and gave the rest to the children.

Gods, there are so many of them. Not babes, not yet; it’s been five months since dawn returned. But teenagers and toddlers are aplenty, war orphans. They first wandered the broken streets as the adults worked, unsure what to do or where to go. Noctis seized an old college dormitory to house them in, and there were many volunteers to teach and care for them. Noctis makes a point to visit them once a week with “Uncle Prompto”.

Noctis withdraws from a droning conversation with a trade magnate. The man doesn’t let him leave until he presses a kiss to Noctis’ knuckles with his rubbery lips. Noctis fights the urge to wipe his hand on his sleeve. He’s still not used to being treated with such reverence. He’s unworthy of it, and it makes him uncomfortable.

Needing some air, Noctis ducks out of the ballroom and into the hall. He should probably notify Gladio, at least, that he’s stepping out. But Gladio would insist on tagging along, and he needs solitude even from his Shield right now. He passes through an antechamber that leads out to a balcony.

He tests the railing’s strength, and, once assured it won’t collapse at the slightest touch, he leans his weight against it, staring out at the view. The crispness of the wind is refreshing. He closes his eyes, just taking a moment to revel in the breeze that stirs his hair.

“King Noctis?”

He barely holds back a sigh—had ten minutes alone been too much to ask?—and forces an amicable smile on his face.

He turns to greet the newcomer. And freezes.

A man he’s never met has the barrel of a gun trained on his chest.

Noctis’ hand twitches, but he doesn’t call forth his Engine Blade from the armiger. He wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Put the gun down,” Noctis commands, more confident than he feels. He risks a glance over the man’s shoulder. There’s no one coming. Inexplicably, no one noticed his absence yet, or they have, and aren’t sure where he’s run off to. “You don’t have to do this.”

A laugh tears out of the man. It’s a broken, hollow thing. He holds the gun in both hands, and reaffirms his grip.

“On the contrary. I’ve been dreaming of this moment for six years.”

Noctis has to keep him talking as long as he can. He takes the slightest step forward, so small as to not draw the man’s attention. Disarming methods had been drilled into his head when he was a child as a precaution. If he can just get close enough…

“In what way have I wronged you?” Noctis asks.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Your Majesty.” He spits the title like a curse. “You left us in the darkness for ten years.”

“I needed time to prepare—”

“Sarah didn’t have time!” He yells over Noctis. “Gods only know where you were, but for us common folk, every hour of every day was a struggle to survive. All the crops died in the first months, do you understand that? My Sarah…” He sobs. “I had no money. Nothing to barter. The rations weren’t near enough. She was whittled down to nothing when her heart gave out. Her skin hung off her bones like paper. And you want us to worship you now? For sauntering in like the last ten years never happened? It’s your fault she’s dead, that thousands are dead from the Long Night.”

“I don’t want to be worshiped, or anything of that sort.” Noctis is so, so close now. Just two more steps. His heart beats frantically in his ears. “Believe me when I say I never intended to be away for so long.”

“I’m not here to listen to your excuses.” His finger tightens on the trigger. “I’m here for Sarah.”

“Wait, please—”

Noctis lunges for the gun, but he’s too slow.

There’s a loud bang as the gun goes off, then all Noctis hears is a ringing whine. Red blooms from the center of his chest. His killer stares at him, face pale, seemingly shocked that he’s actually done it. Then he spins on his heel and flees, leaving Noctis to die alone.

He has minutes, at most. He thinks he should probably feel more frantic about the concept of dying, but instead a calm resignation settles on his shoulders. He’d made his peace with his death once before, when he’d been so sure fulfilling his destiny would cost his life. His knee aches, along with his chest, so he slides down onto the floor. He presses his side against the railing of the balcony, so he can look out at Insomnia below. It’s late, and dark, so he can’t see too much detail, just the bright lights of the buildings. It reminds him of the city’s halcyon days, and he can almost pretend he’s twenty again, looking out on the cityscape at night, everyone he loves still alive.

Maybe this is the divine hand of the Astrals; save for Shiva, they hadn’t been pleased when he’d cheated the poetic death they’d laid out for him. So they’d stuck him with the next end they could find, five months later. At least death by assassination isn’t too terribly ignoble.They could’ve been proper assholes about it and given him a heart attack on the toilet, or something.

No, this isn’t bad at all. He was able to bring the dawn back, and he knows his friends will get on fine without him. They’ve all been doing so well, had done so well without him all these long years. They don’t need him. Perhaps they never did.

Noctis is so tired. He closes his eyes and drifts.

~*~

Prompto is doing his absolute damndest to appear like he belongs here. Noctis would never think of excluding him, but still, he lacks the lessons on etiquette that had been drilled into Gladio and Ignis since they were kids, and he’d never attended parties like this when Noct was prince. He feels supremely out of place amidst this glittering crowd, even with his freshly pressed and tailored uniform. The last thing he wants to do is stick his foot in his mouth and cause some sort of scandal with the visiting dignitaries, so he keeps to himself on the fringe of the activity, gripping the glass of wine in his hands like a lifeline.

He watches Noctis make a slow circuit of the room, taking the time to speak with everyone. In high school he’d bemoaned his royal duties, had skipped state dinners against his father’s will to play video games with Prompto in his pajamas. It’s difficult to reconcile that bratty prince with the regal king Noctis has grown into. Ten years in the crystal have tempered his spirit, brough to the surface the noble qualities that Noctis used to shield behind an indifferent, sullen attitude. Prompto’s stupidly proud of him.

Noctis’ gaze finds him across the room. Prompto waves unthinkingly, then yelps as he accidentally sloshes wine onto his sleeve. The smirk the king flashes him is all Noct.

Prompto scuttles over to the buffet. He wets a napkin and tries to scrub the wine out of the cuff before it can set.

“That will definitely stain.” Ignis says, appearing over his shoulder and confirming his fears.

While Prompto feels out of place, Ignis, on the contrary, looks right at home. This is the kind of environment he was raised to work in. Running around all of Lucis hunting demons and gathering the blessings of the Astrals had been an unprecedented departure from his intended duties.

Prompto gives up on saving his sleeve, and rolls it up half an inch instead to hide the damp discoloration. It exposes the black band of his bracelet beneath, but there’s no prickle of anxiety. The guys know what he is, where he came from, and they’d accepted him easily. He hides the barcode now to avoid having to explain himself to strangers, but if it comes off, he’ll deal with it.

“How are things going out there?” Prompto gestures to the crowd before them.

“I’m cautiously optimistic,” Ignis says, which is Ignis-speak for fucking ecstatic. “Insomnia doesn’t have too much yet in the way of resources to offer for trade, but considering Noct is the one who ended the Long Night, they are all too happy to supply any aid they can in thanks.” His smile is wry. “They want to get in the good graces of the Gods’ champion, as it were. In case he has a few more miracles up his sleeve.”

Noctis had sat them all down after they’d killed Ardyn. He still retains the Ring of the Lucii and the Crystal, but the covenants with the Gods have expired. They can use magic as they wish, but otherwise they are on their own now. If people are expecting Noctis to display the Gods like a party trick, they’ll be waiting a long while.

They both stiffen at the sound of a sharp bang. A gunshot?

The partygoers cry out in panic. Cor jumps to take charge, ordering crownsguard to the doors.

“Have you seen Noct?” Gladio suddenly appears in front of them, looking frazzled.

Prompto glances back to where he’d last seen his friend, but he isn’t there. He looks around the room, searching for the telltale glint of a crown, for a flash of black and gold. They just heard a gun go off, and he can’t find Noct.

Without another word exchanged, the trio tear off towards the source of the gunshot. They run through a hallway, and take a turn into an antechamber that leads out to a balcony.

As Gladio shoves open the door to the antechamber, a man shouts, and tries to bring the butt of his gun down on Gladio’s head. Gladio is faster and stronger. He delivers one swift punch to the man’s face, hard enough to crack his jaw. Dazed, the man lets the gun slip free from his hand. Gladio drives him to the floor, and keeps him pinned with his knee.

“I’ve got him. Check on Noct!”

A set of glass doors divide the room from its balcony. Prompto lets out a low moan of fear, hand coming to his mouth in horror. Noctis is slumped against the railing, his raiment soaked through with blood.

Ignis beats him there by seconds, yanking open the glass door and sliding to his knees before his king.

Noctis’ eyes are closed, his face impossibly pale.

“Is he—?”

Ignis presses a pair of shaking fingers to Noctis’ neck.

“Still alive. He doesn’t have long—we need a phoenix down. Now.”

“On it.” Prompto says, and bolts from the room.

He runs as fast as he can, crashing around corners, bowling people over. Noctis is barely clinging to life. After—After he dies, because he will die, because none of them had been paying enough attention, they’ll have ten minutes at the absolute maximum to get the phoenix feather into Noctis. Any longer, and they’ll be too late.

And of course, of fucking course they none of them have any phoenix downs on hand. They hadn’t wanted to bother Noctis with restocking the armiger, not when he was so busy with everything else. They have a handful of phoenix downs stored in the hospital wing of the Citadel, in case of a dire emergency. Not one of them had thought to slip one into the armiger tonight, because who would dare attack the king in his own home, surrounded by his closest confidants?

Even though that’s exactly how King Regis had died. Gods, even after everything they’ve been through, they’re still a bunch of idiots.

Prompto skids to a stop in front of an elevator bank, and jams the button to call an elevator repeatedly. He itches to just take the stairs, but as slow as the elevator seems, it’ll be faster.

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and Prompto is inside and pressing the close door button before it finishes. He takes the half a minute of the elevator’s descent to catch his breath, and plan out the path he’ll take from the elevator that’ll be the quickest to his destination.

When the doors open again he’s off like a shot, brushing past bemused glaives on patrol. He stumbles into the infirmary. The on-duty doctor drifts towards him, alarmed, looking him over for injuries.

“Phoenix down.” Prompto pants.

