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aotxfan · 3 years

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Snakes in the Garden (Porco)

Summary: Unnamed female character is a spy sent to Marley by the Scouts. Her mission is to extract information from the Jaw Titan. Rated: M (Suggestive themes but nothing explicit)

Long Post under cut.

Nestled away in a quiet business district with the lights turned low and the music a soft hum in the night, she almost believed she had entered the wrong place before she had a chance to look around. The bar was not the kind of establishment she was used to back in Paradis. Unlike the bars back in her island with their loud music and slurring strangers, the Eldian bar in Marley was quiet.

A low song was playing from a live band and the people inside were each speaking quietly to their neighbor. A lifetime of secrecy in a country that despised the blood in their veins had taught each Eldian to be as meek as a dormouse. The Eldians at the bar were painfully aware of the guards stationed nearby and desperately sought to fly under the radar to escape notice.

Her frame lingered by the bar a second longer as her eyes scanned every which way.

This late in the evening, with the moon peeking behind the clouds, there were very few souls around. Most Eldians had retreated inside their homes by now leaving the bar mostly empty. Asides from a few stragglers still trying to squeeze out some last few moments from the night, the place was quiet.

Sliding into a stool at the bar, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Zeke had told her he would be here. According to the Eldian defector, Porco Galliard frequented the place more often than not. Zeke was convinced she would find him here nursing a pint of something at the bar with his head down and his walls firmly up.

Thus far, she couldn’t find him anywhere. She had memorized his photograph before leaving Paradis, had studied him and the other Warriors fervently before making the long voyage, but had, had little luck finding any of them.

The Mid-East War had just ended and most soldiers had returned. Zeke had told her Galliard had returned along with the other Warriors, but she had, had no luck finding him. He hadn’t dropped by his family home yet and his favorite haunts were devoid of his presence.

This bar was the last place she could think of scoping out before giving up. Hopefully he’d show up here and end her one way game of cat and mouse.

Motioning for a bartender, she drummed her nails against the wooden countertop. Being this exposed in Marley made her nervous. The hairs at the back of her neck were almost standing up as she bristled with every stare.

Since she had come to Marley on a spying mission from Paradis, she had been utterly careful on who she talked to and where she went. She never lingered in one area of Liberio for too long and was always sure to keep her head down whenever the Marleyan soldiers walked past.

Being at a bar in plain view and not tucked away in some alleyway was a change she wasn’t sure she liked.

Still, she was growing desperate.

Her orders back in Paradis had been very clear. She was to find the Warriors and approach them. The intel they offered could be valuable and a chance to learn more about their abilities could easily sway things in Paradis’ favor.

The bartender startled her out of her reverie when he appeared and asked for her order. She had no idea what names they used for alcohol here and hesitated as she tried to think of something.

Thankfully, she was spared a chance to answer.

A lone figure slid into the stool next to her and asked for a cocktail she had never heard of in a bored tone. The bartender accepted his order, and she asked for the same in response.

As he left to prepare their drinks, she eyed the stranger next to her.

The young man was tall with blonde hair and an aloof expression on his face. He slumped against his chair as if tired and yawned into his hand. When he moved his arm, she caught sight of a red armband against his black jacket.

Her breath hitched just slightly and she was glad he was facing away from her and paid her little mind.

She had studied each Warrior’s photograph and knew exactly who he was. Porco Galliard. Her target.

Well, I’ll be damned.

She quietly took stock of him as he waited for his drink. He had yet to notice her presence and was preoccupied with picking a piece of lint off his pants. He seemed to have no weapons on him and made no indication of being with a partner or friend for the night. That was good. If he was alone, she would only have to worry about chatting him up and not an acquaintance.

When the bartender returned with their drinks, she saw her opening.

Reaching for hers, she let her hand move just slightly. ‘Accidentally’ knocking into his glass, she jerked her hand to the side and sent it tumbling off the bar counter. His drink splashed all over his pants and sent ice cubes rolling down onto the floor.

He jerked up with a curse, and she jumped up too with napkins in hand.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” She offered him a napkin and widened her eyes just slightly to seem nervous.

“-uck, that’s cold!” He tore the napkins out of her grip and scrubbed them against the front of his pants. Whatever drink had been in the glass had stained the white fabric, and the napkin only made things worse.

Irritated, he jerked his head towards her and she was met with his cold gaze.

“Nice going!” He growled out the words and bit back whatever other insult was forming on his mouth when he saw her shrink back.

She bowed her head and made sure to let him see how her hands shook when she extended another napkin his way.

“I’m so, so sorry sir! I didn’t mean to,” she offered another apology.

Sending a pointed look at his red armband, she made herself shrink in. Stepping into the role of her character, she led the charade fall into place all around her.

In this moment, she was a quiet Eldian girl who was terrified of being reprimanded. Having just spilled her drink on the lap of an Honorary Marleyan, she could only imagine the fall out. Her eyes were wide with fright and her hands shook as more apologies spilled out of her lips.

When his eyes softened at the display, she hid her smirk. It seemed the acting classes she had taken as a child in Paradis had served a purpose after all.

He accepted her apology and waved her away when she offered to give him her drink.

“Ok, I get it. It was an accident,” he sat back down and threw the used napkins away in a nearby bin, “Did you get any on you?”

His voice was still rough when he spoke to her, but her earlier display had gotten through to him. His eyes were no longer cold and she could tell she was chipping away at his walls. If she played her cards right, she could knock them right down the way the Colossal had knocked down Wall Maria in her childhood.

“I’m fine,” she offered him her drink again, “Here. An amend. I really didn’t mean to.”

Setting the glass in front of him, she didn’t give him a chance to reject her again.

Galliard opened his mouth to disagree then shrugged and accepted the piece offering.

“I haven’t seen you before,” he eyed, “Is this your first time here?”

She bit her lip the way she had seen other girls do when they were timid.

“It is, I usually don’t drink.”

He drained his glass in one gulp and motioned for the bartender to give him a refill. Without asking, he also purchased a new glass for her. She accepted him with a thank you.

“What made you come here of all places? This isn’t exactly a place where I would expect someone like you,” Porco asked. He motioned towards the bar to highlight his point.

By now, the live band had stopped playing and started packing their instruments. The last few stragglers were older men with white armbands on their coats looking for some last few moments of peace before returning home to their families.

Zeke had mentioned this bar was mainly for soldiers and men who needed a quiet place to wind down after a long deployment. It really wasn’t the kind of place a young girl like her would frequent.

“I wanted to try this place out. My dad spent a lot of time here before he-”

She cut herself off then and bit her lip again. The silence grew as she hesitated and he seemed to understand the hidden meaning. Her fingers tightened on her glass.

“The Mid-East War?” He eyed her out of the corner of his eye.

She nodded. “Yeah, we got the letter last month.”

His jaw tightened and he set his second empty glass down on the counter top. “Shit. Sorry.”

A gruff sympathy but still a sympathy. She looked away to hide the satisfaction burning in her eyes.

In preparation for the voyage, Zeke and Yelena had offered plenty about Marley and the Warriors. They had each taken the time to teach her about how to act and what to say to cruise under the radar.

It was Zeke who had stressed how to behave with the Warriors to her. He had spoken about each person at length and given her firm instructions as to how to proceed. She could almost hear his voice inside her head now repeating one of his many lessons.

“Galliard is a tough one, but he’s not impossible. He’s prickly like a cactus-huh, guess you don’t know what that is but whatever-it just means he has a harsh exterior. He’s going to be closed off when you meet and will probably not let you in easily if you just approach him. He’s naturally selective with who he surrounds himself with and suspicion comes to him second nature. If you flirt with him or try to get too close right off the bat, he’ll back off from you and assume you’re just another Eldian desperate to marry into Marleyan citizenship. Instead, you have to use his weaknesses against him. He’s still mourning the loss of Marcel. The wound is fresh, and he’ll be more likely to sympathize with someone who he thinks lost family to war too...”

So far, it seemed he had been right.

She let her shoulders droop and thought about her own father. Her real father was buried somewhere under the rubble of Shinganshina. He had died years ago when the Colossal had knocked down the wall and led all the Titans in. She had seen him and her mother get swallowed before running away.

Sorrow filled her and she clenched her teeth together. Beneath the pain there was anger. She let the rage steel her in her mission and reminded herself of why she was doing this.

Marley had destroyed her home and killed her family. She promised she would do the same to it. If Porco was her way to fight back, then she would play him like a song and wield him like a knife.

“Did you return from your deployment?”

She allowed herself to ask him a question. He had been swirling the last few drops of his liquor around in his glass and the ice made a melody as it thumped against the sides.

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Came back some time ago. I was stationed in Fort Slava.”

She let some surprise register on her face although she had known that already. She knew a lot of things about him.

“Then you helped in the victory. I should be the one buying you drinks,” she offered him a soft smile.

Under the dim light, she thought she saw the faintest hint of color on his cheeks.

Unsure if it was her or the alcohol, she slid her second untouched glass his way. When he raised an eyebrow, she offered him a light smile.

“I’m not one for alcohol. Take it.”

He accepted the glass and took a long sip. She hoped the alcohol would make him buzzed. Maybe some liquid courage would help her loosen his lips.

The Jaw Titan had to have some intel she could gather. Compared to the others, his rank was lower since he was still brand new in inheriting his abilities, but he could be useful. Maybe she could use him as an in. Growing close to him might just let her have access to the Cart Titan and the others.

“You’re not going to ask?” His eyes met hers over the rim of his glass.

“Ask?” She tilted her head to the side inquisitively. Yelena had told her the action made her seem more innocent and less deceitful.

It worked. Some of the remaining tension in his shoulders receded and he wiped at his mouth with his sleeve.

“About the battle. All everyone wants to ask about is how the battle played out and what happened. I’m like a personal history book to these people.”

His tone was dry and he glared at the far wall. She stared at her hands.

”Galliard is bitter about Marley and the war efforts. He’s not obedient like other soldiers and will complain and bad mouth the efforts when he thinks no one will hear him. Don’t let that shock you. Just let him vent and make yourself a sympathetic ear, but don’t add anything to the fire. He’s likely to grow even more suspicious if he finds an ally in you so quickly.”

Zeke’s counsel replayed in her mind and she let the silence linger just a second longer than necessary. Feigning a wince, she tapped her knuckles nervously against the counter.

“To be honest, I’m sick of hearing about the war. All of the soldiers that fought with my dad keep writing about the battles he fought in and how brave he was. I could do with a different topic.”

He glanced at her and some of the ire melted away out of his gaze. He grunted under his breath something that sounded like a “good” and shook his head.

“I just realized I never got your name,” he eyed her.

The fake name Yelena had come up for her spilled past her lips easily. It was a common Eldian name that wasn’t likely to raise any suspicions. He accepted it without much thought.

“Porco,” he mumbled in turn.

The last few customers at the bar made their way out the door. She glanced out the window and realized it was almost pitch black. One glance at the bartender, and she realized he was just waiting on them to close up.

“I should probably get going, I start my job tomorrow.”

Porco stood up too and threw some Marleyan bills at the counter. She noticed he had paid for her too.

“You don’t have to-”

“I drank them, you didn’t touch them,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and waited.

She realized he was waiting for her to lead the way, and she finished buttoning up her coat.

“I’ll walk you home, yeah? Liberio isn’t exactly safe for a girl all alone at night,” He didn’t wait for her this time and left out the door in front of her.

She was glad his back was turned. It meant he missed the small smirk that played on her lips.

- - -

Despite the alcohol he had consumed, his steps were measured and easy. She apologized to him for being such a bother and making him walk so far.

He shrugged his shoulders and cut her off.

“I’m headed this way anyway,” he looked away.

He was definitely not headed that way. His family home was a good fifteen minute walk from where they were, but she didn’t say anything. Perhaps it was the liquor on his breath, but the tips of his ears had reddened just slightly.

Some confidence filled her and she ‘accidentally’ bumped their hands together. Withdrawing them with an apology, she caught the way his breath hitched.

Yelena had told her she was beautiful, and that she could use that to suit her mission. Galliard was a man same like any other. He had his weaknesses and a pretty face would help her.

The streets were dark which made her next move easy.

Pretending to trip on an uneven piece of the sidewalk, she let herself collide with his back. He managed to catch her before she could fall face first and his arm wrapped around her waist in surprise. She felt more than saw the way his face burned at the realization that she was now in his grasp.

Feigning embarrassment, she pressed her hand to her mouth and widened her eyes. “I’m so sorry! First I spill my drink and then I almost knock you over!”

She looked away and made her eyes water on command the way she had been taught in acting classes all those years ago. It was her experience that men tended to melt when they saw a woman prepared to cry. Some tears and a quiet sniffle got them to lower their guard down every time.

Porco was no different.

He shook his head and looked away. “It’s okay, you’re fine. Did you hurt your ankle?”

He seemed concerned as he traced his hand down her leg. It was an excuse to touch her, and she was grateful he hadn’t seen the way her eyes lit up in success.

She had him. Hook, line, and sinker.

Still, she couldn’t rush her hand. Zeke had warned her about seeming too eager to get close to the Warriors. They were a close, private bunch and wouldn’t let an outsider in too easily. She had to play her cards close to the chest.

She thanked him for his concern and placed her hand over his. His skin was hot to the touch and his arm tensed in surprise at the contact. He wasn’t used to being touched, yet he didn’t move his arm.

“My house is over there,” she pointed to a random neighborhood, “You can just leave me here. I don’t want you to have to walk all this way.”

He seemed like he didn’t want to leave, and she was smug. She really did have him in her web. Just a little more and he would fall in head first.

“Are you sure?”

He seemed like he wanted her to ask him to stay. Perhaps he was hoping to score her for the night. Maybe he had some pent up stress and figured a pretty girl was a nice way to relax.

But that wasn’t her mission. Her mission was much deeper than just a quick night.

She released his hand and moved away from him letting some formality fall between them. Her smile was polite as she shook her head and waved him off.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” she turned away.

She feigned taking a step away from him before stopping. Moving fast, she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. It was a coy move she had learned worked well on men. It was innocent enough to be dismissed as a platitude, but the way her lips lingered on his skin just slightly could be easily interpreted as interest.

He made a sound at the back of his throat and burned bright red. She moved her head away and offered him a quiet thank you for walking all this way.

As she turned away from him, he called her name.

“Wait. Can I see you again?”

He sounded awestruck and she was glad she had managed to trick him into drinking all that alcohol. His walls had lowered enough for her to sneak her way in like a Trojan Horse.

Lowering her head in a meek and shy way, she gave a polite smile. “Maybe.”

Then, purposefully leaving him wanting, she walked away.

- - -

After that first introduction, it was easy to continue playing him. Working her magic, she played him like an instrument.

The next day after that she arrived at the hospital to check on the returning soldiers. Zeke had forged some paperwork and gotten her a job as a civilian nurse. She assumed it was easy for him to do so since his grandfather had once been a doctor.

She had arrived to her first shift the next day-

Coincidentally when the Warriors were due for their checkup. Porco had frozen in shock at the door when he had walked in and seen her. He had hesitated and asked her what she was doing before she had feigned her own surprise and told her she was a nurse.

The entire time she worked alongside the doctor performing his physical, she had been aware of the looks he threw her. It seemed her little kiss last night was still on his mind. His cheeks were almost a permanent red, and the doctor had to ask him if he had a fever which only made them further redden.

After the check up, he had followed her out into the hallway and asked her to wait for him. He had struck up a conversation and a persona had slipped into place. Now he seemed much more confident than before, and he boldly asked her to get a coffee with him.

She turned him down.

The look on his face was priceless when she expressed her regret that it was unprofessional. After all, she was a nurse and he was a patient. She could get in trouble and lose the job she had just started.

Her rejection was a clever ploy. Just as Yelena had said, some men liked the challenge. He was one of them.

After her rejection, he further fell in to her trap. He continued to seek her out and ask her again and again. He always found some excuse to go to the hospital. He would walk in for the smallest of accidents, a cut he sustained during training or an ankle he swore was swollen despite being able to walk just fine. The doctors and other nurses seemed exasperated when they reminded him that he was a Titan and could heal on his own, but she always made sure to show up for every one of his visits rewarding his efforts.

Finally, when she was confident she had made him wait enough, she accepted his offer.

“One coffee, just one, and you don’t tell my boss, yeah?” She tried to hide her embarrassed smile behind her medical charts.

Triumphant he grinned. “Sure, just one.”

- - -

It wasn’t just one. They both knew it although each of them had their own reasons for thinking there would be more than one date.

One coffee turned into two which then gave way to three until they made it a regular habit to meet at the coffee shop after her shift. She was a pleasant person on their dates and they clicked well. Pretty soon, he was falling fast and she could tell.

It was like magic the way they clicked. They had the same tastes, the same hobbies, the same feeling about the war and Marley. They fit together like a puzzle and clicked so well that she could tell he was falling hard with every date.

Of course, none of it was luck. She knew him like the back of her hand. Zeke had made sure that she knew everything there was to know about him before she had left Paradis. She had studied him as if he were material for a major exam and had memorized everything.

She was his dream girl thanks to repeated efforts to mold herself to his tastes.

Finally, after maybe a month of dates, he bit the bullet. Blushing and showing up to one date with a bouquet of flowers she was certain Pieck had chosen for him, he asked her to be his girlfriend.

Making her eyes water on command, she had thrown her arms around his neck in reply and that was that.

- - -

Once she had managed to reel him in, she scored big.

Having a Warrior at her side was just the thing she needed to collect intel on Marley. Porco trusted her implicitly and thought nothing about telling her about his job. He made offhanded comments about some of the things he did for the military and thought nothing of the questions she asked. In his mind, she was just his loving girlfriend eager to learn more about his day.

She catalogued everything he said and kept a journal of information tucked underneath her bed. When he would leave after a long day together, she’d scribble down new secrets gained and walk towards the rendezvous location.

There, she would bump into a mysterious man on accident and slip the piece of paper from the notebook into his jacket as she apologized. The man, Jean, would pretend not to recognize her as he accepted the intel and would move aside.

Then, she would go about her day as if nothing had happened and be back at her home when Porco had returned from a long day of military training.

Exhausted, he would spill more secrets into her ear and ignore the way she always seemed a little too eager for him to share. Confident in his trust of her, his guard was down and he never put two and two together.

It was a shame really, his trust would only prove his undoing.

- - -

She hit the major jackpot when he forgot his lunch for the day. He had spent the night over and had woken up late. Forgetting to grab something to take with him, he had dashed out the door and left for his military training before she could remind him.

She had waited for him to return for something yet was relieved when she realized he hadn’t remembered. That gave her the perfect opening.

Preparing his favorite dish, the one Yelena had made Niccolo teach her over and over again back in Paradis to make sure she got the flavor just right, she had made her way to the military headquarters.

As a nurse, none of the stationed soldiers gave her a second glance as she walked inside the compound. When she asked to enter the wing where the Warriors trained, the men seemed more hesitant however. Still, a soft smile and some batted eyelashes worked their charm.

It is the weakness of men to consider women weak. They underestimated her ability and let her in easily. Her charm had managed to lower their guards.

They pointed her towards the area where the Warriors trained and let her freely walk there.

Zeke met her at the door. Sweat covered his brow as he panted from the workout he had just finished. He walked right past her as if he didn’t knew her and she pretended not to know him too.

To an outsider, it would have looked just like two complete strangers walking past each other to different destinations. A coincidental meet with nothing out of the ordinary.

However, the outsider would have missed the way Zeke’s hand had pointed to the left behind his back. Without glancing back, he had indicated where she could find Porco to help her in her quest.

She followed his directions down a corridor to the left and was rewarded with Porco.

His back to her, he was talking to some kids with yellow armbands. Warrior candidates.

She recognized them from the files she had memorized in Paradis.

Colt and Falco Grice.

At the sight of her, the eldest, Colt, frowned. “Nurse?”

He tilted his head wondering who had gotten injured and Porco turned. Surprise registered in his gaze for half a second before he extended a hand towards her. Affection replaced the shock and he nodded at her.

“What are you doing here?” He took the offered lunch from her hands, and she saw that he looked like he had been sweating. His face was flushed and he was wearing what looked like a combat uniform. It seemed like they had just wrapped up practice because the two candidates behind him were just as tired.

“You forgot your lunch, so I figured I’d bring you one,” she looked past Porco to the two boys still staring dumbfounded, “There’s plenty for you too, guys. I know how hard you all are working.”

The eldest one stumbled out a thank you as his cheeks flush. His younger brother thanked her with a charming smile.

Porco opened the bag and saw his favorite. His eyes lit up, but he cleared the emotion from his expression when he realized he was still in public. He handed the two boys their share of what was in a clear container then motioned for her to follow him alone down another corridor.

The room he led her to seemed like a break room. There were water bottles set up for the candidates and some tables. He plopped down and motioned for her to join him.

“How’d you know this was my favorite?” He popped a piece of the food in his mouth.

She smiled.

“Lucky guess.”

She was grateful Yelena had made her repeat the recipe until she could do it with her eyes closed. It seemed she had nailed the taste and Porco’s guard had fallen. He’d been letting her in more and more. If she had to guess, he’d become putty in her hands.

“You look tired,” she brushed some of his hair that had gotten stuck to his forehead, “No rest for the wicked? I thought they’d let you all take a break after the war.”

He hummed irritated.

“Nope. The candidates are back to competing. Colt, the oldest kid back there, has his spot set for the Beast Titan, but the other Titans are up in the air. I think Gabi Braun might become the Armored if she keeps it up.”

Gabi Braun.

She let the name flit around her head until she attached information to it. Zeke had mentioned that Reiner might be passing on his titan to his cousin.

Her lips pressed together. She was never close with Reiner back when he and the others were in Paradis. She was friends with Jean and Sasha, but the rest of their friends never truly became hers. That’s why Zeke had selected her for the mission. She was someone the others trusted, but not someone that would be recognized by Reiner the moment he laid eyes on her.

Still, none of this is the information she needed. She tried to think of another way to ask Porco for more intel. There had to be something he knew that Zeke didn’t. Something that can give some insight into what Marley had planned-

The door opened behind them. For a moment, she stilled panicked that it’s Reiner. Her hair color has been changed and cut and her eyes are a different color through the help of contact lenses, but she wasn’t sure the disguise would hold up. He might just recognize her at a glance-

“Pieck?” Porco raised an eyebrow at the new person.

A young woman supporting herself on a crutch hobbled inside the room. She offered Porco a smile of greeting then her eyes settled on her.

Pieck Finger, she realized. She knew a lot about her too. Zeke’s words replayed in her mind.

“Pieck Finger. She’s the current holder of the Cart Titan. Be careful with her. She seems friendly and polite when you meet her, but she’s clever and quick on her feet. She’ll smile at you in greeting all while suspecting you. Don’t be too over excited to be her friend. Just let her naturally come to trust you.”

Pieck’s eyes lit up and the smile that graced her face is rehearsed. Even as the girl grinned and joined them, she could sense that she was being picked apart. Clever as she was, Pieck had already started suspecting her.

“Is this the girl you’ve been going on about?” Pieck called her name and extended her hand.

She introduced herself and gave Pieck a polite smile. She hoped she seemed shy and awestruck. After all, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a regular Eldian to be nervous when meeting a Warrior.

Porco ate the last of the food and introduced the two of them. He explained a little bit about how they met and Pieck paid rapt attention. A little too much attention.

She tried not to appear nervous as she felt her gaze. Hopefully she would be able to throw Pieck off her trail. Zeke had offered to help out if she gave the word.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she offered Pieck a warm smile.

Pieck returned it and leaned against her crutch. She seemed exhausted, more so than the others, and she recalled what Zeke and Yelena had informed her. Pieck’s titan moved on four feet. Because she was so used to spending months on end in titan form, returning to walking on two feet was always taxing.

Remembering that her cover was a nurse, she stood. “Are you in pain? I can get some ice.”

Pieck waved her away and eased herself into a chair. Her leg stretched out and she rubbed at her knee. “Getting used to walking on two legs, that’s all. If I had it my way, I’d just crawl everywhere.”

“She would,” Porco scoffed, “She scared the shit out of me the other day. I caught her crawling across the floor. For a second I thought she was an overgrown bug.”

“Ha, ha.”

Pieck turned away from Porco with a roll of her eyes and trained her gaze on her. The little spark of suspicion was there again. Zeke wasn’t kidding when he had said she was clever.

“I didn’t know you were a nurse. You look a little young to have completed the training already.”

The question was innocent and her voice casual. Still, she noted the inquiring tone there.

Porco isn’t someone who let others in easily. If he had suddenly brought in a girl into his life and let her in to the military headquarters, it’d be bound to raise some eyebrows. Pieck seemed suspicious although she wasn’t sure if it was because the girl was naturally slow to trust or if maybe her cover had already been found out.

“My mother was a nurse,” she answered finally, “She taught me some things. I managed to pass my certification with her help a year ago.”

“Was?” Pieck tilted her head and her gaze was now sympathetic.

She’d read Pieck’s file. Pieck had a sick father who she was supporting through the Warrior program. She was partial to those who knew what that was like to lose a parent.

She lowered her gaze to the table and feigned some sadness. “Was. She passed last year. An illness. The doctors refused to treat an Eldian.”

Quiet.

Porco bit his lip and anger burned in his gaze. Pieck had been reminded of her own father and the suspicion that had previously lurked disappeared replaced by empathy.

“I’m so sorry. I know what that feels like,” she closed her eyes, “My dad is ill too. I became a Warrior to help him.”

She nodded her head and pretended to brush away a tear. There came more quiet where no one knew what to say.

Suddenly, from outside, they heard two voices. The first she recognized as Zeke. The next made her tense.

That voice. It had been years, but she could recognize it anywhere. Reiner.

Nervousness clawed at the pit of her stomach. Her disguise was good, but it woud not have held up on closer examination. Reiner may not have been all that close with her all those years ago, but he would have been able to recognize her.

Porco glanced at the clock and groaned. “Looks like we have to get back to training. Do you want me to walk you back to the hospital?”

She shook her head just as Pieck stood up. “No, it’s fine.”

The voices grew closer. She could imagine Zeke trying to lead Reiner away, surely Colt and Falco had told them that the three of them were in there. However, she wasn’t sure she’d be out in time.

An idea sparked in her and she turned to Pieck.

“Sorry, Pieck, is there a bathroom nearby?”

Pieck glanced at her. “Sure, I’ll take you.”

She waved goodbye to Porco and followed Pieck as she limped down the hallway. They passed by a smaller set of rooms where she could see the back of Reiner’s head.

A sigh of relief left her when she realized she hadn’t been spotted by them. Pieck nodded to a door at the end of the corridor and offered her a friendly smile.

“There you go.”

She waved her hand and went back to where the other Warriors were. That time, her movements had been genuine. Whatever suspicion she had, had earlier had been erased. It seemed the little lie about her mother had earned her enough sympathy points to overcome whatever alarm bells had been ringing in her mind.

For some reason, a prickle of guilt had filled her as she bypassed the bathroom and left out a side door.

- - -

Some few days later, Porco had been in bed next to her. His hand had run through his hair and he’d tried to fight off sleep. He had been exhausted, they both were, and he slumped against her frame.

“Staying here again?” She lifted the blanket higher on his torso.

He glanced out the window and saw the dark outside. “Too dark to walk. That’s okay, right?”

She gave him a kiss in response and he smirked into it. He almost looked like he could go for another round, but ultimately his exhaustion won out. Reaching over, he flicked the lamp off and darkness filled the room.

“Goodnight,” she told him. She heard him whisper it back although his voice was muffled through the blanket.

The good thing about exhausting Porco was that he went out like a light afterwords. He fell asleep easily once he’d been tired out and became dead to the world.

She only had to wait a few minutes until his soft snores had filled the room.

She counted to 100 in her mind then stood up. While the information he had relayed to her had still been fresh in her mind, she scribbled it down on her journal. Then, she glanced back to verify that he was still asleep before slipping out into the night.

- - -

Jean waited for her at the usual place. His form overlooked the pier, and he accepted the journal page from her. He he slipped it into his pocket as she leaned over the rail.

“You’re doing okay, right? No one has suspected a thing?” He examined her out of the corner of his eye.

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair and hoped the love bites Porco left on her neck weren’t too obvious. A part of her always filled with guilt whenever she saw them in the morning although she was never sure why.

If he could tell what she had been up to, he did her the favor of not mentioning it.

“He’s not giving me anything really. He knows what Zeke knows and that’s it. Marley isn’t dividing up intel between the Warriors. They’re all briefed on the same thing,” she sighed.

Jean huffed and shoved his hands in his pocket. “You’re telling me. I’m not getting anywhere either. I can’t find the little suicidal maniac anywhere, and I’m sick of following random soldiers around. Maybe there isn’t much intel to be gained here.”

They grew quiet, and she bit her lip. Frustration gnawed at her coupled with something else. It pricked her and filled her with a sense of exhaustion.

It had been weeks and she’d gotten nowhere. Porco had completely fallen for her, he spent every waking moment with her, and Pieck teased him about how much he mentioned her in conversation. However, she hadn’t getting anything out of it. He hadn’t known anything more than what Paradis already knew, and she hadn’t been close enough to Pieck to question her.

It almost felt like all the scheming and lying was for nothing. The thought made her stomach turn.

There’s been a change in her, she knew. She’d been more hesitant to lie. When Porco asked about her mother, wanting to know about how a sick nurse could have been rejected by a doctor, she had felt the lie weigh on her. A mad thought had filled her, and she had almost broken down crying. For some reason, using him just didn’t feel like some exciting secret anymore.

Luckily, he thought her tears were a result of grief for her fictional mother and dropped the matter. Still, that had been close. For a second she had worried she would break character.

“I’m tired, Jean,” she closed her eyes, “Should I just go back to Paradis? It doesn’t feel like it’s worth it.”

Jean examined her and his jaw clenched. “What’s not worth it?”

Being away from home, having to watch every word she said in case she accidentally blew her cover, lying to Porco.

“I just want to go home. Don’t you get homesick?”

Jean sighed and closed his eyes. “I get what you mean. Hang in there, though. You’re doing great so far. You may not have a lot of top secrets to report, but Hange says your information has been really beneficial. They know how many fleets are in the military and where they’re kept. Galliard may not have Zeke’s top secret clearance, but he knows enough. Hopefully he’ll unlock Marcel’s memories soon and give us more.”

She bit her cheek. Porco had only unlocked Ymir’s memories so far, and those hadn’t been useful. He learned some things about Paradis and it’s military, but it wasn’t anything that put them at a disadvantage.

Thankfully, she had never been close to Ymir, so Porco never recognized her from the memories. Her identity remained a secret.

