#and then spike replied with something akin to 'because this group is a front of maturity'
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You know, I really like this moment between Angel and Giles in season 10.
Because, for the most part, everyone is having issues with Angel here (I might break that down in a moment), though they've asked him if he can fly in from London to help them fight Archaeus, though are acting like this towards him (but I get why with stuff that's happened before this)... and I feel it's GILES who steps in here to try and turn things around, with his purposely distracting question about Faith, which is definitely surprising to see (because we all know Angel and Giles' many issues). And it just makes it an even more amazing moment FOR that reason to me.
But as for the reasons for the drama here (the shortened version, anyway):
Angel just found out at this exact moment that Buffy is dating Spike, which he's obviously heartbroken about because he's still in love with her. And when he showed up a tiny bit ago, they'd had a moment where they were talking one-on-one in Willow's room, that I think made Angel think for a second that they were going to get back together (some of the stuff that Buffy was saying may have also led him think this; I'm not blaming Buffy here. It was all just really bad timing, that I really don't know could have been avoided, any way you spin it). And Buffy clearly feels really bad about all of that.
And also in a minute, Angel and Buffy get into an argument about splitting up (not the splitting up part), but the fact that Buffy wants their strongest magic users on Angel's team, in case Archaeus (Angel's great-grand sire) gets control over him (an ability that he has) and they then they all have Angelus to deal with, plus Archaeus. And then Buffy is basically saying, "Tell me I'm not wrong!" and Angel can't, but he's still kind of irritated about it.
Spike is jealous that Angel is here, and that they need him at all, and is worried that Buffy might break up with him and get back with Angel, thus the two of them are fighting like usual.
Angel and Dawn are on really good terms with each other--and are excited to really be getting to know each other for the first time--so Dawn is one of the few exceptions to this mess.
Xander was actually trying with Angel for the first time ever, and it's actually really commendable and all really good, for the most part! Though there's this moment where Xander gets envious when Angel and Dawn hug. Because Xander/Dawn is canon to the comics, but they're broken up for a second here. And I'm guessing in seeing them hug (and with Buffy dating Spike here), he was worried that those two could start dating now? (And speaking of which, Buffy also acted really weirdly to Angel hugging Dawn, so much so that she, like, yanks her out of Angel's arms. o_0 It might be because she feels like she can no longer trust Angel with Dawn or the people she loves--and if so, that's really annoying and ticks me off--but I think it's actually because she was also strangely jealous of this moment... Wow, everyone is just being haunted by the Green-Eyed-Monster in this scene. Because even if she is with Spike right now, she does still have feelings for Angel and we see that while he's there with her in this short season 10 arc).
Willow is also pretty okay with Angel here, though she really doesn't say much or seem to do anything to better or worsen the situation. Edit: Wait. Just kidding. She's really there for Angel later. She's just not very vocal in this scene? Maybe she was just trying to stay out of it, and who can blame her?
So, yeah: this Angel and Giles instance is really nice, imo. And the proof to me that he WAS trying to calm things down, is when you have Angel saying "Everything's good. Real good," and then Giles responding with, "yes. clearly," that seems to be him moreso talking about their situation right then, then the stuff about Angel and Faith in Magic Town that Angel was just speaking about.
#buffy the vampire slayer#buffy season 10#angel and giles#buffy dark horse comics#angel#rupert giles#we love to see angel and giles getting even a smidgen of their friendship back because it was such a nice thing in s1 and part of s2#anyway the point is that giles is the true mvp like always#man. why does this scene remind me of something out of g*ossip g*irl. lol?#putting asterisks with that show's name so unwanted buffy stuff won't show up in their tag:)#man if willow in these panels isn't such a mood though. while in a lot of ways i do try to mediate like giles. if i'm also not willow a lot#of times when fights break out tbh...#oh and andrew later shows up and is super nice to angel too. which is actually big of him because he did not have to be at all#based on their last interaction with each other and that's putting it mildly#even spike and buffy are mad at each other here. aside from spike's jealousy and worry buffy will choose angel over him#because spike was saying he wanted to tell angel over the phone to give him the whole plane ride to deal with the news#but that pissed buffy off and she went 'and i said that some things you say face-to-face all mature like'#and then spike replied with something akin to 'because this group is a front of maturity'#and then buffy angrily stomped her foot with 'well if you would act like it for a change!' yep. everyone is mad at each other in this scene#and it's kind of great
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Fake Wife (Ethan x MC)
AKA: Fake Husband III
Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)
Word count: 2.7K
Warning: Language
Summary: A certain young doctor comes to his rescue when Ethan runs into an old flame. Part 3 of Fake Husband and Fake Husband, Part 2.
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The crowded banquet hall buzzed with laughter and conversation, the sound alone unnerving enough for Ethan. Add to that the countless doctors who vied for his attention and Ethan felt the need to escape at once.
In fact, he was desperate enough to do the unthinkable.
With the conviction of a suffocating man, he pulled out his phone and started to text.
Are you coming, Rookie?
It took him less than a second to realize the double entendre and to picture the tantalizing reply she would undoubtedly send. In a rush, he tried to send a second text to clarify. He was, of course, too late because a blip announced her reply.
I love it when you talk dirty to me, Dr. Ramsey.
She attached an emoji, as was customary, one that looked as though it was smirking in the same way she would have done if she was standing before him. Regardless, his throat went dry at the implication.
This is why I don't text, he returned, hoping to sound unaffected. He knew better than to expect her to buy that.
“Dr. Ramsey!” An older doctor approached him. “Enjoying the conference?”
“God, no,” he replied truthfully, which only prompted a belly laugh from his companion.
“Ramsey, you haven't changed a bit! Don't think I didn't notice you haven't missed one since Miami,” he pointed out with amusement. “Surely, they can't be that awful.”
Ethan took a swig of his drink, dispassionately watching their surroundings. Every year, he found himself convinced to attend, for old times sake, as Lilac liked to tell him. Despite the indifferent and irritated front he put up, Ethan enjoyed them.
He enjoyed them with her.
Inevitably, his mind traveled to that legendary Miami conference and to his favorite memory of her. The reminder of her full lips, moving against his for the first time and coaxing a yearning he hadn't felt until that point, made him restless to have her at his side. Without much pretense, he excused himself from the presence of the jolly older doctor and found a semblance of peace by the dessert table. He glanced at his phone, where her reply awaited.
Liar. I bet you're smiling right now.
A broad grin spread across his face despite his best efforts.
Are you ready to join me? I can't stand another minute being alone with these vultures.
Ethan could picture her in the hotel room upstairs, rolling her eyes upon reading his dramatic reply.
Almost ready… You can't rush art.
It was Ethan's turn to roll his eyes at that, though not without a smile. His poor, unprepared brain had only just begun to picture how tantalizing stunning she would look, when his phone pinged with an incoming photo from her.
It took everything in him not to choke on his drink. Hell, it took an insurmountable amount of sheer will power to remain where he was, instead of dashing upstairs to pin her to the wall.
Are you okay over there?, she replied.
There was no time to lie in his reply because a bout of loud laughter erupted from a group nearby. Ethan briefly glanced on instinct, ready to dismiss the interruption with a small huff and return to the tempting picture on his screen. His attention, however, snagged on the person at the center of the small crowd, the one who spoke with a lively cadence and who no doubt had been the one to make everyone laugh.
It had been over ten years since he had seen her last, and though she wore her blond hair much shorter, there was no mistaking those glacial silver eyes and the charming, effortless way she enraptured those around her. Statuesque and confident as ever, Dr. Fiona Bellington looked every bit like her former self, the girl both Ethan and Tobias had fallen desperately in love with.
His phone buzzed in his hand, bringing him back from over a decade ago in a rush. Ethan didn't read whatever it was Lilac had replied, instead, he quickly texted:
Never mind, don't bother to come down. I'm leaving.
Blood rushing loudly at his hot ears, Ethan hurried towards the door. The sight of Fiona set off a fight or flight response and Ethan gladly chose to flee, much too eager to avoid the specter of his past. He didn't make it far, however, before Fiona herself was standing right before him, impeding his path.
“Ethan?” she asked, though the recognition was evident in her heart-shaped face. “I thought that was you.”
Nothing in her perfect posture suggested she felt as uncomfortable as Ethan did. He, on the other hand, felt his face burn as he wished he could disappear into the tacky carpet of the banquet hall. Then again, that had always been their dynamic. Fiona, ever confident and graceful, and Ethan, quiet and awkward in her presence.
“Dr. Bellington,” he acknowledged at last.
Fiona laughed pleasantly at the formality of his greeting. “You know you can call me Fiona.”
Ethan didn't respond. His phone buzzed in his hand with Lilac's replies.
“How have you been?” She looked unfazed by his lack of response. Perhaps Ethan took a beat too long to reply, or Fiona was still in the habit of asking questions she did not care to hear the answer to because she added, “It's funny I ran into you. I just read your case study on Primary Hemophagocytic Lymphohistiocytosis in the NEJM.”
“Oh?”
What else could he say? In his hand, the buzzing became more frantic to match the content of Lilac's responses, no doubt.