“But we were instructed to—”

“The king is dying!” Prompto snaps. “Give it to me.”

The doctor scurries away to find the curative. Prompto eyes the clock on the wall, watches what could be Noctis’ last seconds tick away. His fingers drum on his pants. No time. No time.

The doctor returns, grasping a tuft of a golden feather in his hand. Prompto snatches it from him without a word, and sprints back to the elevator bank. Thankfully, the elevator he’d called down is still here.

As the elevator climbs higher, Prompto cradles the phoenix down close to his chest. The feather glows bright with magic, waiting to be used.

He bursts into the antechamber. Noctis’ assassin is bound and unconscious in one corner of the room, under the watch of a pair of crownsguard. Gladio and Ignis have brought Noctis off the balcony and into the room. Ignis is pressing his handkerchief to Noctis’ chest, but Prompto can tell it’s a fool’s errand. Noctis isn’t breathing. How long has it been since he stopped?

Prompto drops to his knees before them and slams the phoenix down over Noctis’ heart.

There’s a long moment where nothing happens. Magic ignites in Noctis’ chest, but he remains still and pale. Gladio’s eyes are wet, and Ignis looks positively shattered. All Prompto can think is if only he’d been a little faster, maybe they could’ve saved him.

And then Noctis is arching up, gasping for air, hands clutching at his chest. Prompto watches Noctis draw in one ragged breath after another, and it’s the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

“Oh Gods. Thank the Gods.” Prompto gasps. He clasps at Noctis’ shoulder, reveling in the proof that Noctis is still alive.

“Noct. Noctis,” Ignis repeats his name like a prayer, running his trembling hands through Noctis’ hair. His hands are tacky with blood, making Noctis look more a mess, but Ignis can’t help himself.

Gladio is across from Prompto, and has one hand wrapped around Noctis’ wrist, thumb over the pulse point. He draws in a shuddering breath, crying silently.

“What—What happened?” Noctis rasps. His gaze flickers rapidly between the three of them as he struggles to make sense of the gap of time.

“You’re alright now,” Prompto promises, voice thick with tears. He takes Noctis’ hand in his own, pressing it to his cheek. Gods, his hand is freezing cold. They came so close to losing him. “We’ve got you.”

~*~

Noctis had been dead for eight minutes, due to negligence of his role. In the ten years Noctis has been gone, Gladio has forgotten what it meant to be a Shield. He’d become a Sword, focused only on honing himself, becoming stronger, obliterating any daemons that ventured too close to the king’s people. Swords are useful, but the king has plenty of swords already. He needs a proper shield. Someone to defend him, someone who can provide a haven of security. Someone who can sense when he needs a moment to himself, and guide him somewhere safe where he can compose himself without the threat of danger.

Gladio failed him last night.

Clarus is no longer here—he died with his king, before his king, as Gladio should have—so it falls upon him to discipline himself.

As soon as he can, he makes an excuse to separate from the group. He leaves the Citadel and returns to the Amicita estate. He hasn’t been back here since that fateful day over a decade ago, when he’d piled into the Regalia alongside his friends. Back then, his only concern had been if he’d brought enough books along for what was supposed to have been a week-long trip.

His home doesn’t match up to the memories in his mind. The Niffs had known who they were; MTs had stormed the estate in search of him and Iris, seeking to cull the line of faithful Shields. The elements have gotten in through the smashed windows, leaving the once-vibrant carpets muddied and faded, wooden furniture spoiled by rainstorms. Gladio picks his way around overturned furniture, and tries not to think about how the walls are mottled with bullet holes. Iris had survived Insomnia’s fall. That’s what matters.

Gladio enters his old room. Spartan, save for the full bookshelf alongside one wall. He didn’t have the time for many hobbies growing up, nor the inclination to indulge.

Beneath his moth-eaten mattress is a box. He pulls it out, and lifts off the lid to reveal what’s inside. A scourge, his father called it. A thick leather handle, with six barbed, knotted ropes attached. He’s never had cause to use it before.

Gladio peels off his shirt, and shivers in the slight chill of the air. He hefts the whip in one hand with solemn resolve.

His king had been dead for eight minutes; so it will be eight lashes against his skin.

The first strike stings, like a daemon had caught him in the back by surprise.

His skin breaks open on the third. He feels blood roll down from the open cut. He pictures Noctis, left to die alone, and the next lash is harder still.

At six lashes he has to pause. Bowed over, hands curling in the carpet fibers, he gasps for breath. He deserves this. As soon as Noctis had been coherent, he’d knelt by his side and apologized. The king had forgiven him, absolved him of all blame, but Gladio still feels unrest in his soul. Noctis couldn’t seem to grasp the depths of Gladio’s shame.

After the eighth lash, he drops the scourge. He should clean his blood off the bits of spiked metal; there’s a chance he’ll need it again. But for the moment, he just sits, feeling the welts on his back, sinking into the pain of it.

Then, the floorboards creak. Too lightly for a man.

Iris enters his room.

They haven’t spent enough time together, but now that there are no daemons left to kill, she’s strayed closer to his side than she has the past several years. The Long Night has shaped her into a formidable warrior. Still small, but built of compact muscle and with a steely resolve that rivals Cor’s. But despite everything she’s endured, she still maintains her sweet smile. Iris the Daemonslayer is still the same Iris who snuck cats inside their house to keep them out of the rain.

There’s no panic in her eyes at the sight of his bloodied back—she, too, is Clarus’ child.

“I thought I’d find you here.” Is all she says.

He’s infinitely grateful that it’s Iris, and her alone. Prompto, Ignis, and especially Noctis would be appalled. Horrified. This is not something that anyone else but them, the last two in the line of House Amicita, will understand.

Iris cradles a hi-potion in her hand. He turns away.

“I don’t need that.” He’ll bandage and clean the wounds. But he wants the pain to linger, wants the scars to remind him.

“Don’t be an idiot, Gladiolus.” She shoves the hi-potion at his face. “How are you going to defend King Noctis if you’re too sore and stiff to wield your sword?”

Still, Gladio hesitates.

“You can’t prioritize your need to feel guilty over his well-being.”

“I’m not.”

“So…?” She shakes the glass bottle, sloshing its contents around.

Begrudgingly, he accepts the hi-potion. He swallows it down in three large gulps. It’s bitter, but effective. In seconds he feels his pain dull, skin knitting back together. Streaks of drying blood on his back and the scourge now the only proof of what had transpired.

“Come on,” Iris bumps her shoulder against his. “Noct is waiting.”

~*~

Ignis is well aware that he’s hovering.

He can’t bring himself to stop.

If he pauses but a moment, then he’s thrust right back to the night of the gala, feeling the failing beats of his king’s pulse beneath his fingers. So he doesn’t stop. He irons Noctis’ clothes, and polishes the golden clasps that adorn his kingly raiments. He takes over Noctis’ meals, to the head chef’s chagrin, spoiling him with whatever favorites he can. The mundane tasks distract his hands and mind, and are soothing in their familiarity.

They’d come so close to losing him. Ignis has only felt such terror in his life twice before. When he’d been told the news of the Marilith attack and Noctis’ paralyzation, and when Ardyn had held a dagger to his unconscious leige’s throat. Noctis has had close brushes with death during their long journey, they all have, but there’s a difference between injuries scored in the heat of battle versus ones inflicted when Nocitis is caught unawares. Noctis has fought Gods and won, and a simple bullet claimed his life. So simple to be ludicrous, and so unfair. Noctis has more than earned a long and happy life.

Ignis still can’t comprehend it. That anyone would ever want to harm Noctis, their king, the bringer of the dawn. They should bless him for every harvest, for every child that can grow up in a world free of daemons and war.

He’s developed a new habit in the past handful of days. In between his self-assigned tasks, he checks the armiger’s stock. They secured a second phoenix down from the medical wing—just in case—and had added a small collection of potions and other curatives that Ignis intends to expand further still, as soon as Noctis feels well enough to spare the magic. Ignis refuses to be caught so off guard again.

Noctis can sense each time Ignis dips into the armiger to take a look. He glares over at Ignis when he feels him rummage through it for the third time in one hour.

“You can go, Specs.” Noctis gestures to the stack of reports on his desk. “You’re antsy. Take the rest of the night off. I’m just getting through the rest of these and heading to bed.”

“I can stay.” He casts about for an excuse. “In case you have concerns. I have some thoughts on the crop surveys—”

“Which I’ll be more than happy to hear about tomorrow. I’m fine. I’m not going to fall apart the second you leave the room.”

Annoyance bleeds through his tone. Ignis winces. He’s not the only one that’s been finding excuses to remain at Noctis’ side. Gladio shadows him from room to room, rarely excusing himself for his own needs. Prompto fills every meal with ceaseless chatter, and shepherds him to meetings alongside Gladio. Noctis has always hated his need for security, his lack of privacy as a public figure, but they need to keep reassuring themselves that he’s alright. Ignis knows he will never forget Noctis’ last hitching gasp before he stopped breathing.

“Ignis, please.” It’s the weariness in his voice that makes Ignis concede.

“Very well.” Ignis draws himself up, and collects the thin folders he’d used as an excuse to drop in. “Tomorrow, then. Have a pleasant evening, Majesty.”

Noctis inclines his head, and Ignis slowly, reluctantly, trudges from the king’s rooms. He nods at the two crownsguard posted outside the door.

He showers. It’s still such a novelty, having power to spare for hot water.

Ignis then settles on the couch in his room at the Citadel, and goes over Noctis’ schedule for tomorrow. His time is choked with meetings, but there’s nothing for it. As slow as Insomnia’s recovery may seem, it requires a lot of activity behind the scenes to keep everything in motion.

Once he’s exhausted preparations for tomorrow, Ignis attempts to distract himself, in vain. He’s too restless to focus on a book, too wired to sleep.

He’s already bid Noctis good night. But...it can’t hurt to check in on him, can it?