She glanced at the skyline. The stars had been bright and she realized she’d been out too long.

“Gotta go,” she shoved her hands in her pockets, “Before Pock wakes up.”

Jean froze and turns to look at her. “Pock?”

She stopped too. The nickname had just fallen out of her mouth. She could only imagine it was Pieck rubbing off on her.

“Must’ve slipped,” she rubbed her lip.

“Don’t,” Jean’s gaze was a warning in itself, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

She knew the answer. It was written plainly on his face. His arms crossed and his jaw tightened. She felt like she was being scolded.

“Don’t get too close. You’re a spy not a lover. Don’t forget your place. Once this whole place gets attacked, he’ll try to kill you. If you get too close, you just might hesitate on defending yourself.”

- - -

She realized too late that she should have listened to Jean. After that night, her cover became harder and harder to keep. It seemed like every time she had to lie, the words got caught in her throat. Maintaining her cover became more difficult.

A few days after that conversation, she made her first mistake.

Or, as Zeke would call it, strike one.

It had been nighttime and sleep wouldn’t grace her. She’d stared up at the ceiling running over every interaction between her and the others. Her teeth had clamped on her bottom lip as she realized that she’d let them get too close.

By then, she’d befriended some of the Warrior Candidates. The kids were adorable when they teased Porco about his girlfriend, and she had found herself wanting to make them some sweets as she had watched them train. The idea hadn’t come out of a desire to get intel. It had just sprung up suddenly without cause or motivation.

The thought that maybe she was in too deep filled her with fear. Jean was right to scold her. She felt herself getting too close to the abyss.

Now she wasn’t quite sure if Porco had fallen into her web, or if she’d been caught in his.

Still, she had no time to dwell on it. Suddenly, Porco had jerked up next to her. A harsh gasp left his throat and he clutched at it. Panic rolled off him in waves and he swung himself out of bed.

A nightmare. He’d get those a lot. He often woke up screaming and bathed in sweat.

He bent over the bed as he caught his breath. She flicked the lamp on and called his name.

Wearily, he recovered. His breathing was harsh and some sweat ran down his forehead, but he ambled back into bed. He’d left a water glass for himself on the nightstand and downed it in one gulp.

“A nightmare?”

She ran her hand down his back without thinking about it. The movement had been performed as an instinct. It wasn’t a part of some grand scheme to manipulate him or keep her cover.

The thought worried her, but she shoved it aside.

Porco ran a hand through his face. She knew he hated being seen like this, but he’d learned to trust her. He eased into her touch and groaned.

“My brother. I saw that girl’s memories again. She ate him. I can’t get it out of my head,” he clutched at his temples.

Ymir. He was referring to Ymir’s memories. Ymir had been the Titan to consume Marcel all those years ago. It must have been torture for him to have to relive it over and over again.

“Want to talk about it?”

She knew the answer was no. He would much rather pretend it never happened and curl back into bed. Still, she asked him automatically.

As she predicted, he shook his head.

“Nah, sorry to wake you,” he raised the blanket back over himself and closed his eyes.

“Try to think of the good memories with Marcel instead, yeah?”

She didn’t realize she’d said anything wrong until she felt Porco tense next to her. She blinked for a moment before the color drained from her face.

Marcel

Porco had never once told her his name before. He always referred to him as his brother, but had never given a name.

She supposed maybe she could get him to believe that the names of the Warriors were well known to everyone, but she had already lied before that she didn’t know the other Warriors. She had feigned not knowing who Reiner and Zeke were before in a conversation earlier, so she doubted he would believe she now knew the names of the Warriors from town gossip.

“How did you know he was named Marcel?”

Porco’s eyes scanned her. For a second, there’d been a spark of something suspicious. It looked like he’d been tensing up, and she imagined his natural inclination to be weary of people was rising.

She feigned being nonchalant as she lifted the blanket to her chin. Faking sleepiness, she yawned.

“You call his name in your sleep a lot. Whenever you have nightmares, you scream it.”

She was glad her voice sounded normal because her heart was pounding in her chest. If he didn’t buy that, her cover might be blown.

She could feel him staring at her. The gears were working in his head, and she could imagine the internal battle. He didn’t sleep talk, years of sleeping in the barracks would have given it away if he did, but he wanted to believe her.

Guilt gnawed at her as she realized that he really did want to believe her. He trusted her, cared for her, and told himself that she was credible.

The suspicion faded from his eyes as the love in him won out against the warning signs. He eased back into bed and curled an arm around her waist. Nuzzling into her, he closed his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know I talk in my sleep. I hope I don’t wake you.”

She didn’t relax until after his breathing against her neck had evened out. Once he’d slipped into the realm of sleep, she squeezed her eyes shut.

She’d messed up, and the thought filled her with dread. She would have never made a mistake like that before, so why now? Why was it suddenly growing harder to keep the charade going?

She slumped against his form and squeezed her hands into a fist. She needed to be more careful from now on.

- - -

Strike two happened some days later. She and Porco had gone to the pier to watch the kids train. Pieck had been waiting for them when they arrived.

Gabi was competing with Falco for the lead while Udo and Zofia hung back. Pieck laughed quietly to herself as Porco leaned against the rail.

“Think she’ll win?” Pieck asked.

“Doesn’t she always?” Porco responded.

He yawned into his hand. Lately, his nightmares had been troubling him more and more. Between Ymir’s memories and the stress of having lived through the Mid-East War, there was always some vision that tormented him.

“I’m way too tired. I should go get some coffee,” he groaned.

“Get me one too?” Pieck blinked up at him.

“I didn’t offer to buy you one-”

“Buy us some, Pock? Please?” She helped Pieck beg.

Stuck between the two of them, Porco groaned. He fished around for his wallet, made sure he had enough, and scoffed.

“Fine. I’ll buy YOU one, but Pieck has to pay me back later for hers.”

Pieck laughed quietly and called him mean. He offered her a rude gesture as he walked away in search for a coffee place.

Once he was gone, Pieck was quiet once more. The kids had finished and Gabi had pulled through again. Falco dropped down and panted as Zofia and Udo joined him.

“She’s good. I think she’ll inherit her cousin’s titan eventually. The Brauns are really proud,” she leaned against the rail.

“I can’t imagine it’s easy though. Knowing that your daughter or niece is going to take over her cousin. It must be hard,” she rested her chin on her hand.

Pieck sighed quietly. “It is, but being an Honorary Marleyan is worth it. I’m surprised you never joined the Warrior Program. I’ve seen you run and carry heavy boxes. You’re strong and could have made it far.”

She ground her teeth and hoped that Pieck hadn’t caught on to the fact that she had military training. She wasn’t a war nurse, so she wouldn’t be able to excuse why she was strong. Maybe she’d have to let Porco carry a few heavy things in the future. She should let herself appear weaker.

“My parents didn’t want me to.”

Pieck raised an eyebrow. “Your parents missed out on a chance to get citizenship? Why’s that?”

Without thinking, she sighed. “My mother would have hated the idea of me joining the military. She only ever wanted me to be safe. She was squeamish about blood and would have hated imagining me covered in it had she been alive to see it.”

She thought back to her real mother. The woman that died in Shinganshina would have hated that her daughter became a soldier for the Corps. All she ever wanted was for her to daughter to live a peaceful life as a seamstress just like she had been. If she could see her daughter now, she’d be appalled.

Pieck was quiet for a second and a frown crossed her features. She realized too late her mistake and stilled her movements.

“Blood made her squeamish? I thought she was a nurse?” She turned to her and the suspicion that had previously been erased sparked back to life. “And you talked about her in the past tense when you would have been offered to be a Warrior as a kid. I thought she died last year?”

“I-”

Her brain stopped working and she tried to come up with some excuse. She needed lie that would make the suspicion die down. Her thoughts were in disarray and she panicked.

In the end, she never got a chance. Porco returned with three coffees and grumbled about how he was sure the barista over charged him. He passed them out to the two of them and eyed them.

Pieck was still looking at her with weariness, and she’d tried not to let her fear show.

“Did something happen?” Porco gazed at her with concern.

It was Pieck who recovered first. She raised her coffee to her lips and looked away towards where the kids had started running again. She dropped the matter although she was sure she hadn’t forgotten her little slip up.

“Nothing, but I should head back. Don’t forget we have a meeting.”

She waved goodbye and left.

She watched her go and felt dread pool at her stomach. Zeke had warned her to be careful near Pieck. She was clever and would pick up on stuff if she wasn’t careful.

Strike two.

- - -

Strike three came two weeks later. Porto dropped something and searched underneath her bed for it. His hands groped blindly for the item when he suddenly stopped.

Her heart froze in her chest when he pulls out her journal.

He raised an eyebrow and got cocky grin. “What is this? Your diary or something?”

Before she could stop him, he cracked it open.

She dove for it, but he snatched it up and raised it over his head. He was taller than her and he laughed as she jumped. She tried to get to it, but he would only bring it up higher the more she struggled.

“Are you that embarrassed to let me read it? What, is it full of your fantasies?” He laughed.

Panic filled her and she turned on him.

“Give it back!”

Her voice came out harsher than she intended. The fear in her stomach had turned to lead, and her tone sounded cold.

Porco stopped and realized that she was serious. He lowered his hand and handed her the journal back. “Woah, I was kidding. I wouldn’t really invade your privacy like that. You okay?”

She huffed and shoved the journal back under the bed. Her ears burned and she felt like crying from the residual panic.

She had been so close to getting her cover blown. She hadn’t had time to rendezvous with Jean yet, so the previous few notes she’d collected were still tucked inside. If he had read them-

She shivered and turned to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” she let a tear slip down and was grateful when she saw him soften at the sight, “It’s just that I’ve had my journals read before and it’s a violation of privacy.”

She sniffed again and he wiped the tear away. He wasn’t one to openly show affection, but she knew that her tears were a good way to get him to soften. It felt awful to manipulate him in that way, but everything about the mission had felt awful for a while.

“I wouldn’t have actually read it,” he looked away, “I was just messing around.”

She nodded and decided to let the matter drop. Turning away, she offered to make them both dinner.

He accepted the change in conversation and went back to his search for his missing item.

As she left the room, she missed when he calls her name. One of the loose sheets of paper had fallen out of the journal in the kerfuffle. He picked it up to hand it back to her, but she was already gone.

Sighing, he intended to shove it under the bed with the journal when he spotted his name on it. Confused, he unrolled it and glanced at its contents. Inside was a collection of notes regarding troop placements.

Confusion and something cold filled him and he shoved it into his pocket intending to look at it more closely later.

From the kitchen, she missed the way his eyes seemed to darken.

Strike three. You’re out.

- - -

She met with Jean that day and decided to give him the entire journal. The fear of almost being found out had left a bad taste in her mouth. To make matters worse, Porco had been acting off all afternoon. Rather than spending the night like he usually did, he had left mumbling something about a late night meeting with the other Warriors. She hadn’t been sure if he had forgiven her for yelling yet.

Jean took the journal with a raised eyebrow.

“All of it? You don’t want to keep writing notes?” He slipped it into the inside of his coat.

She rubbed at her arms and shook her head. “He almost read it, Jean. I managed to take it in time, but what if he had read it? Our cover would have been blown. I’ve never been that scared before.”

Jean hissed under his breath. He pinched the bridge of his nose and his voice grew cold.

“Be more fucking careful next time! If he had read it, all of this would have been over. You have any idea what they’ll do to you if they find out? What he’ll do to you?”

“He wouldn’t hurt me,” she spilled it out without thinking.

Jean openly gaped at her and she paled.

“I mean-”

“Fuck, listen to yourself. Are you sure you’re not the one wrapped around his finger?” Jean kicked at the pier in frustration, “This is getting too bad. You almost got caught and now you’re in over your head. The last thing we need is you turning coats because you caught feelings.”

“I didn’t!” She hissed it at him and hit him in the arm hard.

She wasn’t sure why she lashed out, but the pent up anger and fear from before suddenly rushed out. She hit him again and hissed into his ear. “Stop doubting me. I’m a soldier same as you. Don’t underestimate me.”

He shoved her arms to the side and pinned them down. His arms held her steady and she was suddenly pinned into his embrace. His gaze burned with rage and a warning.

“Yeah, well act like a soldier. Stop letting him get too close and stop forgetting what you’re here for. Get the intel and that’s it. No more dates or fantasizing. Don’t forget why we’re here and be more fucking careful next time.”

He let her go and she rubbed at her arms in anxiety. “I’m sorry for hitting you.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged off her apology, “Just don’t lose your head. Your life is on the line. Paradis is on the line. Don’t forget that. Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgement.”

She stared after him as he left. Her eyes burned and she felt some tears run down her face. He was right and she knew it.

She was on a mission. This wasn’t a game. Her life was on the line, and her home would pay the price if she failed. This wasn’t some romance novel. If her cover was blown, she was sure Porco wouldn’t hesitate to turn her in.

Her hands covered her eyes and she leaned against the railing of the pier. The wind blew her hair back. She stayed there thinking about everything and how it was all going wrong-

And she never noticed the girl staring from yards away with pursed lips.

- - -

A hand suddenly yanked her into a room, and she almost screamed. The only thing that kept her from shrieking was the hand that clamped her mouth shut.

Someone made a ‘shushing’ sound. Their finger pressed to their lips and she blinked.

Zeke.

She shoved him off shocked. “The hell are you doing? What if someone saw?”

They were in the military headquarters. She came to meet Porco for lunch when suddenly she was abducted.

Zeke had yanked her into some sort office. He shook his head and locked the door. His face was tense.

“We had a meeting earlier in my office. I left afterwords to deliver some paperwork and heard talking when I got back. It was Pieck and Porco. Something happened.”

Dread filled her.

“What?” She breathed out the word and knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“Pieck saw you last night with a man. She told Porco he had you in an embrace. She’s concerned you haven’t been honest with them,” he plopped down on a chair, “Something about your mother too?”

Grinding her teeth, she felt a sense of dread.

Jean. Pieck had seen her with Jean. She felt lightheaded as she realized that. Did she overhear their conversation too or just spot them from a distance? Either way, this was really bad.

“And what did Porco say?”

“He told her she was wrong. Sounded like he was trying to convince himself though. I couldn’t hear more than that because Colt called my name and gave my presence away. Once they heard I was back, they stopped talking. I don’t know what else they know, but I think you’re cover is breaking.”

He seemed irritated as he pushed his glasses up.

“I thought you were more careful? We trained you for months. What happened?”

She ran a hand through her hair. She knew exactly what had been happening and it frightened her. Jean had been right this entire time. This mission had been messing with her head in ways she never imagined. She needed to get out of Marley as soon as possible.

Ignoring Zeke, she opened the door to the office. Taking a step forward, she spotted Porco stalking angrily through the halls. His face was flushed in irritation and he clenched his fists in his pockets.

“Pock?” She called out to him and closed the door behind her. Hopefully, Zeke would get the message and know to stay inside. They shouldn’t be seen together considering they hadn’t formally met before.

Porco stopped at her voice and spun around. Something passed through his eyes, something cold, and she tensed. A fight or flight instinct rose in her. If he’d caught on to things already, this was really bad.

But the moment passed quickly, and his arm draped around her shoulder.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Came to invite you to lunch,” she replied.

She tried to steer him away from the room. He glanced behind the door in thought.

A ball of fear sank in her stomach. She’d had no idea that he was outside the hall when she stepped out. Hopefully he hadn’t seen what room she emerged from.

She found herself talking in order to fill the silence. “There’s a restaurant you like around the corner right? We should eat there?”

He blinked slowly. “Yeah, how’d you know? Have I ever taken you there?”

“Pieck told me,” she lied. She didn’t wait for him, she took his hand and tugged him behind her. Her thoughts were buzzing in her head, and she clamped her teeth down on her tongue.

Zeke had been right. She was trained for this mission, so why did she keep making stupid mistakes? At what point did she stop being the confident spy?

As they left, she heard the door open behind them. Zeke emerged fixing the collar of his shirt.

Behind her, she saw Porco turn around. When his eyes landed on Zeke’s retreating figure, he tensed. She and Zeke hadn’t been introduced yet. There was no reason for the two of them to have been in the same room together.

She waited for him to ask, to question, but he never did. Instead, he turned back around and moved in front of her. He let her lead him away to that favorite restaurant of his that she had no way of knowing about. His gaze the entire time was full of distrust, but he never voiced it out.

Still, she felt the widening distance between them and held back her wince. Jean and Zeke were right. Her cover was cracking.

- - -

She waited for Porco to initiate a conversation. The entire day she’d felt the gap between them widening. He felt tense and kept glancing at her almost as if he wanted to gear himself up to ask her something.

But the confrontation never came. Instead, he let her ramble about her day and responded with small snippets of conversation. In the end, they returned to her home and he let her lead him to her room.

When they made love, something felt off. His thoughts were a million miles away from her, and he seemed distracted. His movements felt robotic, and she couldn’t help but notice the walls he’d slowly brought up.

The conversation with Pieck had done a number on him. She knew he was desperate to ask about the mysterious man she had embraced. He also probably wondered about a million other things that didn’t fit, mistakes she’d made that would give anyone pause, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak them out loud. Perhaps he thought that, if he said something, it would make everything more real.

She almost wished he would say something. Even if it meant that her cover was exposed and she had to flee, she figured anything was better than this uncomfortable chasm that had widened between them.

Still, he never said anything. He slept with her the way he had in the past and only ever said her name in the heights of pleasure. Even though he couldn’t bring himself to look at her in the eyes, he kept his mouth shut.

The only time that night that he spoke was when he reached his limit. Groaning as he finished, he presses a harsh kiss to her lips. Then he sounded out something that made her blood freeze.

“I love you.”

Three little words and her world fell apart. He’d never said it before. She never imagined he’d be the type to say it.

As he started to drift off exhausted, she ran a hand through her hair. Her heart was racing, and there was an awful pain somewhere in her chest. She felt like crying but fought it off.

After he’d fallen asleep, she put her head in her hands.

“I love you too, Pock.”

With growing horror, she realized she was telling the truth.

- - -

He didn’t bring it back up again. She wondered if he even remembered saying it. Maybe it had slipped out in a moment of pleasure, and he didn’t really mean it.

She wasn’t sure which alternative she preferred. The one where Porco loved her or the one where he had just said it on instinct in the middle of sex. Both made her feel sick.

The festival came faster than it should. The kids laughed and had fun as they raced from stall to stall.

The Warriors had separated into groups. She and Porco had joined Pieck to walk along the displays while Reiner had gone with the kids. She was glad that Porco in his possessiveness had not wanted them to meet. She wasn’t sure whether Reiner would recognize her or not, and she couldn’t risk it with Pieck around.

Pieck had grown distant. Gone was the friendly girl who smiled and laughed. After seeing her with Jean that night she had been openly suspicious.

The thought made her nervous. Best case scenario, Pieck just thought she was unfaithful. Worse case scenario, however, she knew she was lying about who she was. Still, both options were awful.

“Wanna try those foods over there?” Porco nodded at the booth selling something that smelt spicy and exotic. The name of it was in some language she didn’t know.

“Sure, we can eat them by the music area,” Pieck hummed.

Porco offered to go buy them some of it and left. Left alone with Pieck, she shifted uncomfortably.

Pieck eyed another stand nearby selling some dessert. It was covered in chocolate and strawberries. It looked good and was within their price range.

“We should get some of that too. It isn’t every day Liberio has a festival,” Pieck motioned for her to join.

“Anything catch your eye?” She asked Pieck. The booth had individually wrapped each sweet and had a flavor tag in front displaying the various kinds. There were berries and nuts and a bunch of other little toppings that they could choose from.

“What do you think Pock would like? Does he have any allergies?” Pieck glanced at her.

She thought back to the file that she read in Paradis.

“Nuts, I think.”

Pieck hummed and grabbed the one with nuts anyway. When she gave her a questioning glance, she realized Pieck’s eyes had turned cold. She’d failed some type of test, and she realized it too late.

“Really? Because I saw him eat some walnuts the other day. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he outgrew that allergy years ago. I don’t know why he would mention it to you now.”

She froze.

The file Zeke gave her must not have been up to date. Some kids outgrew allergies as they grew older. The stupid Marleyan record keepers must not have known to update Porco‘s file once he was an adult.

“Really? I thought he mentioned it earlier,” she tried to sound nonchalant.

It did nothing to help her. This time, Pieck had completely turned cold. Her eyes were harsh and she took a step forward.

“How did your mother really die? Your file at the hospital doesn’t make sense. The name listed under her doesn’t exist-”

“You looked through my file?” Her voice sounded faraway.

Pieck glanced to the side. Porco was returning with the food. Her cold gaze disappeared replaced by something that looked friendly yet false.

“We should join Pock before he eats our share too,” she replied. She slipped a hand around her shoulder and led her away.

She didn’t miss the quiet little whisper Pieck offered her way as they walked. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“Don’t be mad at me for looking through your file. After all, you looked through mine.”

- - -

She found Jean at the rendezvous location that night. She grabbed onto his arm in panic. He startled and his eyes widened.

“What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“My cover’s blown. The Cart Titan is smarter than we thought. She’s guessed I’m lying. I need to leave Marley before she tells the military.”

Jean swore.

“Ok, ok, I can send a letter to the Scouts. We can send you back in a few days from now. Just wait until Tybur’s speech. Eren sent a letter and told us he plans to attack Liberio then. Just wait for the zeppelin to pass by. I’ll get someone to send you some ODM gear and you can use it to shoot yourself up. Just play everything normal.”

She pressed her hands to her face.

“Pieck found out. I fucked up. She was already starting to trust me, but then I opened my mouth. I bet she’s already told the others.”

Jean glanced around them. The pier looked empty, but they shouldn’t hang around too often.

“Just relax, alright? As long as the Marleyan soldiers don’t pound down your door, you’ll be fine. Just a few more days. In the meantime, just avoid her.”

He shoved his hands in his pocket and turned to leave.

She watched him go and felt like vomiting. Her mission had fallen apart, and she was terrified of what was coming. Either she would be dragged out by soldiers in the morning, or she would have to wait for an attack that would kill many civilians.

Frightened, she realized Porco would fight in that attack too. As a Warrior, he would be there when his people were killed. Would he realize then that Pieck was right? Realize that she had been a spy this whole time? Would it hurt him the way it was hurting her?

Once upon a time, she wanted to break him and the other Eldians just like they had broken through Wall Maria. She wanted them to hurt as much as she had hurt when her family had been killed in Shinganshina.

But now, with the rage fading to a dull roar and a searing pain in her chest taking its place, she couldn’t help but feel like the only thing she had managed to break was her own heart.

- - -

He was awake when she returned to her home. The lamp light was turned on as she entered the room. He blinked sleepily at her and cleared his throat to rid his vocal chords of sleep.

“Where were you? I woke up from a nightmare and you were gone. You didn’t answer when I called your name,” he eyed her.

She kicked off her shoes under the bed.

“I was getting some water downstairs. Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” she replied.

He didn’t believe her. She knew it when she looked at him. Her hair was disheveled from the wind, her shoes had sand from the pier, and her skin smelt like saltwater. He didn’t believe her-

But he wanted to.

She saw how he closed his eyes and let himself believe her. Every instinct of his warned him that she was lying, surely Pieck had warned him a thousand times too, but his heart triumphed over his brain. He accepted the lie from her and let it cloud his judgement.

Easing himself back into bed, he let out a soft sigh that sounded defeated and pained. Her heart gave a lurch.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe I was wrong.”

As he fell back asleep, she knew he didn’t just mean about her whereabouts.

- - -

Tybur’s speech came before she realized it. Jean had warned her not to stay for it. A day earlier, Yelena had stopped by dressed as a Marleyan soldier and provided her a black uniform and ODM gear. Everything was in place for her escape and Liberio’s attack.

The Warriors had been invited to the speech. It was a grand affair with many dignitaries from foreign nations joining. Porco grumbled as he put on his uniform claiming that he felt like Willy Tybur’s little circus monkey. It was obvious he meant to parade the big and terrifying Eldian Warriors for all the world to see.

She wasn’t allowed to sit with him at the speech which was a relief. The Warriors had their own section separate with the military. As a civilian nurse, her row of seats was far away from his.

They arrived to the locale as more people had started to sit down. There was chatter and buzz as people arrived.

Porco stopped halfway to the Warrior section and ran a hand through his hair. She glimpsed past him and saw the other Warriors already there. Zeke lounged in his seat looking bored while Pieck played with Zofia and the other candidates.

“I’ll see you after the speech, right?”

His voice was quiet, unusual for him, and she wondered if maybe he had a feeling things weren’t what they seemed.

Pieck had pulled him aside yesterday too. Zeke had warned her that they were whispering to each other again. Her cover had been blown wide open. Pieck was sure she was a spy, but hadn’t made a move.

She’s waited for days for the Marley soldiers to come and drag her out kicking and screaming, but no one had shown up. Jean theorized that Pieck was being held at bay by Porco. Maybe he wanted to handle things first before they called in the cavalry.

Still, Porco never confronted her. He just blindly accepted her lies although it looked like his eyes grew more and more suspicious. The way he quietly observed her spoke volumes as to how his trust in her had dwindled.

That hurt more than she would like to admit, and she scolded herself for being such an awful spy.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” she responded.

She turned to leave, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I mean it,” his face was serious, “We have to talk. I need to speak to you. It’s really important.”

She swallowed. Those four little words were never good for any relationship. She supposed a fake one wasn’t any different.

“Yeah, okay.”

Suddenly the black uniform she wore under her large overcoat felt like it was suffocating her. With any luck, she’d be gone before he had a chance to realize she was a spy. She didn’t think she could stomach the look of betrayal that would be on his face when he realized it.

“See you then,” he kept searching her eyes for something but let her go.

“Goodbye,” she responded, “I love you, Pock.”

She meant it as she said it, and her own heart broke into a million pieces. He paused as he walked away and she saw his entire body tense. A look of agony flickered in his eyes for half a second before it was cleared away.

He knew now this was the last time they’d ever see each other. She saw him realize it. All of a sudden, his eyes were opened to the truth. Every warning Pieck had given him had just now hit home.

“I love you too,” he closed his eyes and wished it wasn’t true when he said it, “Goodbye.”

- - -

Yelena’s plan failed. She was supposed to lock Pieck and Porco in a trapdoor to keep them from the battle. However, despite all of her warnings about Pieck being clever, she underestimated her.

Pieck caught on to her and suspected her from the beginning. She warned the Panzer squad right before being led into a trap. Her team was able to rescue them both, and they joined the fight.

Still, it was not her problem anymore. She discarded her overcoat somewhere else and her uniform was exposed. The wings of freedom proudly winked in the night light.

She was a scout, a citizen of Paradis, and she had bigger things to worry about. She buried her emotions down somewhere deep inside and readied her ODM gear.

The zeppelin arrived just as Jean had predicted. She took one final look as Liberio burned and steeled herself.

Her hooks shot up and landed on the blimp. She rose into the air.

As she made her ascent, she caught sight of two Titans at the far end of the area. One was a Titan on four legs with tanks on its back. The other was a Titan with streaming hair and a wide jaw.

They both rose their heads as the Scouts zipped along the sky firing thunder spears in their wake. They saw her lifting herself up on the blimp.

Sasha appeared at the entrance and offered her hand. She took it and let herself get pulled up. As she stood, she turned back down to see the two Titans below.

The Cart Titan was glaring openly, her suspicions confirmed. The Jaw Titan was frozen as his world fell apart around him.

She apologized to him in her head and gave him her back. The rest of the Scouts surged to her and asked her if she was okay. She wasn’t, and tears ran down her face much to their shock.

Behind her, she could hear the Jaw Titan’s agonized roar.

#porco x reader #aot x reader #porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #attack on titan

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greatbigbellies · 3 years

Text

Born Too Large

This was meant to be kinky, but spiraled out of proportion as I wrote, and the belly only comes in at the end. But I wanted a wholesome relationship so…

Ever since birth, she was an outcast, a freak, a giant. At 10 years old, she was already taller and stronger than all the men in the village, including her father, who bitterly blamed her for her mother’s death in childbirth. None of the other kids wanted to play with her; she was an unfair advantage in team games, and even when she proposed that they all take her on, no one was brave enough. So it was that she resigned herself to duty and chores, routinely doing the work of three men, which only made them more jealous and resentful, until one day a royal knight was passing through and beheld the young giantess, and impressed with her size and strength, offered to take her away from this humdrum backwater and put her gifts to use in the king’s army. With no lost love, she left her home behind and joined the knight’s entourage.

She became his squire, and in time she was taught the ways of war. Fully grown, she stood at eye level with a man on horseback. She needed custom made armor, and her sword was too heavy for anyone else to lift, let alone swing. It needed no edge; the sheer weight of it was enough to crush a man’s breastplate. Her strength became a thing of legend; impossible to miss on the battlefield, the mere sight of her set soldiers on the run, which she was fine with–she never much liked killing; it felt too much like bullying. And although her reputation grew, she still heard the hateful words behind her back, the subtle ridicule and quiet envy, of how she stole all the glory. At this point, her heart is hardened and the words don’t hurt her much anymore, but she’s still no happier, in spite of the accolades and glories she’s won in the king’s service. But it’s not all bad. Her closest friend among the knights is eternally grateful, after she saved his life on the battlefield by lifting the horse that had fallen on him, even when the doctors pronounced he would never walk again. And sometimes, she blushes when the maidens compliment her.

This continues until an enemy kingdom, fearful of her strength, sought to remove her from the picture. She’s lured into a trap in a remote corner of the kingdom, and as she passed over a bridge over a ravine, the bridge supports were destroyed, and she fell a great height, bouncing on the rocks and plunging into the river below. She should have died, but her armor protected her, and she drifted downriver, unconscious.

When she next awoke, she found herself in a cramped bed, dressed in bandages, aching all over. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe. Then a small man (every man was small) appeared in the doorway, and nearly dropped the bowl of soup he was coming to give her. She was awake at last! He explained that he was a fisherman, and that found her washed ashore on the banks; and after getting some help, they carried her to safety, peeled away the armor, and addressed her wounds. It was up in the air whether she’d make it or not; after all, she’d been asleep for a week. She stresses that she must return to the king’s service, but she wasn’t in the shape to go anywhere. The fisherman gently pushes her back down, and for the first time she can remember, she’s not strong enough to resist. She needed to rest and heal, he insisted, or else all their hard work to try and save her would be for naught. A little guilty now, she lays back down, and accepts the spoonful of soup when he puts it against her lips.