“Very impressive, as always,” Fiona went on, undeterred.
They spent the next few minutes catching up, even if Ethan's side of the conversation was brief and detached.
“What a career you've had these past ten years.” Her silver eyes sparkled, making her look almost ten years younger. She fixed them on Ethan in a manner that was too calculated to be casual.
“All a result of hard work and dedication,” he deflected. His eyes abandoned the silvery spectacle before him—from Fiona's white blonde hair, to her eyes and dress—to instead find an escape route. Ethan had no moral qualms about being rude, but even he couldn't just leave mid-conversation. Then again, could it be called a conversation when his responses were short and noncommittal?
Fiona, seemingly oblivious about his escape plans, smirked and continued, “And an unmatched genius, Ethan. There is no need to be humble with me.”
Fiona moved closer to him, almost imperceptibly. His instinct was to step back, but the dessert table behind him prevented him from doing so.
Her sharp face lit up with determination and a hint of playfulness. “It's no surprise. You were always so…” Fiona allowed her gaze to fall to his chest, before slowly dragging it up to meet his eyes. “Driven.”
Completely unaffected, Ethan said nothing. The only source of discomfort stemmed from feeling trapped between the pastry-laden table and a woman whom he hadn't thought about in a decade. A woman who was determined to lay it on real thick with a charm that might have worked on him in another life.
Fiona, clever as ever, must have realized the lack of effect on her audience because she tried for a new approach. “I've thought a lot about you these past few years,” she confessed in a soft whisper. “I've always wondered if that mess with Tobias hadn't happened, if we could have…”
His jaw clenched reflexively.
“There's nothing more detrimental to progress than foolishly dwelling in the past,” he replied, face taught with tension, fist clasping his drink with formidable force. The words were the gentlemanly alternative to what Ethan really wanted to say, something along the lines of, “You fucked up, Fiona. And now Tobias, proving to be smarter than he looks, doesn't give you the time of day after he got bored. So now you're back, with your tail between your legs to chase after the now-famous alternative.”
As it turned out, his words were perhaps too gentle because Fiona considered them thoughtfully. Something akin to hope bloomed in her face, much to his dismay. “I absolutely agree,” she said. “Perhaps the best way forward is to break through any walls.”
At least she had the decency to look almost bashful, if a bit hopeful. Though utterly incredulous, Ethan scrutinized the woman he once fancied himself in love with. Had it really been love? It would be a disservice to his younger self to write it off as anything else. Fiona was intelligent and fiercely ambitious, not to mention charming and exceedingly beautiful. Anyone who knew her then would inevitably fall in love with her. But, as Ethan moved on and mended the fragments of a broken heart, he understood the ambition that drove her had always paired with a cruelty that tore down everyone in her path. He understood now that the love he had felt for her then was a tumultuous torrent, untamed and almost destructive but gone as quickly as it had appeared.
Misinterpreting his silence, she said, “Maybe we can get out of here and—”
Fiona did not finish that sentence because her icy grey eyes swiveled to something over Ethan's shoulder. Before Ethan could turn to look too, a pair of warm, familiar hands appeared from under his arms, sliding up his chest in a lazy line. Soon after, the lovely face of Lilac Allende appeared from over his shoulder.
The way she looked up at him was so adoring that something tugged at his chest.
“There you are, babe,” she murmured, her voice unfairly sultry, as if his heartbeat hadn't already spiked to astronomical levels at the way her hands touched him. “I've been looking all over for you.”
Ethan said nothing, unable to speak through the haze she effortlessly cast over him. How was she always so good at that? His eyes fell on the emerald green dress that hugged her pristine body. Ethan repressed a groan as he took in the revealing neckline and equally ensnaring leg slit. It was the very same dress that tormented him all the time ago through a social media post.
At the extended silence, Lilac's eyes widened slightly, prompting him to say something. In the most discreet way, she gestured toward Fiona and it hit him.
They were doing this again.
Ages after their initial fib, there they stood, about to sell the lie again, their roles reversed.
Without wasting another minute, he snared his arms around Lilac’s waist and pulled her to him, as naturally as the rhythm of the ocean. Her high heels compensated for their height difference and as Ethan leaned down, their noses were mere inches apart. “I was only gone for twenty minutes,” he informed her, swaying them slightly as he held her. “It's nice to know I am so thoroughly missed when I leave.”
Lilac raised her brow imperceptibly at him, no doubt taking his words as a challenge. The most wicked smile pulled at her lips, made more dangerous still with the way her body pressed tightly against his. She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Speaking of thorough, you promised we could leave to our room upstairs so we could—”
Lilac made a show of noticing Fiona for the first time. “Oh, hello.”
The blonde looked at them through thinly veiled shock and disappointment. They disentangled though Lilac remained at his side, hand casually resting at his chest. The tiny gesture made it entirely too difficult to concentrate.
“Lilac, this is Dr. Fiona Bellington,” Ethan said at last. Lilac was not acting when she tore her eyes from Fiona before quickly glancing at Ethan. “Dr. Bellington, this is Dr. Lilac Allende,” he paused to kiss the top of Lilac’s forehead. “My wife.”
Uttering the word, even if it was a lie, sent his pulse into chaos.
Lilac shifted slightly to extend her hand in greeting but all pleasantries were forgotten as Fiona gaped at them.
“Wife?” Fiona said to Ethan in apparent disbelief. “I thought you didn’t—” she stopped and cleared her throat, regaining some composure. “I never took you for the marrying type, Ethan.”
“He wasn’t the conference type and look at him now,” Lilac returned cheerfully.
Fiona blinked. She seemed to remember her manners only seconds later because she plastered on a pleasant enough smile and offered her hand to Lilac.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said as they shook hands. “Ethan and I are old friends. We were at Johns Hopkins together.”
He fought the urge to grimace. He would hardly call Fiona his friend.
“Yes, he mentioned that before,” Lilac returned just as politely.
There was a slight twitch in Fiona’s smile, sending it from passably agreeable to almost forced. “Forgive my initial shock,” she said. “I never knew Ethan to believe in marriage. What was it you said about it being a senseless institution?”
Ethan’s shoulders stiffened, entirely too annoyed by Fiona’s petty maneuvers. He opened his mouth to bluntly refute her, but Lilac laughed beside him. “The speech about there being no scientific basis for soulmates? You were already that cynical in med school, love?”
Inspired, Ethan smiled lovingly at her and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.
“I hadn’t met you yet.”
Lilac froze at the words and he was delighted to see a blush tinge her face. Fiona, meanwhile, struggled to conceal her crestfallen expression, her smile appearing painful now.
“We should go if we want to make dinner,” Ethan said to Lilac, deciding that any minute they spent in the company of others instead of alone was a waste of time. “Dr. Bellington,” Ethan said with a nod as mode of farewell.
“It was good to meet you,” Lilac added before Ethan whisked her away, leaving a dejected Fiona behind. They were successful in concealing their amusement until they reached a deserted hall several doors away.
Lilac's fit of laughter was contagious and he joined her without reservations.
“We should go into acting in case this medicine thing doesn't work out,” he commented.
“You make it very easy to act.”
All traces of humor were gone from her face. Unable to fight back the pull any longer, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her until their lips met. She responded at once, her body conforming to his as though it was designed to do so, a little moan escaping her when his tongue traced a trail along her lower lip. By the time they pulled apart, completely breathless, his tongue and lips stung pleasantly as a result of her ministrations.
“Are you okay?” she murmured, her arms still wrapped around his neck. Her fingers caressed the angles of his face and Ethan closed his eyes.
“I'm fine. How did you know I needed a save?”
“Your text,” she explained. “And the terrified look on your face when I found you talking to her.”
Ethan raised his brows to his hairline, waiting for more. Lilac rolled her eyes and relented. “And I also heard her trying to get you to leave with her.”
He chuckled. “You're cute when you're jealous.” Lilac opened her mouth, cheeks ablaze. “You've nothing to worry about, Rookie. I'm interested in one person and one person only.”
“Who? Your wife?”
“She's not my wife yet,” he replied with a grin, aware it probably made him look sheepish. He didn't care. “But I do like the sound of the word.”
“Good. Get used to it because it will be true in a few weeks.”
The thought alone exhilarated him. Very gently, he took her hand in his, bringing his lips to the engagement ring he had placed there a few weeks prior.
“I'm counting down the days.”
Their lips met again in another passionate kiss. Ethan's hands fell to the swell of her hips, his fingers quickly descending to the slit along her thigh.
“This dress,” he breathed when they pulled apart. His eyes took her in shamelessly, marveling at how a mere piece of fabric made her look entirely like a goddess. “Did you wear it for me?”
“Yes,” Lilac allowed with a wistful sigh. “I was hoping to finally get some use out of it.”
Ethan flashed his fiancée a devilish lopsided smile. “Night's not over yet,” he whispered, pressing a hot lip against her neck. “And besides, I think its true purpose is to be a heap in our bedroom floor.”
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Prompt: Thank you anon!
Also, thank you to the anon who wanted Jealous!MC (kinda)
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Author’s Note: Oh how the turn tables...
THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading this series. Let me say this is not the last time I will use the fake dating trope because I love it so much.
Apologies for that god awful summary!
Finally, I hope you don’t mind me adding extra scenes for the Miami kiss rewrite. May the writing gods be with me because I am so excited!
- Bree
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Tags: @openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @noboundariesplease | @silverlitskies | @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @aestheticartwriting | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ramseysno1rookie | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor | @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @kopenheart12 | @lilyvalentine | @honeyandsunfl0wers | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices | @tyrilstouch | @rookie-ramsey | @humanpokemon | @apphia12 | @kiara-36 | @eramsey28 | @whippedforethanramsey | @custaroonie
@dulceghernandez | @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |
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Stars Falling From the Sky Don’t Care Where They Land
Meeting Donella was not nearly as terrifying for Nuru as it was for Varian or Yong. Sure, she was a formidable enemy and alchemist, and an opponent she wouldn’t want anywhere near her kingdom. But she just seemed a bit...over the top. She understood why it rattled Varian. His mother’s ex-partner who was probably responsible for her death, here now to steal his last memory of her. She could even understand why it rattled Yong, as this person had been pursuing them for longer than Nuru had been in the group.
But from Nuru’s perspective, it looked like meeting the big bad in those ridiculous Flynn Rider books she’d never admit she’d read. Far too contrived to feel real or scary. Even her threats felt like a script. “Mark my words, I will get the totems and access to the library if its the last thing I do!”
Who says that? This woman was clearly taking her whole, ‘villain’ thing far to literally. She was even wearing spikes for crying out loud! This woman needed a dose of reality. She turned to Hugo, the only other slightly sensible one here, for backup to take down this clown, and stopped.
Hugo’s fists were clenched at his side, whole body trembling. His eyes were wide and blank, and the look in his eyes was one that made Nuru’s heart drop to her stomach. She knew that look.
It was the same look her people had when the astroids fell from the skies every year. A strange mix of terror and resignation, directed at something they knew would decimate them, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Sometimes they wouldn’t run, just stand and wait for the asteroid to fall, unable to see a point in resisting.
Nuru had never seen it directed at a person before.
“Time to run!” Varian cried as Yong released a giant firecracker directly at Donella. He didn’t stop as he reached out to grab Hugo by his collar, dragging him forward along with him. Nuru ran behind, and noted that even as he was dragged away, Hugo’s eyes never left Donella.
They didn’t stop until they were outside, the building crumbling into rubble behind them. “Everyone alright?” Varian panted, hands on his knees.
“Ha!” Yong jumped up, soot stain on his cheeks, and broke into a wide smile. “That’ll show her!”
Hugo said nothing as tried to rub nonexistent dirt off his glasses with clumsy fingers. He looked shaken, like he had been pulled from an astroid’s path. But not grateful. No. They never looked grateful.
“Why did you save me princess?” A memory tickles the back of her mind. “I’ve lost everything. You should have let me die with the rest.”
She looked back at the entrance where they had last seen Donella. She still didn’t seem terrifying, not to Nuru. Instead the memory of Donella’s smirk brought a sudden, swooping anger to her chest. But then again, Nuru had never been afraid of the astroids, to the great confusion of her mother. She simply saw them as a problem, something that needed to be stopped. She straightened her shoulders and turned to meet Varian’s eyes. “That woman? She needs to go down.”
“Here here!” Yong crowed. Varian laughed in agreement.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hugo flinch.
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Nuru’s eyes snapped open, the dark of her tent was accented by the slight filtering of the moonlight sneaking through the cracks. Was it her turn to take watch already? And why hadn’t Varian woken her up?
She opened the tent flap, intent on glancing up at the stars to see what the time was. Instead her eyes landed on Hugo, sitting shoulders slumped in front of the dying fire. But that didn’t make sense. Hugo has volunteered to take first watch, and a glance at the stars told her it was well past when Varian should have replaced him.
She crept forward, intent on telling him off and sending him to bed, but the look on his face stopped her in her tracks. He was pale, trembling hands folded together and pressed to his mouth. His eyes were rimmed with red. Had be been crying?
He probably wouldn’t want her to see. He was so prideful, but... “The first night after is always the hardest,” her mother’s voice whispered in her ear. “It’s when they need their Princess most of all.”
She drew a deep breath and walked forward, plopping herself down beside him. He started, and turned away from her to wipe his eyes discreetly. She pretended not to notice.
“Lovely night isn’t it?” She said, and then kicked herself for starting with such a cliche line.
Hugo nodded. “Clear. Pretty rare for this kingdom.”
Nuru snorted. “It explains a lot about you.” Hugo tensed, a bit of fear returning to his gaze. Oh no. Nuru continued hastily. “Like how bad you are at astronomy.”
Hugo’s shoulders relaxed marginally. He lifted an eyebrow, a trace of the old Hugo’s snark returning. “Now, now. Its a sacrifice we make for progress. Our skies may not be clear, but at least we’ve got running water.”
“So does Corona,” Nuru said with a roll of her eyes. “But they haven’t banned color from their clothes.”
Hugo drew back in mock outrage, one hand on his chest. “Excuse you! It’s called fashion!”
“Oh?” Nuru grinned, “And I suppose the spikes that look like they came out of a dime novel are another part of that fashion?”
Hugo’s hand moved to his wrist. “These are entirely practical,” he sniffed. “Threatening accessories ensure less people try to mess with you.”
“Seems kinda sad,” Nuru frowned.
“Yes, well,” Hugo looked away, “that’s just how it is.”
“That’s just how it is Princess,” a farmer shrugged. Spring is for planting, Autumn is for Harvest, and in Winter the sky falls. No point in hoping for anything different.”
Nuru pulled her knees up to her chest as she stared at the red of the embers. “You know...” she started, then stopped, unsure how to continue.
“Know what?” Hugo prompted.
“If you ever get tired of working in a place without stars,-” Nuru bit her lip, “-you could always come and work in my kingdom. We’re always looking for new alchemists.”
Hugo gave a slight chuckle, “Oh come on princess, you can’t stand me. I’m sure you don’t want me in your kingdom.”
“It’s not like that!” Nuru turned to face him, eyes wide. Hugo stopped laughing. “Whether I like you as a person has nothing to do with whether we’d hire you or not. You’re good at alchemy, and if this trip has proven anything, you take your work seriously, even if you don’t do the same for anything else.”
“We could really use someone like you,” she added, voice lower. Hugo stared at her, shoulders loose and jaw slacked. Nuru had never seen him look so surprised. For one second, something akin to hope began to flicker in his eyes. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
Then the old familiar terror crept into the corners of his eyes, snuffing the hope like a flame. A shutter fell over Hugo’s expression and he looked away. “I don’t think a kingdom which faces astroids every year would be an improvement princess,” he said. His voice was light, but there was a sharp barb underneath.
Nuru grit her teeth, but did not rise to the obvious bait. “Just think about it,” she replied.
“Right,” Hugo shrugged, still not looking at her. He gave a large yawn, stretching his arms above his head theatrically. “Well this has been fun, but I think I should go back to bed.” He got up and started to walk back to his tent.
Nuru scowled at his retreating back. Why did she even bother? This was Hugo, who took pleasure in driving everyone up the wall. She’d probably dodged a bullet anyways.
Hugo stopped before he reached the tent, shadows playing across his back as he stood on the edge of the dim light. “Nuru?”
She startled, unused to hearing him say her name and not her title. If Varian and Yong didn’t use it frequently, she’d have sworn Hugo didn’t know what it was. “Yes?” she asked.
“Thank you,” Hugo turned back, a faint smile on his lips. And oh no. Her heart clenched. She knew that smile. A lot of people gave her that smile at home. Especially those older than her. The grandma who she tucked a blanket around in the refugee camp. The farmer whose lands were destroyed by the astroids. Her mother.
It’s the smile that says, “I know there isn’t a way out of this nightmare, but I don’t want you to realize that.”
She’d always had to prove herself against that smile, to prove her alchemy could make a difference, could save them. No matter what she did, it never seemed to go away. Even when she’d taken this quest, that smile had still been on her mother’s lips.
She thinks she hates that look even more than the other one.
“Of course,” she tells Hugo, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She’d never been able to get rid of that smile. Never gotten anyone to trust her enough. But maybe, she thought as she watched Hugo climb into his tent, maybe when they found the library...If she could find a way to save her kingdom inside its halls, maybe then she could try once more.
And if she could free her kingdom, she thought as she turned back to the dull red glow of the fire, maybe Hugo would realize he could get a way from the woman he was so afraid of.
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The Eternity of Bliss - Chapter 1
Summary: Jaskier has been living in the non-magical world for several years now, protecting it from anything that might sneak though the barrier that separates this place from the one he calls home.
When clusters of monsters begin to appear, threatening both worlds, it’s then Jaskier is assigned to partner up with Geralt, the best Hunter known on the continent, to clean up this mess.
In an instant, Jaskier’s life is turned on its head as he and Geralt deal with Destiny, deadly attacks, and falling in love.
