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mementomori-demimonde · 3 years

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Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV

Chapter 5

You blink rapidly at the string of codes you’re trying to memorize from the book. It’s been over four hours now and nothing makes sense anymore. For as much as you loathe to admit it, the days where she decides that physical training is needed are much more entertaining than the ones in which she places a volume in your lap and tells you to study and train your brain, instead.

Today has been one of those days and you’re almost bored out of your mind.

So when you hear footsteps approaching, you already know what that means - the digital clock above the shelf only confirms your supposition - and a sense of relief starts to spread through your tired body.

��Enough.” Miranda whispers.

You manage to not expose your eagerness by pretending you’re just obeying her order, and you gladly close the book producing a loud, and utterly satisfying thump.

When you look up, she offers you the usual evening drink. You know you can’t refuse it, so to obediently take it from her hand and gulp it down in one go.

Immediately, the liquor burns your throat and your tongue goes numb for a second while the dizziness settles in your head.

You close your eyes, barely registering Miranda snatching the empty glass from your hand to put it on the coffee table, and you begin to rub at your temples slowly - you’ve noticed it helps with the throbbing a couple of mysterious mixes ago, and there’s no harm in trying.

Leaning on the couch, you throw your head back and rest it on the cushion, hypnotized by the dozens of dancing colorful dots swirling behind your eyelids.

You still when you feel the book being pushed off from your lap, and its almost inconsistent weight being replaced by a much more significant one.

When you trust your head to have stopped spinning and you deem the nausea almost extinguished - or at least unable to cause any damage - you dare to peer down. Two bright, predator blue eyes are peering up from your lap, bare teeth flashing at you with a playful yet dangerous smirk.

You would smile at her for the intimacy of the situation, you would even dare to touch her hair and marvel at the apparent calmness of her, right now, but you know better to do either of those things: Miranda is like a cat. She might look like she’s demanding pets and cuddles one minute - simply because she feels like it - only to slash at your flesh with rogue claws and sharp teeth the next - simply for the sake of it - and quite literally too.

Exhaling heavily from your nostrils, you loll your head back and let your eyelids flutter close again, throwing your arm over your face and hiding in the inside of your bent elbow.

“Miranda, what are we doing?” You didn’t mean to sound so whining, but you did. Knowing how she usually reacts to it, you’re painfully aware you’ve probably made her mad already, so you don’t dare to move your arm and see the expression on her face.

“About what?” She inquires, her voice emotionless.

“I don’t know.” You scoff. “About this, perhaps.” Blindly, you reach down your thigh and retrieve your knife. It’s yours by now and fits perfectly in your hand, it’s been a while since you’ve learned to spin it around your fingers, its weight perfectly balanced with each move.

“You’re pretty in it.” Miranda purrs, echoing herself from the first time she ever put it on you. “Why shouldn’t a girl own a knife and know how to use it?” She snatches it from your hand, but you don’t dare to look, so you don’t know what she’s done with it.

“About this, then.” You sigh, nudging at the book on the carpet with your toes, making it slide across the bristle, the soft rustle invading the silence.

“A trained mind is even prettier on a girl.” Miranda replies, pushing the nape of her neck on your crotch when she readjusts to lay more comfortably.

When you feel her exhale, you imagine she’s closed her eyes. Swallowing, you tentatively unpeel the arm from your face and look down - you were right: her eyes are closed. She almost looks peaceful, relaxed. It’s so wild to know it’s the same wild beast who beat you up several times, slashed your shoulder with her initial, and yet…

“Well?” Miranda cracks an eye open, exhales annoyedly from her nose, “Do go on with your little list, I'm having fun.”

You barely resist the urge of rolling your eyes.

“What about this?” You exhale finally, gesturing your own head with a circular motion of your forefinger, tracing an imaginary aureole, and just to be sure she’s understood, your eyes drift and fix on the empty glass on the table.

“You’ll thank me one day.” She says, shrugging, then closes her eyes again, releasing a long breath, and folds her hand over her stomach.

The shirt she’s wearing has slightly risen up and the small scar on the otherwise flawless, flat expanse of her abdomen is plainly visible. Despite it being your first time stitching up somebody, you congratulate yourself for the work and like a river in full, memories flood in your head - the first time you felt her closer, vulnerable, exposed… reachable even; the first time you believed there was more of her under the thick layer of gratuitous sadism. It was from that moment she has shown that, in fact, there was. Sometimes she showed more, some others she revealed less - there were days where you thought you’d breached through her only to find her so distant, the next, that she was almost unrecognizable. One step closer, a thousand back. A constant chase and you never felt out of breath, not even once. Disappointed, maybe, but never tired.

In fact, there’s another point on your list, perhaps the most important one, but you cannot bring yourself to voice it: gesturing at the both of you would open a discussion you don’t want to make - one that you’re not yet ready to make - because you fear what the outcome might be. But you would, if only you owned more courage, you would look down at Miranda while she’s still resting her head in your lap without a care in the world, you would point out how easy and relaxing this feels even though you don’t have the faintest idea of what, exactly, this is. Asking directly would probably earn you some rough punishment you’re not in the mood to endure, so you opt for something in general, well knowing the actual implication about the two of you won’t be caught or simply glossed over.

“I’m doing all this for a reason, I’d like to know what it is.”

“To please me?” She’s all cheeks while she says that. The dimple next to the corner of her mouth making her appearance and tugging, unconsciously, at something within you - something warm and foreign that, you know, you shouldn’t feel right now.

It’s the last thing you would like to do, letting her get away with that reply, but you can’t help yourself, nor the throaty giggle that escapes your lips.

“Miranda.” It should be a warning, but it serves little to its purpose. You gulp down and find your seriousness back, hoping that you haven’t ruined the tense mood and jeopardize the only, thin chance you had. “Miranda, tell me.”

There’s a slight shift in her demeanor, but after observing her so closely for so much, you notice it right away: the folded arms on her stomach are not just laying there anymore, the muscles are twitching under her freckled skin.

“It doesn’t matter.” She snarls, and you can see her struggling to hide the bite from her words. “What matters is that you need to be ready.” She states.

“Ready for what?” You ask then, your prolonged sigh exasperated.

“Stop.” She replies calmly, but the vibrating danger lies beneath. “The world I live in is dangerous, and knowledge is a double-edged sword.”

“How is that relevant?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest, keeping your elbows high enough not to hit her square in the face. “You never even let me out of this place.”

“And I won’t. You are safer here.”

Now you can see her jaw tightening too. The feeble twitching of her cheeks and the subtle movements along her neck tells you she’s struggling even harder to keep her anger at bay - you’re vexing her, you’re getting on her nerves, but you can’t back away, not now, not anymore: she would deem you weak and punish you anyway but knowing you’ve disappointed her would burn more than anything else.

“Then what? What should I be ready for?” Your voice is controlled, soft, letting her know your curiosity is barely fueled by the need to actually know what’s behind all this. To know everything - given she will tell you everything, one day - you’ve got time. A lot too, according to her plan to never let you out of that damn apartment.

“I said safer, not safe, m’eudail.” Miranda exhales a long sigh from her nostrils.

She’s so close to the breaching point you’re even afraid to swallow too loudly by now. You should be glad she worries about your safety, but you know better than to bask in that thought. And the fact that she’s toying so deliberately with you makes your blood boil: she might not know about the things going through your mind, as of late, but she can’t have just lost her ability to read you so easily and so suddenly - she chooses those words like she cares while you know very well she doesn’t.

That’s too much. You don’t mind about crossing the border anymore; whatever punishment she thinks is fit, it doesn’t matter.

“So kind of you to teach me things for imaginary enemies or whatever that will never have the chance to hurt me.”

Her eyes snap open, black pupils thinning in a fraction of seconds into an expanding ocean of bright blue. She’s not looking directly at you, but you feel small and screwed nonetheless - her glare very well burnt into your mind to pop up at every right occasion.

If you weren’t already sitting down, you’re sure your knees would buckle.

“I’m trying to teach you this so my enemies or whatever don’t get too close to you.” She says, her voice surprisingly flat. If you didn’t know any better - or fear the reaction upon inquiring - you’d say she’s just parroting a premeditated response. Something she practiced over and over until she’s started to believe those words were true even if they hadn’t started as such.

Still, you need to work with what you have. You know she’s not always sincere - she hardly ever is - but you have no other choice than to believe her.

Hence, Miranda is not exactly worried about you getting hurt, but getting caught by whatever danger lurks outside that building. Honestly, it’s insulting, after what she forced you to endure from the moment she kidnapped you.

“You think I’d sell you out?” You wince in disgust, turning your head away even if you don’t care to be seen. “You know I would never-”

Miranda lifts up from your lap. She’s quick, doesn’t use her hand to hoist herself: before you can register her movement, she’s gone, sitting neatly beside you, her arms still folded over her chest. The similar position makes you drop yours immediately, your teeth grazing at your lip.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She nods, you can see it with the corner of your eye: she nods softly, her head low, her gaze fixed on her feet. “Not at first, at least, not before one of those heroic, classic speeches that go like ‘I’d rather die than speak’,” she says, mocking a random high-pitched voice, “but then, in the end, with the people I know-” She scoffs, the ghost of a bittersweet smile blooming on her mouth, “Death will be the only thing you’ll wish for.”

You watch her, trying to decide whether she’s completely sincere now or it’s just another of those rehearsed phrases she intends to feed you. There’s a part of you that wants so desperately to believe her, but the other just can’t envisage an actual criminal organization wanting to get to you, torture you only to get information about... you don't fucking know about what, like in the movies. It’s just too wild. Miranda’s universe is fucked up, you’re there by chance and you decided to stay because… whatever the reason, you refuse to be part of that grander design.

It has nothing to do with you.

You agreed to stay with her, not that world of hers that would hardly ever reach you, confined in that New York building, far from any human contact.

“Are you trying to scare me?”

The harsh noise of her hand colliding with the sofa into a resonant slap makes you jerk. Your heart shoots in your throat, pounding loudly in your temples.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Miranda is looking directly at you, her eyes flaming in blue tongues of fire and you can’t do anything but stare back, your breath catching and feeling all the blood drain from your veins. “This is not a fucking game!” She glares, points blindly at the window. “It is really that awful out there!”

Unconsciously, you notice you’ve pulled your knees against your chest, curling up into a ball on the couch. Miranda notices as well, you don’t know why she sighs, but she does, the anger slowly but steadily leaving her eyes.

“Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” You mumble, at least grateful she has decided not to leash out on you - not yet.

Maybe those anger management tapes she listens to in her room at night are giving some results. She doesn’t know you know, of course, and imagine she’d be embarrassed, so you keep the secret.

“Like it or not, you chose to enter my world the day you decided to stay.” She says, voice incredibly flat.

“I get it.” You assure, slightly annoyed. How can you ever forget that when she keeps reminding you? Sometimes you feel like she’s trying to make you regret your choice of staying. “But let’s assume your enemies were to catch me,” you’re barely aware of the dramatic eye roll, but the fact that she’s not clawing at your throat yet, encourages you to keep going, “they will probably think I know something and torture me or whatever shit you’re afraid they’ll do to me anyway, so you might as well just tell me what we’re doing. Right?” You’re not exactly sure when you’ve started rambling, but when you realize that perhaps that stream of thoughts hardly makes sense to someone outside your head, you sigh and worry at your lip.

Slowly, you turn your head to the side, wincing innocently when Miranda glares at you with narrowed eyes.

“Nice try.” She replies dryly, then a throaty, disbelieved chuckle erupts from her lips.

It’s kinda nice to know that she still finds you amusing, sometimes, after getting so much on her nerves. A couple of months ago, she would have you killed for much less.

Without much warning, you see her hand flaring up in a calculated move. You think she’ll deliver something harsh - a slap, a grip on your neck, a fistful of hair - instead she loops her fingers in the collar of your shirt and pulls you in for a kiss. Startled and taken aback, you return it without closing your eyes, brow furrowing at the unexpected softness of the contact. Because it’s always about her, you yelp when she bites into your bottom lip, making you taste copper on your tongue, but that doesn’t surprise you.

She wipes at the small drop of blood on her own mouth with the back of her hand and clicks her tongue, crocking her lips into an amused and yet dangerous smirk.

“One of these days I need to teach you to do what you’re told without making annoying questions.” She whispers. There are a lot of implications in that statement and you feel a shiver run up your spine. “Off to bed.”

When she slaps your exposed thigh, the stinging sensation crawling and spreading onto your skin brings you suddenly to yourself again. You’re alert, but you’re back to be puzzled and irritated. You lower your feet to the carpet, yet you don’t make any effort to stand up and leave.

Instead, you take in a shaky breath, her taste still lingers in your mouth, and you unfold and fold your arms on your chest, squirm lightly on the padded seat. You should leave, obey - you don’t want to.

“Well?” She inquires curiosity, cocking an eyebrow.

She’s calm now, she’s just kissed you, slapped you playfully - although a little harshly - on your thigh… you can try again. You can dare.

“Come with me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You didn’t like to sound so needy or clingy, but it’s too late now: your voice has betrayed you.

Miranda blinks and, in her heartbeat, her eyes have changed their light: one glimpse at her face, and you know her mood has shifted again.

“Stop asking.” She exhales, falling into the seatback, shoulders slouching.

“Miranda you just can’t keep doing this.” It’s your turn to slap your hand flat on the couch. You didn’t mean to snap, but it’s too late for that too.

“Careful kitten, I'd suggest withdrawing your claws.”

“I-” Your breath hitches when you watch her scoot closer.

There’s still a gap between the two of you, but she’s there, ready to jump - she is the cat, the feral one, done with the cuddles and yearning for blood. You know she’s going to, so - fuck it - better to just pull it out and get over with it. “It’s just that- you’re close, then you’re distant, you’re kind and nice one moment and a real bitch the next. It’s confusing.”

You try to suffocate the yelp when her hand comes to fist at your hair, but it’s too sudden. Instinctively, you reach up and grab at her wrist to lessen her pull, but you’re helpless and soon you find yourself following her, stumbling on the furniture and on your own feet as she hoists you up effortlessly and drags you into the other side of the apartment.

“I’ll make it simple for you simple, then.” She snarls sharply behind clenched teeth. “Let me remind you that the sole fact that you’re still alive and breathing is a miracle.”

You know better than to ask for mercy: you called this upon yourself, you had it coming, so begging and pleading won’t serve you much. You clench your jaw and hope for the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes to not fall down so soon; however, when the iron door of your old cell comes to sight, it’s impossible to stop their advance.

She’s flushed behind you, her chest pressed on your back. The hand that fists your hair yanks your head backward until her lips are ghosting over your cheek, the other arm wrapped around your waist keeping you still. You can only stare at the vault in front of you.

“You want to go back in there?” She asks, her voice saccharine and warm against your skin.

“No.” You whimper.

“No.” She mocks.

Smacking a kiss on the apple of your cheeks, she’s back at tugging. She pulls you up to the door of the apartment, its white surface a few inches from your nose while she takes her previous position.

“You want to leave and never come back?”

“No.”

“No.” She echoes. This time, she kisses you properly, then bites until you yelp and try to squirm away.

When she pushes you into your room, you almost fall onto your knees, but luckily you manage to stay upright. You turn abruptly on your heels, you stare at her, swallow when she lifts her forefinger, and point it at you.

Her gaze is firm, owning you completely.

“Listen to my advice, m’eudail: take what you can and live with it. I learned it a long ago, it’s time you learn it too.”

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #ao3 #fanfiction #reader insert #hidden scars #four lines

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Young Blood IV -(PB/WITS Crossover)

A/N: Highly tempted to just drop both of our series and continue this one forever -Val & Danny

Words: 3,759

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Final Chapter

July 1995

“...I always knew Diggory would win, he was always getting the highest marks, can’t say he didn’t deserve it,” Percy finished, sitting down on the couch that was facing his parents.

The whole group of adults were there, once again celebrating their firstborns’ birthdays.

“Good for him,” Sirius waved a hand as if trying to scare an annoying fly. “What I really want to know is who this mystery guy you went to the Yule ball is, is he attractive?”

Percy smirked, he shrugged a little. “Yeah, I guess he was.”

“He’s Erick’s cousin,” Mel continued, she was absently playing with her cat while Harry was looking at them from his place on the floor with a sweet expression.

“Erick Flint?” Sirius raised a brow, his smile grew. “That’s my boy! So? When are we going to meet him?”

“Why didn’t you invite Erick to stay this time, Mel?” Her mother questioned. “I thought he would like to come...”

“Oh, he decided to go camping with his girlfriend.”

“What?” Remus frowned. “He was a girlfriend?”

“They started dating last week,” Mel smiled. “She’s a muggle, really nice girl…”

“I thought he had a crush on you?” Sirius raised a brow.