Recovery is slow. Aside from her wounds, she needs to go through physical therapy to recover her strength. For so long, she’s been the strongest person in the room, yet now her legs wobble like a newborn colt’s, unable to support her own weight without leaning on the fisherman and his friends, who offer their support unconditionally. It becomes clear to her that they aren’t aware of her reputation; the village is more isolated than most. In her towns and villages, she was recognized (for better and worse). But here, she’s just… a person. A person in need, no less. There’s no judgment, no expectations. In spite of her bruised and broken ribs, she feels she can finally *breathe*.

She starts to adjust to life in the village, helping where she can as part of her rehabilitation, still not at her peak strength. She’s on a more even playing field with the other villagers, yet they value her all the same. In the morning, she often finds gifts at the door, and she treasures these more than any bounty she won in the king’s army. Her previous life seems so distant now, so unimportant. She feels loved; a strange and unfamiliar feeling. And overtime, she realizes her own feelings for the fisherman, who’s been at her side since the beginning. He’s nice and sweet and funny. While she was still on bedrest, he would tell her the most awful jokes, and she would laugh so hard it’d hurt her ribs. She had seen many attractive men in her time as a knight, beautiful and unblemished from a life of privilege or hard-cut and well-muscled from battle. Yet none of them compared to this little man with bushy eyebrows, a wiry beard, and a little gap between his front teeth. Yet his smile outdid the sun, and put a funny warmth in her chest. And eventually, she works up the courage to confess her feelings for him, afraid that he would reject her; she was just so big, and clumsy, and she ate so much, and she wasn’t particularly pretty from first a childhood of farmwork then years of battle. But none of that mattered, because he liked her too. And soon enough, they shared a bed for the night, then every night after. It is awkward at first, as she’s never shared a bed with anyone before or known such intimate touch, but she adjusts to this too.

But the peace does not last. For while she was recovering, the enemy kingdom had invaded, conquering town after town, and now they’ve come her. None of the villagers are warriors. But she is–even though she still aches and is out of practice. The fisherman tries to talk her out of it, they don’t have to fight, *she* doesn’t have to fight anymore, not for some distant king. She tells him, she isn’t doing this for the king, but herself and them. And when it becomes evident that he can’t dissuade her, he gets the boys together, and they work all night to equip her. Dressed in pots, pans, and similarly improvised armor, armed with a lumber axe, she meets the enemy forces at the village outskirts, and after a beat they recognize her: the she-giant wasn’t dead! Uncertainty spreads through the ranks. They had all heard the stories–of how she cleaved a man in two with but a single blow with her monstrous blade, or the time she lifted a castle portcullis with her bare hands, or when she held a bridge by herself against 50 men. They thought she was dead! But the captain bristles. He did not believe in ghosts, and if this wretched country could produce one freak, why not another–this could not be the same woman. So he challenged her to single combat, sure that she was just another country bumplin; his superior skill would prevail against her brute strength. She, in return, extracts a promise from him; that he and his men would leave the village alone if she bested him. The battle is quick and humiliating, but opposite of how the captain expected things to go. Though out of practice and still not at her physical peak (which she might never reach again), she trounces him. Again and again she insists that he stays down, but his pride won’t allow it, until she delivers a blow that turns out to be fatal. The enemy force is aghast; their fears were true. The second in command, now newly promoted, honors the bargain and hurriedly withdraws their forces. That night, she breaks down and sobs in the fisherman’s arms; she didn’t miss killing.

Later, the king manages to turn back the invading army, and following the rumors finds her again. He demands why she hadn’t returned to his service; her disappearance is what emboldened the enemy to finally invade. But he’s willing to forgive her transgression, in light of her outstanding service, provided she returned–but before he can finish, she pulls him from his horse like she’s scolding a child. She’s done with killing, she tells him, she’s done with people using her. She wants to be left in peace, and invokes her outstanding service to lay claim to the land that the village stands on. No taxes, no demanding kids march off to fight strangers’ battles. In exchange, on her promise as a knight, she would never raise a blade again, for him or against him. And soberly aware that she could crush his head between her hands like an overripe melon, he comes to the decision that her demands are totally reasonable, this village wasn’t *that* important anyway, and he actually fulfills his end of the bargain. The king leaves the village in peace and that’s the last of him that she ever sees.

Things settle down again, and there’s no more attacks, no more tax collectors, no more recruiters. For her, it’s a return to form, a distantly familiar life, except this time she is loved. She is accepted. And eventually, she and the fisherman, now her husband, decide to have kids. It’s scary for her. What if they end up like her? What if they’re too small? What if she accidentally hurts them? Forgetting that she’s handled babies before, and helped others through childbirth. But her husband assures her, it’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. She’s the kindest, strongest, gentlest soul he knows; and he’ll be there every step of the way. And a few months later, when the two of them decide to leave the village to go visit her old friend from the knights, her belly is the size of another woman’s at 3 weeks overdue, but for her it’s only the first trimester. Her old friend, seeing her next to her tiny husband, jokingly asks if he needed a ladder to do the deed, but it’s in good fun and they all laugh. She is happy, and eagerly awaits the birth of her children, however many there are, however big or small they turn out to be.

#submission #97thsilentium #I WANNA BE CLEAR THIS GLORIOUS PIECE WASN'T WRITTEN BY ME #this was a submission and a damn good one #like there's not a lot of belly but that's okay i like this sweet giantess girl

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bellemorte180 · 4 years

Text

~Small Overalls ~

For @carolineforbae, per our earlier conversation.

The giant white house with the wrap around pouch rested against the setting sun. The fields of wheat bristled in the summer breeze. The sun that was slowly sinking down over the long field caused the wheat to appear more golden than they were during the day. The big oak tree that sat near the chicken coop had a tire swing that a small boy of the age of six swinging from it.

The boy’s laugh could be heard over the yard and into the open window where Caroline smiled gently at the sound. Her hands were covered in suds as she washed the cutting board and a few dishes as she watched her son swing back and forth on the swing; the chickens clucking in annoyance at the sight. The buzzer on the oven went off and Caroline grabbed a light blue dish towel. She dried her hands and grabbed her phone, sending a text before walking towards the side door and stepped out onto the porch.

“Leo! Supper time!” Caroline turned to head back into the kitchen and pulled the baked chicken from the oven. She checked out of the window again, seeing her son running across the freshly cut grass, some of their hens scattering across the lawn as she ran towards the house. Leo tripped slightly and Caroline made a mental note of setting his overalls to soak overnight to remove the grass stains. Leo came all but bursting through the door just as Caroline was setting the roasted broccoli and some honey biscuits on the blue checkered tablecloth. Leo crawled up to the table and reached for the biscuits, but Caroline stopped him.

“Hey mister. Wash your hands.” Caroline placed one hand on hip while the other pointed towards the sink. The little boy climbed off his chair and went to wash his hands. He pulled the stool Caroline had found at a flea market a few years back when Leo started walking and turned the faucet on in order to put his hands under the running water. “And use soap.”

“Yes Mama.” Leo told her with an impossible sigh and Caroline knew he was rolling his eyes at her. A habit she insisted that he picked up from her husband. As though Leo could read her mind, he asked where his father was. “Where is Papa? He is always here for dinner.”

“Papa is right here.” The sound of her husband’s drawl reached her ears and she could not help but smile. Klaus walked through the archway that lead into the living room. Klaus must have come in from the back door from working in the barn. He was barefoot and Caroline smiled in a pleased manner at the sight; he had kicked off his shoes by the back door after Caroline’s many scolding of him dragging dirt through the house.

“Papa!” Leo all but jumped off the stool, causing Caroline’s heart to leap into her throat at the sight. Leo launched himself in Klaus’s arms as though he had not seen him mere hours ago. Klaus reached down and scooped his son into his arms, tickling his sides, causing the little boy to shriek. Caroline was once again taken aback by the resemblance. The small farming community they lived in all told her that Leo looked like her, until the small boy stood next to Klaus. Leo was a mini incarnation of her husband.

Caroline married Klaus in an October wedding when she was only nineteen, already three months pregnant with their son. Young marriage was a common trend in the community and most did not even blink an eye when Klaus placed his grandmother’s ring on her finger the summer after she graduated high school. Klaus was working on his father’s farm, having showed up on his doorstep at the age of sixteen when he could not stand living with his stepfather any longer. A fifteen-year-old Caroline fell hard for the boy and the two had been inseparable since. When his father died two years previously, Klaus took over the farm easily, albite sadly.

“Did you wash your hands Papa? You should so Mama doesn’t scold you.” Leo whispered loudly, and Klaus’s eyes flickered to hers. Caroline fought down a smile at the sight of Leo wanting to keep Klaus from getting on her bad side. While Caroline could not claim that they never fought, for all couples did, they did their best to keep it away from Leo’s ears. It could be a struggle at times because Leo was far too curious for his own good and the couple quickly learned to lock their door at night in order to keep him from seeing some other things he should not.

“I don’t know, bubby, getting scolded by Mama can be rather enjoyable sometimes.” Klaus tossed her a mischievous smirk that caused his dimples to perdured on his cheeks. Caroline’s eyes widened and she whipped the towel that was in her hand against his backside. Klaus laughed at the action. “See. Enjoyable.”

“Leo, come sit down and I’ll make a plate for you.” Caroline told her son, fighting to keep a smile from her lips. Leo scrambled to the table and climbed up onto it. Caroline pointed her index finger at her husband and mockingly narrowed her eyes. “And you behave.”

“Never.” Klaus leaned down and kissed Caroline on the lips. Caroline could feel the smile on his lips as he let the kiss linger, both ignoring the exasperated sigh coming from Leo; he was far to use to seeing his parents exchange loving affection. Klaus’s hands touched Caroline’s stomach lightly over her forest green sundress. A knowing look passed between them and the dimples on Klaus’s cheeks became more pronounced as the happiness radiated from his eyes. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Now wash your hands.”

“See! I told you Papa.” Leo exclaimed and Caroline snorted, pulling from Klaus’s arms. Klaus shook his head, and went to the sink, making a rather dramatic show of washing his hands. Caroline shook her head while cutting Leo’s meat and piling a few pieces of broccoli onto his plate despite his little disgruntled face. He knew the rules, he must eat all his broccoli if he wanted any of the strawberry shortcake she had made earlier in the day. Klaus came to the table, ruffled Leo’s curly hair and sat at the table.

“Get yours first, Love and eat. Don’t worry about me.” Klaus told her when she went to get his plate. Caroline smiled at the hints of his overbearingness beginning to show and Caroline knew it would only get worse from here on. She rolled her eyes, knowing full well that he caught the little reaction as she made her own plate. She nodded to their son, who was playing with his broccoli instead of actually eating it and nodded. “Leo? I’m going to need a little help from you next weekend.”

“Does it have to do with the chickens? I don’t like them. They are mean when I try and collect the eggs.”

“No. Not with the chickens or their eggs.” Klaus replied with a laugh in his voice. The memory of Leo’s first time trying to collect the eggs, and his screams of terror, still stood out in their mind. “Uncle Kol is coming by and we are painting the spare bedroom. Can you be a big man help us?”

“We’re going to paint the walls?! Like with the pretty pictures on my walls?”

“Not right away but just the base once you mother finally decided on a color that she wants.” Klaus nodded, taking a bit of his own chicken while Caroline shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips. “It needs to be ready for when the new family member moves in.”

“Who is moving in?” Leo’s eyes creased in confusion and then lit up in hope. “Is Uncle Kol moving in! That would be awesome!” Caroline could see all the hope playing in Leo’s eyes and it almost broke her heart that her brother-in-law was not moving in with them. Not that she would actually want that to happen because Kol was a handful. She shuttered at the thought of what her son’s manners would be like if Kol lived with them full time. “When can he move in? Can it be tomorrow?!”

“Uncle Kol isn’t’ moving in Sweetie.”

“Oh.” Leo looked dejected. “It’s not Aunt Rebekah is it? She can be scary.”

Klaus nearly doubled over in laughter at that. He placed his elbow on the table and covered his mouth with his hand. Caroline could see his shoulders shaking with laughter as she fought to keep her own lips from betraying her own amusement. The last thing either parent wanted was for their six-year-old son to tell Rebekah, someone who loved Leo more than anyone else in her family, that he found her scary.

“No, Rebekah isn’t moving in either.” Caroline told him and Leo perked up at the thought. Klaus was still fighting down his laughter and she knew that it would be best if she took over from here. “However, it very well could be a girl who moved in there. Or a boy. We don’t know yet, but you will be the first to know.”

“How do you not know?” Leo asked with a confused look on his face. For a second, he almost looked like Elijah with such a thoughtful look on his little features. Caroline could see Klaus slowly calming himself beside her however the amusement on his lips was still prominent.

“Remember how my friend Elena had her little girl last month?” Leo nodded. “Well, that is going to happen to me. Papa and I are going to have a baby and you’re going to be a big brother. Isn’t that exciting?”

“A baby?” Both Klaus and Caroline nodded, almost in a synchronized movement; both studying Leo’s reaction, unsure if he was pleased with the news or not. “But Elena’s baby cries all the time and smells funny.” Leo’s nose wrinkled. “Will this baby smell funny? And does it have to be a girl? I’d rather it be a dragon. Can we trade it for a dragon?!”

“We can’t trade it for a dragon, bubby.” Klaus told him, seeing the slight hurt look on Caroline’s face. “And we don’t know if it is a girl or boy yet. While agree that Damon and Elena’s baby smells funny,” Caroline playfully slapped Klaus’s arm gently. “I think you’re going to love your brother or sister. I think that once they are old enough, you will like having someone to play with. To climb the oak tree with and to push on the tire swing.”

“That does sound like fun.”

“And it will be your job, as the big brother, to teach them all the rules and make sure they follow them.” Klaus told him seriously, and Caroline’s breath hitched as she watched her son’s interest peaking and his attention not wavering from his father’s gentle coaching. “And it will be your duty to make sure they are safe and protected when your Mama and I are not around, because you’re growing into such a big boy. What do you think you can do that?”

“I think I can do that. Maybe having a little sister won’t be so bad.” Leo muttered in a more pleased manner, completely set on the baby being a girl since that is what Elena’s baby was. His blue eyes focused back onto Caroline, who had happy tears falling down her cheeks. She stood up from the table and walked around to pull her son into her arms, kissed his face while he tried to push her way, screeching in happy protest. “Mama! Stop it!”

“I love boy so much baby.”

“If I say I say it back will you stop kissing me?” Leo asked in annoyed protest. Caroline littered his face with more kisses while Leo gave out another protest. “Okay! Okay! I love you too! Stop! It tickles! Stop! Papa! Help!”

“You’re on your own there, Son.” Klaus replied watching the scene in amusement. Eventually Caroline stopped lavishing kisses on her son and went to sit down at the table. Klaus could see the happy tears still streaming down her face and he reached over to take her hand into his, giving it a light squeeze.

“Papa?” Leo’s timid and shy voice reached them, causing the two of them to turn back to him. Leo had his lip between his teeth and appeared deep in thought for moment. “Don’t get mad but I think you might have failed at being a big brother.” Klaus was about to protest but Leo pushed on. “I mean, you have met Uncle Kol, right? He doesn’t follow any of the rules.”

It took Klaus another twenty minutes before he was able to breathe again from the laughter that echoed through their small kitchen and out the open window into the field of wheat.

#klaroline #wheat filed #new baby #for your enjoyment

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snowdice · 4 years

Text

Gaps in His Files (Part 10) [Relabeled; Refiled Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan/Patton

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton

Appear: Remy, Virgil (but only in the epilogue)

Summary:

Logan Berry has learned many things the last 10 years: a lot of math and physics, a bit of humility, and how to be a hero being just a few. Through his education, his experience teaching, and his exploits as the superhero Bluebird, he’s changed in a lot of small and large ways. He has recorded these changes in well-organized documents and files. He’s even had to create two new file designations: a red one for files about his moonlighting at Bluebird, and a light blue one dedicated to his boyfriend, Patton.

When Bluebird is targeted by a memory device and all of those 10 years of progress suddenly disappear, Patton Sanders and Logan’s extensive files are left as his only resource to get those memories back. But what is Patton supposed to do when there are clear gaps in his files? And what does he do when he is one of them?

This is set 25 years before Sometimes Labels Fail though it’s story is completely independent of it and it is not necessary to read that one first.

Notes: Superhero AU, memory loss, past child abuse, past child neglect, unhealthy ideas about ones place in relationships, emotional suppression, self-deprecating thoughts, medical procedures mentioned, very brief unhealthy views of sex

I feel as though I should make a statement in Logan’s defense before you read this. There is a thing called unreliable narration and... our narrator is spiraling.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“I have to go to work today,” Patton said Friday morning. “I am trusting you enough to not attempt to go to school like yesterday if for no other reason then so you don’t embarrass yourself.”

Logan nodded and Patton didn’t think he’d gotten his point totally across yesterday, but he thought Logan would probably not do anything today since on Fridays he only had to attend two classes and not teach or meet one-on-one with anyone.

“Good,” Patton said, biting his lip. Logan was distracted with one of his personal files and wasn’t looking at him. He’d been quiet yesterday after Patton had dragged him back from the college. He’d stopped asking Patton questions about himself or really talking to Patton at all, instead choosing to stew in his ire in silence. He read the book Patton got him and was civil when he needed something from Patton or when Patton asked something out of him, but his discontent with Patton’s presence was written all over his face. ‘Maybe I don’t want what I built’ echoed in the silence between them. It really sucked to know that Logan could so easily learn to hate him. “Bye then. I’ll see you later.” He shut the door to the apartment behind him.

He drove to the hospital in a daze of emotional numbness and sat in his car in the parking lot, staring at the tall building for almost 15 minutes with a tight feeling in his stomach before finally forcing himself into the building.

He had been hoping that having something to keep his mind busy with would help him feel better, but it just seemed to make things worse. It made the gaping hole in his chest widen and widen until it threatened to consume all of him. When he went to check on a patient’s wound, he felt like he could throw up despite the fact that he was long past being grossed out by medical things. It just kept getting worse and worse as Patton worked mechanically through the morning. Talk to patients, smile at coworkers, take vitals. Don’t rest. Don’t feel. Don’t break. Break and someone dies.

“Patton,” a voice called as the lunch hour crept closer. Patton turned to see Remy rushing down the hallway towards him. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have a shift,” Patton replied blankly. He tried to turn away from him because a friendly face was the most dangerous thing right now, but Remy grabbed his arm. “What do you want Remy?” Patton asked, refusing to look at him. There was a pause before he was tugged on and yanked into a hall closet.

Patton rounded on him once the door closed behind them, a bit of it leaking, just not in any way that would actually help. Instead, it came out in a way that would likely just make it worse when the guilt hit later. “What?” he snapped harshly.

Remy didn’t respond for a long moment, just leaning against the opposite wall of the closet with a frown on his face. Patton bristled under the scrutiny.

“I heard Bluebird got beamed by a memory gun.”

“Yes, I’m sure everyone knows that by now,” Patton replied scathingly.

Remy again didn’t react to the harshness in his tone. He just nodded. “Bet that’s hard for people who know him personally,” he said.

“What do you want?” Patton said and this time it came out more wobbly than harsh.

Remy sighed. “Patton go home.”

Patton shook his head and could feel pressure building up behind his eyes.

“Patton this is not the place for you today. I’ll tell Bev you’re sick. Just leave.”

“I…” Patton stuttered. “I can’t. I…” he started to shake, bursting at the seams. “I can’t,” he gasped, and he didn’t think he was talking about how he couldn’t leave work anymore. Remy leaned forward to tug him into a hug and Patton shattered like a window in a hurricane.

He could hear Remy saying things to him, but he couldn’t make out anything of the words except the soft sympathetic tone.

“A little girl fell out of the window,” he blurted out, unable to keep it in anymore, “and she was so tiny and so hurt and I had to cut into her with a knife so I could try to put her bones back together right and if I did anything wrong she might not ever be able to move right again. She could’ve died on the operating table and it would have been my fault. I shouldn’t have been the one to do it. Why did they pick me to do it? I’m not any good at this. I shouldn’t be here. I’ve just gotten lucky and one day someone isn’t going to wake up that should have and they’re all going to know how much of a fuck up I am. I can’t do anything right. I pretend and pretend to be good at things and nice and perfect but it’s all just an act and eventually everyone’s going to see it and they’ll all hate me. No one loves me and no one should love me and everyone who thinks they love me will eventually find out the truth and leave me because I can never be good enough no matter how hard I try.”

“Woah, hey, that’s not true Patton,” Remy said looking alarm. He was trying to wipe the tears off his face with his sleeve, but more just replaced them the next moment. “That’s so very not true. You’re not a screw up. You’re a great doctor and you’re not faking anything. So many people love you for you including me.”

Patton just shook his head. “You don’t know me,” he cried. “You don’t know me at all. The only person who I’ve ever even let really known me is Logan and I love him so much, but he doesn’t love me back, because I’m not good enough. And now he hates me.”

“No, no, Pat,” Remy said. “I know you’ve probably had a rough couple of days, but that man absolutely adores you. He could never hate you no matter what. He’s a dork who’s afraid of his feelings sometimes and he gets all pissy with strangers, but I know he doesn’t have it in him to hate you. No version of him ever could.”

Patton just laughed. “No. He doesn’t love me. Not really.”

“He does, babe. I promise he does.”

“I proposed to him,” Patton said. He managed to steady his voice, but tears were still streaming down his face. “He said no.”

Remy blinked and his mouth gaped open for a moment. “When…?”

Patton sniffled. “Two months ago.” It had been a soul draining, humiliating experience.

“How do you feel about marriage?” Patton had asked one day in bed after staying in Logan’s apartment for the third time that week. He had been thinking about it for a while and that day he’d blinked open his eyes to see Logan staring at him with the softest expression he’d ever seen on the man’s face and then Patton had been slowly and thoroughly kissed the rest of the way awake. It hadn’t even led to sex that morning, but Patton had thought he wanted to wake up like that every day forever.

“Marriage?” Logan had asked in response with a lilt to his tone that had made Patton swallow.

“Yeah,” he’d replied, “uh, specifically you marrying me.”

“Are you saying you want to marry me?”

“I… yes,” he’d admitted, but felt the need to backtrack, “but only if you want to.”

There had been a long pause and Patton had felt his heart shatter in it. “Give me some time?” he’d asked, but Patton had known that meant no. They had been dating for three years and he knew Logan had likely already made his decision about Patton long ago. He didn’t need more time. He was quick at making decision and he rarely went back on them. Patton had known him saying that meant Logan didn’t think Patton was good enough. That he hadn’t loved him enough to want to wake up next to him every morning. Patton had felt tears prickling at his eyes which wasn’t fair to him, so he’d turned away.

“Of course, sweetie,” he’d said as steadily as possible and that had been the end of the conversation.

“So yeah,” Patton continued in the present. “There’s something wrong with me and I… I don’t know what. If I did, I’d change it, but I can’t figure it out. Maybe it’s just all of me. Maybe he’s too smart and can see through all of the acts and knows how horrible I really am inside.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Remy said and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead. “You are wonderful. I promise. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Want me to slap Logan for you? That might fix the problem.”

Patton chuckled darkly. “Which problem?” Remy grabbed his face and made him look him in the eyes.

“You need to go home,” he said firmly. “You need to take a bath and eat some ice cream and watch a sad movie so you can pretend you’re crying about that. Okay?”

Patton didn’t respond, just averted his eyes.

“Come on Pat,” Remy cajoled, “nurses orders.”

Patton smiled just a bit. “I’ll take the day off,” he conceded.

Remy frowned probably because he could tell that Patton was not going to follow the rest of his instructions because Patton was too rotted on the inside to listen to anyone’s advice.

He let Remy deal with telling people he’d be gone for the day and headed back to Logan’s apartment.

Want to read more? Click below!

Part 11

#sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #tsss #superhero au #memory loss #past child abuse #past child neglect #emotional suppression #self deprecation #gaps in his files #labeled universe #relabeled; refiled #adriana writes

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captaindaddykru · 3 years

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☆for emily☆

today it’s @keiraknighted‘s birthday. i wanted to finish this before today, but everything is flaming garbage, so a preview will have to do. no, i will no be giving out more details. happy birthday to my musical soulmate, the kinkiest queen of them all, em. my ol’ cobber. my favorite drongo. quite the spunk you are. you’re a classic. and you live in the worst possible timezone imaginable. here’s some best friends, pining, sexy, below <10k hopefully. also, sorry for the ugly temporary moodboard???? i was getting desperate at this point and am no grapic designer. i just needed something to distract from what you’re about to read. cheers!

So, by the time their holiday break rolls around, Clarke isn’t only sexually frustrated, she’s also kind of desperate. Which only intensifies when a few days before they’re all flying back to their hometown, Wells casually lets it drop he’s now in a relationship with a girl from his old chess club and things are ‘heating up fast’, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. She’s just more aware than ever she’s running out of time.

Clarke doesn’t even know why it’s such a big deal to her. Maybe it’s her competitive streak coming into play, or the fact she really just wants to get the whole awkward virginity thing over with, maybe it’s the dark inexplicable pang in the middle of her chest whenever she sees the constant rotation of girls on Bellamy’s Instagram and Snapchat. She figures it’s a healthy amount of jealousy, courtesy of their very codependent ways, sharing everything with each other since childhood. They’re all apart for the first time in a decade, going their own ways, perhaps even growing apart.

She doesn’t think about why Wells’ honest to God girlfriend doesn’t bother her as much when in reality that should make her feel even worse. A girlfriend could screw with their dynamic, a bunch of one night stands rationally speaking won’t. It could be that she knows Wells too well to know there’s still a very big chance he won’t go through with it, that he’ll let the girl down easy before Christmas even rolls around.

But. Then she finds herself thinking of his jacket covering her shivering body, drenched from the rain, her left arm throbbing with pain, his hand wrapped around hers as he told her it was all going to be okay. She thinks of that time he left Gina’s birthday party early to come pick her up at a friend’s house after almost having a panic attack, the nights he spent sleeping in her bed after her father died, how he never once complained about getting her coffee from the drive through that was more than his hard limit of three dollars, and that one throw-away moment at the end of summer. That goodbye hug that lasted just a little too long, his arms tight around her waist, the intense look mirrored in both of their eyes as they pulled apart, the way she was afraid to say anything in case her voice gave out, before she got into her mom’s car and watched him and Wells disappear in the rearview mirror.

It’s hard to explain, even to herself. It’s why she never thinks about it for too long.

Which all brings her to tonight. A new year’s party at the house of someone who went to the same high school as them, that has all the charms of a bad hang-over in the making — terrible beer, music that’s mostly EDM and completely shit-faced people plastered across every surface.

She hasn’t seen Wells since his father’s Christmas party. Clarke finally met Luna there in person. She’s beautiful, easily talked to her about the non-profit she’s interning at for half an hour and had nothing but love in her eyes whenever she looked at Wells. He’s with her at her parents’ ski cabin right now, and from the way Bellamy was clapping his shoulder before he left early in the morning, Clarke figures he’s probably losing his v-card to her there which means that she’ll be the only one out of the three of them not to complete the pact. There’s no way she’s finding someone before midnight that she’d both feel comfortable with taking hers, and is even willing to do so in the first place.

To make matters worse, Bellamy has totally ditched her to play beer pong with Bree, which she isn’t even sure isn’t code for hooking up in the coat closet. He knows she hates parties, especially when she doesn’t know anyone else there, and that she’s horrific at first impressions. She’s forced to make small-talk with Murphy, the loser who still hangs around their high school parking lot and she used to share one Culinary Arts class with before he got suspended.

All of it combined has put her in a sour mood. And a drinking mood, but since all there is fucking shitty beer that might as well be toilet water she can’t even get drunk, so that just makes her even more unreasonably upset at nothing in particular. Maybe at the fact she’s so high strung and obsessed with controlling every little detail, that she didn’t just get it over with back on campus with some frat boy she never had to see again after, or that Wells and Bellamy managed to make it happen without even trying. It’s probably because she’s trying way too hard, people can probably tell.

It’s not fair that both of them beat her to it. Clarke wants to just be done with already, too. She wants to get it over with so she can get to the good, non first time stuff like them. She wants to be flirting with boys and girls at parties, or ask for someone’s number at a coffee shop without having to worry about having to explain it’s her first time doing any of it when they eventually invite her over to their room. She wants to be free and nonchalant and spontaneous, not constantly weighed down by the fact that she’s a virgin. It’s not like she’s asking for much.

Half an hour to midnight, she pushes her way outside to the porch for some fresh air. It’s there where Bellamy finally bothers to leave Bree and her attention-seeking ways behind and come find her.

“What’s up with you?” He asks, half a chuckle in his voice as he leans his forearms on the railing, mirroring her.

Clarke grits her teeth together, then slowly exhales through her nose. She keeps her eyes on the tree swing in the distance, swaying softly because of the wind. “Nothing.”

He elbows her playfully, although his tone is serious. Of course he sees right through her. “Come on. Don’t give me that.”

She just grumbles something indecipherable, pushing back her hair from her face with one hand. She still doesn’t look at him, scared she might give anything more away. From inside, there’s the muffled beat of a hiphop song playing joined by the distanced tumult of college kids getting drunk and having fun. Except for the couple making out on the other end of the porch and one stoner sprawled over the grass smoking and staring at the sky, they’re alone.

“I’m sorry about leaving you for Bree—” Bellamy starts, straightening back to his full height, and before she knows it, a flare of anger rises within her, burning white hot. She doesn’t recognize the feeling, but gets too lost in it to analyze it for very long.

Her head snaps to the side to glare at him, fingers tightening around the railing until her knuckles turn a pale white. “It’s not about Bree and her pathetic fuck-me eyes.”

“Okay,” he replies, sounding a bit too amused for her liking. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes his biceps bulge in a way that’s completely unfair when she’s been perpetually turned on since Halloween, and it sends a surge of want pulsing from her core. “Then what’s it about, princess?”

Has his voice always been so deep? She hesitates, not sure she even wants to share this with him. He might be her best friend, but it’s embarrassing on a level she can’t even try and start to describe. “I’m annoyed, okay?” She bites, heated, which immediately makes her feel guilty. It’s not his fault nobody wants her. “I expected that I’d at least beat Wells to it. And since it’s all I can think about all the time now, I’m constantly horny.” A blush forms on her cheeks, down her neck and all over her collarbone, but she refuses to let that or the way his eyes widen slightly stop her. It’s only awkward if she lets it be. “I just feel so stupid. I mean, I had five months to get it over with like both of you, and here we are. What the hell is wrong with me?”