It’s nearly eleven now. Noctis usually heads to bed around midnight. He’s been having some issues sleeping, stress giving him nightmares. Perhaps a soothing herbal tea will help ease him into pleasant dreams.

He prepares a pot of chamomile tea and snags two tea cups from the kitchens before he heads to Noctis’ rooms. The guards posted sentry don’t look surprised at all to see him again tonight, and let him inside.

“Noct?” He calls, softly. He sets the tea and cups down on the coffee table.

He finds Noctis slumped over on his desk. Ignis nearly panics, until he sees the rhythmic rise and fall of Noctis’ chest, hears the low whistle of his snores. Ignis drags a hand over his face. He is being ridiculous. They’d had a scare, to be sure, but Noctis is fine .

Ignis crosses over to his king, and gently shakes his shoulder.

“Noct, come on. You can’t sleep here.” Hunched over like this, he’ll aggravate his back if left to it.

Noctis mumbles something incomprehensible, and bats weakly at Ignis’ hand. There’s a wet spot of drool on the opened report beneath him.

“Come on, up you go.”

Noctis’ eyes crack open a sliver. More than half asleep, he lets Ignis steer him to his bedroom. Ignis would prefer if Noctis would change into something more comfortable for sleep, but he knows Noctis doesn’t have the energy for that right now. So Ignis helps him into bed, and after removing his shoes, Ignis drags the comforter over him, tucking it up to his chest.

Noctis curls on his side, and in moments his breathing deepens in sleep once more.

~*~

He just needs a few minutes alone. He’ll be fine if he can just get that.

Noctis is well aware that wanting a few minutes of solitude is what resulted in his brush with death not one week ago, but he’s not the first Lucian king too stubborn to learn from history.

He retreats to the same place he fled to as a child, mostly whenever he’d been upset with his father. The Citadel has several gardens and greenhouses, but the one tucked away on the 43rd floor has always been his favorite. Patches of Tenebraean sylleblossoms had been carefully coaxed into flowering amidst the willow and sakura trees. He used to gape at the koi as they swirled majestically around the multi-tiered pond, the gentle scent of blossoms embracing him.

The fish that used to entrance him have long since died, their remains choking the water’s current. The flowers have all shriveled, their stalks stringy and yellowed. The trees at least, though they stand hollow and dead, stand still, creating a familiar enough setting. Noctis sits in the dirt before the edge of the pond, and watches the stale water lap quietly against the bank.

His killer has a name; Luca Taylor.

The sentence for an attempted assassination is death. Noctis knows this. There’d been attempts made before, on his life and his father’s, albeit none as successful. Regis hadn’t hesitated to meter out the king’s justice upon those foolhardy men and women. He’d watched with hard eyes as Clarus took their lives.

The crownsguard locked Luca up in one of Insomnia’s still-functioning prisons. Just waiting for Noctis to give the order. Gladio will leap at the chance for vengeance—if Ignis doesn’t beat him there first. But Noctis has said nothing yet about Luca, despite all the probing questions about his fate tossed his way.

Because he knows Luca was right.

The Long Night, as they all call it, has left its marks. As much as everyone tries to downplay it—so grateful he returned at all in their lifetime, they made no mention of the decade he’d abandoned them for, save for Gladio’s quiet “Took you long enough, princess”—Noctis can see how it has worn on all of them. He sees it in the way Ignis rations out meals for the week to the last crust of bread, leaving nothing unused. The way Gladio’s head snaps up at every sudden, unexpected sound, hands twitching for a sword. The way Prompto, once so animated and bubbly in everything he did, has taken to sitting still, to conserve his strength for survival.

The way they all can’t sleep without a light on in the dark of night.

Noctis had nearly wept when he’d stepped out of Talcott’s truck to witness how years of slow starvation and constant war had left them so haggard and hollow-cheeked, shadows of the men they’d once been.

And it’s his fault. All they endured, all Luca suffered through. The deaths of Sarah and countless others.

He hadn’t been enough. He’d pressed his hand to the Crystal and begged for the power to end the daemons. He’d offered everything. If the Astrals had told him a blood price would be enough, he would’ve slit his wrists right there in Gralea.

But instead, the Crystal had taken him away from them to build his strength, so he’d stand a chance against Ardyn Lucis Caelum. While Eos had suffered, he’d been cucconed in the impenetrable protection of the Crystal. Not knowing hunger or paranoia or pain like any of them had.

He will never truly understand what it felt like, for any of them. He would’ve gladly lived those ten years in the darkness alongside them. He feels like he’s cheated his way to a happy ending. He doesn’t deserve it.

Gods, if anyone deserves it, it’s Luna, his father. They’ve done so much, given so much. They deserve to be here in the world they saved, not him. Not the lazy, weak little prince.

A pair of boots crunch over the dead plants.

“Noct?” Prompto’s voice sounds strained. “You in here, buddy?”

Noctis almost says nothing, selfishly wanting more time to himself, but his guilt at the worried edge to his best friend’s voice has him calling out.

“Here.”

Prompto rushes to him, scanning him over for any type of injury. When he finds none, he sits at Noctis’ side. He sends out a message to their group chat. Noctis’ phone buzzes in his breast pocket with the text alert. Prompto’s gaze flicks to it.

“You know, we’ve been looking for you the past hour or so. Calling you.”

Has it been that long? Noctis can’t tell. His sense of time has been skewed since he emerged from the Crystal; his imprisonment hadn’t felt ten years long.

Prompto digs out a stone from the sandy soil and tosses it. It hits the pond water with a heavy plop.

Prompto laughs, mirthless. “Gotta say that was pretty uncool of you, man. We’re still in panic mode, you know? Ignis was about ready to tear apart all of Insomnia with the glaives and everything.”

Guilt settles uneasily in his stomach, like a thick sludge. Noctis hugs his knees to his chest.

“Didn’t hear the phone. ‘m sorry.”

Prompto deflates some at his muttered, shitty apology.

“I get it. Just tell us next time, okay? Give your poor crownsguard some peace of mind.”

“Not just that.” Noctis sighs. “Prompto, I’m sorry for…for everything.”

“What are you talking about?” Prompto asks, with a bewildered tone that has to be fake.

“Stop that,” Noctis shifts to glare at him. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know—”

“Noctis? Prompto?” Ignis’ voice rings out. He sounds out of breath. Gladio trails in behind him.

“Over here!” Prompto waves them over. Gladio and Ignis come to sit beside them.

“Why don’t you ever answer your damn phone?” Gladio grinds out, but Prompto speaks over him.

“Noct already apologized for that. And also for everything? Apparently?”

There’s a glance exchanged between the three of them that he doesn’t understand. Of course he can’t read them anymore. It’s been too long.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Noct.” Ignis says, and it’s that infuriatingly gentle tone of his that breaks him.

“Enough, please. You don’t have to coddle me, and pretend you don’t really resent me. You should never have had to wait so long for me to get out of the Crystal. I know what I am, okay? I know I’m a fuck up. A mistake. I know it, you guys know it, Luca Taylor knows it—”

“Whatever that man said to you, I can assure you he’s incorrect.” Ignis says, with a deep severity.

“He isn’t.” A peal of hysterical laughter rips through him. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know. I was a pathetic prince, and I’m an even worse king. You should’ve—You should’ve just let me die.”

His statement sucks all the air from the room. Horror is mirrored on all three of his friends’ faces, but then they shift: Gladio, to anger, Ignis, to grief, and Prompto, to incomprehension.

“Noct, no…” Prompto croaks.

“How could you even say that?” Gladio asks, with a surprising lack of heat despite his palpable fury.

“Noctis Lucis Caelum.” Ignis takes Noctis’ head between both his hands, forcing Noctis to look him in the eyes. “I have known you since you were six years old. Not once have I ever doubted you, or thought you a mistake. I never wished you were anyone other than who you are.”

Noctis pulls away.

“I put all of you through so much.”

“We chose to go with you.” Gladio says. “To follow you.”

“Ever at your side,” Prompto reminds him.

“It’s not as if you chose to stay away from us. It was in the hands of the Astrals.”

“Yeah, but if I’d been stronger, or better, somehow, maybe it wouldn’t have taken me so long.”

“Don’t you get that we don’t care about that?” Prompto says. Tears are gathering in his eyes. “Fuck, Noct. We’re so glad you’re back. We would’ve waited forever. And for you to go and say that you—that you wish you weren’t here—”

Prompto’s throat closes on the words, and he’s unable to continue.

“We mourned you.” Gladio picks up the conversation. “We knew you were still alive, we could still use the armiger and summon weapons, but it wasn’t the same without you there. We were so lost without you. We weren’t living, just...existing. Until you came back to us.”

Ignis shifts. “When you left us—no. When the Crystal took you from us, we splintered. Fighting together as a team felt wrong without you beside us. We separated. We were of better use spread out across Lucis, true, but the main reason we fractured is because we were not one whole without you, Noct. But we would find a way to meet up for your birthday. Every year.”

Prompto lets out a watery chuckle, swiping at his nose with his sleeve. “Six, do you remember that crappy little cake on his 26th? I thought you were going to kill us, Iggy.”

“Turns out powdered eggs and old flour don’t a good cake make,” Gladio grunts. “Just gives you the shits for days.”

“I did the best I could with what was available,” Ignis says, defensively. Then, he sobers. “But you must understand, Noct. We missed you not just because we felt we had a duty to our king. But because first and foremost you have always been our friend.”

Gladio and Prompto nod along with Ignis’ words.

And he’s—fuck. He’s crying now. Great ugly, heaving sobs that make his whole body shake. Prompto doesn’t hesitate to dive in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Noctis’ chest and burying his face in Noctis’ shoulder. Gladio slings his arm around Noctis’ shoulders, and Ignis wraps his arms around Noctis’ neck, pressing his face to Ignis’ chest. Surrounded by his friends, he lets himself go.

He cries. For all the people they’ve lost, for all his friends have had to endure. And lastly, he cries for himself. Finally giving himself permission to. He’s getting Ignis’ dress shirt all snotty and wet, but his chamberlain voices no complaints. Instead, they all hold him tighter still.