Rating: T
Genre: 1920s Urban Fantasy, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Fate&Destiny
Words: 2871
A/N: on ao3 the rating is M because there’ll eventually be one chapter of smut, i just don’t know when yet
(also 100% inspired by joey’s role in war of the worlds;;;;)
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AO3
or
Jaskier’s life was as normal as they came.
A cushy office job, a number of acquaintances, and considering the economy, he was doing well for himself.
The clacking of typewriters was a nice familiarity day to day, noisy car horns in the streets, and needing to wrap his trench coat around him when the wind blew. He was thankful that of all places to be assigned, it was right in the middle of London where he could have his days of excitement amongst the regimented schedule.
It was one rather ordinary day when Jaskier was sitting at his desk, typing up the latest reports from management. One line in particular was giving him trouble and it was now his fourth time typing up this single page. Jaskier was about to give up when the sound akin to bursting flames caught his attention.
Sneaking a glance around, Jaskier tugged his desk drawer open and flipped the cover of his star-studded notebook to the first page.
Come at once was all the message read and Jaskier checked the large grandfather clock at the front of the room. It was close enough to his lunch and he gave a friendly nod to the men in the desks around him as he tucked the notebook into his front pocket. Grabbing his hat and coat, Jaskier left before anyone could question.
Once in the busy streets, Jaskier kept his head down, hands in his pockets as he weaved through crowds. He glanced over his shoulder every so often before he took his next turn, eventually finding himself down a dingy alley.
The door at the end was dilapidated, barely hanging on its hinges and mice scurried out from it. Placing his hand on the door, Jaskier muttered a single word, watching as his hand glowed. The door shifted, shuffling into place as the wood became speckled with gold, the frame around it molding back together. Taking a step back, Jaskier waited until the door swung open and he stepped inside to a grand entrance.
Large steps descended before him, the upper floors above packed with people as they bustled to and fro. The ceiling arched high, a glass dome that allowed sunlight to pour in. Jaskier followed his path down the stairs, only interrupted by a group of fairies that flew past him. Frowning at the group, Jaskier continued on, past the department of Magical Mishaps where he could hear explosions from behind several doors.
Down, down he went until at last he reached a gate guarded by two wolves.
“Triss sent for me,” Jaskier told them and the wolves gave him a wary look before stepping aside.
Opening the gate, Jaskier approached a table where a woman stood, several maps opening with the wave of her hand. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she examined them and she didn’t notice Jaskier until he cleared his throat.
“Oh, Jaskier,” she smiled and waved the maps back onto the table. “Timely as always. Just waiting on your partner and then I’ll begin the debriefing.”
“Hello, Triss. Um, partner?” Jaskier asked, his heart jumping with nervous excitement.
It had been a while since Jaskier was required to work with someone else. He was always happy to make a new friend, even if this was supposed to be just work.
The gate behind him opened and Jaskier froze when he recognized the face. This couldn’t be his partner, yet there was no one else trailing behind the man who walked in with an intimidating stride. He took off his hat, a nod as his greeting as he took his place next to Jaskier. Golden eyes bore into Jaskier for just a moment before he turned his attention away.
“Geralt,” Triss acknowledged him before snapping her fingers and a trail of golden dust circled above the table. “We’ve had a breach in one of our borders.”
She swiped her hand across the dust, a map of London appearing with intricate accuracy. “Nothing too miserable got out, but there’s a lot and not much time to contain them. Jaskier is your Tracer.”
Jaskier smiled at Geralt, only getting a raised eyebrow in return.
“Report back when you’ve cleared them out and we’ll check the city once more,” Triss continued on.
Jaskier’s stomach turned and he slowly raised his hand. “Is the breach just in London?”
Triss sighed. “Unfortunately not. There’s been reports coming in from all over the world. We’re looking into it, but right now, it just seems like the usual case of overlooking.”
Nodding his understanding, Jaskier found himself having to catch up with Geralt as the man quickly stalked out of the room. Once they were back above ground and out of the building, Geralt led them into busier streets, stopping so suddenly that Jaskier crashed into him.
“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbled, readjusting his coat and hat as he stood next to Geralt. “I must say it’s an honor to finally be working with you.”
“Is it?” Geralt spoke, harsh and low, his eyes darting about.
“You’re the best Hunter there is, you’re legendary, Geralt,” Jaskier couldn’t help himself, recounting every story he ever heard about the man.
Geralt grunted, but didn’t stop Jaskier from jabbering on for the next few minutes. The man humored him, not interrupting once, and it was then Jaskier calmed his racing mind with a shy smile.
“So, are we just standing here then?” Jaskier collected himself.
“I was waiting for you to start the Trace,” Geralt replied. His mouth had formed a thin line, yet his eyes shone with something kinder and Jaskier cleared his throat.
“Right, of course.”
Taking a breath, Jaskier focused the energy within him before he snapped his eyes open. To the common observer, Jaskier appeared to be staring at the crowd with heavy intent. However, only Geralt could see the blue flames bursting from his eyes, encapsulating even the whites.
“Shipyard,” Jaskier nodded towards the water. “Looks like goblins.”
The two men quickly made their way to the docks, Jaskier keeping his Trace on in case the goblins started moving. Luckily, Geralt was at the advantage and he was quick to pounce on a couple, sending them back to the proper world with a golden portal he pulled from thin air.
Jaskier kept his distance–having learned his lesson of staying out of a Hunter’s way–and observed the area, still thick with goblin residue. He followed a few trails, finding only dead ends and eventually headed back to where he had left Geralt.
Then, a sharp jab hit him in the stomach and Jaskier turned to the source. Magic was spiking all around him, poking at his skin as Jaskier scratched at nothing. A warehouse loomed not too far from him, the darkness in the windows foreboding. With a swallow, Jaskier crept over to the warehouse, peering over the edge of a sill. White flashed before his eyes and Jaskier covered his mouth to stop his scream. His chest began heaving with panic as he ran to find Geralt, nearly tripping over the man, who was searching crates for any last goblins.
“There’s something,” Jaskier gasped between breaths. “In that warehouse over there.”
Geralt’s head snapped up and he marched over to the warehouse, Jaskier trailing behind him. As they got closer, the stabbing sensation began again and Jaskier twitched in annoyance. Geralt threw open the door to the warehouse, nothing but darkness greeting them.
“Stay here,” Geralt motioned, drawing a silver sword out from his coat.
Jaskier had no intention of that. To identify the creature was necessary, for records, for Jaskier to be able to stop the invisible needles that jabbed at his skin. Rushing in after Geralt, Jaskier strained his eyes, the small patches of light providing hardly any at all. Wind rushed past his ears and Jaskier ducked just in time. Silver swiped over his head followed by a snarl from Geralt. Lifting his head, Jaskier caught flashes of a dark-haired woman, pale skin, caught in the flashes of sun that peeked through broken rafters. Her hands swung at Geralt, missing, but a breath away each time.
Jaskier’s eyes blurred as his pain intensified, screams clawing at his ears. His legs wobbled, his body shifting as he reached out for something to grab onto. Then, a veil lifted and Jaskier could breathe again. All was quiet, too quiet, a shiver running down Jaskier’s spine.
Jaskier fidgeted, his attempt to call for Geralt caught in his throat. The darkness began to morph and Jaskier took a stumbling step back. Geralt emerged, covered in blood but otherwise unharmed. Hunters never did kill unless there was no other choice and the thought sat heavy in Jaskier’s mind. With a sigh, Jaskier let the flames in his eyes die down as he rushed to meet the man halfway.
“How the hell did a fucking bruxa get past the wards?” Geralt ground out.
Jaskier could only shrug, just thankful that Geralt was alive and well. He pulled them both out of the warehouse, breathing in when the sun hit his skin.
“Get Triss. She needs to hear about this.”
Nodding, Jaskier pulled out a small golden container and unlatched the cover, trails of magic springing into the air. Triss’s face soon appeared as the colored dust collected itself into her form.
“What’s happened, Jaskier?” She frowned. She looked frazzled and almost miffed by Jaskier’s call.
“Bruxa,” Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand to make the container face him.
Triss’s eyes went wide before she ran a hand down her face. “I was afraid of that.”
The two men waited as she collected herself, poised to her professionalism.
“I ask that the two of you remain together and find a secure place to stay for now.”
Jaskier nodded as Geralt grunted, seemingly upset about the situation.
“We’ll find out what’s going on. Then you can have them all to yourself, Geralt,” Triss glared at him.
With that, she blinked out from the dust and the container snapped shut.
“I should probably quit my office job then,” Jaskier commented as he put the container back in his coat pocket.
“For the best,” Geralt agreed. “Come with me.”
A portal, once again laced in gold, opened in front of them and before Jaskier could protest, Geralt had taken hold of his arm, dragging him into the portal. Jaskier stumbled when they landed on a cobblestone street, a wave of nausea hitting him, yet Geralt gave him no time to recover. Long rows of buildings sat on either side of them and Geralt finally pulled them towards a black door, placing his hand on it. The door swung open allowing the two men in before it shut firmly behind them. Up a set of stairs, it was then there was one more door until Jaskier found himself in the middle of a living room.