“No he doesn’t,” Harry replied with a huge satisfied grin. “They’re just friends.”They’re just friends.”

“Er…” Percy intervened, deciding to save Mel from the awkward questioning. “Erick’s cousin and I… I’m not — it was just for the night, dad, we’re not dating.”

“Oh,” Sirius blinked, quickly forgetting all about Mel. “Yeah okay, you’re a Black, that was expected.”

His son frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t fool around with people!”

“It’s in your veins, though,” Sirius taunted.

“Stop trying to corrupt our child!” Persephone pinched his forearm. “He’s not like you.”

“I was just — wait, what did you say?” The man pouted.

“Anyway,” Percy rolled his eyes, “my date wasn’t nowhere near the craziest thing that happened at the ball…”

His little grin reappeared as he turned to look at his two best friends. The effect was immediate, Harry’s head snapped upwards and his eyes widened, Mel dropped the ribbon she’d been twirling around and stared at Percy like a scared cat.

“Really?” Emily, who was sitting next to her daughter, smiled. “What happened?”

“Yeah, what happened?” Remus looked up from the prophet he’d been reading, “I was there and I don’t remember anything crazy happening?”

Mel and Harry weren’t dating yet, after the ball she had decided that Harry needed some time to get his shit together. He had to prove to her that he would not go back to being a prat. The condition was this: Finish their fourth year without any detentions and then it was a deal.

He’d succeeded (sort of, he’d gotten two detentions only, which was honestly an achievement), but since Matthew was still pretty hostile towards Harry whenever he did anything remotely flirty towards her, Mel was waiting for the start of the next year to actually date him.

Percy tried to stretch the time as much as he could just to see his friends suffer, when he decided it was enough, he looked back at the adults and continued innocently.

“Someone vomited at the foot of the staircase, no one knows how did they spike the drinks but I believe Snape took care of it, maybe that’s why you didn’t hear, uncle Moony.”

“Talking about school,” Mel was quick to intervene, sending Percy a glare. “We’re starting our O.W.L.s this year. Are they really that difficult?”

Harry groaned, falling back on the carpet. Mel’s cat immediately curled on his chest.

“C’mon, Mel, we just got out of school! Why are you thinking about that already?”

“No, she’s right,” Remus admitted. “You should start to prepare for it, at least mentally, the grades you get after this will decide what kind of jobs you can aspire to have in the future.”

“Have you kids thought about that?” Persephone asked them.

“I’d love to be a Magizoologist like my mum,” Mel smiled. “Or an Unspeakable like dad, but that’s too much work and I don’t know if I’d be able to handle it.”

“Oh, please,” Percy rolled his eyes. “You and Hermione are the top students of our year, shut up already.”

Mel stuck out her tongue, but she smiled afterwards.

“What about you, kid?” Emily nudged Harry’s leg, he sat up, much to Grey’s annoyance who jumped away from him with a short hiss.

“Dunno, maybe I’ll be a stay-at-home parent like my dad,” He smirked.

“Well, do you have the money to be it?” Mel raised a brow. “Because your father’s rich, but you’re not.”

Harry frowned, behind him the group of adults tried their best not to laugh.

“Well okay then, I don’t know, maybe a Quidditch player, or a curse-breaker like Ron’s brother,” He shrugged. “Something cool.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Percy said thoughtfully. “I just know that I’d love to live like my uncle Regulus.”

“Did someone say my name?”

The dark-haired man entered the room, behind him Lily, James, Jenna and Matthew followed. By the sound of screams in the kitchen, the rest of the children had also returned to the house.

“I did,” Percy smiled. “I was saying that I’d like to have your work.”

Sirius, who had fallen into a silent contemplation when his son spoke, suddenly realized something.

“Hey, Reggie, what do you do?”

“What do you mean?” Regulus asked politely.

“Your work. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talking about it.”

Regulus smiled, a hint of mystery adorning the gesture.

“Oh,” He took a short breath and tilted his head thoughtfully, “you know, some of this, some of that…”

He turned around and went back into the kitchen, Sirius looked slightly alarmed.

“He didn’t answer my question,” He stared at his wife. “Please tell me you know what his work is?”

“Huh,” Persephone tilted her head, “I don’t know... He’s probably just messing with you, you know how he is, I’ll ask him later.”

Sirius nodded, but he didn’t stop staring at his brother for the rest of the day.

The older kids continued to talk about the different professions they could study, Persephone then got a brilliant idea, and she shared it with the rest.

“Hey, Tonks just joined our line of Aurors a week ago,” She mentioned. “I could tell her to come for your birthday and talk to you about all the stuff she had to do to become one, and maybe she could clear up some of your doubts too, Mel, I mean, it’s not the same as being Unspeakable…”

“We’d love that,” Mel beamed. “I already went to mum’s work last week, and I have to admit it’s pretty tough to beat, but I love Tonks, maybe she’ll be able to change my mind.”

“I hope not,” Matthew raised a brow. “I prefer you looking after some nifflers than mingling around with what we have at the Ministry.”

“You know that if you say that it’s only going to make her want to work there more?” James smirked.

“Mel’s not like that,” Her father frowned. “She’s got enough common sense to know what’s good for her.”

“Sure she does,” Percy mumbled, Harry discretely nudged his ribs.

“Talking about what’s good,” Persephone inched closer to her son with a knowing smile. “How did your plan go, love?”

Percy had talked to his mother about his crush, and Persephone had been extremely supportive, she’d met Hermione a few times during the kids birthdays through the years but she knew her enough from hearing Mel’s stories, Persephone adored Hermione.

“What plan?” Sirius looked at them in curiosity. “What are you two plotting?”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head, Sirius,” Persephone kissed his cheek. “It’s nothing… is it, Percy?”

The boy smiled tensely at his mother and shook his head shortly, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. The woman frowned, but she didn’t try to insist. If her son needed her, he would talk to her, he always did, if not, she trusted that he’d be smart enough to handle it.

November 1995

“C’mon, Percy, is not that hard,” Lyra shook him slightly. “Just ask her!”

“So she can reject me in public?” He scoffed, pulling the scarf tighter around his neck and watching as the puff of air turned white in front of his nose. “No, thanks.”

Ariana and Lyra had decided to be Percy’s personal matchmakers, ever since Ariana put two and two together last year when she realized it was Hermione whom Percy wanted, she wasted no time and told Lyra, who was ready to be her brother’s saviour.

He was usually the one with the brilliant plans, so having the opportunity to outdo him in something that was obviously so important for him was something Lyra needed to get right, but her brother was currently being an annoying piece of work.

“She won’t reject you, P!” Ariana pouted, almost running to keep up with the Blacks’ quick steps. “She’s so nice! She’ll love the idea!”

“Girls, it’s sweet that you’re trying to help me but I don’t need this.”

“You spend all your time with Mel and Harry, that can’t be healthy,” Lyra made a face. “I mean they’re fun and all, but c’mon, there’s a reason why people hate third-wheeling…”

“I hang out with the Weasleys too, and Erick as well,” He argued. “And with you…”

“Yeah but that’s only outside the classrooms, during class you’re with Mel and Harry all the time!”

“When there’s no snogging. See? I’m a smart bloke.”

Lyra rolled her eyes. To be honest, she was happy for her friends, but ever since they’d started dating the drama had stopped entirely, and it was sorely missed by the younger side of their friend group.

“One more time, Percy, that’s all we’re asking,” Lyra pouted. “Please? For me? No, no — For YOU! I just want you to be happy!”

“And I think you and Hermione would make a lovely couple,” Ariana beamed. “I think she’s the best girlfriend you could get.”

Percy looked down at the two girls who couldn’t even reach his shoulder and groaned, throwing his head back as he let them drag him into the Great Hall.

“Fine!” He gave in. “But as soon as she rejects me you two will stop nagging alright?”

“Deal,” Lyra smiled.

Ariana let out a cute joyful noise, and she skipped all the way towards the Gryffindor table, wanting to witness the start of a new romance.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” Percy said calmly, sitting down next to her.

Lyra and Ariana sat at his right and both smiled at him encouragingly, no one was paying attention to them, everyone was submerged in their own conversations. Hermione looked up from her book and smiled at Percy.

“Hi.”

“I was wondering,” He looked away and started to pile food on his plate just to have an excuse to not maintain eye contact. “What do you think about going to the last Hogsmeade visit of the year together?”

“Oh,” Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I think that’d be great.”

Percy stopped his movements and stared at her. “Really?”

“Yes,” Her smile grew, she turned around and nudged Mel’s shoulder. “You heard that? Perseus’ asking if we’d like to go all together to the next Hogsmeade visit.”

“Oh,” Mel’s head appeared at Hermione’s left, she was frowning slightly. “You’re sure, Paddie? You’re always saying how you love going to those on your own.”

“Yeah, because it’s the only break you get from all of us and bla bla bla,” Cassia commented from across the table. “Which is honestly insulting, you don’t even hang out that much with Ivy and me.”

“If I did I would lose my mind after half a day,” He raised a brow.

The twins grinned at his comment, he turned to look at Ariana and Lyra for help.

The girls shared a look, Lyra wasn’t expecting this, but Hermione hadn’t rejected him, and maybe they could leave them alone at some point. Yes, she had this under control. The girl smiled confidently and shrugged.

“Well, I don’t mind spending time with you, and we won’t see Hermione nor the Weasleys during the holidays, so we can seize this opportunity to make our own pre-Christmas party?”

The large -very large- group of friends talked about it for the rest of the lunch hour. Lyra could tell this was deeply bothering her older brother.

Okay, maybe things had gotten a little out of control, but they could still find a way to fix this.

So things were going remarkably great for everyone except for Percy.

Harry and Mel were that unbelievable cheesy couple that you see in every Christmas commercial brought to life, the Weasley twins had decided to take the Potter twins under their wing and were now taking them to get some stuff from Zonko’s, even though Cassia and Ivy had already bought half of the store during their first visit last October.

Ron and Ariana had strangely grown fond of each other after the ball, however, that was normal in Ariana, what was weird was how Ron would always try to make her laugh and invite her places.

Percy didn’t know if the others were aware of it, but it was rather obvious that Ron had a huge crush on Mel’s sister.

Lyra and Ginny were doing most of the talking, and Lyra would often throw anxious glances his way that he was blatantly ignoring, there was a package on the inner pocket of his cloak, but he wasn’t going to give it to Hermione in front of their friends.

Luck finally smiled down at him when Harry and Mel entered a small shop to buy some presents for their parents, Ginny and Lyra were the only ones left but they were engaged in their own conversation, not even looking at Percy and Hermione (Ron and Ariana had vanished at some point, saying something about wanting to buy stuff for the party), he decided that it was now or never.

“Hermione?”

“Hmm?” She looked away from the store’s display and abruptly realized it was only the two of them.

“I… here,” Percy grabbed a hold of the neatly wrapped present and handed it to her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh,” The girl looked down at the present, a pink flush painting her cheeks as she took it with a shaky hand. “I… thanks, Perseus. Had I known I would’ve brought your gift with me too…”

“Oh, I just got this,” Percy quickly explained. “I wasn’t carrying him when we left the castle, it’s just… well, open it, I’ll explain afterwards.”

Hermione nodded, suddenly her hands were clumsier than ever, but she managed to rip the paper and quickly found the cover of a beautiful book she immediately recognized.

“Oh my,” She gasped. “How did you know?”

“You told us you wanted to buy it when we were thirteen, but it was too expensive or something,” He shrugged. “I noticed you still hadn’t bought a copy, because you usually ramble to us when you finish a book you really like, and you hadn’t mentioned this one ever since that first time. I figured you didn’t have it, I saw it when we were on our way to the Three Broomsticks and I went back and got it for you. I hope you like it.”

He realized he was rambling until he was done talking, Percy hated rambling, so he was internally scolding himself for that when Hermione took a deep breath.

“That’s so sweet,” She said.

Something snapped in him at the sight of the girl, she wasn’t doing anything that could be considered special, but his heart was still pounding, and he still had the urgent need to hold her close. Enough was enough.

“I’m done being quiet, Hermione,” Percy heaved a sigh. “I like you, definitely not in a friendly way. I’ve liked you since I was thirteen and I don’t think it’ll go away.”

Hermione said nothing, and he rambled for a second time that day.

“I know you think I’m a flirt, and last year Joseph was aware of my crush on you so he just took me in a very unofficial way, so I’m not a heartbreaker either. Merlin, I haven’t even had my first kiss yet!” He exclaimed in a very child-like manner. “All I’m asking is that you at least try to see me under a new light — the real one and not the one others have lead you to believe I am —”

Hermione stood on her tiptoes and pulled Percy’s face down, placing a firm kiss on his lips. She let go of him and stepped back, completely red.

“That was my first kiss too,” The girl said bashfully.

Percy stood there unsure of what had just happened, mouth slightly agape as the blood crept up his neck and cheeks.

“Done!” Mel’s voice said behind them. “Time to go back to school, I guess...”

“Mate, you’re alright?” Harry asked, examining his face. “Maybe we should pay a visit to Mel’s grandad so you can warm up… your face looks weird.”

“I’m fine,” He said hoarsely. “I’m brilliant… Hermione?”

He looked at her inquisitively, her smiled was enough to ease his intrusive thoughts.

“Never been better.”

The private party somehow ended up being a “every-student-above-thirteen” party, luckily for them, the Room of Requirement quickly grew in size, the food was plenty and delicious, and the music was coming from somewhere above their heads, but no one had any idea of exactly where.

Everyone was there, except for the teachers of course, even the prefects, Headboy and Headgirl were having the time of their lives. It was in this party that two things became obvious to the friend group: One, Ron was gone over Ariana, though it was unclear whether she reciprocated or not, and two, Percy only had eyes for Hermione.

The students that had been closely following Percy and Ron around the castle in hopes of getting a date were quickly disappointed, but Lyra and Ariana seemed happier than ever. The young Black had no idea if Ari was happy for herself or for Percy, but it didn’t matter much, what was important was that things were finally falling into place.

“What are you watching?” Fred Weasley stood next to her, trying to look in the same direction as the girl. “Hang on — is that your brother?”

“Yes,” She smiled.

“Blimey, who knew he could smirk like that,” Fred snorted. “He’s really trying to charm his way in with Hermione, isn’t he?”

“Looks like it,” Lyra admitted, taking a sip of her butterbeer. “Your brother’s doing his fair amount of trying with Ari as well…”

Fred laughed, nodding blithely. “Yeah, the git has been drooling about her all summer, asking us if he should write to her or just wait to go back to school.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Told him to shut up or we would glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth,” He smirked. “He didn’t actually need advice, he was just whining… I mean, look at them, does it look like Ariana isn’t interested?”

“Honestly? I have no clue, neither does Mel and that’s saying something,” Lyra raised a brow. “Her crush on Erick’s gone, but we can’t tell if she likes Ron because they were friends before and I think that somehow that helped her, she’s not nervous around him...”

“That or she doesn’t like him and doesn’t want to hurt him,” Fred said, “if I’m honest I think it’s the latter.”

Lyra slapped his chest lightly and he laughed again.

“Don’t be mean!” She reprimanded, though she was smiling too. “Ron’s really nice, he’s grown out of his annoying ways.”

“Like being a flirt?”

“I believe all Weasleys are flirts,” She grinned.

“You’re right about that, love,” Fred winked.

Lyra snorted and walked away to get more food, just as she was reaching the table, Percy and Hermione also arrived, and the girl was laughing at something the boy was saying.

“You’re ridiculous, you know?” She shook her head, grabbing two butterbeers and handing one to the boy.

Percy’s grin was an exact copy of his father’s. Lyra had heard before all about his dad’s charm when he was younger, and she’d seen pictures too. Percy wasn’t a copy of the man, but he was damn close to it.

“Well, I made you laugh,” He winked, taking a sip of his drink in a swift, casual movement. “It’s worth it — Did you know you have the prettiest laughter in this castle?”

Lyra rolled her eyes, but she laughed under her breath, she really liked watching her brother being all confident and talkative, it was a nice change.

It was hard to tell whether if Hermione had blushed at his compliment or not with the dim ilumination of the room, but she was definitely enjoying the attention.

“You know,” Lyra spoke, leaning over the table. Percy and Hermione looked at her, abruptly reminded that they weren’t the only two people in the room. “I know the whole point of the party was to celebrate Christmas with you and the Weasleys because we wouldn’t be able to see you during the holidays, but I bet my mum would love to have you around? Dad as well.”

Percy’s eyes widened in surprise, he was about to speak when Hermione responded.

“I would love that!”

His head moved so fast for a moment Lyra thought he’d hurt himself.

“You would?” He asked.

“I would have to talk to my parents, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind, they wanted to go skiing, and I’m terrible.”

Percy laughed, he was beaming. “I’ll write my parents then, I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you in… but I warn you, my dad will tease us endlessly.”