Noctis swallows thickly. “Guys, I’m…”

“I swear to the Six, Noct.” Prompto vows, voice muffled against Noctis’ shoulder. “If you try to apologize to us again I’m gonna punch you in the mouth.”

“No, I. I just wanted to say…”

He feels so loved.

“Thank you.”

#my fic #noct whump #some gladio whump too #ffxv #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia

14 notes · View notes

cosmosogler · 7 years

Text

it’s hard to want to write today.

i woke up kinda late, since i put my alarm on snooze for like 45 minutes. it was weird that my dream picked up where i left off when i fell back asleep. i don’t remember what it was about.

ghhh

i spent most of the morning screwin around on youtube. i didn’t call the school about my finances or look at anything physicsy. it probably would have been the best time to do that though considering how the next few days might look.

i had a pokemon battle while i was logged in wonder trading out my good eevees from yesterday. i didn’t realize that some of my team builds aren’t... there any more? like all of them only have five pokemon registered. and some of them didn’t have the items i gave them which was cool. at least the person i battled was really nice and only used five pokemon himself. i still got rocked though. no item on your tank really puts you at a disadvantage!

my chest and side felt pretty ok since i wasn’t moving around too much. i tried to eat a bagel with cream cheese again for lunch and did pretty well with it. i couldn’t finish it though. not much appetite.

at around 3 my gramma asked if i wanted to go to dinner with her and the cousins and my brother. i said sure. then i spent a while hanging out with eve and rubbing her chest and stomach. she let me rub her good hip a little bit too. i didn’t feel any obvious tumors there at least.

then at 4:30 we took off for gramma’s. we went to “italian food.” i had some ravioli and it was nice. caught up with gramma and grampa a little bit. my cousins were a little nicer than usual. maybe vacations are stressful for them too. i don’t know.

when we got home i watched the news with grampa for a little bit and we talked about dinosaurs. then i got one of gramma’s klondike bars and sat and watched m.a.s.h. with her. and i checked in on the boys playing roblox every now and then. we went home around 7. i went back to idling.

mom came home at some point. she stopped by my room. i had told her the other day that eve has been chewing on her nails on the foot of her bad leg. she said she’d mention it to uncle mike the vet and see what he had to say. apparently he says it’s really bad she’s doing that and it means she’s in a lot of pain. when i explained to mom why she might be doing that the other day, i mentioned that nerve damage in a limb will make the nails feel really weird and bad. i thought eve had already split a nail when i asked mom to bring it up with mike, but while i was petting her earlier they looked ok except for the chipped one in the front. she doesn’t let anyone touch her paws so we have a lot of trouble clipping her nails before they break.

anyway we went over a few options. what mom is going to do is set up an appointment for eve with mike and he’ll check to see if she’s in good health other than the terrible cancerous tumor that has engulfed her leg. if she is, then we can work out how/when we’re going to amputate her leg. mike seemed to think that was a valid option according to mom. if she’s not...

well. i have to make a decision either way.

i wish i could ask her what she wanted. it feels weird making a decision for someone who can’t talk or understand. even if she is my dog.

what i need to do next is get the school to actually tell me what the payment plan for my employment is. they don’t have that information anywhere on the web site and they directed me to a dead end last time i called to ask. i don’t understand why no one from the department has returned any of my messages or calls. my friend azra told me that a lot of grad schools lack the organization they advertise on their web sites.

when i have the money details down we can figure out if we can actually afford to hack eve’s leg off. mom was really worried about eve’s ability to recover from such a major surgery at 13. i think she was thinking about how we poured tons of resources into randi’s treatment and then she died anyway. i told her eve already lost the leg. all it’s doing now is hurting her. she said yeah.

um... i need to figure out the timeline for this though. like... i’m leaving basically permanently. at least that’s the plan. i’m leaving in two-ish weeks. if eve has the surgery, will she be able to recover without me? if eve can’t have the surgery, do we let her keep going until she literally can’t get up any more or do we kill her before i leave?

i told mom i would think about it and she left. then i sat down by eve and cried for a while. not like the kind where you make noise. but just silent blinding tears. i pet her for a while. like maybe if i pet her enough i’ll memorize how her fur texture changes along her back. how soft her white hair is. how silky the super-short fur on her face is.

i dunno.

i shoved my face up against jake right before he got euthanized and i don’t think i’ll ever get the smell of wet dog out of my memory. he’d been enjoying one of the more gentle summer showers in the afternoon and his fur was so thick he never dried off before we noticed...

i hate writing about this. it makes me cry. i don’t think i can keep crying though because it’s making my side hurt a lot.

i took the dogs outside for a while. doge didn’t want to come but she appreciated the cookies i gave them all anyway.

when my brother and i got home it was the time of day when wiley likes to run along the fence and jump up to see what’s on the other side every time a car goes by. my family’s mostly given up on trying to get him to stop. that’s what the shock collar had been for... fortunately mom gave that idea up pretty quick.

but my brother seems to think he’s got it under control. he tried to catch wiley while he was tearing across the yard. then when wiley went over to stand by the door to be let inside my brother screamed at wiley to come to him. wiley ignored him. so he screamed louder and sharper. wiley sat down instead of going over. afterward i figured out it was because wiley knew what was coming and just didn’t come when my brother called any more.

i let eve inside but my brother grabbed wiley and dragged him a few steps away from the door. then he grabbed wiley’s face and screamed? in his face?? to “stop jumping.” like that means anything to wiley. it reminded me of what dad does to diogi when she poops in the house. even though she doesn’t have a lot of control over her back half any more, nor does she like going outside without dad.

i thought about telling my brother that dogs only understand discipline when you do it during or immediately after they do the thing you don’t want them to do, but i don’t think that would change his behavior in any way. if you discipline them after telling them to come over to you so you can scream at them, then all they do is associate responding to your call with being screamed at. so they stop listening to you even more. i mean, that’s what i would do.

after i got eve and wiley back inside during the night, well after the anger explosion, wiley wanted to play with the basketball. after he smacked his head on the table it’s under i got it out for him. we kicked that around for a while. i tried to teach him to bring the ball over when i ask him to, mostly to get him to stop bringing it into mom’s room since she doesn’t like the noise. i think we made a little progress. he understands “get the ball” and “come here” at least, but putting the two together into “bring the ball here” is a little advanced right now. i think he might be learning that bringing the ball through the doorway specifically is what gets me to pet him. so he just puts it back in mom’s room and then takes it out when he wants more pets.

good enough right now.

eve came back upstairs with me. she’s been watching me all night. in between staring at me she’s been dozing still facing me. i guess she knows something’s wrong. not hard to tell really. when someone is crying and repeatedly patting your face it’s not hard to pick up that they’re sad for some reason.

i’m... glad i started spending a little more time with her these last few days. i don’t know how to teach her to play a new game in just two weeks when no one is going to ever play it with her again. i was thinking of a scent game. it might be hard to teach the commands though since her ears are near useless.

she didn’t eat her dinner today. well, she did after being repeatedly told to go to her bowl. at least she was interested in the cookies. i try to bring a new kind for them every time i go to the grocery store. the turkey and stuffing hasn’t been a huge hit but they went wild for chicken jerky so i might get something more like that next time.

i could say i wish i had taken her on more adventures, but thinking back i took her with me when i could almost all the time. we hiked a full mountain daily for like a whole summer. she’s been to the cabin several times. i got her to jump in oak creek a couple times, she’s visited my high school and jumped in other people’s cars to try to leave. i’ve given her interesting food to try every now and then. i give her things to hold all the time, or just show her what i’m holding and laugh when she tries to take it. i just... wasn’t home a lot. i didn’t have as many opportunities as i would have liked.

she really is the most important thing in the world to me. and we might not need more adventures but i don’t want her to die. i really don’t. i’ve never been this close with another living being in my whole life. sometimes i feel like she’s the only one who really understands me. i guess through her dog-sense or something. even though i can’t talk with her we get each other in a way i don’t really get other people or animals. and i don’t want that to end. but watching her chew through her bad leg breaks my heart and it breaks her heart.

i know being with me makes her happy, but she won’t have me any more in a few weeks and i worry about what that will mean for her health regardless of the surgery. and being happy with someone doesn’t mean your body isn’t in agony.

i know... after she dies, i will have more relationships with more animals. even close ones. but they won’t be this relationship. i mean relationship in a general sense. like, just knowing someone and interacting with them sort of relationship. friendship would be the word but it doesn’t quite have the same dynamic as a friendship with another person. i don’t have a perfect word for it. bond, i guess.

i just love her so much and she’s going to die like a quarter of the way through my natural lifespan. that’s not fair.

it’s 12:30... i need to try to sleep. the pain’s not nearly bad enough for another painkiller. the bruising from my surgery i mean. emotions are weird. i don’t have a good thought to end this entry on. i’m just really sad.

#animal death #not yet but i talk about it extensively #due to News

1 note · View note

writingismyhappytime · 7 years

Text

Dauntless: I Can't Stop (Part 2)

Eric x OC

Warnings: language, violence

"So that's it?" Peter whined as he followed me down the hallway, right on my ass. "We're just going to herd some factionless back into their holes?"

"Something like that," I grunted, trying to otherwise ignore the kid. He got on my nerves, and if he pissed me off too badly tonight I'd leave him with them.

He didn't get we were really going to kill a few of them, thin them out as per orders. He'd figure it out quick enough and help, and if he didn't... well, we couldn't exactly have any tattle tales, now could we?

Plus, he'd been a little bitch to my girlfriend and I'd have no qualms ending him.

Now where were we?

Ah yes, the armory. Peter has probably never been inside, and from the surprised look on his face as we entered, that confirmed it.

Kid probably had never had his cherry popped either.

I glanced around the armory as we entered. Metal racks lined the wall, going as far as the eye could see in the gray room. They lined the walls about three stories high, and I could see the other Dauntless milling around, cleaning the weapons, doing inventories.