“My safehouse,” Geralt explained as he flicked his hand.
Piles organized themselves as curtains shut and furniture rearranged. Geralt went around the room, murmuring a few more words, symbols shining in the air before dissolving.
“Smart,” Jaskier finally spoke. “What will become of my flat?”
Geralt turned to him, holding his hands out for Jaskier’s coat and hat. “We’ll sort that out later.”
It wasn’t a comforting thought, but Jaskier couldn’t protest. After all, Geralt had brought him to a secret hideaway with no questions asked. After their coats and hats were hung up, Jaskier walked around the place, observing the kitchen and then the hallway that presumably led to a bathroom and bedrooms. He couldn’t help run a finger along a shelf, grimacing at the dust that coated his finger.
“Bedroom on the left can be yours,” Geralt called from the living room.
“Thank you,” Jaskier replied, then searching about the kitchen.
He took off his suit coat, draping it on a nearby chair, and unbuttoned his vest, finding the atmosphere just a tad stuffy. Things clearly hadn’t been moved in a while and Jaskier tapped his fingers on the counter, letting his magic take over. A teapot flew past his head, filling up in the sink before settling on the gas stove, blue wisps swirling around the steam. Jaskier leaned against the counter once a towel wiped it off and stared at the fixtures and wallpaper. It was too modern for his tastes. He missed his cottage in the other world, the simple stonework and fireplace.
While the non-magic world was getting along fine with their inventions, Jaskier could never get used to the horseless carriages and the dullness of telegrams. Non-magical folk just seemed to want more and more, never happy with what they had already. However, Jaskier could only critique from the sidelines, content with the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to stay in this world forever.
The kettle was soon boiling and Jaskier prepared two cups of tea for Geralt and himself. Not wanting to disturb the other man, Jaskier sent Geralt’s cup floating into the other room while he settled down at the kitchen table.
As he took his first sip, Geralt appeared in the doorway with his cup in hand. He had taken off his suit coat as well, tie loosened, but still hanging around his neck. The blood on him had been vanquished, leaving clean, yet wrinkled clothing behind.
“Thank you. You know my kitchen better than me.”
Jaskier laughed a little at this, resting his head in his hand. “The magic helps. Tell me, Geralt, did you always want to be a Hunter?”
Geralt pulled out a chair and sat diagonal to Jaskier, his expression neutral. “I didn’t really have a choice. What with my lineage and all...”
The family of Rivia was well-renowned for their Hunters, so much so that Jaskier had grown up on stories about them. It had been his dream to one day work with someone from the family and now he had finally gotten his chance.
“What about you?” Geralt interrupted Jaskier’s thoughts.
With a small grin, Jaskier sat back in his chair. “I was too restless to be a Healer. Tracing just works best for me. I get action but with how clumsy I can be with weapons, I don’t have to take that additional risk.”
The two drifted into silence, regarding each other over their cups of tea. Jaskier couldn’t help but study Geralt when the man wasn’t looking. How stern his face was, but he was an expression of calm as they sat together. For just a little while, Jaskier forgot that he was supposed to be in hiding and rather, that he was just spending a nice afternoon with Geralt.
“Are you always this happy?”
Jaskier laughed. “I try to be. Oh, I can be serious when the situation calls for it, but why deny when my heart feels light?”
Geralt let out a small hum, his eyes flickering away from Jaskier. There seemed to be the faintest trace of a smile on his face and Jaskier was sure it was one of the most beautiful things he had seen all day.
“Well,” Jaskier cleared his throat. “Any house rules I should be aware of? Pet peeves?”
“Just pick up after yourself,” Geralt mused over the rim of his cup.
Jaskier couldn’t help the laugh that left him. “You know, Geralt, I think this is the start of something exciting. If only all flatmates could be like you.”
“You wouldn’t want that,” Geralt teased back. “I’m insufferable once you get to know me.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we?” Drinking the last of his tea, Jaskier set to cleaning up the small pile of dishes that had accumulated in Geralt’s sink.
He started humming as he rolled up his sleeves, flicking his wrist to levitate the soap and washcloth.
“I can do my own dishes,” Geralt was suddenly beside him.
“Well, today I’m doing them. I believe you’ve got some piles in the living room to sort through, so you go and do that.”
“Are you my housekeeper now?” Geralt retorted.
“I should hope not,” Jaskier laughed. “But since I’m living with you for the time being, we should split the chores.”
“You’re my guest.”
“And this guest wants to do the dishes.”
Geralt pursed his lips but fought no further, leaving the room to let Jaskier do as he pleased. Delighted with his win, Jaskier finished the dishes before conjuring more magic to organize and scrub down the entire kitchen. Time was forgotten and it was after sundown when Jaskier had finished. When Geralt re-entered the kitchen, he froze in the doorway, his eyes darting about.
“Got a little carried away,” Jaskier gave a sheepish smile.
“It’s...nice.”
“Oh, look,” Jaskier threw open a cupboard. “There wasn’t any real system here so I put the mugs on this shelf and plates on this one. Bowls and saucers are here.”
Jaskier continued to show Geralt his new kitchen, receiving only hums and grunts in return. Geralt took to it all quickly and when dinner came around, he proved that he did indeed listen to Jaskier’s every word.
Despite the day’s events, Jaskier was starting to feel at home and he could only hope in time that Geralt would become a very dear friend.
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Forever Lost Child
I’ve decided to crown this fic my farewell to Vrains piece. The finale broke my heart and then put it back together again. It was wonderful. I look forward to the next iteration of Yu-Gi-Oh but Vrains has a very special place in my heart
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains
Word Count: 1.9k
Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Using only a name, they were able to track down his final resting place. No one was bold or brave enough to reach out to the family directly, instead, they relied on underhanded means to ascertain where the grave would be located. Then, they all agreed on a date and now, said date had arrived and there was no turning back; minds couldn’t be changed or disagreed upon as they had made a promise.
So, the five of them gathered outside the cemetery. Between each other, they murmured exchanges of placid greetings. Yusaku, Takeru, and Jin had arrived as a group whereas Miyu and Spectre had made their way to the spot individually. It was weird to be altogether, and yet incomplete, as they were when they were as a group.
It was an unusually warm day with a breeze. It seemed unusually appropriate given what they knew about the person they were visiting. And in such weather, they were all dressed appropriately in their nicest clothes and as appropriately as one could be on a hot day to visit the grave of someone they knew intimately and yet, not at all.
To begin with, as they stared down the gates until someone – Spectre – pushed it aside so the others may pass, it was easy to be solemn. Once they passed through, uncertain of where they were going save for a name and a subsection, it became difficult to maintain a façade. It began with Spectre, who made insensitive comments to peers who couldn’t care less. After he, it was Yusaku who took solace in being able to quieten Spectre; scolding him for his aforementioned sensitivity and then to Jin who took glee in being able to scold Yusaku for being so one-track minded about this sort of thing. Takeru, however, took it all in stride, happy to listen to their different perspectives. At least until it then wound around to Miyu.
To cope with this strange grief and mourning, Miyu’s bravado began to show even though it was apparent by the wobble in her lips that she was going to be the first to break. But, instead, she pushed that weakness onto Takeru. He was an easy target for her teasing, especially in a cemetery on such a hot day; murmuring and whispering to him that even though it was completely and utterly bright out, now was the perfect time for supernatural phenomena to take place. Including and especially the appearance of ghosts. And even though she could not have made it more obvious that it was all in jest, Takeru cowered at her talk regardless. But she found it unsatisfying, so she soon quit.
After Miyu quit teasing Takeru and after Spectre quit making his inopportune comments and after Jin and Yusaku were able to nit-pick about said comments, it was like a black cloud had come over the group whilst they wandered through the cemetery. Yet, the sky itself was cloudless. As they continued through, a creeping sadness entered their veins, their thoughts, and it was Jin who found the gravestone they were looking for.
It looked like every other in the area, though perhaps shinier. Recently cleaned, it seemed as it shone so brightly in the reflective sun. And burned incense scraps remained as well as some flower petals from dried and discarded bouquets, long carried off in the wind. The other gravestones around it, to commemorate the lives of yet more strangers, were darker in comparison; not quite as well loved. It was strange seeing the tall post to commemorate the short life of this boy. It was harrowing to stare down and each of them stared it down, memorising the curves of the sculpted calligraphy and the way it portrayed the name.
Miyu was the one who broke such an unrelenting, clinical gaze first. Her eyes sealed shut and her jaw slackened. She bawled. Completely and utterly without inhibition with jagged, broken sobs which hiccupped in the otherwise still air. The boys listened to her, feeding off her open misery and gaining catharsis to that as they evaluated their own emotions in front of this gravestone.
Yusaku licked his lips. “Someone should… We should, um…”
Miyu continued to bawl and as Spectre was closest to her, she decided to cling to him. He made a sour expression, no doubt because her face was on his breast and she was a snotty, wet girl, but he placed a protective hand on her shoulder whilst she hugged him tightly. But Spectre relented regardless; his stern, annoyed expression softening to something akin to regret but it could have been petulance. He had been huffy all day as he already had to show some consideration today by bringing respectful flowers and now, he had to deal with this.