“You can stay in my room — Oh! We can make a sleepover with the twins, Mel and Ari! That’d be fun…”

“Of course,” Hermione responded, but her eyes were still on Percy.

“Okay…” Lyra say, taking the hint. “I’ll go see if I find someone in this bloody room that’s not trying to get in someone else’s pants…”

“That’s brilliant, Ly,” Percy responded, grabbing Hermione’s hand and guiding her towards the opposite side of the room.

By the time the party ended, Percy and Hermione were oficially dating.

Next Chapter —>

WITS Taglist:

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee

Pureblood Taglist:

@avipshamitra @auroraawrites @findzelda @lizlil @siriusmuch @may-rapp @the-specific-oceans @eveft @secret-obsessions @theeicedamericano @xkonpinkx @inkandpen22 @littledeadgirlwalking @chloe-geoghegan1

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic #Pure blood #Sirius Black x Oc #young blood crossover

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angerydj · 4 years

Text

Gonna talk ab what I have planned for the next Norman staying with six, and draw some parts of it so at least you guys have some idea wtf is going on

———————

So Blake finds her way inside of ottos room, someone left the door open a peep and she has noticed the boys coming in and out of it quite often, so she goes in and sees Norman sleeping and reaches to poke his cheeks and eventually it wakes him up.

She throws her duck on the bed and she’s fascinated by his red hair and wants to touch, so insue a big struggle of her trying to climb on the bed, Norman sits up calling for otto but no one answers, she tries to climb on him to grab his hair but ofc Norman doesn’t have it politely try’s to ask her to stop before eventually getting up to look for Otto as Blake was never mentioned at all to him and he is very confused

He finally leaves the room he’s been cooped up in for the past day of two he has her in one arm his IV drip pole in the other as he walks around the empty metallic halls before entering a surprisingly domestic looking living room, Norman is already sweating at this point he’s still really weak and holding a baby and balancing to walk isn’t helping, Blake makes baby babbles when she sees the six and they all turn and Adrian is first to react seeing his baby being held by the one person he hates the most, he gets up snatches her away and proceeds to chew out norman who is on the verge of passing out and throwing up all at once, he just hears a high pitched ringing he’s breathing heavily and using his pole to try and support himself they last thing Norman sees is Adrians face smooth out and looking mildly concerned for a second then everything goes black

He wakes up a lil later on the couch by the same poking on his cheeks and is met with big dark eyes and a ducky stuffie under his neck and his arm is covered in cute stickers and his hair is more messed up then it was, and Norman raises his eyebrows upon hearing her scream “Dada!-“ followed by a babbled baby sentence, Otto comes in and chuckles seeing the absolute state Norman is in standing infront of him Blake goes to hug ottos leg and Otto strokes her hand through her hair “oh my cuddlefish did a splendid job looking after our patient.” And she beams up at him with a gummy smile and she waddles away before looking back at a very confused Norman

“if you scratch the fruit shaped ones they emit a smell.” “She’s yours?” “Perhaps. That’s not important right now. Good to see the you walking before you collapsed on the ground.” “I would consider a baby important for an explanation. I was only up because she got into my room. I wasn’t sure when she came from.” “She’s harmless, if anything I embrace and admire her curiosity. But I advise you stay in bed or you’ll give Adrian a good enough reason to kick you out.” (Probably more chats here)

Blake comes back with more animal plushies and line them against Norman’s body, her tiny intent to comfort him. Otto thanks her and she turns to Norman waiting for his approval and Otto stares down Norman his eyes saying ‘Thank her.” And he gives a small one which is enough to satisfy her as she runs off again (well more like waddling and falling crawling and trying to get back up) Otto tells Norman he’s going to eat and when Norman refuses “No you are. You can’t live of drip while you’re here. It’s Aleksei special full of nutrition.”

Blake comes back dragging sandy by his hand and otto goes to put him in charge of baby sitting their most vulnerable members and leaves to go change Norman’s bed sheets and freshen up his room. “Ya know if you scratch the fruit ones they smell.” “Yes, so I’ve been told.” Maybe something cute here? Sandy asking playfully if they’ve been introduced “Blakey this is Mr. Osborn or Norman take your pick. Norman this is Blake.” And Norman is unamused by all of this but, Blake recognises his name and from her place on the floor she doesn’t look up from her toys and mutters “Ho-Bill.” (Horrible) she’s definitely picked up some words from Adrian and his rants about him, she just makes the small connections

Anyway queue a very awkward dinner where Blake insists she sits next to their guest as Adrian death glares him hating the attention Blake is giving him and the fact he’s even out of his room. And ofc Norman has made some connections of their very strange relationship, obviously something Otto hasn’t mentioned to him, not really having the need too and In Norman’s state not really the best thing to bring up and ensue a heartbroken Norman when a relationship is insinuated but acts all nonchalant about it like he doesn’t really care how Otto has moved on already while Norman is still hasn’t recovered from that night. They don’t give him much detail as it is there private life maybe a threat is thrown his way? “You mention this to anyone well spill your secret too.” And Norman is quite for the rest of the evening and eventually being helped escorted back to bed by Otto who have a little more in-depth talk about everything, ottos new life, new relationship/s, and the baby he’s very against and otto has to explained everything in a tone that tells Norman “there’s nothing you can do to take it away.” But Norman hurt as fuck just accepts it, but shows Otto his interest in his mentioned experiments with Blake “if I’m going to be staying here I’d like to be productive at least.” And otto allows him and then it continues to my Adrian ramble of him hating Otto work with Norman

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not-close-to-straight · 5 years

Text

Every Version of You (Spideypool)

Uh yes. Tissues? Also, blame @paranormalmoonlight5 and THIS post for this whole thing. I didn’t have to write it angsty but I 100% did and I regret nothing.

Seriously tissues. TW Character (Wade) Death but since its a multiverse sort of thing, the ending is still okay

THERE’S MORE SPIDEYPOOL ON MY MASTERLIST!

*******************

The apartment building wasn’t as nice as the one Peter and Wade shared in their universe, and Peter looked around the lobby curiously.

It was the same building– same address, same double door entrance, the lady at the front desk was still blonde and sort of shockingly busty- but it just wasn’t as nice. The rich brown tone looked about fifteen years past needing a repaint and the tiles on the floor were cracked and dingy. More than a few lights were out, several of the mailboxes bent and busted open and the elevator made a truly terrifying screech as it came to rest at the bottom floor.

Peter got in the elevator car anyway, because it wasn’t every day he ended up blipped into a side universe and he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity to explore. Mr. Stark would be furious when he found out Peter had tested the travel chamber on himself, but Peter had very carefully set the timer for no more than three hours before he faded back to his own timeline, and he was only walking the familiar parts of this version of New York, so realistically, he was being as safe about this whole thing as he could be, right?

Right.

Plus, he was curious about this version of himself, curious about this version of Spider-man and curious about whether this him had met and fallen in love with one loud mouth, spandex clad, disaster of a mercenary as well and the only way to satisfy all that curiosity was to go and find out.

So here he was in an alternate timeline, parallel universe, multi-something or other where apparently, the elevator button for the fifteenth floor had been so badly abused the entire thing fell right off and bounced on the dirty carpet when Peter pushed at it.

Alright, so this universe had seen better days. Noted and noted.

The hall of the fifteenth floor was dim, the numbers hanging haphazardly from various doors and the floor stained with something Peter wasn’t even going to begin to think about. He couldn’t help but wonder who owned the building and why it was in such bad repair, did this universe have different stands for apartment buildings? His own place wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but at least all the lights worked and there wasn’t --ick-- rats in the hallway.

When Peter got to the apartment that was theirs in his own universe, his key slid right into the lock, but then caught and stuck as if it hadn’t been used for some time. That most likely meant this Peter and Wade didn’t feel the need to obsessively lock their doors like he did, which was...odd... considering how gross the building was.

Peter hadn’t actually planned this far ahead in his little jaunt through alternate timelines, he hadn’t thought about what he would do if he opened the door and Wade was in the apartment or he himself was in the apartment– what a weird conversation that would be.

Although, if they had figured out the whole multiverse thing on his end, surely other Peter Parker’s had figured it out too, so maybe he wouldn't be as surprised to see himself standing there as he thought he would be?

The convoluted thought made Peter smile, so he opened the door and peeked his head around into the apartment, more than ready for a look at another version of his own life.

Oh.

The apartment was much dirtier than the one he’d left in his own world, much dirtier and much darker and much more depressing. It almost looked like what Wade’s apartment had been before Peter had moved in, but this apartment didn’t feel like a bachelor pad like Wade’s had.

It felt... it felt abandoned, felt like no one had lived or loved here in a long time and that made Peter uncomfortable.

The windows were closed and shades drawn, the same couch in the same place in front of the same TV but covered with a layer of dust that said it hadn’t been used in a long time. There was a carbon copy of Peter’s favorite pillow tucked into what had always been is side of the couch, but the stitches were popped and torn, the fabric ripped.

The kitchen was a mess--which wasn’t all the surprising-- but the fridge was empty of everything except a few bottles of water, nothing but a handful of microwave meals far past their sell by date sitting in the freezer.

I don’t live here. Peter thought with some degree of sadness as he looked at the bare spots on the wall where he and Wade hung pictures and random paraphernalia from their date nights. There were no notes to each other taped to the fridge or the closet door, no piles of shoes and no random assortment of clothing that were proof of cohabitation. I don’t live here.

Towels were piled on the bathroom floor because no Wade ever believed in hanging them up to dry, but there was a chair in the shower, one of the medical ones that lifted people in and out of the bath and Peter ran his hand over it uncertainly.

Why was that here? Who needed that?

Peter paused outside the bedroom for a moment because as curious as he was about this Peter and Wade’s life, it still felt a little like invading privacy even if it was sort of his own privacy.

But...maybe it wasn’t his privacy anymore, because despite is key fitting in the lock and his pillow out on the couch, it was painfully obvious that Peter Parker did not live here in this universe.

Or at least he didn’t live here anymore.

Oh well. Came this far, can’t turn back now.

Peter turned the knob and pushed the bedroom door open, bracing himself for whatever would be on the other side--

–and stopped in his tracks, mouth falling open. “W-Wade?”

The man lying in the bed was much much smaller than Peter’s Wade, just a shadow of his usual self, really. Nothing more than skin and bones barely making a dent on the mattress, IV’s and leads hooked to different machines, an oxygen pump and heart monitor, a brain activity scanner and one that was definitely a morphine drip.

“Wade.” he repeated. “Is that-- is that you?”

The eyes that opened to peer at him were dark and nearly lifeless, cloudy with pain not quite dulled by the morphine. “You’re not my Peter.” The Wade on the bed rasped, his breath rattling through his lungs. “Which Peter are you?”

“Which Peter am I?” he repeated dumbly. “I--what--um--”

“Multiverse, right?” Wade coughed and it was awful. “Always knew you would figure it out one day. What happened, did you and my Peter switch places?”

“No we-- I mean yes, multiverse but I’m just here visiting and--” Peter didn’t even know what say, gesturing around to the various machines. “You’re sick. You’re sick and I-- what happened? Are you okay? What happened to you?”

“Oh.” Wade smiled and it wasn’t anything like it should have been, weak and shaky and not near bright enough. “Let me guess– I’m not dying of cancer in your universe, am I?”

“Cancer.” Peter felt the word like a blow to his chest, a punch to his stomach and when his knees gave out he stumbled into the chair closest to the door. “You have cancer? How do you have-- that’s not right. You’re supposed to have a mutation, one that fights the cancer.”

“Not in this life time.” Wade coughed again and tried to smile. “Sorry to disappoint. No mutations here, just a mcfuck amount of tumors. Worst part is, none are on my dick so I’m still woefully under endowed.”

“Woefully under endowed.” Peter choked out a laugh. “Oh god, you’re sick with cancer and still making dick jokes?”

“Oh good, I do that in your universe too?”

“I think every Wade in every universe makes dick jokes.” Peter gathered himself enough to take a closer look at Wade, at the machines and the data and then he took a closer look around the room and back out into the hall. “Where-- where am I? Why haven’t I been home to clean this place up? Where’s your version of me?”

“My version of you?” Wade shook his head weakly. “We uh-- we broke up over a year ago. Right after I got diagnosed.”

“...no?” Peter frowned at him. “No, there’s no way I would have left you after a diagnosis. I would have dragged you to Stark Industries and made Tony find a cure or something, I would have used the money from May to pay for treatments or I would have--”

“Pete.” Wade waved off is protests with a twitch of his hand. “You don’t know about it. I broke up with you, kicked you out of the apartment.”

“You broke up with--”

“Didn’t want you to see me like this.” Wade gestured to all the machines and then with just a hint of his usual snark added, “Figures the fuckin’ multiverse would screw my plans up and you gotta see me like this anyway. Sorry about that.”

“You sent me away?” Peter whispered. “So I wouldn’t see you hurting? But who’s been taking care of you?” One shoulder lifted and fell in a semblance of a shrug. “You’ve got-- who’s here with you now? Are you here alone?”

“Nurse’ll come in the morning to check on me.” Wade’s fingers were trembling as he reached for a cup of water and Peter jumped from his seat to grab it for him, guiding it to the chapped lips and holding it steady while Wade drank. “Thanks. Wasn’t that difficult a few days ago.”

His head fell back against the pillow. “Told her to go home and get some rest. Pretty sure she knows I won’t make it till morning, so she’ll be back in a few hours.”

Peter stayed there standing at Wade’s bedside, unable to look away from the nearly translucent skin, the way the veins were too pronounced. “You-- you and I-- how did I take you breaking up with me?”

“It worked out for you.” Wade tried for another one of those half smiles. “Great photographer. Avengers like you real well without me hanging around. You and Gwen are gorgeous together. It’s alright.”

“It worked out for me but you’re here alone?”

“It’s alright, Pete.” Wade insisted tiredly, his eyes falling shut for a moment. “It’s-- it’s alright. This version of you deserved better than me. Pretty sure every version of you deserves better than me. M’fine. M’just--just fine. This is fine. Better this way.”

Peter’s watch chimed and he glanced down to see an hour had gone by already.

“Gotta set a time limit to universe jump?” Wade asked, lifting a finger to point at the time piece. “My Pete had that idea too, said it would be too easy to get lost in the other places and never make it home.”

“Yeah-- yeah it’s my timer.” Peter stared down at the countdown and then over at the man fading away before his very eyes. “But I have time if you want me to stay. Do you want me to stay with you for a little bit? I’d-- I’d-- just--” he dragged the chair over from the door and pushed it right up against the bed, moving IV lines carefully until he was as close to Wade as he could get. “Is this okay? Can I stay here with you?”

A beat of silence, and then Wade turned his hand until his palm was resting up, curling his fingers hopefully. “Please stay, Pete. Please? I know you’re not my Pete but I still miss you-- I miss him-- I miss us and it’s selfish but wish I never sent you away--wish I’d--”

“I’ll stay. I’ll stay.” Peter picked up the thin hand and cradled it in both of his, muffling a curse when he felt how cold Wade was. “What can I do? Are you cold?”

“Always but Pete--”

“Hang on, do you still keep blankets in the hall closet?” Peter was up and out in the hall in a flash, grabbing two extra blankets and running back to spread them over Wade’s frame, tucking it in around the corners. “Better? Is that better?”

“Better, but Pete I--”

“Have you eaten? Do you need to eat? A drink? What can I--”

“Baby boy.” Wade said, and the nickname made Peter freeze, made tears come to his eyes as Wade pressed gently at his hand. “Petey pie, just sit with me. Talk to me. Tell me about--about you. And us-- are we an us in your world? Are we-- do you love me still? I’ve missed you so much and I-- just talk to me.”

“We’ve been an us in my world for two years.” Peter fluffed an extra pillow behind Wade’s head then sat back down to hold his hand, smoothing over Wade’s knuckles and around his wrist. “And I love-- shit, I love you so much. You have no idea.”

Wade smiled a little. “You probably only love me bout half as much as I love you, Pete.”

“You could never.” Peter shook his head. “I’m head over heels for you, have been for forever.”

“How did we--” Wade rubbed his thumb over Peter’s palm. “How did we start dating?”

“You uh-- we did patrol every night for like six months before you finally asked me out.” Peter told him. “We were only supposed to go every other night, but I kept calling you on our off days and pretending we should do patrol. It was just an excuse to see you and I’m pretty sure you knew that from day one.”

“You’re terrible at lying.” Wade agreed and when Peter grinned, Wade sighed and whispered, “Fuck me, I’ve missed your smile.”

“Well, you see it lots because make me laugh every single day.” Peter told him. “Terrible terrible jokes. Just the worst. Last week you told me some awful dad joke about koala bears--”

“-having all the koala-fi-cations to be a real bear?”