Usually if a Dauntless got armory duty, they didn't leave it, it was a good and easy gig.

Unless a gun went missing, then there was hell to pay.

"Sign in," I muttered to Peter, motioning at the metal cage where someone sat, a small screen on the outside where everyone who entered had to sign in. I waited impatiently for him to do so, crossing my arms.

"This is the armory," I said, as if it wasn't obvious enough. "You get to pick one weapon for your first mission, so pick well. The wrong one could get you killed."

I hoped.

Peter hastily followed me as I shoved the metal door open, it swinging open silently to reveal the rows of guns in front of us.

All of them were automatic, and I could hear through some of the side doors a humming, meaning either more weapons were being created or their ammunition.

We generally had to be sparring with our ammo, we only had so many resources after all, but apparently we were in abundance right now.

I didn't bother to make sure Peter followed me, I knew he would as I walked past rows of tables, guns in multiple stages of being assembled.

"Don't ogle," I said to him, smirking as he stiffened quickly behind me, beady eyes still taking everything in. "It's not that impressive."

I was lying, it was pretty fucking impressive.

I loved the smell, especially of fresh gunpowder, the burn of it when fired. "Does everyone get to come in here?" Peter asked, still looking around like an idiot.

"Not everyone. Most of the time we just hand out the weapons, crate them up for missions. Unless you're assigned here or have clearance, it's not somewhere we normally let others wander."

Peter frowned.

"I bet Camille has been in here, even though she's just a Trainor."

I rolled my eyes, coming to a stop as I half turned, debating taking the closest gun muzzle and putting it to good use on the kid.

Camille had actually been assigned here after she'd completed her testing and come out number two, behind the majestic fucking asshole Four, but she hadn't wanted it.

Too tame for her I suppose.

She'd wanted to train, to fight, and the higher ups had obliged her, she was one of the best after all.

Had to admire her for not wanting one of the cozy jobs.

I turned to Peter.

"You piss me off today and I'm going to leave your ass with the factionless," I said quietly, catching his gaze. "I won't help you, I'll shove you right into the line of fire. I'm only warning you once."

Peter stared at me, whitening slightly.

Good.

Satisfied, I turned away, continuing to where we'd been heading before. I stepped into one of the other caged areas, watching as a woman loaded one of the semi-automatics, popping the magazine into the gun.

"Melanie."

"Eric." She greeted coolly, glancing up at me. "You're late."

"Max ordered someone new," I shrugged, stepping out of the way so she could see Peters scrawny ass. Peter hovered in the doorway, gazing at all the weapons behind us.

"Fresh blood? Is he ready for this?" She questioned, her black eyes spearing him.

Melanie was a frightening lady, covered in swirling tattoos, her blonde dreads tied at the back of her neck. She had a hoop hanging from the center of her nose, and from her black eye I could tell she'd been fighting again.

She had a temper.

But she was an efficient soldier, followed orders without question --- she ran the armory with an iron thumb, something Max liked.

"We'll see," I finally answered her, going for the gear lying on the trunks against the wall. I started strapping the armor on, Peter hesitating before doing the same.

I wasn't here to babysit him, he could figure shit out on his own.

We all did.

"How many are in the way tonight?" I asked, stepping to the table. Melanie shrugged her bare, tan shoulders, handing me an M-16 she had prepped for combat.

"Who knows, all of them look the same so it's hard to count. Jackson is coming along too, he's meeting us at the gate. He's already prepped, I was just waiting on you."

"So glad you were thinking of me," I grunted, taking the extra magazines on the table and slipping them into my belt.

"Don't I always?" She murmured, soft enough where Peter couldn't hear, too preoccupied with figuring out how to wear his gear.

I hesitated, cutting my eyes in her direction with a frown. We'd slept together a few times, I'd admit it, and she was a helluva good lay. We'd been fuck buddies since we'd first met until it had gotten serious with Camille.

Melanie hadn't exactly been pleased when she realized me and Camille were actually a thing, and I wouldn't fuck anyone else, not while I was with her. It had been a year now, maybe a little longer, but even when she pissed me off it didn't even cross my mind.

Maybe I'd lost my edge because of it, gone a little soft because I cared about someone, but I didn't give a shit. Camille made me semi-happy, for the first time in my miserable, fucked up life, and I wasn't going to risk our relationship for a different bed.

Not even for Melanie.

"Let's get going," I mumbled, grabbing the black duffel of ammunition off the table.

~~~~~~~~

Shit!

I hit the side of the building, clenching my gun tighter in my hands. I could hear the popping of gunfire, smell the powder in the air --- it was dark, we were way behind schedule and nothing was going to plan!

Shit!

"How far are we from the train?" I hissed over my shoulder, hastily wiping the sweat from my brow.

Melanie huffed, pressing her back against the wall beside me, both of us streaked with dirt. We'd been at this since dusk, herding those damned factionless where they belong --- leaving those who protested behind.

In pieces, actually.

Someone else can always clean up the mess.

"Five minutes until pick up," she rasped, sounding hoarse. She'd been barking orders for the last five hours into the radio on her shoulder, but we'd already lost contact with Jackson.

I figured he was dead.

Not our fault, people died in this line of business. Didn't much like the guy anyway.

You couldn't get attached in this line of business.

"Okay, let's keep going," I muttered, taking a step to the edge of the wall; these fucking factionless weren't supposed to fight back, they were supposed to run!

Camille was going to kill me for missing dinner!

I gritted my teeth, knowing I didn't have much ammunition left, and the enemy was endless from the looks of it!

"What about reinforcements?" I asked, hesitating as I saw the blood running down Melanie's arm; she was hurt? How bad?

She scowled, brushing some grime off her face, unaware of her wound. Dirt streaked her tan face, and she still managed to look badass despite the circumstances.

It was so dark, and with the smoke from the gunfire and scuffling, you couldn't see shit. I was burning up in my armor, sweat pouring down my skin and making the grime stick even worse.

It would take two showers to get clean after this.

"You seriously think they'd send some after us when we're on cleanup duty?" Melanie snapped, checking her magazine. "Yeah fucking right. Keep dreaming."

I glared at her, my head turning to look around the corner again.

"This way, I see an opening," I muttered, eyeballing the distance between us and the row of old dumpsters. "We can make it if we stay low. Follow me."

I cast one more furtive glance before I darted forward, my legs already burning. I slid to a stop, crouching hard, Melanie darting to my side.

"Okay, the train is over there," Melanie said, her voice tight. "Where's that kid you brought?"

"Hell if I know. Probably dead at this rate," I shrugged my shoulders, glancing around nervously. I had to admit, this was definitely a tight situation.

"So you're just going to leave him then?"

"He's not my responsibility."

"You're still a ruthless asshole."

Maybe.

But you had to be.

I didn't bother to respond, just turned, lifting my gun as I saw some black blurs in the distance. I narrowed my eyes, waiting for them to come into view, but they merely disappeared.

Great.

"Let's keep going while it's clear. We can get on the train and wait it out," I decided, sparing a glance to see her nod in agreement.

"Whatever you say."

That's what she always said.

I gave it a beat, then lunged forward, running hard for the train and not looking back.

My plan went well for about five seconds.

I flinched as a bullet pinged off the concrete by my feet, my eyes flashing to one of the nearby buildings --- great, a fucking sniper!

We'd be sitting ducks at this rate!

"Just keep going," Melanie hissed from behind me, shoving me hard when I slowed. She turned, still moving backward as she fired in wild arcs at the building, glass shattering and falling into the concrete.

I grabbed the back of her black vest, wrenching her behind me as I headed for another cover. We ducked down quickly behind the crumbled wall of a once tall building, staying low.

"We're not far from the train," I hesitated, brushing at my forehead again, no doubt smearing more fucking grime across my face.

It was just so hot beneath the armor, my skin was burning, and with all the running ---.

"We're totally fucked with a sniper in the area. One of us is going to get gunned down immediately, and I'm not volunteering," Melanie grouched, her gun pressing hard against her chest. "So come up with somethin'."

"Why me?"

"You're always the one with the bright ideas, aren't you?"

Shit.

Yeah right.

I rolled my eyes, hunkering down always little more, giving my feet a small break as I tried to figure something out.

Nothing was coming to mind except making as break for it.

"Why are these factionless so well armed? It's been getting worse and worse lately."

"They're stealing, obviously. How else? They must have some kind of reserve somewhere."

"Yeah, but --- their training ---."

"Eric, shut the fuck up. We don't have time to worry about that stupid shit right now," Melanie snapped, shaking her blonde head. "Buck the fuck up!"

Yeesh.

She didn't have to be such a bitch about it.

We both flinched, ducking as bullets started pinging off our little wall, and my stomach dropped as one came completely through, inches from my face --- I could feel the breeze off of it on my cheek.

"We'll die if we stay here," I hissed, getting as low as I could. "We gotta move!"

"And go where!?"

"Anywhere is better then here!"

My eyes scanned the area hastily, but other then a shattered fountain and some burnt out hull of whatever it was, this was the only cover from here to the train.

If we didn't get in we were dead.

Even if we did get in, we could be dead.

So what the hell?

"Make a run for it, I'll cover you," Melanie suddenly said.

What?

"What?"

"You got somewhere to be, don't you? That bitch of yours is waiting for you to get back, and I don't want to be the one to tell her you got shot down by a factionless. She'd rip my head off."

Well, I wouldn't disagree.

"Mel ---."

"Just go. I got another magazine left, it should be enough to get you to the train. When you get on, fire as fucking much as you can for the same spot and I'll move as quick as I can.

Ah, okay.

"You think that's going to work?"

"Well it kind of has too, dontcha think?"

"One of us is going to get shot in the ass, I just know it," I grumbled, but it wasn't a bad idea, it gave us a chance.

Her dark lips curled.

"Don't even," I snapped, just knowing what she was about to say; I wasn't giving her an opportunity to bring up any of our time together, no matter how good it had been.

She chuckled weakly, but there was no humor in her eyes.

It's hard to be truly amused when you're seconds away from death, from having your head blown off in one more step or thought.

I needed to stop coming on these missions.

"Cover me," I muttered, disliking the sudden eery silence; I'd rather the guy be shooting at us so I could get a location on him again.

Mel nodded, turning so she was crouching, her gun pointed more towards the building. I shuffled, getting to my sore feet, slinging my gun over my shoulder.

One of us was so going to die.

If it was me, I didn't have any doubts Camille wouldn't bring me back to fucking kill me again.

She was an asshole that way.

I cut my eyes back, and Melanie gave me a curt nod, letting me know it was time.

My chest clenched, a white, cold feeling sweeping through my body I did my best to ignore. I had to get back, I couldn't --- and wouldn't --- die out here!

I took off, my boots pushing against the riddled ground as I took off. I heard Melanie immediately begin firing, and I didn't look back, just ran as hard as my legs could go.

I slammed into the train, literally tossing and rolling myself over the edge of the platform. I staggered a little to my feet as I reached the open compartment, throwing myself into the metal enclosure.

I pulled one of the train doors halfway shut, knowing they wouldn't open from the outside unless I said so; no one was sneaking up on me. I grabbed my gun, my gloves keeping my damp hands from slipping as I pulled the stock against my shoulder, finding Mel through my scope.

Ah, she was fine.

Okay, now where's the other asshole?

I sighed, my gun roving as I sought out the enemy, my heart beat still loud in my ears as the adrenaline ran through my body.

Fuck!

I couldn't find which window the asshole was in! Mel had definitely blown most of the glass out of the building, but still.

Wait.

There!

I cast a glance at Melanie, seeing she was ready to run, just waiting for me to tell her too.

I raised my hand, signaling her.

Almost immediately she took off, long legs carrying her towards the train. I waited, my finger tight on the trigger.

Come on, come on, where the hell are you!? I was waiting for the guy to make an appearance, I wanted to end this!

Melanie was halfway to the train when I finally saw his barrel inch out of one of the windows, and I didn't wait, just immediately started firing, knowing I had to at least hit his gun from how it jerked.

Yes!

Melanie's lean body was soon throwing itself into the compartment with me, and I pulled back, letting her wrench the final train door closed and cut us off from the fray.

Whew.

That went better then expected.

"You hurt?"

"Not much," Melanie brushed at her clothes, bruises covering her body just as mine. "You?"

"Just peachy."

She rolled her eyes, pushing her gloves down where she could see her watch.

"It's already after midnight," she sighed, slowly sitting down. It looked more to me like her legs went out from under her, but I didn't comment.

My muscles were trembling too, my legs wanting to jerk from all the exercise, but I wouldn't let them.

Instead, I got to my feet, walking over to the computer screen on the wall and punching some of the buttons.

"You're not worried that the kid or Jackson might still be alive?" Mel asked as she felt the train shift, starting to move.

"If they were, they would've made it here before us. If they're Dauntless, they'll find a way back home."

She sighed, but didn't comment as she leaned back in her ringed hands, crossing her ankles and just looking at me as I slid down the wall.

She reminded me of Camille for the world.

Mel was maybe a little rougher, started fights where she didn't need too, thrived on chaos. She was tatted up to her jaw, had a worse mouth then I did at times, and like me, was pretty fond of the female form.

Well, male too I guess.

Mel didn't discriminate in her bed buddies, and we'd definitely had some good times because of it.

But that's all it had ever been; we didn't have a connection, I wasn't drawn back to her after it. She was just a friend I guess, there was nothing about her that drew me in... well, like Camille did.

No one was like Camille.

How did I fuck myself over that way? I was Dauntless, I wasn't supposed to get attached to anyone, I'd always told myself I wouldn't.

It hadn't started off as a problem, us being a thing, but I wasn't sure who got attached first.

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

"Huh?" I looked up, frowning as I saw Mel staring me down.

"Camille. You always get a stupid look on your face when you do, like you're constipated or something."

"Fuck off, Mel."

Her lips curved. "You're really crazy about her, aren't you? This is the longest you've ever gone with someone, just the two of you."

I pressed my lips together, deciding it was better to stay quiet and not dig my own hole.

"It's fine, Eric. Camille's alright. Kind of soft for your taste, in my opinion, not that it matters. But she gives you hell, right?"

"All the time."

"Good. You'd get bored with a peaceful chick."

"Camille is the farthest from peaceful."

"So I've heard. She's an excellent trainer, her initiates are always top notch. I'm glad you're happy with her, Eric."

"Thanks." I frowned at her. "What's with the gushy shit all of a sudden? Are you shot?" My eyes skimmed her, just in case.

"Nah. But I see shit, more then people think. And since we haven't fucked in a while I figure you're pretty serious about her. She'd probably try to kick my ass if she knew about us."

I shrugged; we didn't discuss our past relationships, Camille didn't seem to care about the past.

I leaned my head back, feeling exhausted where I sat. The train rocked lightly beneath me, it wasn't as shaky as the ones used to be.

"This mission went to hell, didn't it?" Mel sighed, apparently prepped for her rambling session; she always talked too much.

One of the reasons I didn't stick around after sex.

Now how long till we made it back to the compound?