“Look, over there, we can, um,…” Jin mumbled, his voice was a louder outburst than he had intended and that made him feel awkward but he brushed it off as best as he could; he pointed to a faucet and bucket they could use. They were located beside the next block of gravestones.
“We’ll handle it then.” Takeru said and he shot a sympathetic look at Spectre who rejected it with a roll of his eyes. Though, his hand betrayed him as he had begun to pet Miyu who was still bawling on his chest.
So, between the three of them, they got to work. Yusaku filled the bucket with Takeru whilst Jin, with a dour smile, removed the remains of flowers and incense already on the altar. After that, Jin stepped aside and let the other two clean. Spectre watched and bit his tongue. That’s not how he would have done it, but his attention was elsewhere, comforting Miyu.
Spectre especially had to bite his tongue when Yusaku and Takeru awkwardly decided that they ought to let this gravestone – and consequently, the spirit of – know who they were. What they were to this boy, now passed on. And their connection to his subsequent death. Their musings, so sweet and polite, were not how Spectre would have enlightened this monument to this person, but his experiences weren’t universal. And especially not within his peer group. If they could be called that at all, in his opinion.
“We’re sorry about what happened,” Yusaku mumbled whilst he scrubbed, “the other Ignis are really sweet, we swear.”
“Mm, Flame’s really nice! You would have liked him.” Takeru said, deciding all on his own the likes and dislikes of this stranger who they could wrought however they felt, based on what little information remained of him online or in accessible memory.
Jin’s lips twitched as he listened to the two of them exchange conversation directed at the marble whilst they cleaned. Soon, they were satisfied. Miyu, in the meantime, had calmed down enough to face her fears and how they congregated. She smiled weakly, murmuring a greeting and even an apology for being rude. Spectre made no such gesture, instead watching the scene as though he were uninvited.
“I’ve still got the incense and stuff.” Takeru said. “And Spectre, you should give him the flowers.”
“Understood.” Spectre quietly replied.
Takeru shuffled closer to Jin and Spectre slotted in. He placed the spider lilies on the altar and made sure to leave room for Takeru so he could light the incense. He easily set up the spikes of incense but screwed around with the matches for longer than need be. But, soon enough, a flame was sparked, and the dry smell of the cemetery had to compete with the smell of vanilla and something else. Something smoky.
After that, it didn’t feel like there was much else to do. Strangers were strangers no matter how intertwined their pasts were.
Takeru lifted himself to his feet. Jin and Yusaku followed suit and the five of them found themselves in a line as they clustered around the boy’s gravestone. As strangers. And as something far more intimate than friendship. Thus, fingers intertwined. Interlocked and slipped through personal boundaries which existed differently outside of this place in the cemetery.
Jin, to the far right, and Spectre, to the far left, were the bookends. Miyu, who still clung quite close to Spectre in her grief, took his right hand. Takeru took her left whilst Yusaku took Takeru’s right. With Jin being left with one hand empty and one hand full of Yusaku’s. And together, they silently looked onto the gravestone, shining in the sunshine and withstanding the warm breeze. Again, both were far too appropriate based on what they knew.
Each of the five found it confronting to be as they were. Securely interlocked with one another, yet so alone in their thoughts, in their heads. Mortality had always been on their minds. Yusaku, Takeru and Jin, honestly not thinking they would ever grow to be the ripe old age of sixteen and yet they had and were finding the courage inside of themselves to do something good with the time that they had. As compared to Spectre who wanted to remain in those six months as a child eternally yet, since he had not, aspiring to live to the same age as his darling Ryoken-sama sans one day because he couldn’t think of anything worse than having to outlive his master. And then again, compared to Miyu who aspired to live as long as she could, to prove the doctors wrong and to grow out of the sense of her mother’s well-meaning smothering.
Yet, the gravestone in front of them, was a stark reminder that accidents happened. Life existed in randomness, a sort of entropy one got used to until something dire or radical happened. Though, his death wasn’t accident. It hadn’t been a quirk of chaos. It had been planned. But, the sentiment of the alienating sense of death could happen any time, anywhere, and to anyone remained underlying.
And that evaluation of their mortality was enough to break them all down. Yusaku was the first to cry out of the five of them. His tears streamed down his face with a rare vulnerability from him as he had spent so long trying to be strong and, for some time, had succeeded in it, at least publicly. Miyu bawled openly once more whilst Spectre shed reluctant tears, hiding them despite the futility of such a thing. Takeru who’s sobs were choked up and of tears which burned hot as they streak down his face, hideous in how twisted it became whilst grimacing. Finally, there was Jin who cried like some faint spirit with his tears more akin to omens than droplets of water and salt with a palatably unreadable expression, so blank and yet so revealing.
Eventually, the five were content in their mourning. They had shed their tears and made themselves known to the gravestone. And thus, they bid the gravestone bittersweet farewell. As they turned their back on it, lingering close to one another with the sense that they would never truly feel complete. They were the victims of the Lost Incident and they were supposed to be six – not five – and therefore, one of them would always be lost. And none of them liked that sentiment or how it was an omen for the future because sooner or later, five would become four and four to three and three to two and two to one and then, the unthinkable.
But, for now, such grim matters did not have to be heeded as for now, they were five and their dear, unknown friend who was permanently the forever lost child.
#yugioh vrains#vrains#yugioh#yusaku fujiki#sugisaki miyu#takeru homura#jin kusanagi#spectre (vrains)#writing tag#it's not spoilery.......... dw
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~Haunting~
Alfred had felt the peculiar presence off and on since Master Jason’s untimely passing six months prior, but it had never before felt as heavy as it did this night—
As though it was desperate to be felt, to convey some message it frantically needed to get across.
There was none of the usual playfulness it generally presented with. Early on it had found apparent joy in knocking Alfred’s books from shelves while he cleaned (but only ever the ones at the bottom), tipping the sugar and the salt all over Master Bruce’s plate at breakfast while he wasn’t looking, knocking over chairs, leaving the refrigerator door open. Harmless attention-seeking pranks that had continued for weeks, bordering on months, until Alfred had sat down in his usual nook for tea, poured two cups and addressed the invisible boy in the corner of the room directly, “Master Jason.”
He still threw the salt-shaker over Master Bruce’s breakfast on occasion, but in an affectionate sort of way. Mostly.
There was no affection or even melancholy – the former light and close and everywhere, like a deep breath of fresh air, or an all-enveloping embrace, while the latter was a tight, contained oppression, tucked into a corner of the room, breeding loneliness and longing even as it refused to be comforted – to Master Jason’s presence this time.
This was new, and urgent.
Alfred felt it first when he came up from the cave and continued through the study – from the window seat Master Jason leapt, pressing heavily against Alfred’s chest, tugging. Impatiently, Master Jason shifted towards the door, as if beckoning Alfred, who'd had to stop abruptly when Jason befell him, to follow.
In his mind’s eye, from a memory feeling too-distant now, Alfred could conjure the boy’s face; the curve of dark brows pulling together, the squint of his near-blue eyes and the frustrated pout as he was made to wait. Alfred saw the expression on a small, puffy-cheeked face, before it morphed onto an older version, with a more defined jawline, stronger cheekbones. Not so mature as to be an adult yet, but certainly no longer a child.
On occasion Alfred wondered which face the ghost he couldn’t see was wearing. Did he know himself? Had he picked one, or been given the one he’d left them with? Alfred hoped it was not the latter.
The study door rattled, returning Alfred from his reverie, and making him again aware of the heaviness in the room, waiting.
Mumbling an apology, Alfred straightened, and continued, following in Master Jason’s wake, as the heaviness moved through the manor, toward the front door.
They had barely come into the foyer, or the doorbell sounded.
Abruptly, Master Jason vanished.
He did not often go away so suddenly unless he was in a mood, or, on later occasions, because he was immediately needed at Master Bruce’s side. Even in death he was still Robin. It was not quite enough to keep Master Bruce from grieving in his own, albeit especially violent, way, and more often than not Alfred suspected it hurt more than it helped. Moreover, Alfred believed Master Jason knew as well, which is why he only ever appeared at Master Bruce’s side when it was desperately necessary.
Was it desperately necessary now?
Cautious, Alfred opened the front door, and was overcome again with Master Jason’s presence – coated with feelings of reassurance and tenderness, this time.
When Alfred opened the door, it was to a small group of children in wrinkled, tattered clothing with a distinct appearance less of ‘costume bought’ and more of ‘hastily thrown together whatever,’ their hair in tangled disarray either too long or too crookedly cut to have been done by any professional - or any adult for that matter.
The eldest of the group stood at the back, five small faces in front of him while he hovered protectively, with the littlest of the bunch in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder.
The boys and girls put on smiles, shy and uncertain as they were, and chorused in an uncoordinated rush, “Trick—trick or treat!” as they lifted thin, bruised arms with tiny hands, holding out their bags for candy.
“Ah!” Alfred said and smiled amiably. At the back, the eldest boy shifted his weight, eyeing the kids before fastening his gaze intently on Alfred. “And who do we have here?”