“--and I laughed until I threw up my sandwich.” Peter finished and Wade’s shoulders shook through a laugh. “It was the worst joke I ever heard, but you delivered it with such a straight face, I just couldn’t take it.”

“Tell me about our first date? Was it ice cream? Coffee ice cream?”

“Oh no, do you eat cappuccino ice cream in this universe too?” Peter gasped in mock horror when Wade managed a nod. “God, all night you fussed at me for eating vanilla but then you kissed me and tasted like coffee and it was the worst.”

“But you kissed me again, right?”

“We ended up in bed that night.” Peter admitted and when Wade raised a (non-existent) eyebrow, he amended “Alright, we ended up doing it against the wall in an alley because we were both mega horny. You kept making jokes about all the benefits of me having sticky fingers and being extra bendy and I kept telling you--”

“--to shaddup and fuck you before you changed your mind?” A near lecherous wink from Wade. “I didn’t shut up and you didn’t change your mind, did you?”

“We moved in after six weeks together.” Peter grinned again when Wade’s eyes lit up in surprise. “I never wanted to leave you after the first night, so you told me I should just take over a drawer if I was going to keep staying over, and I said if you were a real man, you’d invite me to live with you and you said ‘square up mother fucker’ and I moved in the next day.”

“I sound obnoxious.”

“God, you’re perfect.” Peter took a chance and dropped a gentle kiss on Wade’s hand, gratified when Wade murmured, “Pete.” and squeezed at his fingers as tight as he could manage. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re obnoxious and crude and honestly the worst but you’re perfect and I love you so much.”

“Your pillow on the couch--” Wade tried to motion for the living room. “You left it here after we fought but do you have one in your world?”

“I’ve got one.” Peter confirmed and Wade’s smile was a little stronger this time. “Actually, I have two since I already had one at my place. You went and bought me one for your place when I started sleeping over all the time, and now that we live together, there’s two pillows. We keep one in bed and one on my side of the couch.”

“Left side of the couch?”

“Always.”

“Tell me--” Wade wheezed through a cough and Peter got him another drink. “Tell me um--”

“I’m just going to tell you everything.” Peter readjusted the blankets further up on Wade’s chest, then leaned up and placed a kiss on his forehead, lingering when Wade’s hand came to rest at his side for a moment. “I’m just going to tell you everything, alright? Wait until you hear about the night we crashed J. Jonah Jameson’s charity ball in our costumes. Oh and oh my god, Tony Stark actually invites you to dinners all the time but one time you kissed me in front of Sam Wilson and he didn’t shut up about it for a week and a half and...”

*******************

When Peter’s watch chimed at another hour, two hours down and one hour to go, he was mid story about the time he and Wade had tried to paint the bathroom in the apartment and now there was paint all over the toilet and on most of their towels and Wade was laughing-- or trying to laugh at least-- over Peter’s description of how terrible a decision neon green had been for their shower tiles.

“So then you turned to me and said--” Peter stopped when Wade shifted on the bed and grimaced. “What can I do? Is it your back? Are you hurting?”

“Always.” Wade shifted again, pain flitting across his face. “Don’t worry about it though. Tell me-- did we ever adopt a dog? Or a pet? You used to ask me for--”

“A pet is on our to-do list once we get a bigger place.” Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat to ask, “Do you want me to turn up your morphine?”

It wasn’t a good sign when the morphine wasn’t working, when it had to be turned up more and more. Peter knew enough to know morphine was the pain medication for those beyond help, for when a doctor used the term ‘make them comfortable’ and it hurt him in a very real part of his soul to think Wade was at that stage.

“Do you want me to turn it up?” he whispered again and Wade shook his head, whispering back,. “It makes me sleepy and I don’t want to sleep while you’re here, Pete. I don’t want to miss this. Been forever since I’ve seen you, I don’t wanna miss anything.”

“You won’t miss anything.” Peter assured him. “I don’t want you to hurt baby, I’ll just--” Wade’s eyes misted over the endearment and Peter said it again, “Baby, I’ll just climb in bed with you so if you fall asleep, I can fall asleep too alright? No big deal.”

“Yeah? I won’t miss anything?”

“No no, I’ll be right here, I promise.” Peter upped the dial on the morphine, watched Wade’s eyes glass over a little more and then very carefully climbed onto the bed next to him, moving the cords so he could tuck in next to Wade and put an arm around his waist. “How’s that? Am I okay here?”

“Miss you.” Wade’s words slurred through the morphine. “Peter Pumpkin, miss you. Shouldn’t have sent you away. Jus’ didn’t want to make you sad. Now’m selfish, wanting you back.”

“It’s alright.” Peter linked their fingers together and hugged Wade as gently as he could. “It’s alright, don’t worry about that now. I’m here, right? I’m here. You’re not selfish, Wade. You’re not--just don’t worry about it. If you need to rest--” Peter bit his tongue so he wouldn’t cry. “--just rest. Close your eyes. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“...not asleep yet...keep talking to me?”

“Okay.” Peter took in a deep breath and started again. “So this one time you took me to Canada and I got to find out how incredibly redneck you are when you’re out in your natural habitat? Funniest thing I’ve even seen. You wore overalls for a week straight and kept trying to convince me to go for a roll in the hay? And when I finally agreed, you really just rolled me through some hay and laughed until you cried. I wasn’t amused at all. I was ready for some farm time sex and you were playing a practical joke.”

“Oh and for our two year anniversary, I took you up to the top of the Statue of Liberty and we had a picnic while staring out at the ocean. We bought all sorts of silly souvenirs and you kissed me at midnight and we flipped a coin to see who would top but the coin fell off the statue and into the water so I topped first and then you did and the next morning we were both so. sore.”

Wade chuckled a little at that, and Peter kept talking, story after story. Dinner dates and movie marathons and the time he was sick when Wade had panicked and brought him six types of chicken soup. The one unfortunate paintball episode that wasn’t ever talked about anymore and the way they are sort of friends with Matt Murdock but how Jessica Jones scares the shit out of both of them. How they made a point to cook dinner together at least once a week and it was always literally a disaster and always so much fun.

He told Wade about the litany of stupid nicknames, from lemonwhiskers to snickerdoodle and how the frequency and ridiculousness varied depending on how upset Peter was, and he told him about the cheesy cards they bought each other for every possible occasion, and how they really really did the rose petals on the floor things for romance time, even though it was fake rose petals because there had been a one time thorn incident.

Then Peter’s watch chimed half an hour warning.

“You gotta go.” Wade was barely audible know, breath shallow and eyes closed because he didn’t have the energy to keep them open. “Pete. You gotta go. Don’t be late.”

“I told you I’d stay until you fell asleep.” Peter whispered. “So just listen. The first time you told me you loved me was a Tuesday. We were eating like, a million egg rolls and I was mid bite and probably looked terrible and you looked over at me and told me ‘Sure seems like I’m in love with you’ which wasn’t romantic at all, but was still perfect. I told you a few weeks later. We fell asleep together watching Golden Girls and you wrapped me up in like a dozen blankets because I shivered at some point and you were convinced I had hypothermia. I told you we couldn’t have sex if I was burrito wrapped and you told me--”

Peter smiled through his tears, reaching out to wipe one from Wade’s cheek as well. “You told me you’d trade all the sex in the world for being able to watch me sleep, knowing I trusted you enough to fall asleep in your arms and I told you I loved you right then and there, told you that you were the only person I ever wanted to fall asleep next to ever again.”

“You always take such good care of me, babe, no matter what. Any time I need anything, you’re there for me and I never have to worry about anything. You’ve brought me lunch when I forget to eat and one time drove clear across town to my work to bring me a tie so I wouldn’t get in trouble and sometimes-- sometimes--”

Peter drew a heart on Wade’s hand with his fingers and smiled when Wade managed a squeeze in return. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve you, Wade. Dunno what I did in another life to get you in this one but I love you. I love you so much and you are my entire world.”

“...entire world...”

“Yeah.” Peter hid more tears in Wade’s blanket. “Yeah, babe. You are my entire world. Have I told you about how you convince me to do things? You always start with this whole phrase of ‘I’ve put alot of thought into this’ and I always say yes to whatever you ask because why the hell would I ever say no?”

Fifteen minutes.

“You loved me enough to not want me to cry over you.” Peter brushed careful fingers over Wade’s cheek, along the line of his jaw, down to the barely there pulse at his neck. “But I’m glad I’m here now, glad you’re not alone right now Wade, I-- I--”

“...we married?...”

“No, not yet.” Peter shook his head and pressed a long kiss to Wade’s cheek. “But I bought a ring last week and I’ve been hiding it in my sock drawer because this Friday I got tickets to your favorite Broadway show and I’m going to propose there.”

“...I’ll say yes. Promise. No version--of me-- will ever say no.”

Ten minutes.

“...Pete?”

“I’m here, I’m not leaving you. I’m here, babe, I’m right here.”

Five minutes.

Peter put his head down and sobbed into Wade’s chest as the steady heartbeat started to slow.

“Christ, Wade. I love you, do you know that? Every version of me loves every version of you. It doesn’t matter what universe this is, I will always always love you.

“...love you, Pete.”

One minute.

The blankets were pulled up to Wade’s chest and his eyes peacefully closed, and the last thing Peter did was open Wade’s phone and send a text to his Peter to let him know Wade had passed peacefully, that the hospital had been notified and an ambulance was on its way.

Then Peter bent and kissed Wade’s forehead, and shut the door behind him on the way out.

*********************

The machine opened with a hiss and a whir and Peter stepped out into his own universe, face to face with a thoroughly pissed off Tony Stark.

“What in the actual fuck do you think you were doing?” Tony shouted. “You could have been stuck in some stupid alternate universe-- could have died-- could have fucking gotten lost and I’d have to go in after your ass and then you really would have been in--”

“Can you yell at me tomorrow?” Peter whispered, tears streaming down his face. “Please, Mr. Stark? I’m sorry but I have to get home. Right now.”

He bolted from the lab and nearly ran into Captain Rogers, who joined Tony in the lab with a perplexed look on his face.

“What’s up with Pete? He looked like he was crying? Was he in here?”

“Yeah, he used the--” Tony motioned towards the machine, still staring out the door after Peter. “Babe, do you remember when I accidentally activated this thing and ended up in a multi verse where you and I didn’t love each other? You’d stayed in the past with Peggy and I never became Iron Man?”

“Vividly.” Steve wrapped his arms around his husbands waist and dragged him in for a kiss. “It took

me weeks to convince you that we were real and I loved you and that this universe was the one you belonged in.” his face cleared after a moment. “You think Peter--”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

******************

Peter didn’t stop running until he got to their apartment building, waving at the blonde and shockingly busty receptionist, jamming the button for the fifteenth floor in the elevator, bolting down the hallway and just breaking down the door to their apartment instead of wasting time looking for the key.

“Babe?” he yelled, searching the apartment for Wade. “Babe? Where are you? Wade!”

“Heya sweet cheeks.” Wade was fresh from the shower and still wiping down with a towel. “How was work? Did you--ooph!”

He caught a hundred and seventy five pounds of Spidey in his arms unexpectedly, backpedaling into the wall to keep his balance as Peter tackled him into a long kiss.

“Baby boy what’s wrong?” Wade wiped away the tears as quickly as he could, checking Peter for injuries, trying to figure out why he was nearly hysterical. “Pumpkin? What’s going on?”

“Don’t ever send me away.” Peter whispered fiercely, knotting his fingers in Wade’s shirt and yanking him down into another bruising kiss. “No matter what. Do not ever send me away. I don’t care what happens or what you’re going through. Please. Please don’t leave me alone, don’t send me away. Not ever. I want you to love me forever. Forever, Wade. Promise me.”

“Hey hey hey.” Wade scooped Peter into his arms and headed for the couch, falling back onto the arm rest and cuddling him close. “Listen, I dunno what this is all about but I can promise-- hey, look at me Pete-- I can promise, I’ll never send you away from me. I promise. I never you want you to be anywhere than right here with me. And I will love you forever. Don’t even worry about that.”

“Are you sure?” Peter hiccuped through a sob. “Because I--I--”

“Snickerdoodle.” Wade cupped his jaw and kissed him sweetly. “Listen. I know you’ve been working on this multi verse thing, and I don’t know shit about shit about that thing, but I can promise you that you could search every single one of those places and never find a version of me that doesn’t want you. Every single version of me is going to love you forever. I promise.”

“Okay.” Peter pressed tighter to Wade’s chest. “Because I’m gonna love you forever too. Every version of me. I’m never leaving you. We’re getting married. Like, tomorrow. I have a ring and--”

“Wait, you have a ring?”

“Yeah, I bought a ring and I was waiting until Friday to propose but I don’t want to wait, I don’t want to--”

“I bought a ring too.” Wade felt around for Peter’s favorite pillow and flipped it over, digging around in a small tear Peter had never noticed before, retrieving a ring box. “Was gonna propose on Sunday when we went for our walk.”

“...Sunday?”

“But now’s good.” Wade opened the box and showed Peter the ring inside. “Wanna be mine, baby boy?”

“Oh.” Tears again, and Wade snuggled Peter up even tighter. “Wade, I’m already yours. Every version of me is already yours. You know that right?”

“I know, Pete.” Wade slid the ring onto Peter’s fingers and then grabbed at blankets to cover them up. “Please don’t cry lemonwhiskers, I’m not going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere. I’ve got you. We aren’t supposed to cry at marriage proposals, that can’t be a healthy start to this whole thing. It’s bad enough neither one of us can wear white dresses because we’re so far past virgins there’s probably a new word for it but--”

“You’re the absolute worst.” Peter sniffed, knowing damn well he was leaving bruises at Wade’s side from holding him so tight, and unable to find it in himself to care. “The literal worst, do you know that? I love you so much.”

“Aw sugar buns.” Wade dropped a kiss into all that thick hair and sighed. “I love you too.”

And later that night as he tucked Peter into bed and admired the shine of his own ring, Wade thought back over how upset Peter had been and wondered aloud, “What happened, baby boy? Did you find the only universe out there where you and I aren’t soulmates?”

Peter didn’t answer, snoring away peacefully on his favorite pillow and Wade chuckled, bending to kiss his cheek.

“Nah, that would never happen would it? Every version of me will always always be destined to love every version of you.”

******************

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#ncts fics #spideypool #sundays with spideypool #peter parker #wade wilson #multiverse

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spin-birdie · 5 years

Note

Have you done any apocalyptic type stuff for RK1K? I don't see much of that stuff for the ship.

as a matter of fact i have! this fic is based on a visual novel set in a zombie apocalypse i played a while back and i have a couple of ideas for some rk1k apocalypse stories that idk what to do with

idk if you were specifically asking for fic but i decided to write one anyway because that fic i just linked had an ambiguous ending and ive got emotional bitch disease so Whoops I Fixed My Own Fic I Guess

word count: 1.6k

pairing: rk1k

additional tags: zombie apocalypse au, human au, fix-it fic/spoilers for my own shit lmao

Connor is asleep by the time the engine finally stalls and sputters out, causing the car to roll to a stop. He doesn’t wake up, even as Markus swears and makes futile attempts to keep the car running. The dash stays lit up until Markus sighs and pulls the keys out of the ignition. There’s no use in running down the battery as well.

It’s too dark to see. Not much changes when Markus closes his eyes. There’s no sound except for breathing and the slight breeze coming through his still open window. At least the air smells clean.

If he wanted to, Markus could wake Connor up and try running. But with the visibility being non-existent, it’s not like they’d even get far. It would be unfortunate to make it all this way only to trip and die.

Markus sinks back in his seat and listens for Connor. He’s still breathing, but it’s slow and quiet. When he blindly reaches out for Connor’s hand, he’s not any warmer than he was before. But he’s not any colder, which might be a good sign. Maybe.

Either way, there’s nothing he can do. Markus feels out for the lever under the seat, but it refuses to budge. Stupid used cars. It gives after a few forceful tugs and the seat moves back, allowing Markus to recline properly. He breathes in. He breathes out. And he waits for sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come. Instead, light shines through his vision, startling Markus into opening his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed. All he knows is that he’s not seeing natural light.

The light washes over the front of the windshield before splitting in two and moving closer. By now, Markus can tell he’s looking at two people holding flashlights. It’s nearly unfathomable, after days of seeing nothing but zombies. Connor is the only human Markus has spoken to in weeks.

The closer light moves around to Connor’s window. The unseen person sticks their flashlight through the gap and shines it over Connor, who begins to stir.

“Hello?” Markus calls out. “What are you doing?”

The light jumps. “Oh! Luther, one of them is alive!”

“We both are,” Markus corrects.

Connor’s face scrunches up and he turns his head away from the light. “Wh-What’s happening?” he slurs.

Markus squeezes Connor’s hand to reassure him. “I’m not sure, but don’t panic.”