A tense silence wraps around them for a moment, Clarke’s heart pounding loudly in her chest as panic claws up her throat. She’s such a fucking idiot. She shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She’s sure neither of them would’ve actually held it against her if she didn’t lose her virginity before new year’s, they’re better than that. She knows they are. Clarke is just so — frustrated.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and she finds herself entranced with the movement. “I didn’t know you were so upset about it,” he starts, tentatively. Her blue eyes snap up to meet his, a smirk breaking across his face. He’s teasing her, the asshole, when he says, “I mean, if you’re that desperate, I’ll do it.”

Her eyes narrow, finally pushing off the railing. A gust of wind greets her body, bristling her hair and making tiny goosebumps appear over her arms. She’s seconds away from angry tears, she can tell. “Don’t make it sound like it’s such a fucking chore.”

Bellamy just kind of stares at her dumbly, his whole body grown tense, making her even more furious. Did he lose his tongue all of a sudden? He’s never had a problem sharing his opinions on her, no matter how negative, before. “What?” She snaps, roughly brushing a strand of hair behind her ear before tucking her hands back underneath her opposite armpits.

“It wouldn’t be a chore, Clarke,” he corrects her, his eyes still slightly widened as if alarmed by the sound of himself speaking. He swallows visibly, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down in the low glow of the Christmas lights draped across the ceiling of the porch. Bellamy lifts one of his shoulders, casual, even if the movement is stiffer than it usually would be. “I just — I didn’t realize I was an option.”

Her heart trips over itself as silence stretches between them for a moment. She wants to ask him a million questions, but the best thing she can come up with is, “So you were serious?” Clarke raises her eyebrows, trying to figure out if he was just being nice, taking pity on her or if it was something much more dangerous than that. “You’ll do it?”

His jaw clenches briefly, his nostrils flaring. Another second, and he asks, rough, “Do you want me to do it?”

She considers it. This is Bellamy, her best friend. He can always make her laugh, and there’s no one else she feels as much at ease with, and he’s definitely attractive, even she has noticed as much. She likes his stubborn curls, his smile when someone catches him off guard, the sharp line of his jaw. And at the very least he would know what he’s doing. She trusts him. “Yes.”

Now that she’s aware it’s a possibility, she refuses to want anything else. It’d be kind of perfect, actually.

He clears his throat, blinking hard as he tears his eyes off her for a second, scrubbing his face with one of his hands. It’s very big, and Clarke finds herself wondering for the first time if it means the rest of him is big as well. Bellamy sniffs when his dark eyes land back on her. “Have you been drinking?”

“Just half a beer,” she answers, maybe a bit too eager, her hands dropping at her sides after smoothing down the bottom of her glittery top. She doesn’t want to give him enough time to talk himself out of it. “And I think someone diluted it with water so it barely counts.”

He nods, once, then nudges his head to the side. “Want to get out of here?”

Taking one more look around the porch, Clarke worries her bottom lip pensively, shooting him an apologetic look. “My parents are having friends over, so my house is definitely not an option.”

Besides, she doesn’t want to risk them finding out and making it weird. Especially not if the consequence is going to be an open door policy whenever he or Wells are over. Nothing has to change after tonight.

“Thelonious is out,” he offers, then flinches when he seems to remember something else. “But Octavia might show up with her friends.”

Clarke nods, giving him another long searching look before she makes up her mind. It’ll be fine. This is Bellamy. She’s a pro at compartmentalizing and he’s sleeping with a different girl like every other night. It can just be sex. “Upstairs then?”

#keirakneighted #arysafics #emily's birthday #bellarke fic #preview #bellamy x clarke #bellarke #drabble #idk wtf im even tagging #to be continued hopefully this week

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nikkywrites · 3 years

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Heart Trade

Summary: She shouldn’t have given her heart away. Not again.

Throwback to when I did a caffeine challenge for the fun of it. This is still something I like and am proud of. It’s still exactly 2k and that still makes me happy.

No edits. Also, there’s no dialogue (which I didn’t consciously do), but it works. Gives it a sorta distant, cold feeling that gels well with the tone of the story. Dashed lines equals a jump between the two time periods. Warnings for mentions of cheating and mention of past death. Enjoy!!

*****

His heart is still beating when you decide you’ve spent enough time with his blood on your hands. His love for you seeps through the soft edges, leaking onto polished tile.

You, unfortunately, weren’t new to heart magic, to the sacred ritual of trusting another with everything. That time, you’d been burned.

Now, new heart in hand, you decide that you won’t be the one left broken this time.

——————

It all begins (ends) on a normal Tuesday. All the terrible, tragic things do. It had been a normal Wednesday night when your life first crashed around you, but that’s not a concern. Not now. Now, it’s a Tuesday evening and you’re waiting for him to come home. He’s late.

It’s 6:34 when you notice the blotch on his heart. Years ago, on another heart, in another life, you hadn’t known what that meant. You had ignored it, had continued to love your counterpart.

Now, you know better.

You won’t make that mistake twice.

He comes home six minutes after the clock ticks 9. He’s three hours late and a part of you is surprised – you hadn’t been expecting him at all. He smiles sheepishly at you, still sitting at the dinner table with the plates still out. Your eyes search instinctively for lies, scanning the lines next to his eyes and the dimple in his smile.

If you didn’t hold his heart, you wouldn’t know that anything was different.

But you do and you don’t want to inspire suspicion, so you stand from the hard-backed chair you’ve been worrying in and fret over him. You push his jacket over his shoulders, onto the floor and you kiss him, pretending not to notice the peach-colored smudge on the curve of his throat.

Part of you expects this kiss to be different, for you to be able to taste infidelity on his tongue or sense guilt in the purse of his lips, but there’s none. He’s kissing you and it feels like any other kiss he’s given you before.

That stings a little, heart clenching in his suit pocket on the floor. Perhaps that was another sign, that he keeps your heart in a place where it is easily forgotten and left. But that’s how it goes. You don’t notice the red flags and warnings until it’s too late. It’s idiotic how that works.

The two of you head to the bedroom, both of your hearts laying carelessly on the lower floor. You have to lie when he sees the single tear slip down your cheek and your heart, discarded, bristles as you realize that you’re even in the lies you’ve told.

For now.

The kind of lies he’s telling always outnumber any other.

——————

Finger tracing the rim of your ceramic mug, you curse him for being late. There’s a difference between him giving you time to prepare and time to change your mind. You won’t, but your conviction wavers.

Then he walks in, smooth-gaited and as confident as the day you met him. Now, you think there’s a reason for that. He sits in the chair opposite yours and smiles as he takes a sip of coffee that he obviously doesn’t taste – it’s black and he takes his with sugar and a dash of hazelnut creamer. It’s another pointless test, but a part of you still hopes he’ll notice the rings you’ve been making him jump through.

He doesn’t and you promptly tell that part of you to shut up. (You don’t want this to end like last time, do you?)

He’s bubbly and animated but sobers when he sees your posture. Straight backed, lips pressed firm, eyes serious. You’re not usually this tense.

With his eyes on you, you consider letting the façade linger a little longer, wait a few more weeks before you drop the bomb. But you see a falling leaf out the window and remember November.

No, it’s best to do it now.

——————

The next morning you are praying that he won’t notice the change in your heart, the drop in temperature, but you are also hoping that he will. If he notices, he cares, but your phone sits silent in your pocket and his heart, still sitting on the table, blackens a little more.

Today, he’s home on time and you deflate a little. He’s not lost, he’s planning ahead. He’s in this for the long haul.

So are you.

That night, after he’s passed out in your bed, you take his heart and can feel his love pouring out. You lock it in a drawer in the kitchen and swear you won’t unlock it until the end, until your hearts break and your side of the closet is empty.

You never were good at keeping promises you made to yourself.

——————

The two of you chat for a while about nothing - the weather, his raise, your hobbies. You think maybe he knows.

But the way his eyes widen as you place his heart on the table, you know he doesn’t. He hadn’t even realized that you’d left it sitting in a locked drawer for five months before that morning, like he didn’t realize you knew yours was in a drawer in his office and that the heart in his pocket wasn’t yours.

He never held your heart in his breast pocket. It’s stupid that he thinks you wouldn’t notice. You did. Maybe it’s because of experience, from the bubbly, waxen burns present on the heart you gave him, but you knew.

You know this just like you know last time was a mistake, this — this is too big to be an accident. This is a web of lies, both yours and his. Talking about nothing, your eyes linger on his soft hair and you wish it didn’t have to be this way, that love didn’t have to end in tragedy and shattered trust.

But you’ve heard the quotes. A person burned is the next to start a fire. The next to search for a fire to start.

Five months of lying and one year of love in, you hate that the fire you chose had to be him. But you’re bitter and you think having someone else burn will lessen the sting on you.

(It won’t.)

——————

You’ve been burned before, have felt the backlash of a Heart Trade gone wrong and you used to think that made you clever, but two weeks after the lying began, you’re still dancing with him, pretending nothing is wrong. The fire only made you dumb.

Last time, you didn’t know. You were oblivious and you were pardoned, but that only works once. This time, you know. You know, but you want what you didn’t get at first, you want the happily ever after you’re supposed to have. What if you can change it? What if you can undo what he did and bring him back?

It’s not unheard of for one to heal another’s heart, but it is very, very rare and very, very taxing on the soul.

Two days later you decide he’s not worth it. You want him to suffer. It’s wrong of you, hateful and bitter and cruel, but the last time you’d been forgiving, you paid a toll much worse.

A monster isn’t the worst thing you could be.

You’ve been called worse things.

——————

He’s stunned, when he sees the splotches his lies and cheating have left. His shock appears genuine. He’s naïve, like most. No one knows the marks left on a heart caused by love lost until they’ve lived through it. His naitivity isn’t the flaw here, your knowing is.

You spill the truth and watch the weight of it sink into his bones.

(Lies are heavy, but the truth can be worse.)

The weight ages him, lines deepening as he begins to get the gist of where this meeting is going. He’s wrong. You haven’t told him everything. He knows you know he’s been lying, but he doesn’t know that you know who it’s been with, that you can only find one person who wears the shade of lipstick you’d found smudged on his neck that first day.

He doesn’t know about November and he doesn’t know that you’re still burning, still alight with the betrayal and loss and grief.

You won’t tell him. November is a secret that dies in your grave. You lied then, too. You also bought the plot of graveyard you will be buried in, beside the old heart you’d left. You’re too emotional, too attached to what you’ve lost, too poetic in how you’ll die, but there’s a kind of romance in it. A Shakespearean tragedy known only to one.

You spill a little more, that you know the nature of his lies. You explain the way of the Heart Trade. He doesn’t notice the long pause between tellings. He confesses his lack of knowledge, that he thought you’d never know. You stonily inform him that you would have, even without his heart in your hand. You’ve been through this before, remember. The heart is simply a screaming, neon sign that you can’t ignore.

Smiling, you crack a joke or two (maybe three) about the flaws of a Heart Trade. You don’t tell him everything, keep some secrets to yourself. You don’t tell him that you were doomed from the start, that one can’t really commit to a Heart Trade if they’ve gone through one already. You can’t give your heart away twice. A part of yours — the old heart, unblemished and unburned, lays in a cherry coffin.

It’s not for the best, but you know it’s a lesson best learned from experience. He wouldn’t believe you anyway. He’d probably spout some nonsense about never loving you and that’s simply not true. The Trade wouldn’t have gone through if it was. You loved him too, at the start.

Wearily, unknowingly, he laughs along. You tell him you’re ending it here. You push his heart across the table and he sees the watercolor staining your fingers. That’s what happens when you break a deal, you explain. The other is left marked, tattooed in his failure to love only one.

Another unfair deal. You had done nothing, yet you’re the one that can never escape. Reddish-purple blotches and separate locked drawers will always haunt you and that’s okay. They can get in line. You have other demons, far bigger and scarier than neglected hearts, lies, and the shadow of a coffin engraved in your head.

You stand a little less smoothly than you’d like and make your way out. You leave the coffee you didn’t really touch and walk into the chilly autumn air.

The shocked stupor you’d left him in with the unspoken promise of never seeing him again is another demon you’ll never outrun. Your things are already packed and gone from the house you shared. Packing had hurt and so had your meeting, but not all endings are bittersweet. Some are just bitter.

The chill makes you tug your sleeves down a little, covering some of the red splotch that runs down your wrists. You’d lied to him, sort of. The mark is as much on you as it is him. It appeared when you let him stray, when you let it bleed on your hands because damn you if you didn’t still love him.

But as you walk away from the crowded coffee shop where you broke your lover’s heart and left him reeling, you swear that you’ll never give your heart away again. You’ve lost twice. You won’t risk a third. (But things always come in threes, so maybe you will.)

This time, you swear you’ll keep your word. But a locked drawer is easy to unlock and holding his heart had made you feel better, like you weren’t about to lose him, like you hadn’t already lost him.

He’s lucky, at least. You’d given him back his heart.

You never had that luxury.

*****

Yay! So relieving having something that I didn’t need to edit at all. Still love the sadness of this.

#writeblr #writblr #writing #creative writing #heartbreak #caffeine challenge #sorta #nikkywritesstories #my writing #love #breakup #heart trade #no rambling in the tags this time haha #just imagine your own backstory i guess since i glossed over it #and probably wont come back #repost from my old blog

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 4 years

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TS: Farak (Difference) [1/3]

An air of melancholy seeped into the air of the Raizada mansion. In a few minutes their pillar of joy, Anjali, had crumbled into a sobbing mess. Her marriage, belief, love and trust had been tested.

And joy’s namesake, Khushi, wandered in the halls in the lonely night - hoping to find solace.

The revelation had gone terribly wrong. Anjali’s fragile mind and body had been unable to cope with the truths she had been gaslighted against. Khushi had learnt, in the worst way possible, that intentions had no place nor merit against consequences.

Khushi leaned against the door to Nani’s bedroom, her legs heavy and head throbbing from the recent events.

Forced Marriage. Mistrust. Kidnapping. Love. Rescue. Revelation. Aftermath.

Things should have been better.

Except Shyam’s sudden expulsion had only led to a poisonous, permanent scar that damaged and questioned all relationships.

A nervous shiver ran up her spine. Did the rest of the family believe Shyam’s version of events? Or worse, believe she could have avoided the pain caused to Anjali if she had only told the truth?

But would anyone have believed her then? Could Payal and Akash’s engagement have been salvaged from it?

A loud bang snapped Khushi out of her thoughts. A furious Akash left his room.

How does one ever know one’s making the right decision?

Her heart hurt. With a gentle push she entered Nani’s room, hoping for her guidance and strength. Nani was the first and only one to call her blameless and reach out to her post the revelation. The only one to believe in her intentions.

And it had been so long since she’d slept on someone’s lap and cried her heart out.

---

Devyani hummed the last of an old lullaby, patting an exhausted Anjali to sleep. Had she been a bit younger, anger and shock would have ruled her. But after the death of her daughter, Devyani could only feel horror and recollection of the past.

The past that made her too agreeable to the first man who could win her dear Anjali’s heart, or heap unassuming, traditional prospective brides on her grandson.

The past she had accused her grandson of not moving on from.

Hypocrite.

On seeing the shadow of the angel faced bride of her Chotey, Devyani allowed a single, unkind thought to possess her.

She didn’t deserve to be near Anjali.

And before Devyani could reign her mind, her hand stopped Khushi from entering the room, and her heart.

---

Khushi headed towards the steps, her feet numb and head swimming with Nani’s quick apology and request.

Stay away from Anjali.

Please.

The more she sees you, the more she’ll remember.

The words stung like the slap her mother gave her on the wedding day. She deserved it, but it hurt nonetheless. Arnav sat on the steps, his own brow furrowed in deep thought. Nani’s words had pricked him, but he knew better. He knew, and believed, that Khushi was not at fault.

Her feet gave way and she sat by Arnav, quaking in fear and uncertainty.

And he banished her fears with a tired smile and an offer of his shoulder.

She didn’t remember when she reached their bed, but the fleeting kiss on her forehead and the warmth of his hand in hers gave her the hope that she wasn’t alone.

And she could lighten her burden of guilt.

As long as he was there.

---

Time and normalcy would heal all wounds. While everyone catered to Anjali, Khushi catered to the family.

Nani received her daily medication for arthritis. Akash and Payal’s breakfast was sent to their room. The laundry delivery was looked after, so were all the other household chores.

The family could focus on Anjali, and help her heal - just as it should be. Payal shot her a concerned look on her way to Anjali’s room as Khushi lost her footing for a moment, her head dizzy.

Khushi gave Payal a reassuring smile. If her mental fatigue left her like this, one could only wonder how Anjali survived the night.

If anything, Arnav’s sweet smile and a breakfast sent by her Jiji gave Khushi the strength to trudge through the day.

She sat on a kitchen stool, weary, when she remembered it was a Tuesday. Her and Nani’s time to go to the temple.

---

“Sorry Khushi bhabi, Nani ji already left,” Hari Prakash informed Khushi.

“Kya, why didn’t you tell me? When did Nani-”

“What else do you expect Phati Sari?” Manorama sneered, ushering Hari Prakash away.

“I don’t understand Mami ji,” Khushi looked at her, balking at the hatred in Manorama’s eyes.

“Spelling karke de kya? Sasuma isn’t a fool to take the reason for Anjali’s devastation to the temple when she’s trying to pray for Anjali bitiya,” Manorama seethed. The gall of the girl to think she’d go on a sunny walk with Sasumaa to the temple when everyone had barely slept a wink!

“Nahi Mamiji! I didn’t mean any of this-” Khushi reached for her hand but Manorama stepped back, nearly shoving Khushi aside.

“Shut up! You Gupta sisters did this on purpose. You both trapped our sons and ruined Anjali’s life!” Manorama cried.

“No Mami ji, why would Jiji and I do it? We just wanted to save Di from suffering,” Khushi choked, her own reasonings hollow to her ears.

Manorama, despite her anger, couldn’t argue with that one statement. Khushi and Payal, truly, had nothing to gain from Anjali’s pain.

“And that man was truly a devil, he…” Khushi shivered as memories of Shyam’s harassment assaulted her.

“Then why did you stick around him?” Manorama snapped.

“To find Arnav ji! You know that, don’t you?” Khushi pleaded. Manorama had to know the truth. She certainly didn’t believe Khushi willingly spent time with her assaulter. Did she?

“Mami-”

Manorama huffed and walked away, leaving Khushi to her questions.

---

Khushi had only meant to help Anjali. And the unborn child. Nani was in the temple, Mami wouldn’t speak to her and Payal was troubled.

It was only a morsel of food and a few words of empathy.

To the woman who had made Khushi a Raizada. To the only person who took every effort, despite the family’s shared anger, to restore Khushi’s honor by granting her the rituals of a new bride.

Her best friend, her new sister.

Di.

It never registered with Khushi that Anjali would leave to abort her child. Nani’s disappointment and Mami’s scolding terrified her.

Payal was strung, pulled in two opposite directions when Arnav rushed in with an unconscious Anjali, and Khushi slumped on the sofa, white as a ghost.

With so many hurt, who could she help? Who should she help?

---

“You are the biggest mistake of my life Khushi Kumari Gupta,” Khushi hitched at the use of her maiden name, and his claim.

“I wish I never met you,” Arnav snarled, leaving her alone by the poolside.

Breaking her heart and taking her only hope away.

Khushi had no more tears left to cry.

---

“What happened, where are you going?” Akash asked, several hours later.

“Woh, I was thinking I should check up on Khushi. Especially since what’s been happening since this morning-”

“-and do you even know who has been suffering since this morning?” Payal bristled at his tone. Akash stared at his wife in wonder, was his mother right? Did neither of the sisters get the magnitude of their actions!?

Payal couldn’t collect her wits. How could she make him understand that Khushi had been suffering as well? She’d seen it in her little sister’s scars and terrified eyes.

She didn’t even get a chance to ask how she and Arnav had survived the kidnapping.

“You want to check on Khushi?” Akash scoffed, “Do you have any idea about Di’s state?”

“Akash I didn’t mean that. Di means just as much,” but there is no one for Khushi.

“Payal, you aren’t just Khushi’s sister. You are the daughter in law of this house. And your duties as a bahu outweighs those of a sister.” Payal stood rooted to her spot, unable to defend, unable to believe everything her husband of six months said.

“Or perhaps you don’t feel thinking or caring for Di is a part of your responsibility.” Akash stormed out of the room without a second glance.

---

After half an hour Payal mustered enough strength to go to Khushi’s room, despite Akash’s hostility. What she found was not her sister.

Pale and and delirious, Khushi shoved her clothes into her duffle bag, careless about the ripped gota and pom poms. Her hands and feet were unsteady, unable to hold on to all the clothes her thin arms carried.

“Khushi?” Khushi stopped at the gentle touch of her sister.

“Jiji, I have to leave. I… I am the cause of Di’s pain. I should have never listened to Amma, I should’ve told him the truth when time came. I… what was I thinking?!”

Payal engulfed Khushi into a hug, shushing her cries. In few, incoherent words Khushi told the truth.

The will, Arnav’s kidnapping, Mami and NK’s aid, NK discovering the whole truth, Shyam’s attempt on both of their lives, their eventual rescue.

“Khushi, you and Arnav ji haven’t visited a doctor yet?” Payal exclaimed, checking Khushi’s scars.

“Nothing happened to us Jiji, I don’t need a doctor. Par Di, I didn’t know she’ll end-”

“Khushi, no, you and Arnav ji will head to a hospital-”

“-Bhai,” Akash stepped in the room, with no effort to hide his disappointment, “Payal, of course, you’re here. Di got up. I don’t know where’s her medication is and she needed food-”

“Hum abhi-”

“No it’s ok, talk to your sister, I’ll figure everything out.” Akash stepped out, leaving Payal torn. Which sister should she attend to?

Payal didn’t have to decide. Khushi ushered her out, after a promise to head to the doctor. In her heart Payal knew that Khushi hadn’t told her one thing.

Arnav’s reaction to Anjali’s abortion attempt.

---

Khushi could barely stand on her two feet, her world turning before her every second. At one moment Arnav claimed that he didn’t mean anything he had said before, in another he reduced their marriage to the contract he forcibly bound her to.

What did he not mean? If every word of what he said is not what he meant, then was his current threat of their contract marriage also not true? Or the whisper of an “I Love you” over the phone?

Arnav turned around, unable to meet Khushi’s eyes. He could no longer lie to her.

And she would not stop at his plea.

He’d make up for every injury up, every pain. He just needed time. And if it was necessary to hurt her to get her to stay back, he would do so. If he needed to confirm that their marriage, and everything in between, was nothing more than a contract… he would do so.

He could not afford to lose her.

“If I leave… drag me to court? Police? Jail?”

“I’d do what I promised,” Arnav swallowed, unable to hold his shame in his lie, “Separate Akash and Payal.” Stealing his resolve, he said, “By now you know-”

Thump.

He turned and lost his footing. Dread stole his voice and clutched his heart in a vice grip.

A silent scream left his mouth.

Khushi lay on the floor, motionless.

---

Read Part 2

---

A/N: Second part will be up soon. A big thank you to @ridzmystique for checking on this story and pushing me to complete Farak. Thank you for reading/liking.

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #ipkknd ff #ts: farak #fanfiction

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

teeth

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Aragon and Anne make the best mother duo and you Cannot Change My Mind

(you can read this as Aralyn if you want, but it’s not written in that way and the line is pretty vague tbh)

Word count: 4769

———————

There was a crash.

And then a crack.

And then a crunch.

The girl at the bottom of the stairs had her bottom jaw bent in a horrible position, her tongue lolling out of one side and bloody drool spilled all down her chin. Her eyes are upturned in her skull; she didn’t seem to be all there, though no one was surprised. Those broken bones must be excruciating.

———

Eight weeks of silence. A jaw wired shut. Almost three months of only eating liquidated foods. Black and blue floral bruising bloomed across the sides of her face. An eternity of humiliation.

———

In theory, it was difficult to miss Joan. Nineteen years of age and the workaholic music director stood at roughly 5’4, and it didn’t look like she was going to be growing again anytime soon. However, in practice, the girl was so quiet and self-enclosed that a lot of the time, she practically melted into the theater walls. That made it a slightly unpleasant surprise when Aragon was disturbed from her reading by a quiet tapping at her doorframe—it was most undignified for a queen as regal as herself to startle like that.

An irritable comment jumped to her lips, but it died as she looked up. Joan looked...worried. That wouldn’t normally strike her in any meaningful way, not if it was anyone else at her door—everyone got worried sometimes, although a fair number of people found it more difficult to talk to her than to others. But for all that had happened in her past, Joan had maintained a rarely-changing expression of passivity throughout the time she’d been reincarnated. Perhaps as a defense mechanism, perhaps simply because that was her resting face; the girl just kept her emotions to herself. However, now, it was incredibly visible that she was experiencing the worst kind of gnawing fear if you knew how to look for it. Nails digging into her arms as she crossed them over her chest, eyes darting all over, and her heel pressing against her other shin like she was trying to keep from anxious tapping. The only reason her lip wasn’t chewed raw was because of the wires and rubber bands anchoring her mouth firmly shut.

Immediately, the irritation turned to alarm bells.

The two just looked at each other for a few minutes, neither seemingly willing to break the silence first. Then, slowly, Joan took one step into the dressing room. Now her fingers were digging into her arm more. Aragon felt the strongest urge to get up from her chair and check to make sure she hadn’t broken skin, but at the same time, she feared that if she tried to move too quickly she would spook this very obviously troubled girl back into her usual repression. It would be wiser to wait for her to say whatever it was she was struggling to get out, but that didn’t make the decision any easier as a thousand and one possibilities as to what could have gone wrong raced through her head.

“May I talk to you, Aragon?”

The hesitation in the girl’s sign language only made those alarm bells ringing in her head louder. It was only her many, many years as a queen that allowed Aragon to keep her voice calm.

“Of course, Joan. Come, sit.”

Slowly, painfully so, Joan made her way to the chair opposite her, after closing the door to the dressing room behind her. But she didn’t sit down. Rather, she stood next to it. Ordinarily Aragon might have taken that as one of those little acts of rebellion Kitty liked to partake in from time to time, but not in this case. It felt more like the unwillingness of a confronted animal to lay down, for fear that they might need to flee at a moment's notice. That bad, then. Carefully, the queen put her bookmark in between the pages she was on and then set the book to the side. Whatever this was about, she doubted it would be over quickly.

“Now then, what is it you want to discuss?”

“Well… The director talked to me. He said I should take some time off to heal.” Joan signed.

“That’s good,” Aragon said. However, she noticed the frown set on Joan’s lips and realized that it was most definitely not a good thing.

“Maybe.” Joan let her hands go limp for a movement, then raised them again to continue. “But that got me thinking. Maybe, even after I heal, I should just leave the wires in. Seems like everyone would be happier without me talking.”

“Joan, you can’t seriously be thinking of doing that?”

Through great force of will Aragon managed to keep her tone mostly level, but even the very slight undertone of ice and steel buried under a dozen layers of constraint made Joan flinch.

“I-I just....”

“I don’t see why you think that’s a good idea. Do you know how damaging that could be for your mouth? It can’t remain shut forever.”

“Aragon-”

“Not to mention that you could put so many other factors at risk-”

“Aragon, please!”

Well that cut her off sharply.

For a moment Aragon just blinked at the girl, startled. This was perhaps the first time she had heard Joan raise her voice at anybody, let alone a queen. It was especially shocking because it had come out more as a strangled hiss between firmly clamped teeth, like the freezing whisper of a fanged glacier. But as she got over that element of surprise, she noticed two things about the girl standing before her. Firstly, it was that she was shaking, quite badly, actually. And secondly, that the bruises along her cheeks were ignited in shades of ivory and indigo and violet from the way she had been clenching her jaws through their bindings.

Moving oh-so-carefully, Aragon up her purse and began to rifle through it. Joan stepped back, but what she brought out wasn’t some form of weapon, but rather a small tin box. A box which Aragon opened and turned towards her.

“Have a mint, Joan.”

Joan just looked at her, baffled.

Aragon quickly realized her mistake and grimaced. It gets the smallest, weakest smile from Joan. She takes one, despite knowing she couldn’t eat it, signed a rapid apology, then left.

———

Trudging into the coffee shop during a fire-breathing rainstorm made Joan miserable enough, but it only got worse when the shrewd older woman working the counter wouldn’t take her order when she attempted to sign it to her and then write it out.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to use your words.” She oozed.

Joan gestured for her bruised mouth and then bared her teeth so she could show the woman that they were firmly clamped shut with rubber bands. The worker leaned back slightly in distaste.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” She said. “Mutes aren’t our top priority here. You can just wait your turn while I handle the other customers.”

Joan waved her head around to find the shop completely empty thanks to the storm outside. She turned back to the worker with an “are you kidding me?” look.

“She’s in the bathroom.” The worker said cooly.

Joan glowered, but her anger quickly dissolved and she made the closest thing to a sigh that she could manage. She stepped away from the counter and waited.

Several long moments passed. The rain outside continuously eased up and then fell harder as if Mother Nature couldn’t decide if she wanted to flood the city today or not. The worker behind the counter kept glancing at Joan, hoping that she would just give up and leave. She was now regretting telling her to wait because it meant she had some disabled kid just loitering in her store when the front door suddenly swung open.

Two haughty American tourists came in with a spray of raindrops, closing their umbrellas, but keeping up their giddy chatter as they approached the counter. One of them glanced at Joan with a questioning look. The worker waved a dismissive hand.

“Ignore her,” She said. “She’s waiting her turn until she learns how to speak up.”

Joan glared and, once again, gestured for her mouth.

“What is wrong with you?” One of the two customers said, pacing around Joan while the other placed an order. “Why don’t you speak?” He eyed Joan’s bruised jaw. “Ohhh. I see.”

“My little brother broke his jaw once,” His friend piped up. “He couldn’t talk for two months!”

“What does it feel like?” The one in front of Joan asked. “Does it hurt?”

Then, without warning, he poked her roughly in the jaw, as if he were trying to pry it open himself. Joan swatted his hands away frantically and reared back, rubbing the area that had been touched. Pain spiraled from her mouth all over again.

“Don’t be a brute.” Said a sharp, barbed voice from behind Joan.

“Oh, hey!” The customer at the counter said. “You’re Anne Boleyn, aren’t you?”

Joan turned and was shocked to see that it was, in fact, Anne Boleyn herself standing there. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest and her eyes narrowed in a venomous glare. She looked like a coiled up snake ready to lunge.

“Yes,” Anne said, casting a dark glare down on the customers, who step away, sensing her anger. She comes up beside Joan and sets a comforting, protective hand on her shoulder. “You will not touch her again.”

The two tourists nodded and awkwardly sidled away to take their drinks and scamper out with their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

“Now,” Anne turned her glower on the worker. “I understand that Joan had wanted something?”