The children looked even more uncertain, looking to each other, and finally back at their tallest member for guidance.
The boy’s expression intensified as he nearly snapped, “Ghouls and zombies; now y’got any candy or not?”
A shift in the atmosphere alerted Alfred to a spike of uneasiness in Jason’s demeanour, but the butler understood. Master Jason had led the street kids to the manor. Alfred was not surprised.
Still in training, and Gotham’s usual asylum escapees running rampant all at once, besides, Master Jason had spent his first Halloween in the manor, in the manor.
Taking advantage of Master Bruce’s absence, Master Dick had paid a rare visit – in honour of his newly acquired younger brother’s first Halloween.
Eavesdropping – not proudly – Alfred had heard Master Jason sharing with Dick something akin to: “Halloween’s the best time of year for a street kid, if you can get your hands on a semi-decent costume and you’re brave enough to venture into the pretty part of town… it’s not the healthiest living, sure, if you don’t know where a dentist lives, or Halloween-hating spiteful folk who’d rather give you apples or toothpaste than candy,” he’d chuckled half-heartedly, and Master Dick had smiled, but Jason turned sombre in the next moment, “It’s a…a nice…nice change not having to wear out my feet looking after a free meal… Being in a home for once.”
“…I’m sorry, Jay,” Master Dick had said quietly, but Master Jason had snorted and scowled.
“I feel bad,” he’d scathed. “I’m set up here all plush. There are still kids on the street without food tonight. Or any night for that matter. I don’t deserve this any more than they do.”
“As I understand it,” Master Dick had countered, knowingly, “Street kids don’t take kindly to handouts. Especially coming from the silver-spooned – or snot-nosed ‘rags-to-riches’ peers.”
“Hardy-har,” Master Jason had glowered, but Master Dick had continued unfazed by the pint-sized bat-glare.
“Even on Halloween, so,” Dick had shrugged. “What to do?” and Master Jason had groaned dejectedly, sinking further into his bent knees and crossed arms, the book he’d been reading pressed to his chest.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m sulking,” he’d mumbled.
“You know who they might take hand-outs from, though?” Master Dick had asked a short while later, apparently having let Jason wallow long enough. “On Halloween, or any other night for that matter?”
Master Jason had squinted at him suspiciously, and again Alfred could still imagine the young boy’s scrunched expression – even though the last time he’d seen it, he’d been older than that night.
Dick had let the silence linger until Jason had made an exasperated noise, forcing the older man to punch him lightly on the shoulder – earning him an affronted look – as he provided the answer, “Robin, silly.”
“I’m…not allowed out,” Master Jason had replied, to which Master Dick had laughed heartily.
He’d promptly talked the boy into going out, ‘under Nightwing’s supervision,’ and a kind of tradition had been established.
Alfred, despite being caught up with Gotham’s craziest underbelly on arguably the worst night of the year, had not forgotten to prepare for the boys’ usual custom, although he’d rather expected Master Dick to show up for the occasion, not the street kids themselves.
Apparently, since Robin wouldn’t be out this Halloween, he’d decided he’d lead the kids to the right house at least.
Having demanded “candy or not,” the boy levelled Alfred with a most impressive glare – raising the Batman and a pair of Bat-protégés, glares could not be received with anything other than a comparative pride or disappointment nowadays. It was not an expression likely to be met with anything but disdain and a slammed door at any other house, however.
The atmosphere took on a concerned, warning edge.
Alfred and the boy both glanced to the side – to Master Jason’s presence – and back to one another. Realization dawned on the young lad’s face and something close to fear swelled in his widening eyes.
“We’ve no treats, I’m afraid,” Alfred replied quickly, “But a trick perhaps?”
“No,” said the boy at once, “Whatever; let’s go—” he tugged at one of the younger ones in front of him, gripped the girl in his arms tighter – she’d started lifting her head and peering through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.
“Won’t you indulge an old magician?” Alfred said flourishing a white-tipped wand and top hat out of nowhere, spraying glitter and confetti to delightful, awed reactions from his young audience. Still, Alfred raised his eyebrows questioningly at the tallest boy, who had paused at the spectacle.
Finally he relented, under the pleading gazes and whispers for acquiescence from his companions, and turned fully back to face Alfred. Master Jason’s own plea and calm reassurance directed at the boy did not go unfelt, either.
The little ones cheered, and the smallest came more awake, rubbing at her eyes.
“This better be good,” the boy grumbled, slightly jostling the girl in his arms as he settled her on his hip to better see.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Alfred said, settling the top hat upon his head almost haughtily, “Should my performance prove unsatisfactory,” while he might not have stocked up on candy for this year’s holiday, Alfred had every intention of treating the children in any case. He was not about to let Master Jason down. “I will gift you this,” Alfred flicked the wand sideways, extending it into a cane, bent at the end, and used it to heft a basket from the side table next to the door. “This was meant for Mrs Harris. Poor dear is getting on,” he added conspiratorially to the children, who were leaning forward and standing on tip-toes to see. Alfred opened the lid a peak, “Let’s see – some fresh fruits, vegetables, rolls; canned goods, an assortment of other necessities I’m sure you’ll find some use for, and—”
“Fine, it’s a deal,” the boy at the back cut in sharply. “Just do your stupid trick so I can call it lame, and we can go.”
Jason seemed a nervous ball of energy to Alfred’s right, fearful perhaps that the children would bolt.
“Very well,” Alfred complied, as much to the boy as to Master Jason. He set the basket down and retracted the cane, unbent, back into a wand. One of the boys in front sniffed just then, loud and deep, reigning in a thick, yellow booger – not for the first time.
Alfred didn’t shudder, though he might have in his youth, but took advantage to segue instead, “You should always carry a handkerchief with you, young sir,” he said primly, and pulled his own from the breast pocket of his vest. And pulled.
And pulled.
And pulled.
The children giggled and clapped in wonder, the littlest one’s eyes widening with every new colourful handkerchief popping out from Alfred’s pocket, seamlessly tied to the previous.
At the last, Alfred untied it from the string and handed it to the boy in front. The others oo’ed at it, reaching to touch the soft blue fabric all at once, and the boy had to clutch it close and slap at the others to keep them off, until he finally pressed it against his nose and blew; hard.
The children squirmed and left him alone.
One of the girls, her red hair curly and wild, had been ignoring him in favour of fingering the pile at Alfred’s feet instead. While the others were occupied, she’d caught the end of the handkerchief train and shyly held it up for Alfred to take back.
“Thank you very much, miss,” he said, before, louder, “Now,” he stuffed the handkerchief into his fist, and the little girl watched eagerly to see where they would come out, but they didn’t. The other children watched as well, and once the last handkerchief was out of sight, Alfred pulled out a small bouquet to a shower of glitter in their place.
The children applauded and bounced on their feet.
Alfred bent low, and presented the flowers to the redhead, “For you, miss.”
She giggled and grinned, and took the flowers with small, stained fingers, immediately burying her nose in the soft petals.
The boy at the back was watching Alfred almost sceptically, but the girl in his arms eyes’ were wide and her mouth agape. She groped at the air and leaned so unexpectedly forward, she might have tumbled right out of the boy’s grasp if his reflexes were any slower.
“I want’tha haf,” she exclaimed, voice croaky and the air singing through the gaps in her teeth.
“No,” he whispered, and resettled her better on his hip, but the other children had heard and chorused over him, “I want!”
“Me, too!”
“I wanna have!”
“Please, me too!”
“Of course, of course,” Alfred said, and raised the wand. “There’s enough for all of you.”
The children cheered, but the boy at the back scowled.
Alfred ran his hand over the white tip of the wand, and pulled a small cluster of flowers, wrapped in a handkerchief, from the end – the children watched, clapping and smiling, excitedly anticipating their turn to receive a bundle.
Alfred saved the smallest one for last, before addressing the boy; still watching Alfred with a frown and a pout. While the features were vastly different, and the brown eyes held no softness underneath, Alfred was still achingly reminded of Master Jason.
He smiled, almost fondly, “I can tell you have not been impressed or entertained.”
The boy scoffed in response, and might have said something, but Alfred had already flicked the wand and was lifting the basket above the children’s heads for him to take.
“A deal is a deal,” Alfred said.
Jason’s presence reeked of satisfaction, gratefulness, and just a touch of fondness – for Alfred or the children, or perhaps both, however, Alfred couldn’t quite tell.
“Yeah, it is,” the boy replied, snatching the basket off the hook, “Let’s go!” he barked at the kids, and ushered them off the porch in a hurry.
“I thought it was nice,” the little redhead said to Alfred, and he smiled most graciously at her, before she spun about and hurried to join the others.
“Thanks,” the tall boy mumbled, almost imperceptibly taking in the space Master Jason was occupying as he said it, before following the littler ones across the yard.
Alfred watched them cross halfway before he shut the manor’s front doors and set aside his wand and hat. Jason lingered, quite obviously pleased.
“You’re very welcome, sir,” Alfred said. “I’ll be sure to ask Master Dick what he’s been up to this evening. In the meantime I’ll prepare another basket. I expect you’ll want to see to it the children arrive home safely—”
“Penny-One,” unexpectedly, Master Bruce’s voice crackled through the comm-link in Alfred’s ear. “Prepare the med-bay – ETA six minutes.”