The second person comes around to Markus’ window. Markus winds the window down just enough to hear them speak. “What’s your name?”

“Markus. This is Connor.”

“I’m Luther, and over there is Kara. Are you two okay?”

Connor groans, shielding his eyes from the lights with one hand as Markus replies. “No, we’re not. We just ran out of fuel, and Connor is...” he glances at Connor for a moment. He’s barely holding on as it is; it’s probably better just to come out with it. “He’s bitten.”

“I thought so,” Kara says, lowering her flashlight so she’s not shining it directly into Connor’s eyes. “How long?”

Markus frowns. “A few days, I think. Connor, how are you feeling?”

Connor shakes his head and presses his fingers into Markus’ palm. “...Foggy. And cold. I th-think I’ve gotta fever.”

“Still hungry?”

“Yes.”

“This might sound weird, but our voices aren’t making you hungrier, right?” Luther asks.

Connor shakes his head again. “That’s a fair question. I don’t think so.”

Kara sighs in relief. “There’s still time. Luther, how much fuel did we get?”

It takes that comment for Markus to realize there’s a canister in Luther’s hand. Where did that come from? Why are these people walking around with gasoline in the middle of the night?

“Enough to get this car moving far, I’d say. Markus? Is there anything wrong with your car aside from the fuel?”

Markus has no idea. This isn’t his car. “Connor?”

“Should be fine.”

Kara lowers her light for a moment. “Holy crap. Okay, I’ll be upfront; we’re with a group. We’re looking for cars and supplies. We have food and medicine; if you let us use your car...” Her sentence hangs there, unfinished.

On one hand, what she’s saying sounds too good to be true. There’s nothing out here; what are the odds that they’d find a group with supplies they need? Enough to treat someone with a literal zombie bite? What would stop these people from killing them both and taking their car? If they do try that, they don’t know there’s a pistol in the glovebox...

On the other hand...Connor is dying before their eyes, and Markus isn’t sure he could live with himself if he let that happen. Maybe it’s just that survivor thing, but there’s something special about Connor. And that something is too important to lose.

They’ve already lost everything else, anyway.

Markus unstraps his seatbelt and cracks the car door open. “Alright. Take us there.”

Markus isn’t sure when it happened, but the view from on top of the farmhouse has become familiar to him. He sits alone in an old camping chair, a hunting rifle in his lap. The ground is wet with sleet, and the air is beginning to chill. It’s a windy day, the kind that makes the sky turn silver, yet Markus barely feels the breeze.

It’s hard to think that, even with the world at large in chaos, the seasons change without paying mind to any of it. At least the mud and snow make it harder for zombies to run at the shelter.

Markus hears something nearby groan at him, and fumbles to pick up the rifle, only to stop as he gets his bearings.

“Connor, get down from there! Your stomach--”

“Hello to you, too,” Connor snarks. He lowers himself out of the tree and onto the rooftop before making his way towards Markus. He begins to sit down, but Markus gets out of his chair instead.

“Here. Don’t strain yourself,” Markus insists.

Connor takes the invitation and sits in the camp chair. He still grimaces at the strain on his stomach wound, but doesn’t cry out. Markus sits down directly on the roof and sets the rifle down beside him.

“Got bored of the greenhouse?”

Connor smiles. “No, not really. Rupert keeps gushing about the view from up here, and my curiosity finally got the better of me.”

“They say curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back. And I have to be honest, it’s not a bad view,” Connor admits. One of his hands comes down and cards through Markus’ hair. For his own safety, he should get it cut soon, but it’s hard to find scissors out here. “It also helps that my favorite person is up here at the moment,” Connor finishes.

Markus feels his cheeks redden, but he laughs. “And who would that be?”

Even without looking directly at Connor, the smirk in his voice is audible. “You might not know him. He’s handsome, really into swing music, and so compassionate that everyone’s probably a little bit in love with him.”

Affection blooms in Markus’ chest and suffocates him for a split second. He pulls Connor’s hand out of his hair to lace their fingers together. He knows there’s a stupid, wide grin on his face as he says, “That’s a little gay.”

Connor gasps in mock offense. “Excuse you, I’m a big gay.”

Markus laughs out loud, which spurs Connor into doing the same. “Dork.”

Once their laughter peters out, Connor frees his hand in favor of playing with Markus’ hair again. They’ve spent a lot of time together without speaking, during aimless road trips and suspenseful recovery periods, but this silence is nothing if not companionable. It feels like they’re alone with the world, and for once, that thought doesn’t bother Markus.

“How’s your stomach?” he asks after a while.

Connor hums, his hand pausing its movements for a moment. “I mean, considering I was on Death’s door, like, a month ago, I’d say it’s much better.”

“You seem more active these days.”

“I've been meaning to ask Rose about joining the patrol roster or something, now that I’m feeling more like myself.”

Markus turns his head up to look straight at Connor. “That’s a good idea. It’ll get you moving around more, at least. Promise you’ll be careful if you do, though?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Markus smiles warmly and props his chin up on the chair’s armrest.

Their privacy is interrupted when they hear the door open below them. Adam steps out and cranes his neck up to see them, cupping his hands over his mouth in lieu of shouting.

“Connor, what’re you doing up there?”

Like a kid who’s been caught misbehaving, Connor frees his hand from Markus’ hair. “Taking in the scenery,” he says half-truthfully.

“Any chance you could do that later? We need extra hands in the kitchen.”

Markus raises his eyebrows. “You’re asking a guy who’s managed to set water on fire?”

“I was nineteen,” Connor pouts.

Adam rolls his eyes. “We’re not asking him to cook. We’re resetting traps.”

“You could’ve led with that,” Connor says.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Adam heads back inside. Connor stands up with a sigh. “I should let you get back to guard duty, anyway.”

“I guess so.” Markus picks up his rifle and stands up. “One second.”

He puts a hand on the back of Connor’s neck and pulls him in for a soft, lingering kiss. He wants nothing more than to taste Connor properly, but until they know for certain he’s no longer infected, it isn’t worth the risk. Well, it is to Markus. Just not to anyone else.

When they part, Connor looks at him with such warmth that it nearly hurts. Markus cups Connor’s cheek. “See you later.”

He sits down in the chair once again as Connor begins climbing down the tree. Once again, he’s alone.

But maybe that’s not so bad.

#dbh #detroit become human #rk1k #rk1000 #conkus #fanfiction #original #zombie apocalypse #angst #fix it fic

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peachywise · 5 years

Text

nullify part 4

an umbrella academy fanfiction // klaus hargreeves x reader

- part iv: the revealing file || part i ⋆ part ii ⋆ part iii ⋆ part v ⋆ part vi ⋆ more parts to be released

- synopsis: You had wanted to forget about the fire. Forget all of it. But then you were presented with a file on your life, given to you by a kid who knows all too well its contents. Looks like you were intertwined in something much bigger than you had ever expected all along, and you're only going to get intertwined even more.

- notes: so sorry this update took a while! i'm in my last few weeks of my university semester, and i'm busy with final essays. i'll try and get the next update out sometime next week but it could take a bit longer. however, I'll be back to a better and faster posting schedule in april. anyways this chapter is pretty five interaction heavy instead of Klaus, but i had to cut this one in half as it was getting too long, so they'll be more in the next part!! heavy trigger warning for mentions of abuse and fire.

link on a03

___________________________

“That was a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Letting out a loud scream at Five’s sudden appearance in front of you, surrounded in that ethereal blue haze, you decided he was the one being a dramatic little shit head. Even more so when he quickly went up on his toes and slapped his hand over your mouth to smother your voice before you could keep screaming and swear at him. You quickly jerked away, still reeling from the comment about the fire he had made only seconds before inside the apartment.

“Back the hell off or I’ll punt you down the hallway,” you threatened, flattening yourself against the wall beside the door, heart erratically pounding as you tried to calm your anxiety and the aggression fighting its way up.

“Calm down and just hear what I have to say.”

Calm down? Oh, he did not just fucking tell you to calm down.

“Hey hey hey, where are you going?” Klaus suddenly burst out from the now open apartment door, eyes flashing one side to the next until they landed on you. His taller figure stepped in front of you and he reached a hand out, placing it in a soothing gesture on your arm. His face was downturned in what looked like genuine concern. It was actually kind of nice of him, up until he said soothingly, “take a breather and calm down for a sec, yeah?”

You had to resist the unbelievable urge to stomp on his foot and then kick him in the nuts.

Closing your eyes and inhaling a deep breath through your nose, you whispered in reply so quietly through gritted teeth, “back away before I rip Five’s hand off and shove it up your—”

“Everything okay out here?”

Turning your attention to the large, blonde man taking up the entire frame of the doorway, you let out your held breath and opened your eyes. Five did as well, just as Klaus dropped his hand to his side, his eyes still never leaving you.

Your heart rate and initial anger had started to simmer down a bit at the continual tug and pull of the situations you kept finding yourself in, enough so that your curiosity of everything was starting to take hold once more. But you were still reluctant to step back into that apartment. Your trust was wary, at least in the case of some of them. Right now, you only trusted Klaus. He had been a loud and obnoxious pain in the ass, but hell, he hadn’t tried to hide anything from you and had basically answered most of what you assumed he could. If anything, he had overshared. You wished you could forget the story he had told you on your walk over here. He had way too vividly description how once on impulse he had bitten into a live koi fish he saw in a pond in order to ward off a loan shark across the way coming to collect money. What was worse, it actually worked. At least until they sent another guy a half an hour later.

“Go back inside, Luther. You to Klaus,” Five directed.

Turning your attention back to the toddler in command as he spoke, you quickly shifted your gaze back towards Klaus as he inevitably went to argue, stepping towards his brother with an exasperated look on his face. You reached out to gently grab his shirt. “Just go inside.” You needed to figure out how exactly Five knew about the fire, and just how extensively the details he knew went. It wasn’t exactly information you wanted out in the open, and though you trusted the curly haired brother the most in the family to an extent, it still wasn’t enough. No matter who you had trusted in your life, it had never been enough to openly discuss what had happened.

Klaus snapped his mouth closed in an uncertain grimace, his unnaturally comforting green eyes flickering as he tried to read your suddenly emotionless expression. You released some of the tension in your shoulders and heaved a breath. “Seriously, It’s fine. But if you hear glass shattering just know I’ve thrown him out the window.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Bending to the side to look at Five who stood directly behind Klaus, you raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Come here then, preppy.”

Five crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, glancing down the hall at nowhere in particular. Clearly, his patience was running thin. Good.

Luther didn’t even bother to stick around and watch the show, unlike the unmistakably entertained Klaus. He just wordlessly turned back around into the apartment, leaving the door wide open for Klaus to follow.

“Okay, fine. Just don’t tell them all the fun bits without us, brother dear. It’ll be too priceless to miss.” Klaus settled on saying, departing back into the apartment, flashing his cheeky grin as he did.

You turned towards Five once you heard the familiar click of the closed door, grabbing his arm as you tugged him further away from the door in case there were any eavesdroppers. “You shouldn’t know about the fire. The entire story didn’t even hit the news.”

He shrugged your grip away easily. “And who do you think covered it up?” He bit back, a pressing look in his eyes.

What exactly was he implying? The little dude was kind of freaky—less of a kid than what he looked like— but he would have been the exact same age as you when it happened. Ten. As capable as he seemed now, you highly doubted he could have been able to suppress what had happened in the media. Allison possibly could have with her powers, but even then, there were so many people coming and going throughout that morning that you would have caught sight of her. The Umbrella Academy wasn’t even in the same city as you, for Christ's sake.

“Are you implying that it was covered up, or that somehow you had something to do with it?”

You could have been wrong, but a sort of half satisfied tick tugged his lips up the tiniest bit. But instead of a reply, he vanished again in a blink of an eye. You were really starting to hate his power. Letting out an aggravated huff, you twisted around slightly as if somehow you would find him dramatically down the hall, but he was back in a literal flash in under ten seconds, except this time he had a file in hand. He handed it to you, stating, “I found this in Hargreeve’s office. Read for yourself.”

And with that little cryptic introduction, you gave a speculative glance before gently taking it into your own hands, slight hesitance overtaking you as you flipped it open.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this.

The first thing that caught your attention was a picture of you at twelve years old, miserable in an oversized black hoodie, paperclipped to a copy of one of the social service identification documents used by your old foster caseworker. Once you flipped that over, you found and skimmed through written reports, Reginald’s familiar insignia watermarked at the top. In them detailed everything; everything you knew, everything you had assumed, every plot hole in your entire story.

Reginald had known where you were this whole time. He’d kept a watchful eye on you, and you had no doubt he had similar files on all the other babies he had never been able to get his hand on. One of the reports detailed the first time your force field had popped up. You were in kindergarten and some kid had been chasing you with those barely sharp baby scissor that couldn't even cut through shitty quality construction paper. In your instinctual fear, the blue bubble surrounded you and five-year-old Jimmy bounced right off of it, tumbling two feet away, landing on his wrist and snapping the bone.

No one had seen, other than the teacher who had immediately looked terrified and sent you to the office, rushing you there herself. When she dropped you off, the counselor intervened and talked to you, and by the next day, your teacher had basically all but ignored the fact it had ever happened. The kid’s broken wrist was simply explained away as him tripping on the floor. No one would believe a five-year old’s account of what had actually happened anyway.

The councilor, as detailed by Hargreeves, was an onlooker hired by him to keep tabs on you if anything like this had ever happened and to make it go away. It seemed there had always been someone hired in your school to do just that. To watch. To report. Intervene when necessary.

Then there was the report on the fire. It described how your mom had gotten up in the middle of the night to go to your room, leaving your dad asleep in his own bed. It continued to detail how she poured gasoline from your doorway to your bed, striking a match and dropping it so the flame would trail up towards you. Police documented pictures were attached of your black and charred bedroom, all your childhood objects nothing more than undistinguishable ash. They never did find your dads body in there, but from how everything had been destroyed, you had no doubt he was simply mixed into all the rubble and debris that had once made up their entire family home which crumbled in a single, terrible night.

The police report detailed all of this as well, in addition to your mother’s capture and arrest, which he somehow managed to get a copy of for his invasive file. But it lacked the details Hargreeves inevitably figured out. How could a child survive such a destructive event? You had walked out with nothing more than a severe burn mark on your leg, while your father who tried to rescue you instead of getting out had literally been caught in the crossfire. They had interviewed you, but you kept quiet. But Reginald knew it was your force field. He wrote about how he paid off multiple people to cover this up and make it seem as if it had never happened. Not for your sake, however. It was just so you would never come across someone who wanted to use your powers against his children. Like Five, he speculated that the force field could extend far past what you had always thought. It could render all his ‘projects’ useless. And he couldn't have that.

You closed the file without looking at the other pictures and papers littered within it. You couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. It would have just detailed every other moment in your life like a statistical, emotionless biography.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Five spoke, breaking through your reeling thoughts. You tried to stop the bile rising to the back of your throat.

“Who else has seen this?” You whispered, clutching it tightly to your chest as you met his eyes.

“Just me, as far as I know.”

You nodded your head, taking a second the inhale and exhale and suppress it all as you had most of your life. You slipped the file into your bag, stating without room for argument, “I’m keeping this.”

He tilted his head in affirmation, replying, “I expected as much.” Quiet again, you took just a bit longer to try and collect your emotions, turning your face away to look anywhere except the kid who knew more about you than anyone else. It was unnerving. Even more so as he actually seemed at least a bit sincere when he continued with, “I am sorry. But what we need you for, it’s more than this. More than all of us. I had to look at every single option wherever I could, and right now, you’re that option.”

You could take some solace in that. Five, you had come to figure out, was all business. He had a scientific mind, looking at everything as steps to get to a singular goal. He wouldn’t do anything malicious or invasive for fun. Well, at least he wouldn’t unless it got him to whatever goal he had in mind.

“You keep this to yourself, and I’ll listen to whatever plan you have in mind.”

Maybe you would regret it, maybe you wouldn’t. But the Hargreeve’s were clearly desperate for something—for help. You could respect that.

“I also won’t toss you out the window no matter what it is.”

That got a smile out of the little bugger, and an affirmative agreement of, “deal.”

Pushing yourself slightly from where you had withdrawn against the wall, you started to make your way back to the apartment, Five keeping stride beside you. Just as you were about to open the door, he asked, “so, are you going to tell me why you brought a clock with you as a weapon?”

“Nope.”

Five laughed. The bastard actually laughed at something you said. A small, breathy one that really was only a quiet huff presented with a smile, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “Alright then.”

Well, maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Then you walked into the living area and immediately realized that it was actually going to be far worse than just ‘bad’.

“Are you wearing a G-string?”

Holding his pants in his hand, with what looked like coffee or tea dripping from them and on to the plush white carpet, Klaus turned towards you from where he had previously been glaring at an equally as annoyed looking Luther, a sly smile morphing his face instead. Slightly popping his hip coquettishly, he replied in a faux sultry tone, “why yes, I am. You like?