“She can wait. You were here first.” The worker said.

Anne ruffled. “Serve her right now.” She snarled lowly, and even Joan was startled by her sudden tone. It was as deep and rumbling as a big cat’s growl, yet cold and scaly like a King Cobra.

The worker didn’t dare quarrel with the woman, so she plucked up the piece of paper left on the counter with Joan’s order and began to make the drink. The whole time, Joan stood still at Anne’s side, eyes wide.

After the drink was finished, Anne ordered one of her own, paid, and then guided Joan over to the front of the shop. She’s not at all bristled anymore and wore a warm smile on her lips.

“That was fun,” She chuckled lightly. “Say, kiddo, wanna come over for dinner? Sudden, I know-“ She laughed this time, a hearty, real one. “But I want to keep an eye on you. Plus, I know we’re having soup tonight. You can eat soup, can’t you?”

Joan nodded, flustered. Anne’s grin grew wider.

“Wonderful.”

—

“We have company!” Anne chimed loudly as she walked through the front door with a fidgeting Joan in tow.

Several heads popped up from an area in the downstairs area, each wearing a different expression- Cathy at the dining table with a curious look, Kitty and Jane on the couch with matching bitter frowns, Cleves from the downstairs hallway with friendly eyes, and Aragon in the kitchen with a warm grin. All Joan can do is give a tiny wave and a nervous smile.

“Hello, dear,” Aragon greeted as Anne and Joan walked over to the kitchen counter. The smell of basil and tomatoes drifted from the pot she was stirring. Anne’s memory hadn’t failed her- they were eating soup that night.

“Hello, beautiful.” Anne replied and Aragon shot her a look, although Joan could tell it was mock-annoyance. “I found this little rascal,” She set a hand on Joan’s head. “at that coffee shop with really good hot chocolate but really shitty workers.”

Aragon knew exactly what she meant, as she gave a knowing nod.

“Ah. That one.” She shook her head, looking back down at the pot. “I’m not sure what they did, but I’ll make sure to leave a one-star review on Yelp.”

Anne laughed, and even Joan gave a tiny giggle.

“Oh! I should show you my falcon before dinner!”

“It’s raining,” Jane said helpfully from the couch. Anne gave her a snake-like glower.

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” She said. “Come on, my darling!”

She grabbed Joan by the hand and led her out to the backyard, missing the blush that dusted her cheeks from the use of the pet name.

The two of them walk out to the backyard, Joan holding an umbrella over their heads, and towards a large wooden structure. It sort of looked like a house with a metal net grating over the sides. Joan could see several perches from inside it.

Anne gave her a wild smile before she slipped on a glove and opened the small door on the front. She held her arm into the pen and then pulled back after a moment, a beautiful brown and grey falcon perched on her wrist. Joan goggles at it with wide eyes.

“This is Baguette.” Anne said. “Just kidding! Her name is Freya. Isn’t she pretty?”

Joan nodded excitedly.

“Watch this.” Anne grinned. “Freya! Hup!”

Anne threw a leather lure as high as she could in the air and Freya shot off of her arm like a rocket. Her wings were primed and they slammed down with more than enough force to send her spiraling into the sky. He darted after the lure, and Anne snapped the cord attached to it, sending the mouse-sized lump off to the side, spinning like a satellite on a line around her. Freya banked, flying up and away a short way before looping around and diving at the lure. It’s clear that she is very good at this game, but Anne had learned just the right moment to change the angle of her swing, switching the direction the lure is sailing and throwing her off just enough that she has to make another pass.

Anne twirled the lure like a lasso, changing the pitch and yaw of the loops, sending it higher, lower, and in sweeping waves. Freya moves like a lightning strike in a hurricane, dive bombing one moment just as she yanks it away, rising back to circle, prepare, and dive again.

They fall into a rhythm, just different enough to keep them on their toes, but solid enough that the rest of the world faded away, until Freya broke off suddenly, catching a glimpse of something else.

“Freya!” Anne shouted as Joan giggled softly beside her. She snapped the lure in an attempt to catch her bird’s attention. “Come on! You’re making a bad first impression!”

Freya wheeled around after a moment and soared back down to the two. She lands dutifully on Anne’s outstretched arm, but is clearly a little crabby about not being able to catch her prey. She eases up when Anne gives her a treat.

“Wanna hold her?” Anne asked Joan, who nodded eagerly. She passed the girl a glove, which she quickly pulled on. “Okay. Be very careful, okay? And don’t freak out.”

Anne took the umbrella and passed Freya over to Joan. The bird stepped onto the younger girl’s arms and flexed her razor sharp talons around the glove, squeezing Joan’s wrist. Joan eyed the claws wryly.

Anne could tell Joan had a million questions, but her wired jaw kept her from verbalizing them. All she could do was stare at the falcon and the falconer with saucer-wide eyes.

“Dinner’s ready!” Aragon suddenly called from the back door.

Joan jolted a little and instinctively leaned away, but Freya remained poised on her arm. Anne laughed and put her bird back into her pen.

“Impressed?” She grinned.

Joan nodded.

“Good!” Anne said. “Now, let’s get inside before Catalina starts yelling at us about catching our death out here or something.”

The two of them walked back inside the house, being hit by the wonderful smell of the soup, which Aragon was pouring into seven different colored bowls. She smiled at them.

“Have fun?”

“Yup!” Anne said. “Joan was very impressed.”

Joan gave two thumbs up in agreement. Aragon’s heart melted.

“Why are there seven bowls?” Kitty asked obnoxiously.

“Uhh. Joan.” Aragon answered, blinking. “You should know that, Kat. She’s standing right there.”

“Yeah, but... Can she even eat?”

“Kit, don’t be stupid,” Anne said, slightly defensive. “Come on, stop acting like this. You know damn well that the doctors wouldn’t wire her jaw shut for a long period of time if she wouldn’t be able to eat or drink for that long.”

Kitty is clearly miffed by her cousin not being on her side and shoots a glare at Joan for it. Then, she raised her nose, looked away, and huffed out an annoyed breath.

“How long will the wires be there?” Cathy asked curiously.

Joan held up eight fingers.

“Weeks?”

She nodded.

There was a swell of murmurs- intrigued, pitiful, amused. Aragon was the one who grimaced.

“I couldn’t imagine that,” She said, rubbing her own jaw as if she thought it might spontaneously break. “Not being able to open my mouth for that long.”

“It’s like reverse lockjaw,” Cleves observed. “Just with less seizures.”

“Does it hurt?” Cathy asked.

Joan made a so-so gesture and then set a tentative hand on one of her heavily bruised cheeks, remembering the touch from that rude tourist. Ever since she had been prodded, her jaw had started hurting again. It felt like someone was trying to forcefully pry her mouth open with a crowbar.

She tried to just ignore it and sat down at the dinner table after getting her bowl. The soup was a lot chunkier than she had been expecting; she looked at the slices of potato in dismay, unsure how she would get them past her firm wall of teeth.

“Need a straw?” Kitty teased. She yelped loudly when Anne kicked her underneath the table.

Joan scowled at the pink queen, then brought a spoonful of soup to her lips. She had to awkwardly tip her head back slightly to make sure she didn’t spill anything on her. Sadly, her teeth were too bound together by rubber-bands to keep her jaws from moving from opening just a sliver to allow the bits of meat and potato to pass through, so only the liquids that flow through the random holes between her teeth reach her throat and stomach.

It had been much easier to drink her coffee.

“Sweetheart,” Aragon said, unable to watch the poor girl struggle any longer. “I’ll get the blender.”

Joan hunched her shoulders, embarrassed. Kitty tittered. Anne kicked her again.

“Ow!” Kitty whined. “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop being a brat.” Anne said cooly.

“I’m not a brat!”

“Well, you’re acting like one right now.”

“This is very entertaining.” Cleves commented. Anne flashed her an agreeing grin. Kitty sulked.

The loud sound of the blender stopped the argument from continuing. A few moments later, Aragon set a cup of blended soup with a straw in front of Joan. Joan gawked at it and then looked up at Aragon, one eyebrow raised. Aragon quickly swiped the straw.

“First the mint and now this?” Anne laughed.

“What mint?” Cathy asked.

“Catalina apparently offered Joan a mint earlier.” Anne told her.

Laughter erupted around the table. Aragon rolled her eyes as she sat back down.

“It was a mistake!” She tried to defend herself. “And an accident!”

Joan gave her a small smile before going back to eating. Well- drinking. Although, it wasn’t much easier. She wished she had the syringe she had been using for the past two days or the tube the doctors had used with her.

She quickly licked off the thick caking of soup on her lips, hoping that nobody had noticed it was there, then saw Kitty leering at her. She bristled and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “What?”

“What’s the name of that Warriors cat with the weird jaw?” Kitty asked the rest of the group, pleasantly pretending like Joan wasn’t sitting just a few feet away from her.

“Crookedjaw?” Cathy answered.

“Yeah!” Kitty turned to Joan with a smile as crooked as the girl’s mouth. “We can call you Crookedjaw! Seems like a fitting nickname.”

Anne gaped in horror at her younger cousin. She was so startled that she couldn’t even kick the queen. Aragon, on the other hand, wasn’t as stricken as she was.

“Katherine, what the fuck?” Aragon seethed.

“What?” Kitty said innocently. “It fits her!”

“Are you fucking nuts?” Aragon said, eyes wide and burning like hot embers. “No, actually- are you stupid?”

“She was just messing around, Catherine.” Jane tried to smooth things over.

“Don’t defend her!” Aragon snapped. “You should tighten the leash on her.”

“She’s not a dog.” Jane hissed.

“And yet she’s as annoying as a chihuahua that never shuts up,” Aragon said. She stood up, grabbed her bowl, and walked over to Joan. “Come on, Joan.”

Joan got up and followed her to the staircase. Anne went with them, but not without rounding on her cousin.

“If you’re going to call her Crookedjaw, then maybe we should start calling you Lostneck or Severedhead.” She said coldly. A mocking smile curled on her lips. “Because it fits.”

Kitty went rigid, but neither Anne or Aragon stuck around for her possible panic attack. They herd Joan upstairs and to Aragon’s room.

“I am so sorry, Joan.” Anne said once they were inside. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“She thinks everything will be handed to her on a silver platter.” Aragon stated as she began to rummage through her pajamas. “Entitled brat. Just like you said.”

Anne nodded in agreement, then looked back at Joan. She carefully cupped one of her cheeks.

“Are you okay, my darling?”

Joan closed her eyes, unconsciously leaned into the touch, and nodded.

“Alright.” Anne said. “So... Movie night?”

“Sounds good to me,” Aragon said. She tossed a pair of pajamas over to Joan. “They might be a little big, but you can wear these.”

Joan nodded and padded off to the bathroom to change. When she returns, she finds Aragon and Anne already situated on the bed in their pajamas. Aragon was clad in a pale yellow nightgown with white rims and a bow near the collar, while Anne was dressed in green cotton sleeping pants and a button-down shirt of the same color. Joan looked a lot less fancy in a grey T-shirt with something about a fishing competition embroidered in white on it, which she had no idea what the origins of it being Catherine of Aragon’s dresser were, and some black gym shorts.

“Come on,” Anne waved her over, rolling out of the bed. “Lay down!”

It takes Joan a moment to realize she was supposed to lay in between them. She swallowed down her flustered feelings and obeyed, clambering up the side of the bed and sitting beside Aragon with her knees huddled close to her chest. She could feel the golden queen’s comforting warmth wavering off of her half-reclined body.

God, she was pathetic. Ever since Anne she touched her shoulder at that coffee shop something had awoken within her and refused to go back to sleep.

That something ranged from a persistently mewing kitten to a starved, roaring lion—she’d tried for a sheep or goat metaphor, because that seemed more fitting for her, but frankly, sheep were a good bit easier to manage than whatever this was.

Joan pointed to the TV as movies were flicked through and then gave each queen a questioning look. She knew she could sign, but she didn’t feel like putting Anne and Aragon through the process of having to translate what she was saying. Plus, just being completely quiet and onto using facial features and occasional gestures like this almost felt...serene.

“We’re watching Hush.” Anne said, smirking slightly. “Which has absolutely nothing to do with you not being able to talk, I promise.”

Joan giggled softly and nodded.

“Only because you lost Rock, Paper, Scissors.” Aragon retorted. She looked at Joan with motherly concern that nearly sent Joan keeling over into her chest crying. “Are you okay to watch it?”

Joan nodded. She could take it, really! She wasn’t a baby!

And yet, when the neighbor character is suddenly slammed against the glass backdoor with a knife in her gut, she still lurched backwards and nearly climbed up the headboard in fear. Anne laughed sympathetically, while Aragon gently touched her hand.

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” She asked softly.

Joan nodded, but still ducked her head away from the screen, wincing.

Aragon watched the poor girl cringe for two more minutes before she wrapped her up in her arms and pulled her securely against her chest. Joan was clearly surprised by this, but didn’t make any move to pull away. In fact, she burrowed deep into her embrace.

“Awww,” Anne cooed, glancing at the two of them. “So cute.”

“Jealous?” Aragon smirked.

Anne stuck her tongue out at her, then resumed watching.

Joan peeked out from where she had her face smothered in Aragon’s soft chest and begrudgingly continued to watch the movie because she was interested in it, she was just a tad bit frightened by it. But, again, it was okay! SHE was okay!

And then they got to the closeup of Maddie’s hand being broken and the memory of falling down the stairs flashed through Joan’s brain- slipping and falling, tumbling down each step, smashing her jaw into the tile at the bottom, the bones in her mouth crunching and cracking and grinding, her teeth cutting into her tongue and feeling like it had been severed completely, blood gargling in her throat, everyone staring at her. It was horrific, it STILL WAS horrific.

“Anne!” Aragon barked when Joan whimpered and hid her face back into her chest.

“I didn’t know that was in it!” Anne said, raising her hands. “This is the first time I’m seeing this!”

Anne paused the movie and turned to Joan, who was shaking in Aragon’s arm. She gently began to rub her back comfortingly, seeing as Aragon was already stroking her hair.

“Joan? My darling?” Anne called. “Are you okay?”

Joan nodded weakly, sniffling. She raised her head and Aragon immediately wiped away the tears in her eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Aragon murmured.

“Does anything hurt?” Anne asked. “Or did you just get scared?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aragon nodded. “What she said! Are you hurting?”

Joan shrugged, looking away. Aragon slapped Anne’s arm frantically.

“Go get painkillers.”

“Catalina, how is she supposed to swallow a PILL?” Anne cried.

“Oh no, you’re right!” Aragon pulled Joan close to her bosom and bright red mixed awkwardly with purple and blue on the girl’s face. “My baby’s going to die!” She said woefully.

“She’s not going to—” Anne had to stop to give Aragon a confused looked. “She’s not going to die, Catalina.” She glanced momentarily at Joan smooshed against her chest. “I mean, not from not taking a pill, but your tits might suffocate her to death.”

Aragon looked down at Joan and quickly pushed her back. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her nightgown.

“Yes. Of course.” She said and Anne and Joan both laughed. She gave them a look. “I was just acting! I am an actor. And you fell for it!”

Anne rolled her eyes in a good natured way. “Yeah, okay.”

After making sure Joan was completely okay, they ended up switching the movie to The Incredibles 2. Joan was still very giddy from the way both queens fussed over her, and yet she still found her eyelids drooping shut...

—

“Catalina, look,” Anne whispered.

Aragon turned her attention away from the movie to look at Joan curled against Anne, soundly asleep. Then, she noticed one of the girl’s hands grasping three of her fingers- apparently she couldn’t find the other two in her tired daze. Her heart absolutely melted.

“Oh my,” She murmured. “What a sweet girl.”

“I know,” Anne grinned. “She’s so cute.” She leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of Joan’s head, causing her to stir with a sleepy noise before settling down. Anne gently began to stroke her hair.

Aragon moved closer until she and Anne were practically sandwiching the girl with their bodies. Joan seemed content, though, as she would constantly nuzzle closer to the warmth and touch.

Perhaps the eight weeks wouldn’t be so bad after all...

#six the musical #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fanfiction #six fanfic #six fanfiction #sixfic #catherine of aragon #mamagon #nana boleyn #anne boleyn #katherine howard #joan on the keys #jane seymour #anna of cleves #catherine parr #aralyn #aragon x boleyn #teeth

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risingsouls · 3 years

Text

Recruited: Chapter 4

[I did it. They did the thing! Their favorite thing! Yee!]

The Saiyan prince only released his exasperated growl once his scouter beeped, indicating the emperor severed the line of communication. In battle, Vegeta responded to the most unexpected changes fluidly and with little issue. Outside of the field in which his very nature, his blood, offered him innate skill in, shifting anything he had grown comfortable with bristled his ill temper. Within a few weeks, he grew used to Nappa’s absence on the jobs assigned to him and Raditz. The oaf would rejoin their ranks when he completed his final session with that new recruit, and Vegeta’s life would return to the normalcy he had become accustomed to over the past few decades.

That was until Frieza graced him with news he didn’t particularly care for.

“Frieza’s really making that woman our fourth, huh?” Vegeta grunted and climbed out of his pod to join the taller Saiyan, deeming words unnecessary when Raditz heard the whole conversation. “I suppose there are worse candidates, especially in looks, but she’s a complete rookie. Won’t she just slow us down?”

“Most likely.” He tapped the button on the side of his scouter. Nappa’s power level flashed across the screen on the other side of the planet, the second nearby no doubt his pupil’s. Their new teammate. Her power level had increased some, though he couldn’t decide if he wanted to attribute it to Nappa’s tutelage in ki control or her own natural competence. "Nappa's reports were...promising for her ability as a warrior, at least. But we both know the oaf is like a puppy and gets excited over even the most mediocre of talents. Not to mention he could be fudging her progress to make himself look like less of a failure."

"I suppose so. Guess only time will tell."

Vegeta fought the urge to roll his eyes. Had he not harbored his own curiosity and desire to see their new addition in action, he would have berated Raditz for his moping and apparent attempt to play on the prince's impatience to convince him to peek in on their training. It wouldn't be the first time he tried to convince him when they returned to base before Nappa finished his session with his trainee. Now they had a viable reason to outside of drooling over her.

His boots left the metal of the landing dock. "Come along, Raditz, I think it's time I take a personal look at this woman's skill." A slight smirk curled his lips as he took to the sky, that innate excitement for a proper rival to his strength tantalizing. The thrill of battle that often fizzled to nothing in the face of disappointment after disappointment in his opponents' overall power and fighting prowess. "Perhaps I will give her a proper test myself. See what she's really capable of. Nappa no doubt either sparred her himself or sicced his Saibamen on her. Neither a particularly telling gauge of what she can do."

Raditz snorted beside him. "You're not going to try and kill her, are you? Poor girl's only been here a month and hasn't even been in the field yet."

"Tch, well I'm not planning on holding back if that's what you're getting at." The prince shot his cohort a scathing glare, then returned his attention to the front. "What would that prove? If she dies, it just shows Frieza wasted his time in plucking her from whatever backwater planet she hails from."

If Raditz had any further protest, he astutely kept it to himself, the rest of their flight completed in silence. Obsidian eyes narrowed when he found Nappa chatting with the woman rather than training her. Typical. The last day to push his student and he sees it as an excuse to slack off. Had he known Frieza would force her onto his team, he would have suggested he train her himself.

“Of course I would find you flapping your gums rather than training like you’re supposed to be,” he scolded Nappa, landing with Raditz behind the pair. Both turned to face him, and the large Saiyan’s incredulous expression amused him. The woman blinked in surprise, her head tilted slightly as her gaze roved from him to Raditz and back again. Her lips curved into a light smirk of her own, and he noted it twitch further upward as Nappa stuttered and grasped desperately for an explanation.

“We were only taking a small break,” he finally settled on, huffing and folding his arms. “What the hell are you two doing here, anyway? Come to see the progress I helped my pupil achieve, or did you just miss me that much?”

"Actually, the jobs have been rather peaceful without your big mouth running all the time," Raditz said, the loose end of his tail thwapping lightly against his armor. Though he addressed Nappa, Vegeta didn't miss how he observed the woman. She was either oblivious or blatantly ignoring him. "We were talking about convincing you to retire, old man. It would be worth the peace and quiet."

Nappa raised a fist and growled. "You little whelp! I could turn you inside out without breaking a sweat!" he shouted. Another huff and a warning glance from the prince calmed the general, his tone returning to as conversational as the blustery Saiyan could manage. "Vegeta would boot your ass to the curb before me, runt, and you know it."

"I'm about to put you both in the ground of you don't quit squabbling." Vegeta rested his eyes back on the woman. Dropping her blissful ignorance, her golden gaze shifted to meet his obsidian, her amusement lingering as a spark in her eyes and the hint of that smile on her lips. Pretty, but that meant little to a Saiyan prince. Power was the language of respect.

He raised a gloved hand and beckoned her to follow him with a pair of crooked fingers. The wave of surprised expressions that spread from her and then to Nappa amused him. "Let's go. I don't care what Frieza wants, you're not joining my crew unless I personally test your skill." He halted in the center of the open space, and his lips twisted upward as he turned to face the trio he left behind. "It's about time someone gave you a proper challenge, woman."

"My name is Nabooru," she asserted, blatantly ignoring Nappa's paling and silent warning. An unneeded one; Vegeta had yet to decide if a strategy of fear would be needed to force her in line. If she survived their spar at all. She followed in his path and halted a respectable distance away, hands on her hips. No hesitation to rise to his challenge, the chance to prove herself, a commendable trait. In light of it and his own nature raring for a decent fight, he could excuse and even laud her boldness in correcting him. For now.

"You must be Vegeta."

"A lot of good our names will do you if you don't survive this," he retorted with a dark chuckle. He sank into a combat stance, arms lifted and knees bent. "Come on. Show me how much Nappa lied in his reports about you."

Her full lips pressed together and turned downward in a frown and he saw the spark of anger flash in her eyes. Good. If he pissed her off, she was less likely to pull her punches, a mistake regardless of her mood. Outside of testing the waters, he refused to go easy on her. The rest of the universe wouldn't, so neither would he. She took his lead and took up her own stance. "I think you're going to find I'm difficult to kill if that's your goal here."

No sooner had the word left her lips did she launch forward, and Vegeta dodged her first punch by a hair, the wind from rushing over his face and ear as he tilted it to the side. She followed up with a flurry of light-speed attacks, bent on forcing him on the defensive with her speed. A trait he underestimated and the half second it took him to readjust to it cost him ground and a rattling strike to his forearm when he couldn't move fast enough to outright dodge it. She was no amateur, certain to be mindful of leaving openings while she attacked. The title of Elite she supposedly held on her home planet, according to Nappa, a meaningful one, at least. How often he found soldiers claiming to be their army's greatest, most elite warrior only for him to tear through them like tissue paper, or their skill in combat questionable at best.

He caught her next punch in his gloved palm, the crackle of her orange energy sparking around the connection. He grit his teeth at the pain, at the effort to keep it from completing its course to his face, revealing elongated canines, but his lips remained stretched upward in a grin. Adrenaline thrummed through his system, that thrill of battle, of a challenge, that evaded him for so long igniting a wildfire within him. Perhaps he would try harder not to kill her after all. When time permitted, he could use a sparring partner like her.

Vegeta took advantage of the halt in attacks he created and pushed back on her with his own. Despite the shift in his offensive stance, she refused to play fully defensive, trading blows instead of only working to block or dodge them to prevent damage while still ensuring she didn't take anything too critical. They used every inch of the battlefield, the sky, a dance of strategizing and re-strategizing, breaking up the high-velocity swapping of melee blows when either of them took a rattling hit that threw them off their groove by being forced to create a pocket of space with a knock back or doing so themselves for a millisecond of reprieve. It was all either of them seemed keen on allowing.

Whether out of exhaustion or a moment of sloppiness, the Saiyan gripped her ankle before the swing of her leg could crash into his head. Surprise ghosted over her features and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. Laughing, he yanked her backward and flung her back toward the planet's surface. With the speed at which she sailed, her cry was a short one; the Gerudo's body slammed into the ground, a cloud of rust-colored dust pluming above the shallow crater it made. Knowing that wouldn't stop her for long--or, perhaps hoping for such--Vegeta charged ki in either of his palms.

"I hope you had fun with the warm up!" he crowed, laughter continuing as he fired a volley of ki blasts straight downward where she had landed.

A blip from his scouter was all the warning he had, the light from his blasts covering her daring tactic from sight. Orange ki enveloping her and protecting her to some degree from the weak blasts, Nabooru rocketed straight upward through his barrage. He watched in surprise as she deflected a sphere with a swipe of her arm. A distraction, as he failed to see her other arm rise, her hand glowing with energy. With little more than a few feet between them, he had no choice but to cross his arms over his face as the blast struck and sent him flying back from the force. He rolled off of it with a growl only for pain to erupt in his back, his skull, as she brought her leg down on him and sent him hurtling back to the surface. He collided with a grunt and another surge of pain throughout every bone and muscle.

Sensitive ears pricked at the sound of the whoosh of air. He flipped on his back in time to see Nabooru descending on him, knee bent and aimed for his abdomen. Cursing her extended his arms and captured her knee in both hands, the force of her drop forcing him downward into the ground. He growled and powered up himself, the planet quaking around him and energy crackling between them. Grunting, he pushed up to a seated position and threw her off. She somersaulted and skidded along the ground. He sprang back to his feet as she twisted around to face him again.

"You've done better than I thought," he said. A compliment he didn't give out lightly. While still no match for him, at least she had proven she could handle herself in a fight against a powerful opponent. His doubts had been minimized a degree or two, at least, and she offered him a better spar than most could. Something he didn't realize he craved until his first attacks that landed didn't break her. That instead of dropping to her knees and begging him for her life, she was rising to her feet for next round. The only thing keeping his temper in check.

He noted the rise and fall of her chest as she used the reprieve to catch her breath, her eyes alight and a proud smirk returned to her lips. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Vegeta chuckled, half curious about how long she would last if she were fresh. A test for another time. “Don’t thank me yet.” He widened his stance and pressed his palms together, fingers crooked inward and pointed in opposite directions. Purple energy crackled around his hands, his body, his smirk verging on crazed. He pulled his hands back by his head. He vaguely heard some semblance of a protest from their audience, witnessed the woman’s eyes widened as her scouter warned her of the rapid rise in power level. To her credit, she didn’t freeze, but shifted her own stance and powered up herself, gathering her own orange energy in her hands.

“You’ve been training with ki, right? Let’s see how much it paid off! Galick Gun!” He pushed his hands outward toward her, firing his signature attack. “Fire!”

He felt her blast collide with his, pushing back against his own energy but ultimately matching it and resulting in a stalemate of violet and tangerine swirling between them. His scouter informed him of another surge of her power, the result of it pushing on his and forcing him to dig his heels to maintain his ground. Had this been another situation, he wouldn’t toy with her. He would pour the last of his energy into his blast and watch as it swallowed her and her ki like an insatiable beast. Offering false hope wasn’t usually his style, but he supposed he could reward her promising showing and quick thinking.

The orange-gold ki crept closer and closer until his began to spray outward at all angles the closer it got to the source. Another second and he forced the remaining energy needed to overwhelm her attack, the beam widening with the ki he fed into it. It sped toward her and he heard her wail, the sound of it drowned out by the crash of the blast colliding with a rock formation several meters behind her.

Vegeta lowered his arms and straightened, waiting for the smoke to clear to see how she fared. The dust thinned and he hummed in approval when her standing silhouette came into focus. Upon clearing entirely, it revealed the Gerudo with her arms crossed in front of her, armor chipped and a fair portion of her battlesuit ripped and tattered. Even from a distance, he could see her body quaking with the effort to stubbornly remain on her feet.

He strode over to her and her arms dropped to her side and, as though it sapped her of what remained of her energy, she swayed forward. The prince caught her with a gloved hand pressed to her abdomen. He snorted when she mirrored him, obviously anticipating an attack.

“I’m not going to kill you. This time.” Her knees finally gave out and he let her sink to the ground, her hands catching her and keeping her from eating dirt. How fitting. Kneeling to a prince. Her new commander. The display of his power should have more than cemented that in her mind and serve to keep her in line. If she knew what was best for her and didn’t want to properly incur his wrath.

Still...due to being the only Saiyans left and loyal to the remaining member of their race’s royalty, he never had the need to assert his dominance in their group. He gave orders, Nappa and Raditz followed them with little to no argument. Could he really be sure with her? A stranger with no real reason to be loyal other than to spare her own life?

Spurred by the remnants of adrenaline and the heightened mood the decent spar put him in, he wasn’t quite ready to leave the game on such a simple note. He reached down and rested his hand beneath her chin, tilting her face upward and forcing her to meet his gaze. He smirked down at her. She winced with the sudden jerk and though her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, her lips remained fixed in a stubborn line.

“Welcome to the team.” He let her chin drop and he flipped around on his heel and returned to his cohorts. “Let’s go.”

Nappa glanced between Vegeta and the Gerudo still on all fours. “Shouldn’t we--?”

“Now, Nappa.” He glared at both Saiyans until they ascended and started back for the base. He cast the woman one last glance, the end of his tail swaying idly at his hip, and watched her shakily regain her feet. A smirk twitched his lips, and he followed after Raditz and Nappa.

He could deal with this arrangement.

#fic: recruited #:: nabooru ☀#// vegeta ♅#vegeta is such a shit tho

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 2

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

May. It’s May already, and Ichigo has made it approximately a month and a half without getting himself into some batshit insane situation where he almost dies.

Then Rukia Kuchiki comes along and all of a sudden he’s not a wizard he’d a fucking Shinigami. Which is cool, and a lot easier if he’s being honest, and the world itself isn’t at stake this time so.

Cool. Cool cool cool.

It does mean that Rukia, stubborn and snappish and almost as brash as he was, will be sleeping in his closet for the foreseeable future.

At fifteen Ichigo would have flipped out about it. At eighteen he’s spent months at a time bunking down with Mash and whatever other servants there were. Everyone from Asterios to Medusa to Shirou Amakusa Tokisada, crammed together in a tent or settled around campfires.

So he snatches his sisters pajamas and lends them to her and their life begins.

And it would be fine, really, he doesn’t mind fighting. He likes fighting by himself than having to rely on the others to do it for him. It eases the bitterness of weakness that’s been festering in his heart for years. So it would be fine, really , if it weren’t for the fact that all of these hollows that he’s fighting have started to target his friends, too. They’re not even safe at school.

Orihime was attacked by her own brother and it makes him sick. How could someone attack their own sister? Even warped and twisted?

It was worse than Mordred and Artoria. At least they had always had a strained relationship, but Orihime’s brother had loved her.