“At once, sir,” Alfred replied, already headed back to the study. Jason’s demeanour had shifted into concern, “He’ll be fine, sir, he always is,” Alfred tried to reassure. “I’ll see to it,” but Jason had gone from concern to panic, and too late Alfred realised he’d not moved out of the foyer even though Alfred could still feel his distress. The butler turned back, “Master Jason—” it was overwhelming to be so close, panic turning to pain and desperation—
It was an entirely different feeling from the heavy urgency from before, or the oppressive sadness Master Jason could sometimes exhibit—
It was light, floating, drifting away when it wanted to stay; chilling and without air—
For a moment it felt as though Jason was reaching for Alfred, but he’d barely gotten close enough to clutch at the man’s arms, or—
He was gone.
“…Jason?” Alfred whispered to the emptiness. There was no reply. “Master Bruce?”
“Five minutes, Penny-One,” came the reply.
“Indeed, sir,” Alfred said, and made his way toward the study once more, watching every corner for a feeling that wasn’t there. “Are you—” Alone?
“Do you feel—” Master Jason’s presence with you?
“I’ll be fine, Alfred… I just need a quick patch-up before I go back out there. Don’t argue,” he added pointedly, but Alfred was too distracted with trying to feel out Master Jason for one of his usual quips in response.
By the end of the night, he had not felt the boy’s return or had enough courage to outright ask Master Bruce if he’d felt it, either – they had not mentioned it to one another or acknowledged that they knew the other knew.
Alfred couldn’t have known the next time Jason would grace them with his presence it would be a haunting of an entirely different kind.
October 29th: Haunting/Spooky.
#jason todd#alfred pennyworth#dick grayson#bruce wayne#halloweencontentwar#insert writing tag here#this only took forever#and part of me probably hates it#especially the latter half#but I am also so incredibly proud of myself#for finishing this#albeit super late#*sweatdrop*#but I could have totally given up on this#and I wanted to so many times#but I didn't#and I am delighted
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Slightly Out of Character Thought I Had
So, very out of character idea for Steven. But imagine if during his time on Homeworld, Steven somehow hears the corruption song and it’s just seared into his memory. But because he’s half-human, it doesn’t affect him. So he just unwillingly commits it to memory because it’s incredibly traumatizing.
But later on when he’s back on earth and 8xA has just been bubbled, if the Gems tell Steven the truth about who 8xA is what she’s done, he’s just. So furious and unbearably disgusted and hurt that he just. He just stills. He’s frozen and his expression morphs repeatedly, contorting first into shock, then into a rage that they’ve never seen on him, and then completely emotionless. Devoid of anything at all. He’s just deadly calm, and he encloses everyone in a bubble shield, and says “wait here and stay here.” And they’re all terrified and confused because they have NEVER seen Steven like this before and frankly they’re terrified. Even Yellow Zircon is shaken. But Steven ignores their shouts and just calmly walks into the barn, completely expressionless. He stops in front of 8xA’s bubble and just emotionlessly pops it. She reforms in front of him and crashes onto the barn floor, her wild hair splayed over her face. She straightens up and looks frantically around the barn, until her wide-eyed gaze lands in front of her, on Steven. There’s complete silence in the barn for several long moments that seem to stretch on for eternity. Neither of them speak, 8xA simply stares at him, unnerved by his visage; he is completely devoid of any emotion, his eyes cold and dark, unlike the youthful exterior of his physical form. She breaks the silence, tentatively, “Uh, who are-”
“Are you 8xA?” Steven interrupts her, his voice as monotonous as the Feldspars back on Homeworld, though there’s something hidden in his voice that 8xA can’t recognize, but it terrifies even her. She shakily takes a breath that she doesn’t need. “Yeah, what’s it to you?” She utters out, attempting but failing to appear stronger than she feels in the moment with this… thing staring her down with its inscrutable gaze that pierces her form, shaking her to her Gem. Steven doesn’t reply. He simply stares at her, and takes a breath. Then, a rumbling note erupts from him, reverberating throughout the barn.
8xA stills, and stares at him in shock, terror quickly sliding across her features. She can’t move; she’s frozen in place, her phantom muscles locked and rigid. Then, a harsh grunt, almost like a gasp, escapes her lips as she doubles over onto the floor. The wooden boards shriek in protest as she crumples to her hands and knees. A pain unlike any she’s ever experienced erupts within her form, her Gem crawling and itching in its place. Steven draws out the note, then the tone shifts and it descends, the pitch too loud and excruciating in 8xA’s ears. It’s everywhere, she can feel the note bouncing within her form, rippling through it and shaking her to the core. 8xA gasps in pain as her hands begin to twitch. She watches in horror as her trembling hands contort. It starts with her fingers; her digits change form, mutating into large claws, mottled purple and grey. Then, her hands, her wrists, her entire arms lengthen, thickening with excruciating agony. The ailment spreads onto her shoulders, and for a moment 8xA fears she’s going to shatter. As the quivering froth of corruption surrounds her Gem, the pain crescendoes into something unlike anything 8xA has ever felt. Sharp spikes break free from her glassy skin, pushing out and mottling her arms with mountainous growths. Grey splotches pepper her limbs as the spikes throb.
The note shifts, the haunting melody bursting forth from Steven growing darker and more overpowering. 8xA feels her feet snap and take the shape of something akin to hooves. She doesn’t know if she screams or if her Gem is cracking around her. Her legs become thinner, twisting into appendages of grey splotches and fury. As the corrupting ailment spreads up her back, 8xA faintly registers the haunting note shift once more, as her back writhes and she grows in size. Steven is suddenly dwarfed in size to her massive, twitching form, yet he is completely in control. Through the pain, 8xA hears a ravaged, agonized scream and with a small start she realizes it’s her own. She feels the devastating malady spreading over her chest as she shakes, barely breathing in between nought-registered wails of pain. She feels the corruption spread up her neck, past her chin, reaching her mouth. Her screams are abruptly cut off as her mouth suddenly contorts into a fanged maw, the wails garbled and muffled. The ailment spreads up, up past her nose, up towards her eyes. One eye painfully clamps shut as a spike protrudes from it. And finally, as her remaining eye stares unfocused at Steven, terror dilating her sole pupil, the corruption closing around the only remaining part of her, the haunting note stops. And the corruption stops with it. For several moments, all is still. 8xA stops screaming, her form almost completely corrupted. Her eye blinks rapidly, tears sliding down her grey-splotched face. Steven gasps for breath, staring at the near-complete beast of 8xA, his visage expressionless. He steps towards 8xA and she clambers back fearfully from the boy. He takes another step, and she backs into the wall. Steven stops in front of her. He stands motionless, 8xA’s form shaking in fear. Moments pass, until Steven spits at her Gem. Immediately, 8xA’s form glows. The spikes contract, the grey splotches vanish from her marbled skin. Her clawed paws revert to hands that scratch at the floorboards, clenching and unclenching with fear. 8xA’s legs and feet take their normal shape as the hair erupting around her chest recedes, and her mouth morphs into lips pulled tightly back into a sputtering grimace. The spike finally slides out of her eye, vanishing from sight. 8xA is uncorrupted. She doubles over onto her hands and knees, gasping for breath. She registers Steven taking a step towards her. Her unfocused gaze darts up to him fearfully as she clambers back against the wall.
The only sound in the barn is 8xA’s heaving breaths. Several still moments pass until Steven speaks, his icy voice filled with such venom that it shakes 8xA to the core.
“Don’t you ever go near Peridot again.”
8xA screams, and scrambles for the barn doors. She breaks free of the barn, Steven calmly walking behind her. She stops at the sight of the bubbled group. Her gaze lands on Peridot, who eyes her with terror and confusion. 8xA yelps in fear and breaks away from the group’s stares. Steven calmly walks past the bubbled group. His hand glides his stomach, his arm curling as his shield materializes in his hand. Then, he hurls it with such strength and vicious accuracy that it whistles as it speeds towards 8xA’s sprinting form. A puff of purple smoke erupts around the shield, and 8xA’s Gem falls to the ground, a soft “clink!” the only sound at it hits the packed earth. All is silent as Steven stalks over to her Gem, bubbling it and sending it back to the Temple. Then, as if his senses come rushing back to him, he falls to his knees, and hot tears erupt from his eyes. He faintly registers the “pop!” of the bubble shield vanishing, before the Gems rush to him. He barely comprehends their rapid questions and concern as the tears fall from his face. The Gems go silent and rigid as words escape the sobbing boy’s lips.
“What did I just do?”
(thundergoos)
this...is...the most...cathartic and badass thing i’ve ever read.
#thundergoos#submission#8XA#dark themes#fics#i'm kind of reeling#you know#i don't think this is really ooc for steven#he's been through so much shit#and he has zero tolerance and actual hate for people like 8xa#and this is definitely a deserved punishment so it's not like he's going too far#i just think it's wonderful and CREEPY AS HELL#thank you for sharing this?!??!?
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