~~~~~

I hopped off the train wearily, my body aching and definitely in need of a shower. I rolled my shoulders as I stepped forward, seeing Max waiting for us on the compound, a chagrined look on his face.

Yikes.

He was gonna rip us a new asshole.

"Max ---."

"Eric!"

Huh?

I half turned, a little surprised as I heard my girlfriends voice. I saw a blur of black hair until she rammed into me so hard I had to take a step back.

"Camille? What ---?"

"You stupid asshole!" She hissed, her arms wrapped so tightly around my neck I could barely breathe. "What the fuck are you doing, running off on a mission without backup!?"

I sighed, letting my hand press against her waist.

"I'm fine."

"You smell awful!"

"I'll take a shower."

"You're covered in grime!" She huffed, taking a step back to scan me. "And you're cut up!"

Her hands suddenly cupped my face, and I leaned into her grip, relieved. For a few minutes there I thought I'd never see her again.

I pressed my lips against her palm, seeing her dark gaze soften.

"You're so stupid," she murmured. "Why didn't you tell me you were going out?"

"Because you would have wanted to come with me," I responded, pulling away from her quickly, mildly embarrassed when I remembered where we were.

Max and Melanie were both pretending not to notice our moment, instead discussing how our "sweep" had gone wrong.

"... much more of them them there should have been," Melanie was grumbling. "Hell, I don't know if Jackson and that kid are alive, we got separated."

"Kid?" Camille asked, her hand tight on my arm.

"Peter."

"Who's Peter?"

I sighed. "Nosey."

"Oh." Camille paused, strands of her black hair falling in her eyes before she brushed them out of the way. "I hope he doesn't come back, the little asshole."

I snorted, surprised as I cut my eyes down at her. "I almost forgot how much you didn't like him."

"Well, don't. He's a little bitch."

I chuckled, taking her hand and squeezing. She squeezed back, but then her nose curled.

"You smell like dirt. Go take a shower already."

I rolled my eyes.