He sat with her after the fact, his hand on her shoulder while he slept against his leg. Rukia had erased her memory, and his families too. He didn’t like it.

“Everyone has the right to choose their life. And to remember themselves,” he told her solemnly. “It’s how humans grow and change. It’s how we get stronger. These bonds that we make with other people, and even the ones that we break…”

Rukie eyed him speculatively. “I never would have pegged you for a philosopher, Ichigo.”

“I’m not.” But he’s got his ideals, and Ichigo is unbending. War has tempered his spine from bone to steel. Idly, he braids a long strand of Orihime’s hair while Rukia is busy changing Tatsuki’s memories. Maybe it will be easier for them not to remember this, but Ichigo will not take back what he said.

So many friends have forgotten him, so many have never met him to begin with and only his memories live on of their time together. He really hates this…

But Rukia is his guide in this case, and there’s nothing he can do for now. “This is how it has to be, Ichigo. There is no other choice,” she says firmly, like it’s an absolute truth. “This is the life of a shinigami.”

Ichigo lets Orihime’s hair fall into place and lays her on the floor before he stands and turns to Rukia.

“ Chacun voit midi à sa porte,” he says it mostly to himself, but it bewilders Rukia.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go.

Ichigo has never been out of the country before he’d signed up for an internship at Chaldea. It was supposed to be two weeks studying with the security organization, and the poster at the bus station by his house hadn’t said anything about mages, or time travel, or masters or servents. Di Vinci tells him later that its spelled so only mages or people with potential to be mages can even see it.

He shouldn’t have seen it to begin with, totally untrained as he was, but somehow he did. Because he did have magic circuits, even if they weren’t used often or much. So hed loaded onto a plane with a half a dozen other master candidates from all around japan. His dad had agreed, all to easily. And now he stood in a breakroom with Romani and Mash, and Medusa and Cu and Olga Marie all standing around him.

“I don’t get it,” Medusa says, eying the phantom speculatively. “If she’s dead, how is she here?”

Ichigo shrugs. “ I have no clue. I’ve always been able to see ghosts but I don’t know anything about them.”

“H-hey what do you mean by that?” Roman asks, turning towards him. “You can see dead people?!”

“Well, yeah,” Ichigo sort of shrugs. “That’s not the weirdest thing happening here, ya know.”

Roman can’t really argue with that.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Olga Marie crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at the two gingers in front of her. Ichigo, sat on a couch, and Roman next to him. They both look at her, clueless until she rolls her eyes in aggravation.

“It’s just like what happened with Mash. When the bomb exploded and I-” she falters, her yellow eyes darting around before she gets herself under control. “After the explosion, I found the two of them. At the same time Mash formed her contract with him, I must have done something similar. There’s two types of energy,” she goes on. “The energy of the physical world, Mana, and the energy of the soul. Reitsu. Just as Caster, Rider, and Mash are drawing on his Mana as servants, I am now bound to his Reitsu as a soul-based familiar.”

“Such a thing is unprecedented,” Roman argued, looking somewhere between stunned and frightened. They were all standing on that blade right now. The world had ended and they, a group nowhere near qualified to save it, were now in charge of stopping it.

“Ah, nae as much as you’d think,” Cu said, his voice lilting and accented. “My teacher, Scáthach, she ‘ad shades an’ such.”

“The queen of the shadow lands?” Mash clarified, which meant nothing at all to Ichigo. Cu nodded. “It would make sense for her to have such things…”

“Ah, does that make the director Ichigo’s servant now too?” Roman asked.

Olga Marie bristled. “I’m no ones servant! I’m still the director here so you better show me proper respect!”

Ichigo couldn’t help snickering at her. “Man, you’re so full of yourself.”

“What did you just say?!”

“Are you dead and deaf? I said you’re full of yourself,” he grabbed her cheek and pulled it until she shrieked and lashed out at him, beating her fists against his chest. Mash did her best to cover her laughter in the background, hands over her mouth.

“Even still,” Roman stepped between them, carefully extracting Ichigo from Olga Marie’s fury, “This doesn’t explain everything. When someone ray shifts, it’s their spirit that manifests in the location, while their physical body stays in chaldea. So how can two different energies both manifest like that? I don’t understand…”

Olga Marie puffed her cheeks out. “The answer to that is much more technical. Even though it’s the spirit that is sent back it's still a physical body that a mage has when they interact with the time period around them. It is… a reversal of the third magic, so to speak. The opposite and the twin of Heaven’s Feel, it is your spirit and your soul and your life, but your body is left behind while Ray Shifting.”

This must have made sense to Roman, but Ichigo was, to put it mildly, completely lost.

“What’s the third magic, what’s ‘heavens feel’, and what’s ray shifting?” Ichigo asked. Olga Marie face planted, and started cursing his very existence.

* *

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be this good with a sword already,” Rukia admits, watching Ichigo snap the practice sword around, knocking aside each tennis ball she sends shooting at him through the pitching machine.

Ichigo stands, light on his feet with a sword roughly the size of a claymore. It was heavy and the reach was long but awkward. He’s used to holding broad swords, mimicries of clarent and excalibur while his Saber’s try to beat their lessons between his ears. It feels strange to hold something so long and so heavy. More than that, it feels like something is missing. Like the sword is a couple inches too short, like it doesn’t fit his hands quite right.

He has to remind himself that it isn’t his sword at all. This power is Rukia’s, not his own. Was this how Mash felt, their whole time together? Borrowing another person’s power to boost your own. It made his skin crawl minutely.

“I've been in a few fights,” Ichigo says, looking towards her with a shrug of his shoulder. “I’ve got friends who are in the kendo club.” He works mostly off of instinct. He always has, and it hasn’t failed him yet. He blocks each tennis ball, and those he can’t block he dodges swiftly, until Rukia finally calls it a day.

“You should get some rest while you can,” she advises. “We’ll be out tonight hunting hollows, no doubt, and you still have school work to do, don’t you?”

“Well yeah, but school feels so unimportant now…” It has since he’d gotten back. What was a test in the face of someone trying to blow up the whole of human history?

Rukia smacks him hard over the head, until he yelps in offense.

“Hey!” He rubbed the bump on his head, glaring balefully at the short shinigami. Rukia is, of course, utterly unaffected by it.

“School is important! You have a life to get back to after I get my powers back, and you need your grades to do it!”

“Geez, you’re so rough… And fine, but you’re gonna help me study for friday. You have to take tests too.”

Rukia looks startled, but she nods all the same, and they walk home together. Ichigo considers telling his dad what’s happening. There’s a strange girl in the house, and Ichigo is putting himself in pretty serious danger lately, but it barely makes a difference if he does. What will Isshin even do? He can not stop them from fighting, and he cannot help them in this fight. He can’t even see spirits.

These kind of things, he understood, were hereditary. Being a medium, and being a mage both were things that were handed down from parent to child, though they were kept largely separate. Mages dealt in living energy, and usually had little to no spirit energy, and vice versa. He could see spirits, and so could Karin, and even Yuzu could sense their presence from time to time. Yet despite all three children being sensitive to the supernatural, Isshin had no idea.

Which meant, more likely than not, his mom had been able to see them too.

She’d never said anything about it, but Ichigo had been so young, where would she even start?

And now, there was no way for them to find out. Ichigo has questions, but no one has answers.

“What are you thinking of?”

He startles, looking down at Rukia. He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts, he’d almost missed the house entirely.

“I was thinking about my mom,” he admitted. “I was wondering if she could see ghosts like me and Karin can.”

“Your mother?” Rukia repeated. She touched her chin in thought. “I suppose it’s not unheard of. There used to be quite a few humans who could see spirits. Some could even utilize enough reiryoku to actually combat hollows. But those died out some time ago.”

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo leads her inside. His sisters were out somewhere, and his dad was upstairs in his room, down the hall from Ichigo’s. They jog up the stairs together, Ichigo’s back thumping hard against his back.

“Yes. They were called Quincy. They could manifest reitsu into weapons to battle hollows with. But unlike shinigami, they didn’t purify the souls. They destroyed them.”

“Thats kind of fucked up.”

* * *

Ichigo still can’t tell if he’s here as a spirit or as a physical body, but it’s his living energy, his mana, that Mash is feeding off of when they start their first fight with the locals in domremy. They’re only human, so Ichigo fights too, and runs at Mash’s side when they chase the French soldiers back to their fort.

It’s there that the monsters attack and Ichigo gets his very first look at a saint.

She’s barely older than he is, fierce and terrible and humble all at once. She leads with utmost confidence and does not falter, even in the face of terrible odds. She’s… weak, for a servant. Far too weak.

There is something very wrong with france.

Ichigo is broken from his thoughts by Roman coming over his wrist communicator.

“All right, fine job everyone! I was watching with sweaty palms and sweets in my hand! The director is tending to other matters right now, so I’m in the command chair again!”

“Doctor,” Mash began, looking towards his hologram. “Those were the sweets that I got, right?”

“Huh? What? ls that right? I found them in the Command Room next to the tea, so I thought…”

“...I got them as a token of gratitude, for when we return from this Order,” Mash was actually starting to look irritated for the first time since they’d met. “ Needless to say, they weren't for you, but for Senpai, who no doubt fought bravely on the frontlines!”

“Mash... you've become such a thoughtful person!” Roman smiled proudly at her and, shamelessly, shoved the rest of the candy into his mouth. “I must say, these are some really tasty sweets. I'm sure Ichigo will be thrilled, too!”

Mash turns towards Ichigo, her mouth drawn in a line. “...Master. When we return to Chaldea, please reserve enough combat resources for one attack. I've registered one more enemy that I'd like to hit with the "back of my blade.".” Which was apparently something a shield had.

“You’re more violent than I thought you were…”

Then someone was screaming a ‘dragon witch’, and they retreated again, to the forests outside of vaucouleurs. It takes a while to get their bearings, but Ichigo understands. There’s two Jeanne d’arc’s. The saint that stands before them and a witch that is trying to destroy france. That’s what’s causing the world to fall apart here. So that’s who they have to stop. Only…

She’s about a hundred times stronger than they are, and she has an army of dragons, and dragon themed servants with her. By the end of the second day Ichigo finds himself with a saint, a queen, a musician, a pop star, and a dragon all following him around like puppies.

At night he finds himself sitting by the fire, with Jeanne, Ruler, sitting across from him. Kiyohime, a princess out of a story he’d read ages ago is curled up on his lap like a cat instead of a dragon. Her horn pokes at his hip irritatingly, and on his other side Mash has fallen asleep as well.

He should be more worried about the fact that she’s somehow convinced herself that he’d Anchin, considering the fact that she burned him alive in a bell tower, but thus far all she’s really done is hold onto him a little too tight.

Jeanne is looking at him too. There’s something about her, a charisma that makes Ichigo want to follow her off a cliff. And he probably would, if he wasn’t so damn stubborn himself.

“Yeah?” he asks, breaking the silence. “What, is there something on my face?”

“Oh!” Jeanne turns away, shaking her head. Her strange headpiece glints read in the firelight. “No, it’s only that you seem very close to her.”

“Who, Kiyo? We just met. She’s the one that latched onto me.”

“No, not her. Mash.”

Ichigo looks again at the girl sleeping on his other side. She looks older as a demi-servant, someone halfway possessed by a heroic spirit, but her face is the same. She’s still filled with wonder and innocence.

“Oh yeah. Well, I’ve got two little sisters at home. Mash reminds me of the youngest one. Yuzu. They even have the same hairstyle…”

“That explains it, then,” Jeanne’s smile is soft. “I’m the youngest. I had three brothes, and my sister as well. I imagine they’re still in Domremy. Although my two oldest brothers came to fight under my flag, so they might be travelling still.”

Ichigo tried to think of that. Tried to think of letting anyone in his family get even close to a battlefield and found himself shaking his head. “I couldn't do that. I want to protect my sisters. I wouldn’t be able to put them in danger.”

Jeanne peered at him over the fire, her smile still somehow serene. It must have to do with being a saint.

“I wished to protect them too, of course. They are my brothers, and war is a bloody, gruesome hell to walk into. But sometimes we must have faith. In the Lord to guide us, and in the people around us to stand at our sides and watch over us.”

“Didn’t your people, ya know, burn you alive?”

“Yes,” she allows, tilting her head towards the sky. “But still… I hold them no ill will.”

Ichigo decides, then and there, that Saints must be insane.

The first person they lose, the first person he loses in these wars, is Marie Antoinette. She dies to protect him, and the stinging, bitter taste almost makes him claw out his tongue.

* * * *

“Do you know where you are?”

Soft fingers run through his hair. Something tickles his nose and he’s assaulted by the smell of roses and daffodils.

“I’m in a dream,” Ichigo says, huffing irritably. His eyes open slowly, and he finds a deceptively soft smile hovering above him. Ichigo would believe it, if he didn’t know him better. As it is, he tugs at a long strand of off-white hair that falls across the man’s shoulder.

“Ouch. You’re right, this is a dream. However did you guess? I thought it was a rather good one…”

Ichigo rolls his eyes at the Caster. He can see his staff, wrapped in ribbons, stuck into the earth beside them. This man was always dramatic.

“There’s nowhere else I would see you, now is there?” He sits up slowly. His companion doesn’t move back, and in a minute they’re hip to hip, facing eachother.

“Ah, That is true. You never know, I am a rather famous mage. Mayhaps I teleported you here for my own amusement.”

“That does sound like you,” Ichigo allows. He paused, squinting. “Did you just say ‘mayhaps’?”

“You don’t like it? I thought it was eloquent.”

“Stop acting so weird,” Ichigo scolded, knocking their heads together lightly. “It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen you.”

“On the contrary, it's been over 4,500 years.”

“You never change,” Ichigo rolls his eyes, and his visitor smiles, soft and fake.

“Perhaps I don’t. One of the aspects of immortality is that people tend to stay the same, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t, but I guess I’ll take your word for it,” Ichigo figures it’s easier than trying to fully puzzle out the man. He’s always been bewildering, ‘beyond human comprehension’ or something. Ichigo isn’t totally human anymore now. He sits, dressed in black next to his companion cloaked in white.

“I thought you were supposed to disappear from my memory,” Ichigo says abruptly. He’s not sure what kind of explanation he’s looking for.

A shrug is what he gets. “I told you once. That’s one thing I can never get used to. Perhaps it just didn’t work this time.”

“Right,” Ichigo says dubiously, “it’s got nothing to do with us being friends. “

The mage says nothing, but his smile thins at the edges. He’s still on about it then. ‘I can never truly close the gap, and be friends with a human’. It’s bullshit, because they’re friends and ichigo knows it, and so does he. He’s just stubborn and stuck on the idea of being the mysterious wise man figure in Ichigo’s ever evolving life story.

“Where are we?” Ichigo asks, letting the tension drop for now. The sky is the palest blue and there’s flowers as far as the eye can see, pink and blue and yellow. There’s no horizon any way he looks, and he realizes belatedly that they’re sitting on top of a tower.

“Isn’t it obvious? We are on the reverse side of the world. Where there is no beginning and no end, this is the very edge of paradise.”

The air tasted like sunlight and hope, but Ichigo isn’t fooled by the prettiness of it all. He knows this man. Better than he wants to be known, certainly.

“Maybe someday I’ll save you from this tower, princess .”

“That is quite impossible,” still a warm hand lands on his, a strange kind of thanks.

“I’ve done impossible things before.”

And he would do them again.

* * * *

Ichigo was starting to think that everyone here was made of tragedy.

France was bad enough. Between executions, and curses, and people just doing their best for others, Ichigo is starting to wonder how any fairy tale ever had a happy ending, for the figures of myth certainly had none. Not Jeanne, the Saint of Orleans. Not Elizabeth Batharoy, the wannabe pop star and future vampire. Not Kiyohime, who had followed him all the way back to Chaldea and now was stuck waiting for them to return.

And now, Euryale, and Asterios were the same. They were hardly the monsters out of legend. They were just people. Just people clinging to each other, like wreckage in a storm.

Ichigo leans forwards against the railing of the Golden Hind , watching the moon dance across the water. They’re pretty screwed, he realizes. Heracles has to be killed twelve times for them to succeed, and they’d almost all been killed on just the first try. They’d only escaped because a labyrinth had sprung up out of nowhere, glowing green and winding their way to the center of safety.

The heafy thump of footsteps on ship wood brings his attention to his newest servant. Asterios. He towers over all of them, almost ten feet tall if you counted his horns. He should have been terrifying, all hard muscles and hulking power. His long hair is matted like it’s never been brushed out properly, and his eyes are a red that seemed to glow in the starlight.

“Hey there,” Ichigo waves at him, and he comes to a halt at his side. He looks at him, and shifts from one foot to the other. There’s manacles on his arms, and his ankles as well. “Why don’t you sit?”

Asterios did as he was bid. When he was sitting, he still came up to Ichigo’s shoulder.

“It’s a nice night, huh?” It was peaceful, sailing on the endless sea. They have a lot of fights ahead of them but for now… He breaths in the sea salt air, and the cool darkness.

“Yes… It is… free ,” Asterios speaks slowly, like making words is a chore. Has he ever really spoken to humans, before now?

“Yeah. I guess it is,” that’s what Francis had said. The seas were freedom for her and her men. The King of Storms, the endless oceans bowed to her and the Golden Hind . “Have you been here long, Asterios?”

He perks up when he hears his name, looking up at Ichigo with the strangest expression. Ichigo has no idea how to place it. Hope? Happiness? Either way he’s smiling now.

“No… Want to … stay… with euryale and… everyone.”

“I get it,” Ichigo nods to him. “It’s nice to hang out with friends.”

“Friends…”

“That’s what we are, right?”

Asterios smiles at him, and nods. “Yes… friends.”

* * * * *

“Honestly… I thought you were supposed to be helpful,” Ichigo knocks on his own bodies skull, watching his dopple ganger wince away from him. “But all you’ve done is get my body torn up and cause a mess. You’re screwing up my ‘cool guy’ reputation!”

“Hey! It’s not my fault, I wouldn’t have jumped in if you weren’t so slow! Those kids would have died if I hadn’t jumped in!”

“Oh yeah, and you kicking that hollow again, to protect ants, what are you a saint?!” Ichigo yanks him into a headlock, roughly shoving his fist into his hair. It was weird to be fighting with himself, but honestly? Not even remotely the weirdest thing to happen.

“Get off!” The mod soul tries to kick him in the face, but Ichigo takes him to the ground in a rough grappling hold. He’s not too worried about his shoulder. His body is strong enough to handle being roughed up, and he’s taken worse hits than that.

“Let me go! I’m not gonna let you kill me but-” His voice wavers before growing vicious with conviction.

“I’ll never sit by and let another creature die!”

Ichigo is so surprised he lets go, sitting above the trouble maker. He won’t make eye contact, his voice dropping low and rough. His hands are shaking, Ichigo realizes.

“Right after I was born, the soul society they- they decided that the mod-souls had to go. The day after I was born I was chosen to die! Everyday I watched them kill off my brethren. And even after I escaped I still lived in fear, everyday that I would be discovered and killed… And I decided. That I was born, so I have the right to live and die freely, and so does everything else! So I won’t kill and I won’t let even ants die!”

This mod soul. A creature made to fight, made to die, made to kill all without a single choice. Ichigo’s hands tighten into fists. Just like Mash. Just like Fran. Just like Mordred. A living weapon. Ichigo lets him sit up, and sits back on his heels. The mod soul grips his shoulder, grimacing. It must hurt. This is the first time he’s ever felt human sensations. He was fast, fast as the wind.

“So that’s it…”

Abruptly, the tip of a cane shoves straight through his skull, and the pill that had started this whole debacle comes popping out the other side. Ichigo reacts, snatching it out of the air before anyone else can. They’re not alone anymore.

Ichigo finds himself looking up at a pair of grey eyes half hidden under the brim of a striped hat. They’re looking right at him, even though he’s no longer in his body. He knows, with great certainty, that this man is not human.

“I’ll be taking that back now,” he says, holding his hand out expectantly. He looks almost harmless. Almost. But Ichigo can see the calluses on his hands and the hardness in the back of his eyes. Whoever this is, he’s a fighter. Even with the geta sandals, he hadn’t made a sound when he was approaching.

“Hell no!” Ichigo clutches the pill tighter and straightens up. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

“He’s just a greedy salesmen,” Rukia comes to stand at his shoulder, her eyes narrowed at the stranger with the unsettling eyes. She'd watched the whole exchange between them, between Ichigo and yet another tragedy.

“I get it. He’s the one who sells you your supplies here, isn’t he?” Ichigo stands, slowly, keeping his hold on the pill tight. This guy had made a mix up, and if he thought Ichigo was gonna let him take this mod soul away, he had another thing coming.

“My, my, you’re a perceptive one,” the man pulled a fan out of his sleeve and snapped it open over his mouth. “I’m Kisuke Urahara. And these are my associates.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Ichigo said blandly. “She said you're a salesmen, and she has to get her gadgets from somewhere.”

“Either way, I should take that product back. If it’s compensation you’re after-”

“I already said no!” Ichigo snapped, anger rolling under his skin like a fire. “People aren’t products and I’m not giving this one back to you!”

“Ichigo,” Rukia cut in, her voice cool and firm. It's ice on a bruise and Ichigo let's her step before him, her dark eyes on the salesman. “It’s fine. I’m satisfied with this purchase, and you don’t exactly work legally. So whatever happens, it’s not your responsibility anymore.”

Even though he remains largely impassive, this Kisuke guy still stares at them, trying to read between lines that don’t exist. Ichigo is honest, and Rukia has his back in this case.

So he and his associates leave, and Ichigo pops the soul back into his body once their gone. He finds brown eyes staring up at him, his mouth open in confusion.

“You didn’t… send me back?”

Ichigo knocks his head again. “Don’t be stupid. If you give me a dumb speech like that, how can I sit by while you get smashed up?”

“I - you’re kinda crazy.”

“I know,” he had to be. “So, do you have a name?”

“A name? No, no ones ever given me one of those…”

“Alright then,” Ichigo tilts his head, thinking. A mod soul, a kaizo konpaku… He could go with Kai. But that sounded too cool. He was wind fast, and if he remembered right the inca wind was called… “Kon. You’re in charge of my body while I fight hollows. You can explore, and try new things, but don’t go destroying property or getting peoples attention. Or hurting my body! Deal?”

He held out his hand, and Kon reaches up and grasps it.

“Deal.”

#Shattered Chains of Fate #Ichigo Kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #Kon bleach #bleach fanfiction #bleach #bleach/fate grand order #BAMF!Ichigo Kurosaki #Ichigo Kurosaki is Ritsuka Fujimaru #well sorta #olga marie animusphere

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dragonagecompanions · 4 years

Note

How would the companions react to finding out the inquisitor’s family abused them? Bonus points if they’re a Trevelyan and it comes to light during that war table quest or similar Inquisition business.

Abuse mentions, so read at your own comfort.

Cassandra: As a Seeker -and someone who has devoted her life in one way or another to the art of both peace keeping and war- Cassandra Pentaghast is not a stranger to the cruelties people can inflict on each other. Her own parents chose ambition and the allure of power before family, and it was only their youth and the affection of their uncle and paterfamilias that spared both of their children the punishment for treason. Home is not always safe, and the farther up the social ladder one climbs the truer that becomes. Abuse- be it physical, emotional or even sexual- is an open secret among far too many ‘noble’ houses.

Hearing that it affected the Trevelyan’s does not surprise Cassandra. This does not stay either her anger or her blade. When it comes to light just how bad their childhood was, the Right Hand of the Divine is more than willing to work with both Cullen and Leliana to make sure the family never hurts the Inquisitor again.

Solas: Cruelty is an evil unbound by time. He’d always known it, but there is still a shadow is disappointment when it is brought to light so suddenly here. The Inquisitor has fought for them all, bearing the pain of a magic never meant for mortals and the burden of saving their entire world on too young shoulders with a grace that defies their age. Knowing that they have done so despite efforts to break the foundation of their youth by those whom they should have been able to trust is...infuriating.

It doesn’t matter that the Heralds quest is noble but futile before his own plans, or that their abuse at the hands of family is another link in the chain of his justification. The Rift Mage may intend to destroy this world in due course, but for the moment he has sworn his aid to their leader. And if that means calling on aid from both sides of the veil to ensure that they are kept safe he will do it gladly.

He was not called Dread, after all, for nothing.

Varric: Skyhold’s current author is resident has a theory he’s been working on for awhile now, and it can be summed up very simply: heroes aren’t formed without a tragic backstory. The Warden is a good example, and thanks to yours truly Hawke’s own grief stricken tale is well known. So finding out that the current leader of the largest paramilitary group in Thedas comes from what could arguably be called a broken home isn’t terribly surprising. You have to understand suffering, after all, to want to stop it.

That doesn’t make him any less happy about it, and while on the surface it looks like he only fumes quietly and writes a lot of letters...well, in reality that’s what he does. As tempting as the daydream of taking Bianca to the cruel and deluded backwater nobles who thought that abusing a child to form them into the proper image is, the start reality is that it wouldn’t accomplish much. But the Trevelyans are Free Marchers, and when the last link of Bertrand’s sanity snapped- and ended a chain of abuse that Varric frankly would like to avoid talking about- he inherited a sizable amount of power with the Merchant Guild. It means his influence is slightly less hands on, but he can hit the nobility where it really hurts.

And if they are ever stupid enough to try and continue their abuse in Skyhold? Then it’s Bianca’s turn to....influence.

Sera: Even big people can feel like little people when they are little and the people who are supposed to protect them act like complete shiteheads. And even when you aren’t little, being scared can make you feel little, yeah? The Inquisitor’s the biggest person around, but inside their like one of her little people-- and Sera protects her own. Pranks are nice, and she prefers arrows to talking endlessly, but this is more serious.

Working with the other Jennies can be complicated, and its even worse that she can’t just sketch it out like her network. The Baker who is her contact in Ostwick has a stick up his arse and wants proper correspondance, so she sits down and writes out what se wants, and then takes it to Dorian and has him add some stupid noble shine.

Her other people will handle their end. And if they ever decide to show up there and go after her Herald? Arrows.

Vivienne: Abuse in noble houses is not an unknown event to the Lady of Iron, but long before her rise to court and intrigue Vivienne saw far too much of it in the circles. Mage children were all to often a bane to families-- destined to go to a circle they could not add to the house hold and could spell trouble if the family was caught hiding them. This all too often brewed resentment, and by the time Templars came to collect the youngsters a life locked behind stone walls away from all they had known was often a mercy.

But whether their Trevelyan inquisitor is a mage or not is of no consequence. The child who was no doubt once a whipping post for a noble family- to beat into a desired shape no matter the consequence- is now on a meteoric rise. And Madame de Fer knows enough about politics to suspect that their Herald’s family will not stay absent for long. Knowing this story of their early life may not be a surprise, but that does not mean the Imperial Enchantress intends to allow the Trevelyans access to her charge. Let them try to approach, if they dare.

They have not yet seen abuse.

Blackwall: He has caused enough suffering to children in his life without intent that can never be atoned for, and that haunts the would be Warden. Callier and his family had suffered and died, and while he had not meant it to happen he would carry the burden all his life. But the idea of tormenting a child purposefully, and doing it for months or years? It infuriates him. Thom Rainier was only ever a soldier, and Blackwall offers little more political clout. He has no network to call on, no secret societies to help get a revenge well earned.

But he has a sword, and a shield, and a willingness to protect their leader. If the Trevelyans ever come sniffing around, they will live just long enough to regret it.

Dorian: It would be almost criminal to compare a childhood of distant affection and disappointment to that of consistent and methodical abuse, and the Scion of House Pavus would bristle at the very idea that he had suffered any sort of ‘abuse’ at the hands of Halward Pavus. No matter the truth of what had happened, Dorian would much rather discuss what to do about their leader’s current situation than ancient history, thank you ever so much.

And if his palms sweat and his heart races when Sera brings him the news, and he has to force his mind to work to make sure her letter is what she wants when all his mind is screaming for is a bottle of wine and a few moments alone with his staff and the people who had tormented the gentle leader who had taken in a Tevinter despite perhaps better judgement, well. That is no business but his own. He will not act on it, not yet. But should the occasion call for the resident evil ‘Vint to stand between their Herald and the ones who just might haunt their own dreams?

Vitae Benefaria.

The Iron Bull: He’d known, of course. He’d known long before the intelligence left in dead drops detailed the open secret in Ostwick, before his own people could confirm what his eye had already told him. Abuse among children is almost unnheard of among the Qun-- Tamassrans are made so because they are intended for that role, and those who would not thrive caring for children are not put in the position of caring for them. But it was all too common among the Viddathari, and as a Ben-Hassrath trained in the minute detail of behavior and its causes a personality shaped in part by childhood abuse was not a hard thing for him to see signs of.

Of all the companions however, the Iron Bull is likely the only one among the Inner Circle to approach their leader. The thirst for revenge is all well and good on a personal level, but killing or maiming or even simply frightening the family of their leader might not be the best thing for someone who has likely never had the chance to deal with their childhood. It is painfully common for such things to be a secret kept through out a whole life, but in order to know the best steps to take against the potential abuser it’s vital to know the extent of the abuse.

Its a painful conversation, and he certainly brings alcohol no matter the inquisitor’s age. But by the end of it they can both agree on the best plan going forward, and that is exactly what Bull needs. Killing, threatening or leaving them be, he can roll with it. Asit Ta-leb.

(But later, if he needs time to recite the Cantos, to remind himself that there is no struggle, the tide rises and falls for hours before the Blood lust and instinct of a reaver to protect one’s own fades....well. That’s no ones business but his own.)

Cole: It hurts, and it tangles with other hurts in a knot. Pulling one string pulls the other strings, and not all of them hurt, and it confuses him. Sometimes there are happy times around the bad times, and sometimes the happy times are the bad times, and there’s too much to untangle to heal the hurt. He wants to kill the ones who caused the bad times and the pain, but they are the same ones who caused the good times. He’s lost He wants to help. But helping can hurt.

So he finds them a hat, because hats are good. And it helps.