You shrugged, dropping your bag into the couch, already becoming desensitized to his odd and unexplainable behaviors. “Honestly, I’m just happy to know you wear anything under those pants at all.”

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfic #the umbrella academy imagine #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #klaus hargreeves fanfic #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #five #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves #allison hargreeves #tua

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selfignitingimagines · 5 years

Text

Theo Raeken- I’ll Be Good

A/N- So yeah, this is something I really wanted to try. I know you guys are used to a different style from me but I wanted to challenge myself. I think Theo has a lot of potential as a character and I really enjoyed writing this. It’s also up on my wattpad. Let me know what you guys think if you want!

Lillian Waters was fighting a losing battle.

She never planned to die while wrestling for a gun on the floor of a deserted hospital with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her. She had planned to be old and decrepit, and die from being too lazy to do cardio in her prime. Now she had already been shot once, and if he managed to get her a second time, it looked like she wouldn’t get the chance to.

The whole reason she had gotten into this mess was because her friends had been in danger, and probably still were, but now so was she.

She grappled for the gun, but it was slick with her own blood, and Monroe’s hunter was much stronger than her. It didn’t help that the gunshot wound in her leg was bleeding heavily, making her weaker by the second.

She grunted in frustration, knowing that if she didn’t fight she would die, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. As if he had read her mind, the Hunter suddenly jerked the gun out of her hands, aiming it toward her chest. She gasped and reared up, trying to push it away even though she knew she wouldn’t be fast enough.

A sickening crack hit her ears as the gun went off, and sparks danced before her eyes, but the bright light quickly faded. Suddenly everything was dim, but not dark, and she realized the hunter was no longer above her, but lying on the floor instead. His brown eyes bored into hers, empty and cold, but he made no move to hurt her any longer. His neck was bent at an odd angle, and it took her a lot longer than it should have to realize he was dead.

She let out a choked breath, trying to think through the fog of pain and weakness the wound in her leg had brought. She reached up with a trembling, bloody hand, feeling the rest of her body and finding that she wasn’t injured anywhere else. She had heard the gun go off, but the bullet had missed her. Judging by the dim light in the hallway of the hospital, he had probably missed and hit one of the fluorescent lights instead. But why did he miss in the first place?

A shadow fell over her, and she glanced up to find a broad-shouldered figure standing over her. Theo Raeken stared down at her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she saw concern on his face. She scrambled back, knowing that if he tried anything she wouldn’t be able to defend herself, but simply he held up his hands. “Easy. I snapped his neck. You’re safe.”

“The others,” she choked. “Liam, Scott, the Hunters-”

“It’s over,” Theo told you. “They found the Anukete. Scott won.”

She nodded dumbly, and Theo knelt down beside her. He reached out, but she flinched back, not sure yet whether she could trust him or not. He blinked, looking almost embarrassed as she shied away from his touch.

“It hurts, right?” he asked.

She nodded, and before she could stop him, he placed his hand on her knee, just above the wound. “What are you-”

She gasped, and her body sagged in relief as he took her pain away. He gritted his teeth, feeling everything she had, but he didn’t pull away until his veins ran black with all he could take. She let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of everything that had happened crash down on her all at once.

“Come on,” she heard Theo say, but his voice was distant. “I’m getting you help.”

She felt him pull her onto her feet, wrapping an arm around her waist in support. She took a few unsteady steps, but she barely made it halfway down the hall before she sagged against his warm side.

“Lillian,” you heard him warn, but she was fading too fast. Nevermind that this was Theo Raeken, the boy who had once tried to kill her and her friends. He had saved her life, and he had taken her pain away. And he was the only thing she could think of as she slipped into the darkness.

“...should be waking up any minute now. Whenever she’s ready, she can press that call button and I’ll be back in with the doctor.”

“She’s going to be okay, right? You’re sure?”

“Well she does have a gunshot wound, so there could always be complications, but-”

“Complications? Like what?”

“Infection, nerve damage, that kind of thing. As long as she takes it easy and comes back for her follow ups, she should be fine. And with a boyfriend like you to keep an eye on her, I’m sure she’s in good hands.”

“She...she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh sorry. Family?”

“No. We’re...it’s kind of complicated.”

“Oh. Well, just press that button if she needs anything.”

She woke up to the voices, murky and confusing in her ears. They stopped before she found the strength to open her eyes, but when she did, she saw a blurry figure rise from a chair by her bedside.

“Theo?”

He paused as he headed toward the door, turning around and glancing at her.

“Where are you going?” she asked groggily.

“Scott and the others are on their way,” he told you, avoiding the question. “You don’t need me here.”

“Wait,” she told him, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position. “You don’t have to...Theo you saved my life.”

He shrugged. “Figured I owed you.”

“For what?”

“For that night with the Ghost Riders. And for everything I did. To you, to the others. I don’t think I could ever make up for it, but at least I tried with you.”

He turned away, stepping toward the door. “Feel better, Y/n.”

He reached for the handle, but she called out to him. “Theo, don’t go.”

He blinked, looking back at her with raised eyebrows. She blushed. “I...I can barely tell you where I am right now. Can you at least stay until the others get here?”

Theo’s lips twitched. “You sure? You’re not afraid I’m going to poison your IV or anything?”

“Doesn’t really seem like your style,” she commented, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m trying out some new things,” he said with a shrug.

“Like saving lives instead of ruining them?”

He tilted his head as his lips twitched. “Exactly.”

A warm smile came across her face. “I think you’re doing pretty good so far.”

Theo swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. “I think I should leave before Scott gets here.”

“Theo, I’m sure he’d understand-”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I probably won’t be in Beacon Hills for much longer anyway.”

“Oh,” she said softly, running a hand through her tangled hair as best she could. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Good luck then. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Yeah,” he told her. “Me too.”

But he knew, as he walked out of the room and shut the door, that what he was looking for was directly behind him.

-----

As it turned out, Theo didn’t end up leaving Beacon Hills, and he wasn’t living in his truck anymore.

Scott had come to him one night, knocking on his window in an empty grocery store parking. To Theo’s surprise, he offered him a place to stay, a loft apartment at the same complex Derek owned. He guessed it was partly so they could keep an eye on him. He also suspected Lillian had something to do with it.

He had made a mental note to avoid any and all interaction with everyone in Scott’s pack. He didn’t want to cause trouble, and he was pretty sure they all hated him anyway. But when he saw her, he just couldn’t help it.

Sometimes he would think about that night in the hospital with her and Liam, and he wanted to ask about it, but he never seemed to be able to. She had jumped in front of him, knowing he would wonder why, and said simply “You’re stronger.”.

He happened to run into her a lot. Every so often, he would catch a flash of her dark hair through the window of the coffee shop where she worked. He couldn’t resist going in and seeing the excited look in her eyes as he walked through the door, jingling the little bell at the top.

Then she would flush and look down, smiling at him softly before she went back to taking an order.

“Caffeine doesn’t work on you, does it?” she had asked one day. “Just like alcohol.”

She was handing him a small cup of coffee from across the counter. Her hair was up in a messy bun that day, with curly tendrils trailing past her ears. It had been a slow morning, and no one was listening, and he supposed she decided it was safe to satisfy her curiosity.

Theo had smiled. “No. It doesn’t.”

“So why do you come here?” she asked quizzically. “Why waste your money on coffee?”

“I mean, I do drink it.”

“So that’s why you get the girly drinks,” she said with a grin. “Is that the only reason you come here? For a mediocre mocha latte? Or do you come here to check up on me?”

Theo shrugged. “Well, after passing out into my arms you can’t expect me to believe you can handle things on your own.”

She snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. “I handled things just fine before you came along. I smashed a vase over a kanima’s head. And for the record I did not pass out in your arms at the hospital. I was falling, and you happened to grab me before I hit the ground.”

“You sure about that? If I remember correctly, you were totally delirious. You might be getting some of the details mixed up.”

She eyed him with sharp brown eyes, but her smile was playful. “Why are you up so early anyway? It’s seven am.”

“The Sheriff sort of offered me a job.”

Her eyebrows rose. “As a deputy?”

Now it was Theo’s turn to scoff. “No. Fixing some things around the station. Turns out I’m pretty good with my hands.”

She smiled. “Huh. Who knew?”

“Stiles isn’t too happy about it.”

She had rolled her eyes, and shaken her head. “He’s an idiot. You’re an extra line of defense in case something goes wrong. With everything that’s happened at the station, he should be grateful.”

“I think he’s under the impression that I’m going to be the thing going wrong.”

“Then he’s mistaken,” she informed him haughtily.

Theo swallowed, feeling his heart contract at the conviction in her tone. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and even with the ugly brown apron, she looked fierce.

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he told her, trying to keep himself from stammering. “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Don’t want to be late on your first day. It is your first day, right?”

He nodded. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow, if Stiles doesn’t run me over with his jeep.”

She laughed. “He’d have to get it started first. You’re gonna do great, Theo.”

A voice came from the back room before he could respond.

` “Hey, Y/n! Can you come help me with this box?!”

Lillian turned to him and smiled. “I’ll see you later?”

He nodded, tightened his grip on his coffee, and walked out the door.

-----

Had she just given a pep talk to Theo Raeken?

That’s what she was was thinking as she walked into the back, until she saw her coworker Georgie, struggling to pull a large box from the backdoor.

“Oh shit,” Lillian swore, rushing over. “You should have waited for me. You’ll hurt your back like that.”

She went around to the other side of the box, placing her hands on it. “You pull, I push?”

Georgie nodded. “You’d think the delivery guy would at least bring the food into the building.”

Her voice had the slight lilt of an accent. Georgie was from Guatemala, although she had moved to Hill Valley, the next town over, when she was eight. Like Lillian, she was going to the community college in Beacon Hills, so having a job there too just made sense. That was how they had met. She had also been in her stats class last spring.

“I might as well live here,” she had commented one day.

“Trust me,” Lillian had told her. “You don’t.”

Once they had maneuvered the box into the store room, Georgie straightened up. Lillian kicked the box lightly. “Who knew frozen danishes were this fucking heavy?”

“Clearly not the delivery guy. So who was tall, dark, and handsome out there? He comes in, like, everyday.”

“Just someone I knew in high school,” Lillian told her.

Georgie hmmed. “From the way he looks at you, I doubt he’s just anybody.”

Lillian sighed. “His name is Theo. But there’s nothing going on between us.”

She was met with a skeptical look, and she sighed. “It can’t happen. And I wouldn’t want it to.”

“Well,” Georgie said, tying up her long, black hair into a ponytail. “I guess that’s good news, considering that cute guy at table five has been eyeing you since we opened.”

“The blonde one?”

“Yep. You should get his number.”

Lillian flushed immediately. “I-I don’t want to date. I haven’t dated anyone since high school.”

“So now is the perfect time!”

It was true she had been in a few brief relationships in high school, with Isaac Lahey being the longest. After she had realized he was really interested in Allison, their four month fling ended, and there had been no one since. She was secretly grateful he had disappeared off to France, because confronting the awkwardness of that situation was something she had never gotten around to doing.

After that, dating someone who wasn’t involved with the supernatural seemed incredibly complicated. She had no desire to put someone she cared about in danger, and if she didn’t care for them, what was the point?

“I don’t know,” Lillian admitted. “What if he wasn’t looking at me? What if I go over there and I look like a freak?”

Georgie shrugged. “Do it casually.”

“How?”

She huffed. “Like, go over there and ask if he’s finished with his plate. He had one of those awful scones.”

“So what does that say about him?” Lillian asked, raising an eyebrow at her friend. “Anyone who likes those is insane.”

“Jesus Christ, Lillian,” Georgie muttered with a roll of her eyes. “The type of breakfast item he chooses does not reflect the type of person he is. Go talk to him or I’ll do it for you. Unless you are holding out for that guy who came in earlier…”

“No!” Lillian hissed. “I’ll do it.”

She turned on her heel and walked to the front of the store. The guy at table five looked up and met her eyes. He was cute, just as Georgie had said, with neatly trimmed dirty-blonde hair. His eyes were a warm hazel color, and they sort of crinkled at the edges when he smiled.

As welcoming as he looked, Lillian froze in a panic, but just then, the bell on the door jingled, and about six people entered. She sighed in relief, and popped her head back into the store room. “The eight o’clock rush is here.”

Georgie eyed her suspiciously as she tightened her apron and came to the front. “You are so lucky that just happened.”

Lillian shrugged at her, and turned toward the first customer, a short, tired looking man in a crumpled suit. “What can I get for you?”

-----

“You make a killer caramel macchiato.”

Lillian’s head popped up from where she had been cleaning under the counter. The morning rush was over, so it was time to prepare for the lunch crowd. To her surprise, it was the guy Georgie had pointed out.

He was leaning on the counter with his cup in his hand. His mouth was pulled up at one corner in a sort of half smile, and the thought briefly crossed her mind that he seemed a little shy.

“Oh thanks,” she said awkwardly, swiping at her cheek. She was pretty sure she had smeared coffee grounds on herself by accident.

“Oh, here,” the guy said, swiping a few napkins from the holder on the counter.

He reached out to wipe the spot from her cheek, and she flushed furiously.

“Sorry,” he said with a nervous laugh. “That was probably super weird of me.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said with a smile.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if Georgie was still refilling the cabinets behind her. Coincidentally, she had slipped into the back as soon as the guy reached for a napkin.

“I’m Lyle,” he introduced. “I didn’t mean to be weird, I’ve just never actually had coffee this good.”

Her smile widened. “Well, I’ve had lots of practice. I’m-”

“Lillian,” he finished for her.

She tilted her head, a little bit startled, and he pointed to her nametag. She laughed softly. “Sometimes I forget about that. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I was wondering,” he began nervously. “If maybe I could repay you by buying you some? I mean, I could try to make it, but that might be a disaster…”

Lillian flushed. He was trying to ask her out, and that hadn’t happened to her in a very long time. So long, that she was surprised when she found herself saying yes.

“Really?” he asked, immediately going red. “Uh, that would be great! Are you free tonight? Maybe we could go out after you get off.”

“Yeah,” she told him brightly. “I’d love to.”

-----

Lillian had just thrown off her apron when her phone rang. She took a seat on one of the empty crates in the store room, and sighed.

“What’s up, Stiles?”

“This is all your fault,” he immediately accused.

“Stiles, I’m on my break,” she groaned, knowing at once what he was talking about.

“Theo saved your life. You vouched for him. Now he’s right next to my dad for eight hours a day!”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t die,” she snapped.

Stiles softened. “Lil, you know that’s not what I mean. After everything Theo’s done, I don’t want him anywhere near anyone we care about. You included.”

“He wouldn’t do anything to me,” she concluded. “He saved my life. Don’t you think that would have been a little counterproductive if he was planning to hurt me?”

“He could be manipulating you. Think about it! Theo saves your life, making you swoon-”

“Woah, I am not swooning,” she protested.

“I meant that would have been his plan!”

“Stiles,” she said firmly. “I think Theo’s accepted that he lost. He’s different, okay? And he just wants to be normal. Besides, if something does happen, he’s going to protect your dad.”

“How do you know that?” Stiles demanded.

“Because he protected me. And he’d do the same thing for him.”

“I still don’t like it,” Stiles grumbled. “I need a favor from you.”

“Can’t you ask Lydia?” she asked with a groan.

“It has to be you. Theo likes you. He always has.”

“So?”

“So I need you to keep an eye on him. I’m not there to do it, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”

“I am not spying on Theo!”

“I don’t want you to spy. I just mean that if anyone can keep him in check, it’s you.”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone and let me enjoy my break?”

“Is that a yes?”

Lillian huffed. “Yes.”

“Okay, have a good break!”

He ended the call, and Lillian slid her phone back into her pocket with a frown. “All ten minutes I have left of it,” she muttered to herself.

-----

“Are you sure you don’t need help with anything?” Georgie asked, shrugging on her jacket.

“I was sure the last three times you asked,” Lillian told her. “Go home. You have a test tomorrow. All I have to do is take the trash out anyway.”

“You’re the one who should be leaving early. You have a date tonight. Besides, we’re supposed to close up together.”

Lillian shrugged, and reached forward to turn off the bright fluorescent OPEN sign above the front door. “We’re already closed.”

Georgie grinned as Lillian reached forward and help open the door for her. “Go.”

“You’re crazy,” she said, as she walked out the door. For Georgie, that was the closest thing she could get to an “I love you.”.

After Lillian had locked the door behind her, she had collected both huge bags of trash and walked them out to the dumpster.

As she hauled them out, she glanced up above her. The night was warm and clear, and the stars were bright and shining above her. She let out a content sigh, letting herself relax for the first time all day.