Good old Camille.

~~~~~

I stood beneath the water, letting the dirt and blood from the last six hours wash off my skin.

I ran my hands through my short hair, watching the black run down my skin in rivulets.

Funny, the things you take for granted.

I thought I was going to die out there, that I would never make it back. Even with Mel at my side, I'd started to seriously question if I would or not.

I would have gone out killed by those fucking factionless, the worthless leeches. I didn't want to go that way, so pathetically.

If I did, I wanted it to be extravagant, lots of fiery explosions and chaos. It seemed more my style.

I sighed, looking down at my arms, my skin scrubbed red and clean. Small cuts burned where the water and soap hit them, reminding me of the windows that had shattered over me again and again, factionless firing at me.

Shit.

I needed to retire already.

This was too much stress.

No wonder Dauntless died early.

I glanced over as the shower door moved, and I relaxed as Camille slipped in behind me.

Her cool arms slipped around my wet waist, pulling me back against her dry body.

"You had me worried," she said after a moment, lightly kissing my back. "You were supposed to be home for dinner."

"I know. Shit went south. There was more factionless then we expected."

"More then just four of you should have went."

"Wasn't my call."

"I know, I just... fuck, I was hounding the hell out of Max." She sighed, slowly letting go of me. "I thought I was going to have to go after you."

"I wouldn't have wanted you too," I said, the water now starting to glisten on her skin from touching mine. "It was too bad."

"Exactly. So you're not going back out."

I frowned,shifting uneasily. She just thought it was supposed to be a small sweep, but it wasn't. The four of us had gone out there to thin the herd, so to speak. We'd literally gone to kill as many of them as we could; I was sure we'd accomplished quite a bit of what we'd set out to do, even with there only being so little of us.

I did the dirty work for Dauntless, so did Mel. There was quite a lot of us who did shit in the shadows, did a lot of bad stuff the rest of our faction knew nothing about .

It wasn't because we wanted to, it was because it was necessary. We had too, and we can't stop doing it, I can't stop.

Someone had to do it.

Just... I didn't want too anymore.

I had someone to come home to now.

#jai courtney x oc #jai courtney eric #eric jai courtney #jai courtney fan fiction #jai courtney #eric divergent #divergent fanfiction #divergent fan fiction #divergent imagine #divergent #jai courtney smut #insurgent #eric insurgent #insurgent fan fiction #eric insurgent fan fiction

95 notes · View notes

spinningsidetable · 5 years

Text

Gentleman: 1/3

Pairing: Octavian/Leo Valdez (leotavian)

Warning/Genre: Genre/Warning: AU, No Godly Parents, Spy Shit, Action Movie Parody, Non-Linear Story Telling, Admittedly Unhealthy Relationship, Descriptions of Violence, Dubious Consent Smooching, Sexual Situations,"Humor"

Rating: Mature

Summary: Leo has worked for the Agency for awhile now, the guy in the chair helping Agents save the world and all that, but now it seems like an actual supervillain is enamored with him.

(Notes: I'm condensing this, so long story short and all that, this isn't meant to be a healthy ideal relationship, it was born entirely out of American action movie tropes. I'm going to trust those reading this are adults and able to tell reality from fiction.)

“It’s the perfect plan!” Leo exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the blueprints in front of the group. “I know it’ll work. Because, I mean, I came up with it. When have my plans ever gone bad?”

Jason and Piper exchanged a look, as did virtually everyone else in the room, including grunts in the background working on machinery.

“I…well, let’s spitball some other thoughts, maybe?” Jason spoke slowly, as though he didn’t want to spook a small animal. Or, small Leo that was.

“Right! Let’s maybe revisit that miniature drone idea?” Piper offered, looking to some other people behind her who seemed to catch on and began nodding animatedly.

“Oh- oh, yeah! The drones!”

“That’s a good idea!”

“Great job, Leo!”

Leo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I thought we already established that he had EMP devices set up around the perimeter of the base, so we can’t get in any drones, micro or otherwise.”

“Oh,” Piper’s face fell. “Well. Maybe underwater drones? I’m sure Percy could-“

Percy was sitting up on a desk behind Leo and shook his head very animatedly, throwing up a big NO with hand signs.

“Right, so, my plan is the best.” Leo said slowly, looking around the room. “Right?”

Piper bit her lip and looked pleadingly up at Jason. Hero Jason. Crime fighting, evil syndicate breaking up Hero. Leo’s best friend since freshman year of high school, Jason.

“It’s just…we’re worried about you, Leo.” Horrible liar, Jason.

“It could go wrong, really quickly.”

Leo rolled his eyes, tapping the laser pointer in his left hand against the desk. The whole presentation with slides had taken 25 minutes.

“He’s never hurt me before, Jason, come on. You know this is our best chance to get in the compound and plant the virus. This is the only way we can save those congressmen!...Or was it senators this time?”

Leo hadn't really cared one way or the other, only skimming through the documents. All he knew was he hadn’t, and wouldn't, vote for the guys.

“Is it though? Is seducing a supervillain really the best way?” Grover asked, slightly nervous. Then again, a lot of secret agents tended to have a nervous or paranoid disposition.

Leo threw his hands up, exasperated. “In this specific situation?! YES! Look, like I said, he’s never hurt me. Come on guys, I’ve always just been…the repair guy, the guy in the chair. But, this one crazy asshole seems to be in love with me, so let me do the super-secret spy shit for once! Instead of Jason, or Reyna, or Percy!”

“…But he’s not in love with you.” Annabeth said, frowning, before being shushed and chided by about five people. “What? He’s not.”

“Uhhh,” Leo paused, before he laughed incredulously. Were they all crazy? Had they met the guy?

“Yes, he is? He’s tried to capture me like…fifteen times now? He calls me all sorts of pet names in like…so many different languages? He poured me a glass of wine from the 1700’s for fucks sake!”

There was complete silence, besides a nervous cough by a soldier in the back.

“…What?”

“Don’t…you think, maybe…that’s a little suspicious?” Piper asked, her voice going down to calm soothing mode. “That the bad guy would target…you?”

Leo frowned, glancing down at himself and back up. Rude. “Why?”

“Because you’re a weak link,” Reyna huffed finally having had enough. Jason hissed something at the female captain, looking more like an upset bird more than a 6’2 blond superman.

“Shush, Grace. Look, you’re Jason’s friend. Which means you have more information on him than anyone else besides Piper. You’re also in charge of our engineering and online resources, which means taking you out of the equation is important. Plus, you probably have connections to virtually every world leader, through your contacts at the Agency. He’s not going to chance taking Piper again, not after the first time he tried to kidnap her, Jason nearly brought down half a mountain.”

The first time Jason had met Piper, the girl had discovered for herself a secretive plot to kidnap and use major film and media stars. She had broken into a closed off building she suspected was involved, high up in the alps and ended up captured. Jason (and a whole team, but mostly Jason) had been sent in to extract her. The lovestruck blond idiot fell head over heels, nearly cost them the mission, if it hadn’t been for Piper’s quick thinking. She had been part of the group ever since.

Reyna looked Leo up and down, unimpressed. She’d led a black Ops group for over half a decade now, and Leo never seemed to give proper distance and caution to herself and her team. The engineer had gotten himself high clearance just from being associated with Jason Grace. It wasn’t like he underestimated her, or treated her poorly, but the kid lived in a bubble of his own creation. Everything was at least partly a game to him. Leo was either often dangerously flippant or damn near suicidal. Or, that’s what it seemed like. If he wanted to be an Agent, he’d have to learn now. He couldn't continue to assume he and Jason could buddy cop their way through things like a bad B movie.

“You, Valdez? You’re the easy target. You have no romantic affiliation. You’re not physically strong enough to stop him; and you’re apparently extremely gullible for a smart person.”

Jason was pinching his nasal bridge by the time Reyna had finished speaking, while Piper was looking resolutely anywhere besides Leo.

Leo blinked, and opened his mouth, before closing it. “That…That’s not. No, he’s…he tells me he’s-”

“Attracted to you? No offense, but you’re far from the most attractive man on this vessel. You’re not even the most attractive gay short man in this room.”

Nico, behind Reyna seemed to connect the dots, and frowned. “Was that a compliment or-“

“Look, Leo, we appreciate the offer, really.” Piper pushed Reyna to the side slightly, shooting her a look. “But, we…should probably look for …other options, okay.?

“I’m bi,” Leo said hollowly. “I’m not gay.”

“Leo, don’t make this into something it isn’t.” Jason exhaled sharply out of his nose. “You really don’t want to have a supervillain attracted to you. I get it, the guys weird, it's confusing…look, come on, let's brainstorm something else. I'm sure you still have half a dozen other ideas.”

“You…all agree with her?” Leo shook his head, as something in his chest clenched. Did they think so little of him? “You think he’s just…trying to get information out of me? Because I’m some…naïve, weak, loveless idiot?”

No one said anything more, so Leo laughed to himself. This was like all highschool and college all over again. “Okay, wow. Fine. Whatever.”

“Leo-“ Jason started, but Leo turned to leave the ready room.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just go back to engineering. You’re right, obviously, you’re always right, aren’t you?” The door slammed behind him.

“Fuck that,” Leo hissed, stomping down the small metal corridors on the aircraft carrier. He muttered to himself the entire way, ignoring the looks he got from seamen.

“So what if I’m not…Nico, or Jason, or Percy. Maybe I’m his type?” Leo had, as far as Leo knew, never been anyone’s type, but that didn’t matter. One girl in 9th grade described him as an over eager gerbil.

"Okay, so maybe Reyna has a point, I’d be useful to his evil schemes – but that just means I’m smart! Smart is sexy, right? That’s probably a kink right, like bibliosexual or something? He probably just appreciates my abilities on multiple levels! It’s not like he only became interested in me when he found out who I was in relation to Jason!” Wait, that’s exactly what had happened, wasn’t it? Leo stopped dead in the middle of a hallway.

“Oh god, she’s right, isn’t she?” Leo stewed in his own angst for a minute, before deciding to say fuck it and just return to his room. He continued to grumble, passing by some of the same soldiers who sent him increasingly odd looks until he reached his room.

“Of course, who would be attracted to Leo Valdez? I can’t even have a singular supervillain?” He slammed that door for emphasis too.

“Well, I may know of one. Hello, passerotto mio.”

Leo froze, he unfortunately knew that voice quite well, before turning cautiously. Sure enough, a young man sat on his bed, legs crossed in a very nice black suit. He was taller than Jason, but slimmer in figure, with a head of immaculate pale blonde hair. His tone was soft and casual, but his pale blue eyes were always intense.

“Octavian,” Leo said slowly. “How the fuck did you get in here?”

Octavian stood up, nearly having to crouch in the small rooms within the aircraft carrier. He held a hand over his heart, and sighed. “I searched for you in my soul, amore, and found you here.”

“Haha. Don't make fun of me. Okay, that’s bullshit.” Leo held up a finger and pointed at the ground. “I mean, here, in my room? In the exceptionally well defended aircraft military carrier in the middle of the fucking nowhere Pacific Ocean, without anyone noticing?”

Octavian smiled, which was always a bit disturbing, because he looked slightly (understatement) manic at times.