-- Mod Fereldone

#dragon age inquisition #Cassandra Pentaghast #Varric Tethras #cole #warden blackwall #dorian pavus #the iron bull #Solas #sera #vivienne de fer #dragon age reactions

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divineluce · 3 years

Text

An Impasse || Solomon & Luce

Timing: November 13th

Location: The Outskirts

Tagging: @shroomsbysolomon & @divineluce

Description: Solomon and Luce officially meet for the first time. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

For the third night in a row, Luce laced up her shoes and exited the Vural home. Her homecoming had been… rocky at best. A shitshow at worse. And, what with all of the bullshit she’d found out regarding Nadia, Remmy giving her shit for leaving, and the goddamn menagerie of animals in her room, sleeping was pretty much out of the question. Which left her with two options-- hit up Soul and risk running into frankly Frank again, or go for a run. It was a no-brainer. Jogging into the woods, she made her way through the familiar trails that wound their way behind Bea’s home. She’d run them so often that, even after spending a month out of town, she still remembered every curve and turn in the path. It was easy, it was simple, it was going through the motions. She could do that, right? And then, once she could do that, maybe things would get better. As she ran, Luce noticed a figure off the path, illuminated in the waning moonlight and she slowed to a stop. “You lost there?” She asked, squinting through the darkness.

Solomon had a bad habit of losing himself in whatever he was doing, hyper-focusing to the point that he’d forget the world around him until something demanded his attention. In this case, it was an unexpected voice, jarring him out of whatever reverie he’d fallen into and urging him to whip around, clasping his hands behind his back to hide their wooden appearance as he stammered and stalled. “Oh! No, I, uhh…” His struggle to find the right words seemed to lose importance as he took in the visage of the woman on the trail, and something inside of him got all twisted up. It took a few beats for him to be able to place the sudden rush of emotion, not knowing who she was or why he should suddenly feel… fear? But then it came to him, and all at once, that fear was intermingling with anger. “You,” he grumbled, standing up from his crouch and taking a step toward her. He’d seen what she had done in the forest… and the only reason she still stood was because he had also witnessed her pitiful attempt at making amends. It was enough to stay his hand, but the bitter tang of resentment never left his tongue. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, burning the woods like you did.” His typically soft voice was harsher now, still low in volume, but it carried a distinct edge. “I’m still trying to repair the landscape. What’s your problem?”

As the man stammered for a moment, Luce rested her hands on her hips, waiting for him to finish his sentence. It was a bit too dark for her to get a good look at him, but she could tell he wasn’t some lost hiker. For one, no one came hiking around here, not at this time of night. For another, if he wasn’t dressed like one. No backpack, no water bottles, nothing like that. But, then he rose and took a step towards her. Instinctively, Luce’s hands curled at her side, the flames that danced in her blood ready to be called at a moment’s notice. “What the fuck is your problem?” She shot back, startled. Burning the woods? For one thing, how did he know about that? For another, which time was he talking about? One of the many rainy nights when she’d hiked out into the middle of nowhere, to practice her flames? Or when she and Anita had run from the shitty moose creature and she’d lit the brush aflame to escape? Or was it the time she’d razed the ground around her and Adam in the wake of Bea’s death? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luce lied smoothly.

“Ooohhh, yes you do,” Solomon snapped, his dark eyes narrowing. “I saw you… fleeing the scene, leaving the poor forest in such a state…” It made his heart ache as he recalled the pain he’d felt that night, the sorrow that rose from the ground as it mixed with ash and embers. He was so in tune with the familiar landscape, so very much a part of it, that any damage it suffered bled over to him. It’s why most things never escaped his knowledge, and why he’d had to bloody his hands over the centuries, stopping men from cutting deeper and spreading further. What he couldn’t mention was how his fear had held him back for the first time — seeing that the woman was controlling the fire and not merely setting it free had stopped him in his tracks. If he died, who knew what would happen to the woods? It was too risky, and the damage had been done, so he’d decided to let her go and tend to the charred earth. Letting out a shaky sigh, Solomon appeared to be trying to calm himself, eyes closing while he regained his composure. “But… I saw you trying to make amends, too, so… I suppose it’s a start.” Peering at her once again, the disguised Leshy lifted a finger to point it at her. “Got my eye on you, though…”

As the man glared daggers at her, Luce kept her gaze level. She didn’t give a shit who this guy thought he was, she’d make his night real fucking bad if he decided to try and pull something. But, when he started yelling at her about fleeing the scene, she blinked in confusion. Was he talking about when she’d blown up the Ring with Erin months ago? Or when she’d tried to blow up the shitty mime restaurant? Christ. She really needed to narrow down her arson attempts. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, even if I did, you’re gonna have to narrow it down.” She said with a shake of her head. The man seemed to be… restraining himself? Like he wanted to move against her? Which would be a bad idea on his part for sure. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you some kind of stalker? Because you picked the wrong girl for that.”

Stalker? Oh. Solomon drew another weary breath, shaking his head as he pushed his anger aside. “The specifics don’t matter, what does matter is your lack of care when it comes to this place.” He gestured vaguely at the trees that surrounded them, letting his gaze slide away from her for the quickest of moments. “Look, I’m just… all I’m asking is for you to please stop burning it down with your fire… hands.” Whatever you’d call that, he wasn’t sure. He’d never really encountered anything like it before, and he didn’t exactly want to make a habit of it, either. “Lot of things live around here, you know, myself included… and we’re not exactly keen on having our home scorched on the regular.” Truth be told, it was something that half the damn town seemed to need to hear, given their track record. It was exhausting work, trying to keep up with every new threat.

“Uh, it sure fucking does if you’ve been following me around like some kind of creep.” Luce said as she continued to stare at the stranger. As he waved around at the forest and then mentioned her firehands, her eyes narrowed. Had he seen her use her magic before? No, he couldn’t have. For one thing, she covered her bases pretty fucking well. And even if he had, why the fuck was he only just now stopping her. “My fire hands? I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about, dude.” She said, shaking her head as though he was speaking nonsense. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done or what you think you saw, but you’re mistaken.” She replied. She wasn’t sure what this guy’s deal was, but it was easier to deny this than to deal with the repercussions that came with someone finding out she was magically inclined.

“I’m not following you, I live here,” Solomon grumbled in return. “I see most things that happen, whether folks want me to or not.” Her continued rebuttals only made him growl in frustration, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You make fire. I don’t know how, but you do it in a way that… normal people cannot. Your denial does not change this fact.” He considered for a moment that perhaps she was like him—inclined to keep that aspect of herself secret. “And personally, I’ve nothing to gain from knowing that, I would just like to formally ask you to please stop setting fire to my forest. Take your flames someplace else.” Exasperation radiated off of him, but his gaze was steady. A hundred and fifty years ago, he’d have just slain her on the spot. But… he was trying to be a little kinder about it in this case, especially since she’d come back later to plant seeds. The gesture warranted recognition.

He lived here? In the fucking woods? Because that was any less creepy than the fact he’d watched her here. Luce bristled a little as he continued to speak. He’d seen her conjure the flames. How? She’d had run-ins with people before, but she’d always been careful to make sure there was nothing that could ever tie her to the blazes she started. People could look for the ignition point, search for the match or the lighter that didn’t exist because she was the spark. And yet, this fucker seemed to know exactly what she could do. “Let’s say I can do what you say I can do.” She said before gesturing around to them. “Where else would I do shit? If I could make fire, I’m not exactly going to just light up the Common.” She said, though the corner of her mouth turned at the idea. That would be funny, if only for the irritation it would no doubt cause her mother.

Solomon was, by every account, a very calm and level headed creature. That being said, there was one thing he had almost no patience for, and that was the petulance of a young firestarter. His entire existence revolved around a singular purpose, and he could only bargain for so long with people like her. His anger flared at her casual, careless remark, dark eyes widening slightly in disbelief. “Anywhere else, girl. Have some respect for the natural world — you’d be dead without it.” He’d taken another step toward her by this point, and something in his body language had changed. He moved less like a man, and more like… well, it was hard to say in the dark of night. “Stop killing things and find a way to be useful with your talents, won’t you? You came back to plant seeds, so I know you must feel some amount of remorse. Hold on to that, remember that, and do not light another blaze in these woods ever again. Do you understand me?” He was being rather generous, he thought, but if she pushed him further still, he couldn’t see himself keeping his composure.

At the sound of the word “girl,” Luce’s eyes narrowed. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Folding her arms across her chest, she felt the heat of her body begin to grow and rise with her increasing anger. “Respect for the natural world? You think I don’t have respect for it?” She said with a growl. “Fire is just as natural as anything else here. What happens to a forest that’s overgrown with brush and shrubs? What happens to the trees when they get overcrowded and parasites begin to take over? Overgrowth saps the life right out of the soil just as much as my fire does.” She said before shoving her hand into the soil beneath their feet. Pulling up a handful of loamy soil, she let it sprinkle from her fingers back on the ground. “Ash feeds the forest, makes space for new things to grow. I planted those seeds because it was what should have happened. Death. Rebirth. Life. And death again.” She spat.

“Fire may be natural, but you are not,” Solomon snapped in return. “Forest fires at the hands of humans are anything but natural.” His relationship with humans had been… a bit tumultuous, over the years. While he found them to be an interesting sort, it was true that they had, time and time again, shown him that they cared not for the earth that had so lovingly lifted them from their evolutionary cradle and taught them how to walk. “It is not for you to decide when that cycle will happen, purely because you have no place else to play with your magic. Insolent… insolent, the lot of you!” His voice had raised in volume and boomed unnaturally around them, anger rushing to the forefront as he relived the countless times he’d seen the land ravaged by humans. All across the continent, as he moved from home to home, he’d encountered ones like her. Or at least, the picture of her that was piecing together in his mind’s eye. He’d slaughtered a whole village for poisoning the nearby river, and while that level of unhinged rage was rare for him, it was far from impossible. His glamour flickered, his focus waning as he became more irate with the woman standing before him. “Humans have been nothing but a blight on this world—you’re parasites, feeding off the land while you expand your rotten towns and cities, razing whole forests to the ground without care! That is not the life of someone who has respect for it.”

Unnatural. Yes, because she was unnatural. Who was he to say these things anyways? Obviously not human, but what was he? “You think I play with magic?” Luce said, temper flaring once more. Magic wasn’t a game, it wasn’t some toy to be played with, something casual to be used and forgotten. “Oh, you couldn’t be more wrong about that.” Magic lived in her, it breathed in her, it was a grounding tether of power that challenged her and demanded her to rise to that challenge. His voice rang through the woods, but Luce held her ground. This man-- no, not exactly man, obviously not. Whatever he was, he yelled at her and she resisted the urge to let her flames ignite. It would be so easy, so, so easy to let the blue flames lick the ground and spread. But. It would only be proving him right. Watching him, Luce caught the shimmer to his appearance, saw it shudder and caught a glimpse of what looked like… mushrooms? She couldn’t be sure, because the image disappeared almost as soon as she saw it. “If I’m a parasite, then what does that make you? If I’m so beneath you, what are you?” She asked, goading him on. What did he think he was, some kind of god?

Upset as he’d become, it didn’t matter to Solomon whether or not he’d accurately judged her entire character; he’d seen what he’d seen, and she seemed to think that setting his wood ablaze was a perfectly acceptable way to kill time, so he had no further words for her. His gaze was fixed steadily on her, eyes narrowed into slits as he stared her down furiously. It wasn’t until she called him out, questioning the authenticity of his appearance, that he faltered. Well, it wasn’t so much that she’d seen something—that was happening increasingly often, as of late—but it was her question that had him tripping over his own tongue. “I don’t—that doesn’t matter,” he growled. He didn’t rightly know, since he’d been forced to live alone as little more than a sapling and had never met another of his kind. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you…. and how you really ought to find a better hobby.”

Quirking her eyebrow, Luce heard the misstep in his voice, the falter in his words. “It doesn’t matter?” She repeated, incredulity mixing with venom in her voice. “Oh, so you can dish it but you can’t take it? You can go around, accusing me of being unnatural, calling me out for ‘playing with magic’ but when it gets turned back around, suddenly it doesn’t matter?” She said, nodding. “Well, now, we’re talking about you. Who made you holier than thou? Who crowned you king of the forest? You don’t know anything about what I am, who I am, or what I’m capable of. Because, if you think that me coming out into the forest and setting fire in the middle of thunderstorms is a hobby, you don’t know me as well as you think. Fucking creepy forest stalker or not, you don’t know me.” She shot back.

Frustration was coming off Solomon in waves, brought to life by both his anger with the individual yelling at him, and his own personal battle of not knowing who—or what—he truly was. He always told himself it didn’t matter, but in situations like these, it certainly seemed to. She was right, he didn’t know anything about her, and he’d never allowed himself the patience to try and change that before judging someone. Perhaps… perhaps he ought to give it a try. New millennium, new Solomon, and all that. Waiting until she was done, his gaze averted for the first time since their heated exchange had begun, Solomon interjected with a wavering voice. “If I had a word for it, I’d tell you,” he muttered, the defeat in his tone barely masked by indignation. “All I do know is that I’ve been alive for almost a thousand years, and I’ve always felt compelled to protect my home and my innocent neighbors from people like you.” On the last, accusatory word, Solomon flicked his dark eyes back toward the woman, brow furrowed. “So tell me… why shouldn’t I see you as a threat to the forest? Why should I give you a pass, when I’ve cut others down for smaller offenses?”

“Sounds to me like you should figure your shit out before you go around throwing words like “unnatural” around.” Luce fired back, not giving up any ground in this verbal sparring match. She really didn’t give a fuck who-- or what-- this guy was. She was tired of being used as someone else’s punching bag. She was tired of being the who had to make amends, who had to apologize, who was wrong. “A thousand years? Well, it seems you’re hardly a judge of character if you’ve been around this fucking long and can’t tell the difference between a pyromaniac and someone who gives a shit about this place. Because, this is probably really fucking surprising to you, but I do. I actually do give a shit about this town and this forest and the people who live here. I know these woods, I know the forest, I know the animals who call it home. Maybe not the way you do, but I know them.” She held up her hands, an innocent gesture. “I owned my shit. You saw me plant those seeds, you said it yourself. I destroyed that part of the forest the night that--” She caught herself. This person, creature, whatever. He didn’t need to know why she’d burnt the forest down. Why it had been grief and fear and sorrow that had turned her flames blue, that kept her flames blue. “It happened. And that wasn’t right. So, I went back to make it better as well as I could.”

She was a persistent one, and Solomon could feel that it was wearing him down. This conversation was exhausting, and not doing much more than running in circles, so he caved. Deflating, the fae brought a hand to his forehead and let himself slump against the tree behind him. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered in annoyance, shaking his head. “While I can’t imagine that something would ever drive me to hurt this place like you did, I suppose I’ll have to just accept that fact and deal with it. Just… try to refrain from doing it again in the future, alright? It really does take a lot out of me, trying to fix messes like that.” Heaving a sigh, Solomon waved his free hand in the direction she’d been running when they first encountered one another without looking up at her. “Get out of here, go finish your run. You’ve given me a headache.”

“Yeah, you can’t. And, honestly? I hope you never do.” Luce said, remembering the grief that had overwhelmed her that night, when she’d thrown herself into the forest and done her best to run away from the reality of her situation. She’d started running that day and she’d never really stopped, not even now, when it was over. But, it wasn’t over, was it? Shaking her head, Luce focused her attention on the man who was waving her away. While she was glad that this guy was at least giving up with the whole “protector of the forest” act, she wasn’t a fan of the fact that he was telling her what she should do. Hands still up in the air, she flipped him off, the triangle tattoos on her knuckles a nice added touch of irony. “I’m not in the business of making promises to people. I do what I want. But,” She lowered her hands, and offered a single nod, “noted.” With that, Luce turned and continued on her run, not caring what he thought of their encounter. As far as she was concerned, all this meant was she’d discovered a new self-righteous neighbor.

#p: ai #p: solomon hawthorne #chatzy #wickedswriting #//does luce piss off a forest god? we just dont know

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potatocrab · 4 years

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (15/18)

Chapter 15: The Liar’s Kiss That Says I Love You

A return to New England Medical Center finds Madelyn struggling with who she can trust. She and Deacon have a long conversation about the power of truth and lies, and she learns one more of his closely guarded secrets. At a Railroad safehouse, the two reminisce on their first operation and realize they may have fallen into a cliché after all.

“Kiss me, Mike. I want you to kiss me. The liar’s kiss that says I love you and means something else.” - Lily Carver as played by Gaby Rodgers (Kiss Me Deadly, 1955)

x-x

This chapter contains mild/not-so-mild sexual content. Proceed at your own desire! When you see the French language being used, you have reached the point of no return!

Major thanks to @glowstickia for her help on the French resources. :)

[read on Ao3] | [chapter masterpost]

May 30th, 1958

Madelyn had hoped she wouldn’t have a reason to visit the New England Medical Center so soon, memories of Nick’s hospitalization and near-death experience at the hands of Eddie Winter fresh in her mind. Yet there she was, struggling to ignore the sympathetic glances from the familiar faces of doctors and nurses as they patched up her arm and provided her with a tetanus shot—undoubtedly more painful than her injury, at least without the surge of adrenaline to dull her senses. Who would have guessed that a needle could hurt worse than a bullet?

The same medical staff allowed her to stay with Drummer Boy in his assigned recovery room, despite the fact she was of no relation. It was likely out of pity for all they had seen her experience in recent months. Between everything that had happened to her and Nick when they went after Eddie Winter in April, Jenny’s death when the hospital was ambushed thereafter, and now an attempted assassination at her own apartment—Madelyn was starting to think her luck—if she had any to begin with—was running out.

By the grace of God—or maybe Drummer Boy’s perfect timing—she’d escaped relatively unharmed. He wasn’t so fortunate, but the commotion of the shooting hadn’t gone unnoticed in her Cambridge neighborhood. When the Boston Police arrived, she was initially surprised to see Sergeant Sullivan, but considering he was the last trustworthy cop left in the city, she was grateful for his presence. He ensured that she and Drummer Boy got to the New England Medical Center in a timely manner while his task force secured the area. Madelyn wasn’t completely comfortable with the idea of strange men lurking about her apartment, but she had little choice but to agree.

In the quiet of Drummer Boy’s room, she finally had a chance to process what had occurred and how close she had come to death—again. An unknown assailant dared to attack Madelyn in her own home, where she was most vulnerable. The list of suspects in her mind narrowed down to one as she thought about the agency’s infiltration of Fort Hagen, and the smuggled documents on Kellogg. While there hadn’t been any sightings of him since the late 40s, his vanishing act did little to ease anyone’s mind. The proof was in the casefile—Kellogg had a way of finding the people he deemed unfit for life. It made sense that he’d come for her, especially if he really was an agent of the Institute—they were likely to have their own list of reasons for wanting her dead.

An unsettling notion entered her mind as she thought about the man who had stalked her and Deacon before and again at the Cambridge campus on the day of the demonstration. What if it was him who had attempted to kill her, and not Kellogg as she assumed? What if it was a random android, set up in a building across the street, programmed to shoot into her apartment window at a specific time? Worse yet, what if the would-be assassin was just another one of the Institute’s experiments? Just another name, another face to get lost in the crowd—just as Piper feared. That meant nobody was beyond suspicion, not when it was still unknown just how long the Institute had been performing these so-called brain augmentations—if they were even behind the attack in the first place.

Madelyn clasped Drummer Boy’s hand tight as the paranoia and anxiety settled in. She couldn’t live like that—constantly looking over her shoulder—living in fear. She couldn’t go through life wondering who was or wasn’t worthy of her trust. Not when she’d finally gained back her sense of security—her sense of sanity—her sense of self. After Nate’s death, after Eddie Winter, after everything—the last thing she wanted was to fall back into the endless spiral of despair.

You can’t trust everyone.

The words echoed in her mind like so many times before, her chest tightening under the painful realization of how true they were. Madelyn closed her eyes the moment tears clouded her vision, clenching her jaw so tight she feared her teeth might chip. Anything to prevent herself from crying. It didn’t matter that she was (mostly) alone—she was so exhausted from so many nights of crying. Perhaps it was her concentration that made it difficult to hear the echoing footsteps in the hallway or the soft knock. It wasn’t until the door began to creak open that she reacted, recoiling in a way that she nearly fell out of her chair.

“Charmer?”

“Deacon?”

Madelyn breathed out his name, relieved it was him and not anyone else. While the doctors and nurses provided some comfort, it paled in comparison to the intimacy they shared. Still undefined, still unspoken—but undeniably close.

He hesitated, quietly closing the door behind him as he observed her, eyebrows raised high above the frame of his darkened shades. For as stoic and pensive as she’d seen him be in the past, especially when reacting to various tragedies and disastrous events, he appeared to be faltering now. It was always difficult to fully discern his emotions when half his face was obscured, but he looked curious, if not concerned. His silence indicated he was likely worried too, but Deacon would never say it outright.

Madelyn’s pulse gradually settled, but she had a difficult time fully relaxing under his watchful gaze. In that moment, with her willpower drained, she looked away. She focused on Drummer Boy’s steady breathing, brushing the pad of her thumb across his wrist and hospital band.

“Danny—Sullivan,” Deacon corrected himself, slowly moving to stand near the end of the hospital bed. “He tracked me and Valentine down, took us back to your apartment.”

“I know,” she responded, barely above a whisper. “I had him do so.”

“Ol’ Nick took a lot of convincing to stay behind,” he explained, setting down the canvas bag and glass Tupperware he carried on the small table. “But he didn’t want to leave those cops unsupervised. Even if they’re Sullivan’s men—”

You can’t trust everyone—he didn’t have to say it.

“It figures,” she sighed, closing her eyes again. “Probably looked like somebody died, huh?”

Deacon remained silent, though she could hear him, feel him, approaching. Soon enough, he was standing at her side, causing a tingle to run up her spine—an unexplainable feeling—but her skin suddenly ached for the simplest form of touch. As if he could read her mind (and she wouldn’t be surprised if he could), he rested his hand over hers and Drummer Boy’s. Madelyn immediately snapped open her eyes with a sharp inhale of air, momentarily stunned by the contact.

She needed more.

In an instant she was standing, clinging to him with her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as she pressed up on her toes, tired feet and aching shoulder be damned. Deacon was quick to return the embrace, holding her close as he kept his arms snug around her torso. Madelyn stayed there, face pressed against the soft wool of his coat—she wanted to tease him for wearing it so near to summer but now she was grateful for the comfort it provided. She didn’t cry, despite the fact that she wanted to, and probably needed to as well. Bristling with quiet desperation, the only thing Madelyn was sure of was that she didn’t want to be alone.

“I just—” she started after a long stretch of silence. “I’d like to go home.”

Deacon gradually pulled her away, easing her back so her heeled feet were level with the ground. He swept back a few errant curls behind her ear, fingers lingering along the curve of her cheek. At first, she thought he might kiss her, but he skewed his lips to the side instead. “No can do, Charmer.”

Madelyn sighed—she knew that, but it was worth a try. Her eyes danced over to the belongings on the table. Deacon sensed her curiosity.

“Codsworth insisted I bring you something to eat,” he explained, nodding his chin towards the glass container.

“Better left for Drummer Boy. I’m told hospital food tastes of despair,” she flashed a meek smile. “And the bag?”

“Some clothes for you,” he said. “Any chance to rifle through your naughty drawer.”

If it were anybody else, she wouldn’t have appreciated such an ill-timed joke. Deacon’s smirk relaxed into a gentler expression, his thumb tracing down the angle of her chin towards her mouth. “Let’s get you someplace safe.”

There was a hidden meaning to his words that had Madelyn equal parts excited and trembling with anxiety. He wanted her safe, but also alone—all to himself. They’d kissed, crossed that barrier two weeks prior. But whatever was to come next was to be determined, put on hold, as their focus quickly became centered on finding Kellogg and infiltrating the Institute. Romance could wait—or maybe it couldn’t.

What was she so afraid of?

Finally, she spoke. “Do you trust me?”

“You’ve asked that before,” he responded in a low, contemplative voice.

He was right—Madelyn had poised the question on more than one occasion. And the last time, just as before, he hadn’t given a straight answer. It was always easy enough for her to assume and take his presence for granted. But now more than ever, she needed honesty—if it was even possible. She wanted nothing more than to be engulfed in the flame they’d ignited, but she’d sooner snuff out the fire if he couldn’t give her this one answer.

“I know that lying is your profession. That you’d sooner court death than the truth,” she paused, reluctantly leaning away from his touch, noting the glimmer of disappointment in his features. “Against better judgement, I trust you.”

“But I need to know that you feel the same—that you trust me,” Madelyn expressed, doing her best not to sound like she was pleading. “Not just as your partner in the Railroad, but—”

She broke off, grasping his hand as part of her silent allusion. There was a subtlety to his reaction, but enough of one that told her he understood the inference. Deacon said nothing, eyebrows firmly creased together as he considered her words. The silence dragged on enough that she felt foolish for saying anything in the first place. She tried not to feel overly disappointed or react in a disproportionate way—the last thing Madelyn wanted was an argument.

“There’s an imbalance,” she mumbled, unsure of her train of thought. “You know so much about me, a fault of my own—Nick always said I wore my heart on my sleeve—” She was definitely rambling. Blame it on her grief—she couldn’t stop. “But you are and always have been an enigma, Deacon. Your face, your hair…hell, your real age,” her eyes darted over his face as her heart raced loud enough she could hear it echoing in her skull. “Your name.”

His reaction wasn’t subtle that time. Deacon pulled away, and Madelyn feared she’d crossed a line and offended him. But he didn’t storm out of the room—rather, he dug through his coat and jacket pockets, muttering something incoherent under his breath until he pulled free a leather billfold with a triumphant sort of grin. He placed it in her hands as if she’d asked for it.

“Go on,” he encouraged with a sideways smirk.

Madelyn didn’t move an inch, only taking a quick glance at the wallet before meeting his face again. “What—”

“You could’ve lifted that off of me at any time,” he interrupted, gesturing to the faded black material. “Looked at my ID and taken some money while you’re at it. All in a day’s work for a spy.”

She frowned—it seemed honesty for him was as bad as pulling teeth. Her legal studies were easier than this. Madelyn decided to call his bluff, turning over the billfold in her hand. “A spy like you would obviously carry more than one identification.”

“Obviously,” he agreed with a nod. “But one of them is bound to be legitimate. Even a no-good scoundrel like me needs a clean copy for official reasons—never know when you’re going to end up in a pickle or interrogated by some charming blonde.”

Madelyn, understandably, had doubts as her irritation lingered. Even if she wanted to take a look, could she really open what was akin to opening Pandora’s box? Did she really want to know? What if this was just another elaborate trick? Deacon titled his head just enough that she caught a glimpse of his eyes in the low light of the room. He was serious now, all trace of humor erased from his expression.

“I trust you.”

A shockwave rippled through her body causing a deep warmth to radiate in her chest. He might as well have told her—

Madelyn blinked hard, shaking the idea from her mind. One step at a time. Trust. He slowly circled around her to be closer to Drummer Boy’s bedside, and she turned to watch his movements, still hesitating to flip open the leather billfold. Deacon leaned over the hospital bed, as if to verify the agent wasn’t secretly awake and eavesdropping on their conversation. She sat back down in the nearby chair before giving into her curiosity.

She wasn’t sure what a typical man’s wallet was supposed to contain, but Deacon’s was full of various cards and trinkets—paper receipts and scribbled notes, raffle tickets of undetermined origin. Just as she predicted, and he admitted to, there were multiple state identification cards. Many were for Massachusetts, but there was one for Virginia, and one for Washington D.C.—unsurprisingly with the obviously fake name of George Washington.

Madelyn flicked through the paper cards, finding humor in some of the clever names and disguises—Horatio Williams from Worcester County, Simon Rock from Plymouth, Guy Granger from Richmond, and Harry Morgan from Nantucket. It wasn’t until she settled on a well-faded card that she gave pause. The Deacon in the black-and-white picture was recognizable, but only because she’d seen him without his usual pompadour wig and sunglasses. The full name wasn’t visible, worn from many years of handling but she saw enough of the bold lettering—Johnathan Daniel. She knew immediately it wasn’t a fake.

“Old testament,” she muttered, half-jokingly, under her breath. At least he hadn’t lied about his Catholic upbringing. Madelyn looked up to find him whispering—praying—as he gently held onto Drummer Boy’s arm, his other hand resting against the other man’s shoulder. The sight was unexpected, to say the least, and gave her insight that perhaps their relationship stretched beyond the Railroad too.

“Drummer Boy—Robby,” she corrected herself. “He wasn’t lying when he said John D formed the Railroad.”

Deacon shrugged, glancing at her over his shoulder, as if he expected her to say that. “He wasn’t,” he confirmed, plainly. He didn’t even ask when, or why Drummer Boy told her such information. “John D didn’t do it alone.”

“No,” Madelyn knew the history, thanks to the stories and a little digging of her own. “But Wyatt isn’t around anymore, now is he?”

“He isn’t.”

“And John D?” she asked tentatively.

Deacon grinned, if only for a fleeting moment. “He’s around.”

It was confirmation enough, and Madelyn decided not to pry for a straight answer—she’d gotten plenty from him already when he confirmed his trust. Now was not the time to cross boundaries, even as more unanswered questions rattled through her mind. With a deep and steadying breath, she allowed herself to become content with the knowledge that she was one of the lucky few—if not the only one—who knew this truth.

The silence was interrupted by a soft grumbling as Drummer Boy gradually regained consciousness. Madelyn abruptly stood, dropping Deacon’s wallet into the chair and rushing to the bedside to ensure he was okay. It took several moments for him to blink the exhaustion from his eyes, and he cleared his throat a few times before relaxing against the pillows again. The Railroad agent lazily glanced up at the two, flashing Madelyn a groggy smile. When Drummer Boy looked at Deacon, his face scrunched up, stuck between a frown and a glare.

“You still owe me,” he mumbled, causing Deacon to softly laugh. “Two dollars.”

The moon still hung high in the sky by the time Madelyn and Deacon left the New England Medical Center, though she wasn’t entirely sure of how much time had passed since she first left the agency, visited Nate’s grave, and returned to her apartment, only to be shot at by an unknown assailant—it had been a long day. All she knew was that her body ached, and that she was desperate for sleep.

After a short taxi ride into the Fens district, Deacon navigated the two through a nondescript area. She lacked the energy to comment on allowing handsome men to lead her into strange alleyways, but the amusement still brought a smile to her face. Outside an old, brick apartment building she noticed two Railroad insignias itched into the wall—one for safehouse, and another for ally.

“Mercer?” she assumed.

He nodded, escorting her inside the building. “Home sweet home.”

Unlike her Cambridge apartment, the elevators there were in working order. Madelyn couldn’t help but yawn as she leaned against Deacon’s shoulder, hoping the safehouse had an ample supply of pillows. He slowly guided her drowsy form down the hallway to the correct door, propping her under his arm as he fished through his pockets for his keys.

“Do you want me to carry you over the threshold?” he teased as soon as he pushed the door open.

Madelyn snickered, and snagged the bag of her belongings from his arm. “Haven’t you learned by now I’m a capable woman?”