That was when she heard a sound behind her, causing her to tense up. She turned around quickly, glancing down the alley behind her, but no one was there. It had sounded like footsteps, but maybe she had been mistaken.

When she turned back to the dumpster, someone was standing in front of her, causing her to shriek and drop the garbage bags.

“Shit, sorry.”

Theo was standing there, holding up his hands in a gesture that was meant to be non-threatening.

“Theo!” she snapped. “What the hell?”

“I would have gone through the front, but the lights were already out. I thought I missed you.”

“So you sneak up on me in an alley?”

“I thought if I called out to you it would scare you.”

She looked at him sharply, but then she sighed. “We’ve gotta work on your lurking problem.”

“We?’ he asked, reaching down to grab the bags by her feet.

“You could use some work on the whole human thing,” she observed.

“I thought I was doing pretty good,” he told her with a wink, as he tossed the bags into the dumpster. “Did you want to give me those humanity lessons tonight, or…?”

“I, uh, I can’t tonight,” she told him.

“Hanging out with Lydia?”

“No, actually. I have a date.”

Theo’s face went from playful to an expression she couldn’t read. “Oh. Do I know this guy?”

She shook her head. “I met him at work today.”

Theo tilted his head. “Was he that blonde guy sitting in the corner this morning?”

Lillian’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”

“I saw him staring at you.”

“And?” she demanded. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” Theo said plainly. “I just didn’t like the vibe he gave me.”

She scoffed. “Come on-”

“I’m serious,” he continued. “Do you need me to follow you?”

She shot him an incredulous look, but he was absolutely serious. “No, Theo. Why would you even want to do that?”

“I owe you,” he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

“For what?” she asked. “You saved my life, not the other way around.”

“I know you talked Scott into helping me.”

She was silent for a few moments, and she knew he could probably hear her heart pounding. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Save it. I know what you did, and I owe you for it. I don’t care what Scott and the others think. Until I pay you back for that, you’re not getting rid of me.”

“Theo,” she said softly, but before she could continue he cut her off.

“Enjoy your date.”

His tone was short as he turned his back on her, heading down the alley with his hands shoved into his pockets. She stood there after he had gone, shook her head in disbelief, and walked back into the coffee shop.

She wasn’t sure, but she knew there might be more to this than just Theo feeling like he owed her something. Judging by the look on his face when she told him she was going on a date, he seemed like he was jealous. As she walked back inside, she wasn’t sure she minded.

#teen wolf imagines #selfignitingimagines #theo raeken imagines #teen wolf

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shawnmend-yes · 6 years

Text

I know you know it

Exams were just around the corner and needless to say you were practically a ball of frayed nerves ready to catch alight at any given moment. Anything could set you off, when you became stressed you tended to verge towards extremes. Whether it was laughing to the point you wet yourself or crying over a misspelt word on a revision card. The revision cards you had brought the second week of term, but did you start revising then? Of course not and my god were you paying for it now.

Sitting up to the countertop of your small student flat was a nightmare, the harder you tried to focus the more distracted you became. You couldn’t help but listen to the click of the clock and count down how many hours you could theoretically do that night if you focused right now. An old habit you developed on the sleepless nights, thinking about how much sleep you could get if you just dropped off right that second, which of course only ever stressed you out more over how little time you had left.

You groan as you flick to the next card to be met with yet another in the hundreds of case studies that you had to remember. If you even wanted a chance at passing this year.

“Want me to test you again?” Shawn asks, glancing over at you from his spot on the sofa. You’d almost forgotten he was there. You told him it wouldn’t be worth coming over today, even your roommate knew to escape when you got like this but he had insisted and for the most part he barely said a word. Only stopping to make you a fresh drink or toss a few words of encouragement into the mix when you got really desperate.

You scowl as you take another sip from your water bottle. “Nope.” He doesn’t reply to your snappy tone, instead just pausing the show he was watching and crossing the space to meet you. “Nothings working, ive tried everything shawn. Everything.” You mutter, chewing the inside of your cheek and rubbing your eyes.

“Its okay, maybe you just need a rest.” He says softly, but quickly raising his hands in surrender when he meets your eye. “Or we can try something else…”

“Ive done flashcards, posters, essays, videos, quizzes, tests,” you state, ticking them off on your fingers as your voice raises with each admission, until you bury your head in your hands. “Theres nothing else I can do.” You let him rub soothing circles into your palm with his thumb for a few moments before shaking him off and picking up your cards again.

“Whats the chorus of queen?” He blurts, swiping your bottle off the counter and padding to the kitchen to refill it from the taps.

“who crowned you queen of, you think your too cool, making beautiful look ugly” you reply automatically, shooting him a confused look as you try to make the sentence in front of you stick.

You can see the wheels of his head turning as he played the song through in his head, a smile toying with the corner of his mouth when he realised you had got them spot on. “And the first line of like to be you?”

“Shawn, I really need to get this work done.” You reply turning your full attention back to the traffic light beacon card, seriously you needed to rethink the colour schemes on this one. It could probably be seen from space.

He covers the top of your notecard with his fingertips preventing you from reading the majority of information, “Come on- please?” he pleads, holding your gaze with excited eyes.

“Don’t cry or do, whatever makes you comfortable.” You sigh, tilting the cards out from under his grasp and pulling them closer towards you.

“okay and-“

“NO shawn, I will literally rip my eyeballs out my skull and throw them at you. I NEED to learn this. Please” you interrupt only half joking, because at least if you didn’t have eyeballs anymore you wouldn’t have to take this stupid test.

“wait, just, trust me, whats the last line of nervous?” He pleads, reaching across to grab your hand, which your quick to withdraw. “I know you know it” he smirks, “come on. Tell me.” He mumurs, a challenge gleaming in his eye as he leans forward and pokes you gently in the cheek as if he could force the words out of your mouth or at least get you to crack a smile.

“I don’t have time to stroke your ego okay?” you scream at him, causing him to recoil away from you. “If your not going to help then just fucking leave.” You watch the shock run across his face, lips parting as he sucks in a breath but you maintain eye contact. Part of you immediately wants to take it back, to lean forward and promise you didn’t mean it. But instead your eyes follow him to the door, and continue to stare at the now empty corridor outside it. Empty as your brain.

You don’t so much as hear the bang of the door swinging shut as feel it, a jolt in your bones bringing you back to the moment. You give yourself a moment to process what happened before you begin to reason with yourself. The Yerkes Dobson curve showed that moderate levels of anxiety can help with your memory, and while you felt guilty for thinking it you were gripping to that excuse as tightly as you could. Wrapping it around yourself like a security net, because not only did it prove that you knew at least one thing for your psychology test in a few days but it also gave you an excuse to not chase after him.

You twist yourself back round to the notecards lying in front of you, blinking as the words begin to crawl across the page to form undistinguished squiggles. After a few minutes of staring blankly at the same green notecard you throw it across the room. Pavlov was an asshole anyway, you didn’t want to remember someone like him. Slouching down you press your forehead to the table and imagine your body absorbing the cold into your blood as it pumps around your body. The feeling relaxes areas of your brain that you weren’t even aware you had and you can feel the tightness behind your eyes begin to fade.

The moment is interrupted too soon by a soft thud, which you assume is the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, your roommate was supposed to be staying at a friends for the night in an attempt to give you space to revise and shawn… well shawn had left. Part of you was curious but you couldn’t bring yourself to move from your spot on the table. Even if it was a murderer they wouldn’t have to wait long before you would drown in your own salty tears. Might as well let them get on with it. “If you’re going to kill me make it quick, least I wont have to do exams”

When no reply comes your curiosity is peaked, you tilt your head to the side to be met with a mildly amused shawn, pulling on the edge of the strap wrapped around his shoulder. He arches an eyebrow at you prompting you to explain your current situation. “Im absorbing the information” you mumble, face still pressed against the cool countertop as you listen to the padding of shawns socked feet coming towards you.

He doesn’t say anything, instead shifting the strap once again and pulling the attached object in front of him. “Brought my guitar.” He states, unzipping the case and placing it on the sofa across from you.

You watch him settle into the space and strum the guitar lightly, odd fragments of melody spilling from his mind as he checks the tuning of each string before hes satisfied. Your mind is grateful for the distraction as you follow the movement of his swallow tattoo, you could almost imagine it was flying gracefully across his hand to peck the strings with its beak in a series of fluid swoops back and forth. You open your mouth to protest when the sounds stop trinkling out as shawn sets the guitar at his side and propels himself over to you.

“ You’re doing it wrong,” he whispers, perching on the stool next to yours as you peel yourself off the table to look at him. “You’re trying so hard to be what everyone else is saying you should be that you’ve completely forgotten who you are. You’re the person who knows a lyric to fit every sentence, the missing words to every chord. You could recite most of my songs backwards in your sleep.” You squint at him, trying to decipher exactly what his point is. “We just have to play to your strengths.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that?” you ask, rubbing the inner corners of your eyes with your pinky fingers in attempt to remove the sleep that you know must be hiding there, as shawn stands in front of you.

He grabs onto your hands, tugging you softly against him so he can drop a kiss onto the top of your forehead before leading you over to the sofa. “We’re gonna write a song.”

#Feedback is appreciated #largely unedited #shawn mendes #studying #shawn imagine #imagine #oneshot #shawn peter raul mendes #fanfic #shawn fanfic #shawn fluff #fluff #angst

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lechevaliermalfet · 6 years

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Rise, and Escape – A Long Look at Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter

Quick note: This deep dive write-up was originally posted elsewhere in May of 2015. I’m polishing it for reposting here. In addition, for those interested, a while back I recorded a podcast-type thing for a project called Pause Menu Monologues, which was being done by an acquaintance of mine. Said monologue was derived from a cut-down version of this effortpost. For those interested, you can listen to that here. Now, on to the main event.

As I prepare to leave my current job for another with far better opportunities, it feels tremendously appropriate to talk yet again about a game premised almost entirely on the idea of escape.

I’ve written about Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter before, but it was requested that I write about it again. It was @squeemcsquee making the request, so I listened more than usual. I’m sure I’ll probably wind up saying a lot of the same things I said on the first go-‘round, but who knows?

Well, here’s something I didn’t say before this writing: When I first introduced her to Dragon Quarter, she got into it. Really into it. Given her relative inexperience with Japanese role-playing games, this was surprising to me; it’s so different from the usual run of JRPGs, especially as the genre stood in about 2003 or so when the game first came out. Contrarian that I am (at times), that’s part of what endeared it to me. But as she pointed out, the things that made it seem out of the ordinary to me meant very little to her. She didn’t have much “ordinary” to compare it against.

Unfortunately, watching her play it made me want to play it also. Part of this is the natural (and deeply unfortunate) backseat-driving instinct I have whenever I’m watching someone do something that I’m familiar with, but feel they could be doing better, and in fact, if they’d just let me have the controller for a few minutes, I could show them exactly how… But part of it was also just that seeing the game played really made me want to be playing it myself. This presented a problem, what with us having only the one copy. It led to arguments. Not, like, real arguments, but not exactly cutesy fun arguments, either. We did, at the time, have both a working PlayStation 2 and a backward-compatible PlaySation 3, so it was only owning just the one copy of the game that was really a problem. So the solution was pretty simple.

That’s how good it is. Dragon Quarter: The game so nice, we bought it twice.

Technically, we only bought the game once. I bought it when it first came out, back in early 2003. I played it for a while, and while it was pretty to look at, and it had good music, and the setting was interesting, it just didn’t come together for me. Despite this, I had no desire to trade it in. I had the feeling I was onto something good, though I couldn’t quite grasp it at the time.

I hadn’t had much experience with the Breath of Fire series then. I owned a copy of Breath of Fire IV, which was really the first game in the series that I even tried to tackle seriously. Having unwillingly skipped over the 16-bit generation (owning a TurboGrafx-16 and five games hardly counts), my impression of the series at that time could basically be described as “like Final Fantasy, only not quite as inventive”. It perhaps wasn’t a fair assessment, but I was basing this on the opinions of friends and acquaintances; I was unable to draw my own conclusions. Still, I liked Breath of Fire IV well enough, even outside of some positive personal associations, so I hung on to Dragon Quarter, feeling relatively certain that one day, I would get the itch to try it again.

As it happened, I did, a couple years down the line. The story and the characters were calling to me, and this time, everything finally clicked.

It probably helped that, around that time, I was beginning to become aware that JRPGs as a genre were becoming (or more likely, always had been) deeply conservative in terms of design, as well as character and story archetypes. Realistically, this has probably been the case since the days of the original Dragon Quest, Final Fantasy, and Phantasy Star. But I got into these types of games in late 1998 with Final Fantasy VII; I was new to the genre in those days, so even things that were rote and by-the-numbers were fresh and new to me then. And in fairness, I’ve enjoyed a number of these types of games. But by this time, I found myself wanting games in the genre to branch out and do something new. So many of the mechanical mainstays of the genre, the “traditions” of JRPG design, began life as frankly clunky workarounds for technology that wasn’t really up to giving us a less abstract simulation of the expected features of a fantasy adventure: travel, exploration, fighting monsters, finding treasure, getting new and more powerful gear, and saving the world and any number of princesses. If you wanted to simulate all of these things on older hardware, you had to have a certain amount of abstraction. So you had your turn-based battles, your random encounters, and so on, and so forth.

By the PS2 era, the technology was rapidly growing beyond the need to adhere to these ancient abstractions for any reason other than nostalgia’s sake. It had been doing this for some time – Chrono Trigger jettisoned random encounters back in the mid-90s, but despite the universal acclaim that game received, no one seemed terribly interested in implementing any of its innovations elsewhere. Developers were, by and large, unwilling to grow out of those old ways. In part this might be down to the reluctance of their audience (or at least a very vocal portion of it) to part ways with those same traditions. But whatever the reason, the result was the same: stagnation. Or so it felt to me.

I wanted something that was different from the JRPGs I’d played before. Something that still offered the thought and planning that went into playing an RPG of any kind, something with a good story and interesting characters, but which went off the beaten path and did something different.

And so, in late 2004 or maybe early 2005, two years after I originally bought it, tried it, and hung it up for the foreseeable future, I started playing Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter again.

It’s an odd beast, this game, even when you look at it in the context of its own series. All the more so, really. The earliest Breath of Fire games got compared to the 8- and 16-bit Final Fantasy games, at least by most of the people I knew back then. Really, a more apt comparison would be to Dragon Quest, but I hadn’t played any of those games, and I was part of a group of friends who oddly lacked much experience with that series, so maybe nobody was in a position to make that particular comparison. With most of my friends, Dragon Quest (then known as Dragon Warrior due to trademark issues; I feel so old sometimes) was always “That game where you grind for hours and hours and then you finally say ‘fuck this!’ and go do something else, maybe play Final Fantasy or go outside or something, I dunno”.

Anyway, the whole series up to this point had been pretty standard high-fantasy fare, with the unique selling point being the main character’s ability to transform into a dragon. Most of the game mechanics beyond this were pretty straightforward. My experience with the series at large was pretty much limited to some time spent on the fourth game, and some time spent goofing off with ROMs of the first two out of idle and quickly satisfied curiosity.

One other consistent feature of the series is that the main character, the aforementioned dragon-transforming person, is always a young blue-haired swordsman named Ryu, and there is always a blonde, winged young lady named Nina who typically focuses on magic. Additional characters tend to be of all shapes, sizes, and species.

Dragon Quarter, by contrast, occurs in a future dystopia where humankind, having pretty much destroyed the environment through the use of biologically engineered weapons called dragons, has retreated to a single subterranean dwelling called Sheldar. There, they survive as best they can.

In this society, everyone is given a rank, called a D-ratio. On the surface of things, this ratio is a measure of one’s current ability and future potential, and places limits on their social standing, the kinds of jobs they can hold, places they can live, and overall determining just exactly how high they can rise in the world, figuratively and literally.

“Low-Ds”, that is, people with low D-ratios, live further down in this habitat. The air is worse, people’s lifespans are shorter, and there are occasionally monsters called genics that roam around down there. The people with high D-ratios live closer to the surface where the air is better and things are generally less dangerous. A nice touch is that, especially in cut scenes, the game is literally more hazy and grimy, visually, the further down you are. As you go up, the environments gradually become clearer and brighter. It happens bit by bit, so you may not notice it the first time through, but if you finish the game and start over again, the difference stands out.

One of the few story beats to be preserved is our hero: Ryu. Here, he’s a low-D ranger, whose job mainly seems to involve security and hunting down genics. His D-ratio is abysmally low: 1/8,192. His current job is the very highest he can hope to achieve. He’s partnered with another young man named Bosch, D-ratio 1/64. While Ryu is effectively at the very limit of how far he can rise in the world, Bosch is only at the beginning. A D-ratio as high as his means he can potentially qualify to become a Regent, one of the four rulers of this underground world. Bosch is basically just paying his dues here. He’s friendly enough to Ryu, in a condescending sort of way, which Ryu mostly just shrugs off. What else is he going to do?