“Maybe I’m from an underwater civilization, like Atlantis; or, maybe I have private submarine, radar shielding… and I’m sorry to tell you this, but not everyone on this ship is so…sympathetic to your friends causes.”

Bad, that was very bad, really very bad news. They had turncoats, spies. Everyone on board was in danger. Leo needed to stall the man, as best as possible. Jason or Piper would likely come to check on him after a bit.

“That’s…got to be some really good radar shielding, to hide from this ship.” Leo said slowly, leaning up against the door.

Octavian walked closer. This man had toppled small governments, created rebellions, killed politicians and businessmen. “…Want to tell me how it works?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m afraid my tech knowledge isn’t anywhere near as advanced as yours, lux vitae meae.” Octavian was close enough to smell his cologne. He smelled good, he always smelled good; Leo smelled like engine grease usually. Leo didn't know anything about cologne, but Octavian’s was never overpowering, it was the kind you wanted to lean in closer to sniff, next to their body.

“I can always ask my people for the tech details. If you’d stay with me until morning, I’d love to tell you over breakfast.”

“Latin this time?” Leo’s ears were heating up, and he fanned himself. “Boy, just jumping right to it, huh?”

A small smirk tipped up the corner of Octavian’s lips, “I’d be a perfect gentleman.”

Nervous laughter bubbled up in Leo’s throat. A gentleman supervillain. Ridiculous.

“That’s…great and all,” Leo stuttered over a few words. “But…the jig is up, you know. I’m…wise to you. If you think I’m some…weak link, you’re wrong.”

Octavian’s brows furrowed just ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” Leo nodded to himself, feeling mildly emboldened in the face of death. “I’m never going to tell you anything about Jason, or any codes, or anything about my machines! You can sweet talk all you want, but I’m not that naïve!” Yes, he was. Apparently. “You can drop the act, you’re not tricking anyone.”

“Tricking you?” Octavian repeated slowly. “With….sweet talk?”

“Yup,” Leo popped the p, taking a step forward away from the door. He shoved a finger into Octavian’s chest, who looked down at it, amusement clearly growing on his face. It was a familiar look, like the first time they met.

“We both know you don’t have the hots for me. Look at me. I’m…not even the hottest short gay guy on the boat.” Leo faltered slightly, trying to repeat Reyna’s words. Would Octavian go after Nico next? Mitchell? Mitchell was kind of an asshole, so Leo hoped not. Octavian could do better- wait, he was a mass murderer.

“I see.” Octavian grabbed up Leo’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Says who?”

Leo’s brain stopped functioning. “Buh, what wait? I-…everyone apparently?”

Octavian peppered kisses down his hand, to his fingers. “Ah, and who is everyone? When did this happen? You used to be so fiery, telling me you could never be with a man like me…Now, you believe I’m lying?”

“I-..I…” Leo’s eyes were focused on the pale hand around his own tan one. He still had dirt and grime on his hands, but that didn’t seem to matter. It never seemed to matter. In fact the more filthy Leo was, the more interested Octavian acted.

“They…told me my plan was bad…”

Octavian paused, looking Leo in the eyes. “Plan?”

“I…was going to offer myself up to you, seduce you, and then plant a virus?” Leo laughed, awkwardly trying to pull his hand back. “I’m guessing you would have just tortured and killed me, huh?”

Octavian’s eyes had dilated, and his head tilted just slightly to the side. “Seduced me? How so?”

Leo flushed. “Man, I don’t know. You know, I only have spy movies to go off of? I guess… wear something skimpy, get all up close and personal, but put off sex until I can drug you asleep? Something like that? Do they make poison lipstick, or is that just a TV comic book thing?”

Teeth nipped at Leo’s finger tip, just slightly, before Octavian answered in a rough voice. “If you think I would kill you for that, you’re very mistaken. And, while I can’t possibly object to you in less clothing, I find you quite seductive as you are.”

Leo looked down at his grungy white tank top and brown oil stained jogger type shorts. “Okay, now I’m really starting to realize how full of shit you are. Drop the act-”

He was cut off, by getting pushed against the door. Lips met his in a demanding kiss, while hips pressed against Leo’s stomach gave away the fact maybe he wasn’t so full of bullshit. Octavian was hard, not fully, but enough that butterflies in Leo’s stomach began to flutter. Leo’d never been with a man before, he’d barely been with a woman. He’d spent ages 16-23 essentially as Jason’s weird sidekick. They’d been trying to save the world for the last 3 years, and before that it was just crunch week, except if crunch week was 4 solid years. Any guy or girl around was attracted to Jason, or Piper, or Nico, or Percy, the list grew and grew as they met more and more agents.

Leo whined slightly, clenching his hands into the suit in front of him. Octavian was always such a good kisser. Leo found that out kidnapping 6#. Leo was properly distracted, playing tonsil hockey until something blasted him out of the moment.

An actual blast, that rocked the ship. The metal groaned, and creaked in a way that told Leo the ship was likely taking on water, a lot of it.

Octavian pulled back, lips flushed a lovely red, smiling like the cat that got the Canary. “Ah, well, that’s my que. You know what you said about drugging someone asleep?”

Leo paused, and frowned, and then realized. “Oh.” Ya valió madre.

In one of Octavian’s hands was a very small patch, that he had affixed to the back of Leo’s neck as he kissed him. Leo’s vision began to blur, and he felt the familiar sensation of blacking out. This was not the first time Octavian had used such a thing on him. Afterall, this was kidnapping number 16. Knock out patch was roughly kidnapping #9 which Leo didn't remember very well, besides laying in bed with a headache and Octavian massaging his temples. Leo had built up more of a tolerance since then.

“Sleep, petit souris.” Octavian’s voice became a garbled mush of noises. Leo mumbled something that sounded like 'you're French now?' before he stumbled and collapsed into open arms.

“Computers, computers,” Leo sang to himself, as he pulled out hard drives and wires. “Only an idiot doesn’t protect their computers!”

It wasn’t like it was Leo’s first time out or anything, him and Jason had already taken on some serious nasty pieces of work, but this was their first real mission together. Jason had been roped into the Agency a year and a half ago, but Leo was left sitting in an office. Of course, the Agency had excellent offices. Nice chairs, some nice pieces of tech, coffee stations. But, it was getting boring, just surveying cameras, talking to Jason and other Agents over comms. Leo had wanted action, so when some freak that called himself Octavian (real name unknown) captured a good sized law firm in the heart of New York city, he jumped at the chance.

Most of the bad guys and Agents fighting were in another part of the building; Leo wasn’t trained for any of that really, but he was trained to take down any computers, networks, and surveillance the dastardly bastard had set up. A couple Agents were at the look out, keeping Leo covered as he went to work. They were the strong silent type, probably, didn’t want to talk to Leo much. Because of duty, and honor. Definitely not because they thought he was annoying.

“You know,” Leo pulled out a screwdriver from his toolbelt, “you should really let me make some customizations to your weapons. Sure, they’re good, but they could be so much better.”

“I’m sure they’d appreciate the thought,” a voice said behind Leo. That was not Hank or Sam, Leo realized, and scrambled to his feet.

A blond man stood at the doorway, his body posture was relaxed, but his expression was anything but. Hank, one of the Agents, slid down the wall, throat bloody and flowing down his chest at an alarming rate.

Leo’s hands went cold, as he watched the man of the hour, Octavian, casually wipe arterial blood splatter off his cheek like it was jam.

Sam wasn’t as far gone as Hank had been, and he struggled to stand up to fight back. Octavian let out a gleeful laugh, before grabbing Hank’s gun and blasting Sam through the bottom of his chin and out the top of his skull.

“Oh, my god.” Leo whispered, stomach turning over. It wasn’t the first death he had seen, not the first dead body, but this was a small closet; Leo was right up close and personal. A piece of Sam landed on Leo’s boots.

“You…came! Octavian, sir, I was captured!” Leo gasped out, coming to his senses. “I’m so glad to see you! I thought those…Agency bastards would kill me!”

Octavian had taken a moment to grab up personnel information from the fallen Agents, but at Leo’s voice, he zeroed in on the shorter man. The same expression that had been on Octavian’s face when he killed Sam came back full force.

“Try again.”

Leo gulped, holding up his hands. “I’m the computers guy! I swear! They trapped me in here when I came to check on the servers they had already started to destroy!”

Octavian held up Hank’s gun and cocked it. “Last chance, pieni rotta.”

Leo momentarily forgot his fear as he full grimaced. “Yo, man, did you just call me a rotten penis? What even language was that?”

Octavian looked more amused, shrugging a shoulder, but tilted the gun back and forth in a lazy manner. “Tic toc, tic toc.”

Leo’s shoulders dropped, “what answer would keep you from blasting my brains out?”

Octavian actually seemed to think about it. “Well, you’re obviously tech savy, otherwise you wouldn’t be here - that could always be useful, however if you’re too high ranking you become a target – too low, I have no use for you.”

Leo grinned, clapping his hands together. “That’s like, so convenient, you have no idea! Because, I am, in reality, a moderately high level engineer! Like, perfect level of useful enough not to kill immediately! I’m so glad we sorted this out. In fact, you don’t even have to torture me!”

Octavian holstered the gun with a nod. Holy shit, had that actually worked?

“Good try. Now, who are you actually? We can have this conversation civilly.”

No, of course not. Leo snorted. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman.”

A crackle from Leo’s comms kicked in, as Jason’s voice came through. “Leo! You need to evacuate immediately! I repeat. Evacuate immediately!”

“Leo,” Octavian pronounced slowly, deeply, to the point it felt nearly invasive. “You’re Leo Valdez? I’d heard of you, of course, but I had no idea…”

Leo, tight lipped and clench jawed, lifted the comm to his mouth. “NOT A GREAT TIME, JASON. OVER.”

Then he turned back to Octavian. “Yeah, well, I’ve made a point to remove myself from anything trackable. Plus, the Agency didn’t want to let me off leash until today. Obviously, I'm just too dangerous. Five foot two inches of Rambo.”

“How is your first experience in the field?” Octavian asked casually, seemingly playing along.

“Oh,” Leo shrugged a shoulder. “You know. Started off okay, tons of bacon at the buffet, then we broke into this building to save a bunch of rich white guys in suits. Now, an even whiter guy slash possible supervillain is holding me hostage. Also, I’ve got brains from a guy on my shoes. It is what it is.”

Octavian’s expression, inexplicably, softened slightly from a 13 on the Murdery scale, to…maybe a 4?

“You amuse me, schattig mechanic. If we were under better circumstances, I’d love to take you out. Do you like Italian?”

“Why? Are you Italian?”

“Very possibly, or maybe not.”

“Well, you know, you’re kind of hot in a scary way, so I’d probably take you up on that. I get out like…never.” Leo questioned if he should be flattered or not, or what the fuck a schattig was. Didn't sound Italian. Something Nordic maybe?

“But, again, guys brains on my shoe.”

“You really seem stuck on the shoe thing.”

“Much like the grey matter on my shoe.”

“I’ll get you a new pair,” Octavian, stepped aside from the doorway as more men showed up. Not Leo’s men.

“But, first, I’m afraid little kiniun…you’ll be coming with me.”

#fanfiction #mypjofanfiction #pjo fanfic #Leo Valdez #pjo Octavian #octavian #hoo octavian #leotavian #repost from ao3 #excessive use of translate apps

0 notes