He laughed, allowing her to enter ahead of him into the apartment. It was just about the same size as hers, with a mirrored layout and less furniture. Seeing as it was meant as a halfway-house for weary and temporary travelers, it made sense that it wouldn’t feel as lived in. There was a couch, a record player, and a small bookshelf with an assortment of books. The kitchen was modest as well—a small island bar with a few leftover coffee cups and newspapers, as well as a cardboard box from the nearby pizzeria.

Madelyn followed the pathway of the hallway to the bathroom, glancing over her shoulder to find Deacon loitering by the refrigerator. As soon as she was alone in the tiny, tiled room, she took several moments to examine herself in the mirror. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the last time she found herself covered in blood—a macabre thought—the hospital staff had done a decent job at cleaning washing away the evidence from her skin. But there she was with another ruined dress, stained and torn from where the bullet had grazed her shoulder.

She thought to check her wedding ring for streaks of red when she realized she wasn’t even wearing it. A flicker of guilt washed over her as she remembered she’d removed it before the undercover operation at Fort Hagen. Maybe she should be relieved it was still safe and sound at her apartment—not like Deacon would’ve snagged it off her jewelry stand. Madelyn decided to look through the bag to see what he did grab. There were two dresses and stockings that complimented her current pair of heels, and she was grateful that they were appropriate for the May weather. Tucked beneath that was one of her silk nightgowns and matching robes, along with some undergarments. Rather than feel embarrassed, she could only sigh, appreciative that she had something comfortable to change into.

She quickly kicked off her heels, leaving them at the foot of the sink as she removed the rest of her clothes. She draped her discarded dress and stockings over the shower curtain rod before slipping on the pale blue nightgown, securing the robe around her body with a tight knot. She wiggled her toes against the cool floor and sighed. With one last glance in the mirror to ensure she hadn’t missed an errant mark of blood, she flicked off the light and left the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Deacon was preparing two glasses of whiskey as he stood by the island bar, pausing in his actions to watch her slow approach. “Well now I feel overdressed.”

Ironic, considering she’d never seen him so relaxed. He had discarded his wool coat and suit jacket, left hanging over the back of the living couch. Even his shoes were missing, and a cursory scan of the room didn’t give her any indication of where he’d placed them. Madelyn could only mimic his expression.

“You’re the one who packed my bag,” she replied. “I sense sabotage is at play.”

Deacon mocked offense. “I’d never.”

“Before you take the bed and resign me to the couch,” he continued, gaining her attention. He gestured to the freshly poured drinks and the pizza box. “I made a promise to a very pushy Mister Handy unit that you’d be fed, and I’m one to keep promises. Even if they are to robots with British accents.”

Madelyn laughed, imaging Codsworth’s worrying pestering. When her stomach growled, she decided that as tired as she was, sleep could wait. Deacon pulled out the barstool for her so she could sit before occupying the set next to her, sliding her the glass tumbler of whiskey and cardboard box of leftovers. She’d had worse meals but in that moment, cold pizza and alcohol was like heaven. Still, she could sense Deacon watching her carefully from the corner of her eye, and she sighed into her glass.

“I don’t want to talk about what happened,” she explained, nervously meeting his shielded gaze. “Not now, not when I’ll just have to repeat it all over again when we meet with the others in the morning or—” she glanced to the clock hanging on the wall and groaned. “In a few hours.”

Deacon didn’t push. “Whatever you need, Charmer.”

“How does the line go?” he mused. “You know how to whistle…”

“I thought I was Bacall,” Madelyn joked mid-chew. “Mr. Bogart.”

She hadn’t forgotten that conversation from their first meeting, a flirtatious tease of falling in love like two Hollywood starlets in the latest noir film. Madelyn would’ve never guessed that all these months later, it had played out exactly as predicted. She smiled, and so did he.

“Looks like we fell into the cliché after all,” she whispered, eyes darting across his face, lingering on his mouth. “What do you think?”

Deacon finished off his whiskey with a slow sip before answering. “Tu as de beaux yeux tu sais.”

Madelyn was momentarily taken aback, suddenly wishing she’d taken French as a foreign language in school instead of Gaelic—all her Irish relatives were deceased anyways, what was the point? Was Deacon deflecting again? Something about his tone and the way he turned towards her said otherwise. He used his legs to scoot her barstool closer to him, the movement causing her to lean forward and brace her palms flat against his chest so she wouldn’t smash her forehead against his nose. His hands came to rest on her waist as he gradually eased her closer.

“Si je te disais que tu avais un beau corps, tu m’en tiendrais rigueur?”

A question whispered against the shell of her ear that sent her heart racing, mind going blank as she only thought about Deacon’s heated breath along the column of her throat. Madelyn allowed herself to edge nearer to his body still until she was practically straddling his thigh, teetering on the edge of her chair, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders.

He continued murmuring what she assumed were sweet-nothings against her skin—though they could be nonsense and she’d still be melting in his hands. “On devrait t'arrêter pour excès de beauté sur la voie publique.”

“Est-ce que tu fais partie du menu?”

What about a menu? She pondered if what he was telling her bordered on filth, but the idea only excited her. Madelyn sharply inhaled, angling her neck to give him greater access despite the fact his lips hadn’t made direct contact with her skin. When he finally reached her mouth, he paused, one hand reaching up to hold the side of her face steady.

“Dis moi ce que tu veux,” he said. After a beat, he repeated himself, this time so she could understand. “Tell me what you want.”

Madelyn didn’t hesitate to move her hands to his face, fingers wrapping around the metal frame of his glasses before gently removing them, setting them down on the kitchen counter. She held his face with her palms, taking a long moment to stare deep into his steely blue eyes. It had been more than a month since she’d seen them like this, and yet it felt like she was seeing them for the first time—brilliant, vibrant and beautiful.

“You,” she breathed the answer, the most honest she’d felt in years. “Deacon, I want you.”

There was a glimmer to his eyes she couldn’t place as he briefly smirked before wordlessly closing the distance between them with a slow, but needy kiss. It didn’t take long at all for it to grow heated, the hand on her waist silently encouraging her to scoot closer until she was fully seated across his lap, knees on either side of his thighs. Deacon balanced her against him as they hungrily kissed, a groan echoing in his throat as she frantically pushed the suspenders from his shoulders before moving her fingers to undo the buttons of his shirt. It seemed that now that the damn was broken, Madelyn couldn’t wait for the rush—patience be damned.

He matched her fervor, one hand darting to the silken knot at her waist and blinding tugging until he broke away from their kiss to glare down at the confusing tangle. With a curse he pulled open her robe and she shrugged it from her body, softly moaning as his lips instantly collided with the outline of her collarbone before the garment reached the floor. As Deacon kissed a trail along her skin, Madelyn threaded her hands through his hair, breathing a laugh when she remembered it was a wig. He didn’t seem to mind as she removed it—too preoccupied with leaving patterns on her neck—exposing the ginger locks she admired. Just as she returned to run her fingers through those soft waves, he leaned back out of reach. She didn’t have time to be confused as he hoisted her into his arms as he stood, holding her as if she weighed nothing.

Madelyn gasped and still clutched his arms in the fear that she’d be dropped. At first, she assumed he would carry her to the couch, or the bedroom, but he simply placed her on the island bar instead. With a sweep of his arm, he pushed away the clutter to make room for her body, thrilling her to the core. She watched as Deacon peeled off his dress shirt, moving her hands to his belt on the assumption—and perhaps eagerly—that they were to make love right there. He covered her hands with his own, stopping her with a soft chuckle, but it wasn’t meant to taunt her.

“Lie back,” he instructed, voice laced with desire.

Madelyn complied, swallowing down the last traces of anxiety as she eased back onto her elbows. She was so entranced by his actions that she almost forgot to breathe, eyes locked onto his face as his gaze raked over her body and the length of her legs. Deacon’s hands were soft as they traced up from her ankles to her calves and eventually to her thighs, gradually spreading apart her knees to make enough space for his body. Those striking eyes of his found hers as his hands trailed further, past the lace trim of her nightgown until heated fingers traced the outline of her underwear. Those same deft fingers pulled away the fabric just enough so he could touch, an agonizing drag along her already dampened folds. It was enough for Madelyn to completely collapse against the cold tile of the counter, tossing her head back as she moaned loudly. Just how touch starved had she been?

“Don’t close your eyes,” Deacon said, and she desperately fought to snap them open as he continued, and then stopped.

She whimpered, almost against her own volition. He was already gradually sliding her underwear down her legs until they slipped off and to the floor. Instead of his hands, it was his mouth that followed the trail up her legs, and Madelyn was sure her heart was going to burst right out her chest. It didn’t take a detective to know what he was planning, and the pure eroticism of it all—splayed out on a kitchen counter—made her skin prickle with arousal.

Deacon pushed up the silken fabric of her nightgown before hooking one knee around his shoulder, spreading her other thigh out so that his hand could easily trace along her skin. His fingers found her wet heat again, far from teasing as he probed her entrance, eliciting loader groans from her. Just as he found a steady rhythm, he replaced his hand with his mouth, and Madelyn could feel her stomach coiling at the sensation already. She was writhing, uncaring how unhinged she appeared, completely lost to the passion he was inflicting upon her. It was only fitting that the man who was so gifted at intrigue would be this talented with his mouth—Deacon was through, relentless.

Madelyn’s mind was a haze, and she couldn’t hear anything besides her own rapid pulse and intense breathing. No doubt she was chanting his name like a prayer, whispering quiet praises and pleadings that he wouldn’t stop because—oh God—she was so close, and—Jesus—she hadn’t felt so alive in years. There was more blasphemy and curses, and she was sure she was going to hell—maybe it was worth it—if this was what sin felt like.

When she came, it was blinding, and her entire body trembled uncontrollably as Deacon’s hands moved to cradle her, mouth unmoving from her core until she was spent. Madelyn still took several minutes to regain her bearings, staring up at the ceiling in delirious wonder.

“Deacon?” she titled her head to find him resting against the counter, arms draped across her body as his hands rubbed slowly up and down her sides. He glanced up at her with a lazy, self-satisfied sort of smile, and she decided he deserved it.

“I’m here,” he answered.

She softly laughed. “I’d like you to carry me now.”

Deacon was slow to move but eventually leaned back, grasping her hands to help her gradually sit up straight. He hooked one arm under her knees, the other around her torso and gave her a sideways glance so she’d hold onto his shoulder for balance. Madelyn again found herself amused at how easy he made it seem, pausing on his way out of the kitchen to turn off the front room lights. They made their way towards the bedroom in the darkness, though Deacon didn’t appear perturbed, as if he had every inch of the place memorized by touch.

Compared to the rest of the apartment, the bedroom filled more belongings and looked like it had a regular visitor. There were more books scattered there than in the front room, and several bags of clothes that had been diligently organized. Madelyn didn’t have to ask to know the regular tenant was Deacon. The shades of the window were open, allowing the light of the moon to cast a soft light of white into the room and across the unmade bed. He placed her there, and she stared up at him with curious eyes as he seemed to hesitate for the first time that evening as he slowly unbuckled his belt, sliding down his pants when there was enough slack.

“We can stop, if you want,” Deacon suggested. “The bed is yours. Couch is more comfortable than it looks.”

Madelyn was surprised, and while she appreciated the gesture, she’d expressed her desires. “No.”

“Thought you might say that,” he smirked. He removed his undershirt and tossed it to the floor before sitting on the edge of the mattress, reaching down to pluck the socks off his feet.

When he turned to her, Madelyn was struck by the man she saw in the glow of the moonlight, practically a stranger and yet somebody she trusted her entire life with. Against common sense she’d gone and fallen in love with a beautiful mystery of a man, and nothing thrilled her more. She sat up to meet his advances, kissing him desperately as he worked to lift her nightdress up and off her body.

Madelyn removed her own bra, uncaring if he could do it just as quickly. At this rate, she just wanted to be naked and beneath him as soon as possible. Deacon must’ve found the action amusing, softly laughing against her mouth as he broke away from their kiss to lift off from the bed to discard his briefs. She took the opportunity to lean back against the pillows, pushing back the sudden realization that she was about to have sex for the first time in years—the first time since—

No, she reminded herself, closing her eyes tight. There was no time for that kind of guilt, or for those kinds of memories to permeate this space. With a steadying breath, she blinked open her eyes to find Deacon perched over her, the warmth of his body causing her earlier excitement to spike anew. He lowered himself closer, and she let out a shudder at the feel of his hardened arousal at the junction of her thighs.

“Je t’adore,” he whispered against her ear.

Madelyn turned her head so that she could look at him, lock eyes—blue on blue. She wrapped one leg around his, silently encouraging him as she hooked her arms around his shoulders. “Deacon, please.”

That’s all it took for him to slowly sink into her, the air stolen from her lungs as he became fully seated within her. Deacon moved slow in those initial moments, almost agonizingly so, staying close to her body as he steadily rolled his hips against hers. It wasn’t until she let out a strangled moan and grasped the hair along his scalp that he dared to increase his speed, fully retreating with each thrust before pushing back in. There were more hushed, incoherent and foreign words exchanged, more silent prayers and whispered names against mouths between hungry kisses.

Eventually he leaned back onto his haunches and the angle created a delightful increase to her pleasure and judging by the way Deacon panted and struggled to keep his groans contained, he felt the same. Madelyn felt admired under his gaze, her skin aflame as his blown pupils darted across her naked flesh, fingers digging tightly into her hips as he gradually lost control of his thrusts. She’d been so caught up in her own past that she hardly considered—or remembered—that it had possibly been a long time for him as well.

“Come here,” she beckoned him back to her arms and he practically collapsed against her, their limbs tangling together as they lost themselves to each other.

It didn’t take more than one, two—three punctual thrusts for Madelyn to snap, crying out as she came with a trembling force. Deacon followed shortly thereafter, clinging tightly to her as he snapped his hips tightly to her with a guttural groan. The two stayed coiled together for the next several moments until the spasms passed, Deacon pulling away with a deep exhale as he withdrew to collapse at her side.

Neither said a word as they came down from their individual highs of ecstasy, the room slowly growing quiet as their breathing returned to normal. Madelyn was the first to roll onto her side to face him, and for all that they had shared in the past and just now, she felt strangely bashful. Deacon was already gazing at her with an expression she couldn’t place, the moonlight twinkling in his eyes. Still, the two remained quiet, only regarding each other with similar smiles. He silently urged her to snuggle close against his chest, wrapping their still warm bodies in a thin sheet.

Madelyn still wasn’t sure what the nature of their relationship was, but that was a conversation for another day. She wasn’t about to ruin the moment with a potentially tremulous conversation—not everything needed to be talked through, not everything needed an immediate answer. It was well enough to just be happy in the moment. And despite all the other worries in her life—God—was she happy. She could feel sleep finally calling her into the darkness.

Before she succumbed, she smiled, content to be wrapped up in his arms. “Goodnight, Deacon.”

She convinced herself she was dreaming when he responded minutes, or maybe hours later.

“Goodnight, Madelyn.”

#fallout 4 #noir au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #deacon #madelyn hardy #drummer boy #👀👀👀#the slow burn reaches it's burning point y'all #there's another monty python quote in here but it's a multilingual one jfc #escesive use of the french language

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the-fanciful-fangirl · 4 years

Text

In Which Qui-Gon Lives

So I saw this lovely piece of art by the super talented @suja-janee (like seriously check out her fanarts they’re great) and my muse kind of went way too far with trying to figure out a scenario where baby Rex would have been at the Jedi Temple with tiny Anakin and little Ahsoka. And poof I think I created a new AU verse.

This was also inspired by Dave Filoni’s recent Duel of the Fates discussion where he talked about Qui-Gon’s importance in the saga as a whole and how he was this tragic father figure to Anakin. So that’s in here too.

Without further ado:

Nine year-old Anakin Skywalker was dissimilar to a young Obi-Wan Kenobi in almost every way. Where Obi-Wan had been excited to attend medication classes and patiently practice his lightsaber katas, Anakin was a ball of eternal energy that rarely wanted to be still for anything.

When Master Qui-Gon Jinn, finally woke up after weeks of being unconscious from his near fatal duel on Naboo, he had not expected to return and find his shared quarters with Obi-Wan in such disarray. The couch in the sitting room had a haphazard sheet strewn across it and had clearly been slept on. A small pile of clothes sat under a low table in a poor attempt to hide them. Qui-Gon had been looking forward to checking in on his Pada- on Obi-Wan, who was a knight now. Stars above Qui-Gon felt old, and it wasn’t just from the presence of the cane the Healers had insisted he use for the time being. He felt considerably old when the main door to his apartments slid open and a wall of two-sided bickering pushed into the room.

“All Jedi have to meditate Anakin. It keeps us centered.”

“Well, I don’t like it, it’s-” The boy’s words stopped the moment he noticed Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan’s subsequent smile was tired at best despite the happiness Qui-Gon could feel bleeding across their still intact bond.

“Master, I didn’t know you were up and about.” Obi-Wan said, even as Qui-Gon noticed Anakin flinch at the word Master.

“Neither do the Head Healers, so we best keep the news to ourselves.” The look of relief that passed over Anakin’s face brought far more comfort to Qui-Gon’s soul than his time in the Halls of Healing, even though he’d spent three weeks of that time unconscious. The other weeks he’d spent arguing with the Healers and trying to wrap his mind around Obi-Wan not only being given the rank of Knight but being assigned Anakin as a Padawan as well. At first Qui-Gon had meant to protest, he’d even planned an imaginary argument to have with Yoda and Mace but then he’d actually reached out through the Force. And the Force was thrumming happily around the pair of boys (Obi-Wan might have been almost twenty-five standard but the term still felt right). Qui-Gon was never one to ignore the whims of the Force and he’d make no exceptions, especially where Anakin was concerned.

The boy might have by now looked like any other Initiate in the Temple but Qui-Gon could plainly sense that Obi-Wan was going to have his work cut out for him.

“Perhaps, Anakin we could mediate together this evening. Obi-Wan if you recall, you often mediated with Master Yoda when we first started together. Working together as a Master and a Padawn does not always mean you will learn the same way.”

Obi-Wan nodded in relief and Anakin’s face brightened.

---

“Qui-Gon?” Anakin’s voice outside his door was becoming something of a daily occurrence and the aging Jedi Master could only smile. It had been nearly six months since Anakin and Obi-Wan had moved into their own set of Master and Padawan apartments and had left Qui-Gon to feel lonely in his quieter quarters. A lively Padawan to brighten his spirits however, was not what awaited Qui-Gon when he padded the door release. It wasn’t that anything looked wrong with Anakin, it was that… well his presence in the Force was utterly a mess.

“You seem a little worse for wear young one.” Qui-Gon said. Anakin’s eyes fell to the floor.

“Sorry Mast-”

“Now what did I saw about that word?”

“That, I don’t have to use it when other people aren’t around.” Anakin said, a little happier.

“Yes.” Qui-Gon placed a broad hand on Anakin’s too skinny shoulder. “You are not like the other initiates or padawans Anakin.” The boy’s face fell and Qui-Gon shook his head. “I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“Well the other kids seem to think so.” Anakin said sheepishly, kicking the floor absently with his booted foot.

“The other younglings have lived their entire lives in this temple and have not and likely will never suffer the hardships you have already endured.” Qui-Gon placed a careful finger on Anakin’s chin and rised his head so thier eyes met. “We Jedi are not perfect beings, we make mistakes, our young and even some of our elders can be as judgemental as children.”

Anakin laughed a little at that.

“We use the word Master as a term of respect.” Qui-Gon said carefully. “It’s meant to mean teacher or respected one more than anything. But that word means something very different to you, and that is perfectly alright. It is alright to feel bothered.”

“But,” Anakin said, a flare of frustration overcoming his small form, “ Obi-Wan and all my teachers say I have to release my feelings. I don- I don’t know how to do that!” The boy was shaking now. “I feel angry about the word master, I feel frustrated at the other kids, I feel, I-”

“You feel everything.” Qui-Gon provided. Anakin took a deep breath and appeared on the verge of tears. Qui-Gon pulled him into an embrace and the boy clung to him desperately, tears finally flowing freely.

“The Force is a part of everything in the universe and your connection to it is strong, stronger than any Jedi I have every known.”

“That’s why you think I’m this Chosen One person?” Anakin said skeptically, pulling away slightly.

“It is. But that title doesn’t define you Annie. I think perhaps I was wrong to saddle you with it.” Anakin’s head turned a little at that and his nose scrunched up. “What?”

“I didn’t know grown ups could admit when they were wrong.”

Qui-Gon laughed heartily at that and Anakin smiled.

“Very few grown ups do Annie. Now, I think that I have taken us off track somewhat. I assume you came here with a question for me.”

“Oh, yeah. I um, needed to ask you about… dreams.” Anakin said, his timidityreturning.

“What sort of dreams?” Qui-Gon said.

“Well, I’ve always had them, sometimes, and I think sometimes my dreams happen. The night…” a sorrowful look fell voer the boy’s features, “the night before mom and I got sold I dreamed about it a bit, I saw pieces and then it happened. Is that a thing the Force does?”

It was not entirely unheard of for Jedi to dream of the future. Master Yoda himself could sometimes see visions that helped inform his decisions in leading the Order. It wasn’t Qui-Gon’s style, as a philosophical adherent to the concept of the Living Force, to dwell on the future but he felt a rightness in guiding Anakin’s steps.

“What dreams are you having now?” The Jedi Master asked tentatively.

“Well there’s this one about a girl and me, but I’m bigger. I think we were working together or something. I didn’t think about it much but then I saw her!”

“In the Temple?” Qui-Gon questioned.

“Yes!” Anakin said excitedly. “She’s a little Togruta girl in the creche. She smiled at me too when Obi-Wan was showing me around.”

“Then we should give you two a proper introduction, it’s never bad to have more friends here. Perhaps that will also help you understand these dreams better.” Qui-Gon said. Anakin’s face fell a little.

“Well, that’s not the only dream. That’s just the good one.”

“So there’s a bad one then?” Qui-Gon motioned for Anakin to continue when the boy hesitated.

The boy spoke slowly, “There’s this man, and I think he knows you, I think the Force is telling me that he knows you. But he’s not very nice, maybe he used to be if he knows you. And then I get this feeling that there are all these kids, who feel like my friends, who are in danger. And there’s a lot of them and I think they’re.. that someone owns them like I was. I think we need to help them or else something bad is going to happen.”

---

“Clones?” It had been a long time since Qui-Gon had experienced the pleasure of hearing Mace Windu sound so shocked. He sensed Obi-Wan’s own attempts to hide a smile creeping into his features. It was late in the evening, especially for a meeting of the whole High Council and it seemed that Mace was not the only Master who was a little taken aback. The entire council seemed to bristle after hearing Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s report of their most recent mission. Not that Qui-Gon was surprised, it certainly was an insane story and if he had not seen his findings with his own eyes, he might not have believed it either.

“I simply cannot understand why Master Sifo-Dias would have been involved in something like this before he died.” Master Mundi said in his clipped Coruscanti accent.

“Strange it is that go so far as to order the creation of an army Sifo-Dias would. Plagued though he was by his so-called visions of the future.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Anakin’s cry of frustration brought all eyes on the chamber to bear and the boy shrunk back towards his masters. It had been his first official mision with Obi-Wan as Master and Padawan and it had all been carried out because of his dreams. He felt quite a bit of ownership over the whole affair. The boy, perhaps emboldened by a very subtle mental encouragement from Qui-Gon, stepped forward.

“We should be more concerned about the all the kids! That army is a bunch of babies that they’re gonna force to become soldiers!”

“Knight Kenobi, perhaps you and your padawan need to have a conversation about respect in these chambers.” This time, Qui-Gon was unable to stop his head from shaking disapprovingly. However, Obi-Wan seemed unmoved.

“But Anakin is right Master Windu. These clones have been bred for combat. The Kaminoians weren’t shy about their process of genetic modifications. These children have been forced to grow at an accellerated rate much father than normal humans and have been-” Obi-Wan had to keep himself from shuddering at the word, “manufactured to be docile and loyal only to the Republic.”

“Yeah, they can’t make any choices.” Anakin added, folding his arms over his chest. “How is that fair?”

The Council was silent for a long moment and all eyes eventually settled on Grandmaster Yoda who thoughtfully rubbed the top of his walking stick.

“Up to the Senate, the clone’s fate may be. Ordered for them they were. Master Qui-Gon, Knight Kenobi, advocate for a just fate for them you shall.”

----

As it turned out, the Senate was soon preoccupied with multiple attacks across the Core and Mid-Rim Worlds from an unknown source. Though Qui-Gon Jinn suspected the Sith master of the Zabrak who had nearly run him through might have been involved. Exiting a session of the Senate alongside Obi-Wan and Anakin, who had insisted to tag along, Qui-Gon had to marvel at the young man’s spirit.

“I can’t believe they voted to keep the army! Those clones are kids and they want to use them as soldiers and they don’t even get a say.”

“The Senate is worried about safety after all these attacks. Sometimes being a Jedi is frustrating Anakin,” Obi-Wan explained. “We serve the Senate and democracy, but that doesn’t mean we always get our way.”

“Obi-Wan is right young one, we should be thankful that the Senate is allowing some of the clones to grow up on Coruscant,” said Qui-Gon. Anakin still looked displeased.

“But they’re only doing that so they can study them. It’s weird and I feel like I’m supposed to help them.” The boy was stubborn, Qui-Gon had to give him that. The trio made their way through the massive Senate building, passing beings of all kinds. The Jedi continued to head towards the exit until they heard a voice call out Master Jinn’s name.

“Chancellor Palpatine,” Qui-Gon said in greeting. The three Jedi bowed as the man walked over.

“It is good to see you up and about Master Jinn.” Palpatine said cheerfully. “Knight Kenobi and young Skywalker, a pleasure as always. “I assume the Senate’s decision was not quite what the Jedi had in mind when they brought this matter to our attention.”

“We are servants of the Republic, Chancellor.” Obi-Wan said.

“Of course.” Palpatine agreed. He turned to face Anakin directly. “I hope you are adjusting to our lovely planet young one. My home planet owes a great debt to your heroics.”

“Th-thank you Chancellor Sir. I like it here.”

“Good, good. Well you are always welcome to visit when your studies allow. Master Jinn, I thought I would discuss your request in person, if you have a moment.”

“Request?” Obi-Wan questioned.

“Yes,” the Chancellor said in a way that seemed to Anakin far less than enthused. “Master Jinn has requested than some of the young clones that come to Coruscant live at the Jedi Temple.”

“Really, Master?” Anakin asked, his eyes practically bulging out of his head.

“Yes, I did. The army may have been commissioned for the Republic but it was Jedi Master Sifo-Dias who made the order. The Council members, and I as well, think having a few under Jedi observation may be helpful in their development. I do hope your office has considered our request Chancellor.”

“That’s so wizard!” Anakin said out of turn, earning him a nudge from Obi-Wan. “Um, I mean, that’s great. Chancellor?”

“Well, I think I agree with Master Jinn’s logic. Moving forward it would be a fine idea to have a contingent of these troops integrated so closely with the Jedi at the Temple .”

Anakin could barely hold himself back from cheering in excitement.

-----

Obi-Wan Kenobi had always known his Master was considered something of a maverick Jedi. In his early years as a Padawan, his Qui-Gon’s way of doing things had always seemed strange to him. The young man had always tried to be a model Jedi, follow the rules and such. He’d spend many of his years as initiate learning directly from Master Yoda himself. But then Qui-Gon had come along and messed all of that order and protocol up.

So Obi-Wan was unsurprised when his Master offered to spend much of his time in the creche caring for the clone children who come to live in the Temple. He practically became a creche Master in all but name, doting on both clone and Jedi younglings alike in a way that felt far too familial for Obi-Wan’s tastes. There were even children who started secretly calling Master Jinn ‘grandfather’ in their various native tongues. And of course Qui-Gon’s presence, as well as that of a particular Torgruta youngling, meant Anakin was almost always somewhere about the creche when he wasn’t in his training classes. It also meant that Obi-Wan spent a similar amount of time searching said creche for his errant Padawan. After a while and a great deal of incidents, Obi-Wan started telling himself to prepare for anything when he got near the creche.

“Forward younglings!”

“Annie, I don’t think he can walk yet!!” Anakin stopped marginally and turned to face little Ahsoka who was being pulled haphazardly between holding Anakin’s hand and keeping a grip on the ankle of one of the clone younglings. The little blonde looked no worse for wear, save a mildly surprised stare on his face.

“Whoops, sorry Snips.” Anakin moved to pick up the clone and carefully cradle him in one arm before reaching back out for Ahsoka.

“Why do you call me that?” Ahsoka asked, planting her hands on her hips.

“Cause you’re snippy.” Anakin said smiling.

“I don’t know what that means Skyguy.”

It’s then that Obi-Wan decided to interject in the little scene.

“Anakin, you were supposed to meet me for lightsaber training after you left your civics class.” Obi-Wan admonished. The boy’s face sank a little.

“Sorry Master.” His dolorous expressed didn’t last long, however. “It’s just that Ahsoka wanted to come watch us, so I had to come get her. But she said we had to bring Rex.”

“Mhmm.” Ahsoka said with an assured smile.

“Rex?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin held up the clone youngling and the baby looked owlishly up at the young knight.

“I had another dream with Soka in it and Rex was there too.” Anakin explained.

“But he was bigger ‘en me.” Ahsoka added.

“Yeah, cause the clones grow double. But he was in my dream so he has to be our friend when we’re all older. Might as well start being friends now.” Anakin explained. Ahsoka nodded definitively, in the way that only a four year old can. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Do you have permission to leave the creche little one?” He asked of Ahsoka.

“Mister Jinn says I can always leave if Annie takes me.” Ahsoka explained. Obi-Wan mentally wondered if he should keep a tally of how many times he sighed in one day.

“Come on then… all of you.”

The sight of the four of them all together brought a smile to Qui-Gon’s face. He turned when he felt a small tug on his robes.

“Youngling Dume.” Qui-Gon said warmly.

“Master, why are you hiding in the dororway?” Qui-Gon laughed warmly and reached down to pick the boy up.

“Because, young one, it is far more entertaining this way.”

---

Thanks for reading! I really had fun with this one and also tons of love to @suja-janee for making the art that inspired this.

Send me a prompt for something in this new budding universe and I’ll gladly continue the story. I may end up housing this on my Ao3.

Also, I love reviews and comments!

#suja-janee #fanfic #fanart #star wars #the clone wars #qui-gon jinn #Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #Obi-Wan Kenobi #the qui-gon lives au #sheev palpatine #yoda #mace windu #au #captain rex #my fics

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