While reporting for an assignment with Bosch, Ryu succumbs to a brief fugue, in which he has a vision. He sees the decaying remains of a giant dragon spiked to a wall. Despite clearly being dead, the dragon seems to talk to Ryu, mind-to-mind, though what it says to him makes virtually no sense at the time. Not long after, Ryu comes across the real thing, though it is very visibly dead and inanimate.

A terrorist attack splits up Ryu and Bosch, and shortly thereafter, Ryu runs into this game’s version of Nina, as well as a member of the resistance movement Trinity, named Lin. She seeks Nina for her own – or rather Trinity’s – purposes. The three form an unlikely but highly effective team. But allying himself with these two has its consequences, and by the time Ryu and Bosch reunite, circumstances have made them into enemies. Bosch is a good fighter, and he has plenty of allies with him, but Ryu refuses to betray his new comrades. Thankfully, his encounter with the dragon was no mere dream or hallucination. Unbeknownst to him, it has bestowed him with awesome power… and a deadline.

With every passing moment, the monstrous dragon power lurking within Ryu grows more prominent, threatening to overcome him. While Ryu is in control, he can transform into a bestial form capable of slaughtering even bosses within just a couple of rounds of combat. But drawing on that power accelerates its progress in overtaking him.

And so, with all hands turned against him, Ryu, Lin, and Nina have ultimately just a single option: Escape.

One of the things that I like about Dragon Quarter – one of many, many things – is the way that the game’s more prominent mechanics and its story are so closely intertwined.

The dragon power bestowed upon Ryu early into the game isn’t just a narrative device or story element, coming out only when dramatically convenient. It’s also a game mechanic, in the form of what the game calls a D-counter. This is a number, a percentage, that appears in the corner of the screen. As you play, it slowly ticks up toward 100 in intervals of a hundredth of a percent. Everything you do in the game causes it to increase. Everything. Every 24 or 25 steps will cause it to increase by one interval. Later in the game, this happens every dozen steps or so. Ryu’s special D-dash ability, which allows him to avoid enemy combat, causes it to tick up faster. Transforming, all by itself, raises the counter, and any actions taken while transformed increase it by whole-number percentages. It is literally overpowered. What I mentioned about crushing bosses in just a couple of turns was not hyperbole. I’ve done it. It’s basically my end-game strategy.

There is no way to drop the counter. Ever. There are no items, no spells, no techniques which will allow you to reset it or undo any of its progress. It just sits up there in the corner, slowly increasing and glowing ever more furiously as the number grows. The tension between the temptation to use it whenever you’re in a bind and the punishing consequences of that use can be exquisite.

When I first heard Dragon Quarter described as a survival-horror RPG, it didn’t make sense to me. But that’s mainly because I associated the mechanical elements of most of the survival-horror games I’d played with the more thematic elements of horror. And there are horrific moments and images in Dragon Quarter; the world of the game is not a happy place, and its maintenance is not easily or cleanly done. But that horror is mainly a consequence of the world-building; it’s not the point of the game.

The key here, I think, is the word “survival”. You might more accurately call Dragon Quarter a survival-RPG, except it’s basically the only one of its kind that I know of. It’s kind of hard to wrangle a whole genre out of that.

At their heart, survival-horror games generally “work” based on two principles.

The first is the fragility of the player character relative to other types of games, and relative to the enemies within the game. You are not the hero of a more action-oriented game, who can take maybe a dozen sword strokes straight to the face and just keep going, or who can withstand a hail of gunfire and duck behind cover for a few seconds while your shields recharge. Here, the player is reduced to a much more even footing with the enemies. Every bit of damage taken is a significant setback that needs to be planned around, either to prevent it or to deal with it when it happens. Every attack must be calculated. This is because of the second principle, which is resource management.

The in-game resources, both those which you use to preserve yourself and those you use to eliminate your enemies, are finite. So they must be spent wisely, frugally. Because of this, you are constantly required to take a measured, careful approach to any situation. You can never just blithely wander around; to do so invites disaster twice over. In the short term, you risk serious harm, leaving yourself vulnerable to future threats. In the long term, if you come out of the situation relatively unscathed, it’s generally at some expense of resources, leaving you ill-prepared for future encounters. Carelessness becomes indistinguishable from suicide.

This puts pressure on the player to play extremely well at all times by punishing mistakes immediately and brutally. As a result, some of the typical elements of JRPGs are missing.

There are no healing spells or techniques. All healing – whether restoring health or curing negative status effects – is accomplished by way of expendable (and frequently pricey) items. And you have to consider how often (if at all) you’ll be using some of these items, because inventory space is limited, and multiple items of a single type don’t “stack” very much before requiring another inventory slot. And, naturally, the usual economics of JRPGs are in full effect. Whatever you get for selling an item is a pitiful fraction of what it costs you to buy.

The game offers you the ability to use bait and traps to lure enemies into a position of compromise and get the drop on them, but even these need to be used sparingly. There’s hardly enough for every encounter.

Interestingly, the game knows exactly how difficult it is, and gives you something of a way around the problem.

As with most RPGs of any kind, Japanese or otherwise, you earn experience points, new equipment, and new abilities as you go through the game. In addition, Dragon Quarter also gives you what’s called Party XP. Basically, this is experience you can dole out to party members as you like to boost their levels.

Should you find yourself in a situation where you can’t progress without either having your party wiped or running the D-counter up to 100% (which, if it hasn’t become obvious by now, is an instant Game Over), you have the option to do what’s called a SOL Restart. This restarts the game from the beginning, but lets you keep all the equipment and skills you’ve learned, as well as any Party XP you still have. This gives you get a fresh start while retaining your improved gear, and the Party XP lets you give yourself a boost in the early stretches.

There’s also an option to restore a previous hard save along these same lines. Dragon Quarter allows “soft” saves anywhere, but these are temporary by design. Once loaded, these saves disappear. There are only a few “hard” save points, from which you can restore at will, and to which you will be returned with a SOL Restore.

If this sounds ridiculous for what is typically a long-form type of game, it may help to understand that Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter is only about eight to ten hours long from start to finish on a single play through, once you know what you’re doing. Even with a couple of full-blown restarts, you’ll be spending no more time on Dragon Quarter than any other game from the same time period. Less, probably.

Writing this now, I just about want to say that Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter was Dark Souls before Dark Souls really existed. There’s a certain similarity in that both games are more difficult than usual while still being relatively fair, and in the expectation that you will die, probably more than once, and that rather than being a tragedy, it’s simply an instructive part of the experience. Or in the case of Dragon Quarter, you’ll experience (probably more than once) a situation in which death is basically a given should you continue, and the smart thing would be to cut your losses and restart.

Dragon Quarter’s infliction of pressure extends even to the representation of the game’s characters and world.

Most characters have a skinny, almost emaciated appearance. Part of this is simple stylization, of course, but it still contributes to the overall effect. These people live a thin and narrow existence, it says, devoid of the expansive pleasures humankind was meant to enjoy. There is a grimness and a quiet desperation underlying it all.

The world itself is a fucking hole. Corridors in the lower areas are littered with random junk and debris; it’s best not to think what it might all actually be. The air is hazy and grimy, and things have a sort of cobbled-together look that just makes the whole place look cramped and dingy and uncomfortable. In these lower areas, everything looks like it’s about one stern look away from falling right apart. The upper areas are cleaner, more solid, but can seem so sterile and strictly designed as to be hostile. Dragon Quarter does a wonderful job of creating a world you want to get the hell out of as soon as you can.

It’s ironic, really. Most games, I play to escape from the troubles and stresses in my life. And most games oblige this desire. Even the ones that take place in barren wastelands tend to take place in gorgeously rendered barren wastelands that encourage you to examine every carefully tailored nook and cranny. They’re an invitation to exploration and adventure, and are “barren” or “waste” only as a matter of aesthetics.

But limitation and escape are the central themes in this game, and a world in which such themes are explored must be more than a background or a prop.

The world is limited in its size; an RPG with little to no detectable exploration, comprised mainly of tunnels and rooms, and a single clear direction and objective at all times. The player's inventory of supplies is likewise limited, in keeping with the surival horror influence. The player is frequently required to prioritize, and ditch whatever they aren't likely to use based on their play style. Care must be taken by the player to work within these limits.

Narratively speaking, the story also explores the idea of limitations. Ryu himself embodies these limits. His D-ratio is among the lowest of the low. His place in society, the ways in which he can define and express himself, how he can live – all of these things have strict limits placed on them. And this dragon entity, Odjn… As much as it much as it appears to be the key to his salvation, as much as it empowers him to break all barriers and overcome or destroy all opposition, it limits him as well. It puts a countdown on his life, ticking down the hours he has left until... well, until whatever horrific thing might happen when Odjn gains total control and breaks free.

And in the end, the characters decide to break free of these limits placed on them by the world by breaking free of the world itself, to smash through the ceiling of it and see once and for all what lies beyond its narrow, choking confines.

Dragon Quarter is a game about escape.

Ultimately, this is a large part of what interests me about the story of Dragon Quarter, what keeps me coming back. Rather than a big, trampling save-the-world epic, it’s about a group of characters who just want out. This is a smaller story, a “tiny tale of time”, as the game itself tells us in its opening narration. It’s huge in its implications for its world and its characters. It’s great in the scope of the ideas it asks its characters to contemplate. (It flirts with Gnosticism, which immediately grabs my interest). It that sense, at least, it does involve the end of the world, in one way or another. But the scale is smaller, and the characters strike me as being more real because of it.

Ryu, Lin, and Nina don’t want to fight anybody. There’s at least one memorable occasion where Ryu, surrounded by enemies, asks why they can’t just let him and his friends go. The character animations in Dragon Quarter aren’t spectacular, but they get the job done here. There’s something about the way that Ryu asks his question that seems to have layers. On one layer, he seems mentally, psychologically exhausted from the strain of all the fighting, and the toll all the deaths he’s dealt out has taken on him. On yet a deeper layer, he seems equally exhausted from fighting the thing inside him that threatens to take over and destroy him.

They aren’t trying to harm anybody. And it seems reasonable just to let them go, on the one hand. But on the other, there is the major problem that letting Ryu and company out of this subterranean pit will completely upend the social order – will end this idea of the world – purely as a side-effect of his escape. Because the underlying problem with Ryu’s world is a variant on the same problem that keeps people in dead-end jobs and abusive relationships long beyond the point when, logically, they should be getting out.

Fear.

The world of Dragon Quarter is, as previously stated, an absolute, utter shithole in purely objective terms. Even the people in charge don’t seem to be enjoying themselves much. And it’s because everyone seems to be in unspoken agreement that even if the current circumstances are awful, at least they’re familiar awful circumstances. It’s possible that things are better on the surface, but it’s just as possible that they aren’t. It’s just as possible that they’re far worse. This, at least, is the devil we know.

Even one of the main villains, the ruler of this subterranean nightmare, is ruled by fear. A thousand years before the story proper, he was given the opportunity to open this world to the surface. But he backed down. In his fear that the world above might still be the barren wasteland people left ages ago, he turned back at the final moment, sentencing himself and everyone in the underground to remain in it indefinitely.

There’s an anime I like quite a bit – it’s probably my favorite, really – called Revolutionary Girl Utena, and in it there is a bit of dialogue that is recited so often it’s practically a ritual. It goes like this:

“If it cannot break out of its shell, the chick will die without ever being born. We are the chick. The world is our egg. If we don’t crack the world’s shell, we will die without ever truly being born. Smash the shell, for the world revolution.”

This is actually a paraphrase from the Hermann Hesse novel Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair’s Youth (usually just known as Demian), in which it’s put this way:

“The bird struggles out of the egg. The egg is a world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird then flies to God. That god’s name is Abraxas.”

To go up, to go out, to rise, to escape: This is an act of tremendous faith.

#breath of fire dragon quarter #breath of fire #dragon quarter #rpg #jrpg #video game #deep dive #effortpost #longpost #gnosticism-lite

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dat-town · 7 years

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In chains of the Crown

The cast: Yan An (Pentagon) as Prince, later King Yan An Mark Tuan (Got7) as King Mark (also mentioned as Tuan Yien) Cheng Xiao (WJSN) as the female lead

Setting: historical au, royal au

Genre: romance, angst

Warnings: violence, blood, minor character deaths, implied mature themes

Summary: Under the weight of the crown, will you break or will you bend? (Inspired by: "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown" - Henry IV by William Shakespeare)

Word count: 14.5k

Notes: takes place in China, during the sixteen kingdoms’ times but has nothing to do with the actual history. it’s basically scenes following each other with time gaps between them because i imagine this whole thing as a historical kdrama, #sorrynotsorry. Also, long live Chinese/Taiwainese idols, they deserve more love.

I hope you love it, my dearest @restlessmaknae! Wish you the happiest B-day!♥

There is a courtesan house deep in the forest behind the mountains of Jianfeng. It’s hidden from common eye and only exceptional people know about its existence. The place is a safe haven for girls who were left alone after the war because their own families who sold them for money or rather because they became orphans. The place is an institute as well. The inhabitants are taught vital things about the cruel world outside. They are trained to be the centre of attention: to be unearthly beautiful and talented in various fields. They are still slaves in the eyes of the society but once bought they are on a higher level. They worth plenty of gold because they ought to entertain, pleasure and practice all kind of arts: music, dance, poetry.

But unlike any other courtesan training institute, this one teaches the art of killing as well.

“Don’t worry, your Highness, she’s our best. She will take the Crown Prince’s life without a problem when the time comes,” the owner of the house claims in a loud voice, proudly. His tone is honeyed while he tries to sweet talk their newest potential client into buying their services or even better, one of the girls.

One of the courtesans of blossoming age sits in her room, listening to the conversation that’s going on in the hallways in front of her closed door. Maybe it’s on purpose as if the owner wanted her to hear it. The unique beauty with her golden locks blinks towards the dull voices, unfazed. The master of the institute has wanted to give her away ever since she came of age so it’s nothing new. But she’s still here because the price he set on her is too high, even for such a talented and gorgeous virgin. So the girl stays still and silent even though the polite form of address and the Prince’s mention piques her curiosity. Not many royals dare to set their foot into a courtesan house publicly, much less to talk about killing a prince. What Crown Prince anyway? The royal family only has the King left.

“I want to see her,” a deeper, thicker voice speaks up and the young courtesan looks up from her book when the lock of her door opens with a click.

Two tall men figure steps into her simple room. It mirrors the other courtesans’ small chamber. It has nothing more than a bed, a candle, an ink container and some books. The few dress she actually has hang in a wooden wardrobe. For work or when they have performances she gets expensive clothes to wear but just for then. She doesn’t have an income, all the money people pay for her services as a ballad singer, musician or story teller goes straight to the courtesan house’s owner because that’s how he keeps track of the costs her training caused and how much is left until she can set herself free.

The peculiar golden haired girl isn’t ashamed of the little she has but when she recognizes the King’s notorious uncle in her visitor, the colour of her rosy cheeks drains.

“Bow before His Royal Highness!” the owner orders and she does as he says. She always does as she’s told.

She sinks onto her knees, not caring about worsening the condition of her already strained dress and bows until her forehead touches the ground. It’s common courtesy in times like this, symbolizing that the slaves can never be good enough to be on one level with them. They can’t even touch their toes.

“How old is she?” she hears the royal ask about her and she gulps, closing her eyes, fingers digging into the fabric of her skirt. She’s scared for a reason because everyone heard the gossips about the older man. He had experience with women, a lot actually and most of them included various things that weren’t for eyes of an innocent girl. What happens if he really buys her? Would he use her, hurt her and force her to kill the Crown Prince so the throne would be his heritage after all?

“Turned eighteen not long ago,” the owner answers plainly, fully aware that this is well past the age virgins are usually sold.

“Perfect. She even has the same hair colour as the King,” the royal man claims and the girl in question furrows her brows. She doesn’t understand why this detail is important enough to point out. Commoners usually don’t even know about the late king’s son’s appearance. “What do they call you, slave?”

“The Nightingale, your Highness,” she lifts her head up because being finally directly addressed allows her to do that but she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. The name they gave her tastes sour on her tongue no matter how long she has it. She knows the meaning behind it, the bird’s beautiful song that can almost only be heard at night even if it sings during daylight, too. Does she dare to hope to be different? To be heard whenever she wants?

“How fitting,” the man clicks his tongue in a satisfied fashion and steps back, away from the slave but he still talks to her when he continues: “From this moment on, you are Cheng Xiao, Princess of the Tuan Kingdom.”

The name rings familiar in every Chinese person’s ear, recalling stories of the rebellion against the Tuan court twelve years ago. The princess was only six years old when displeased commoners attacked the palace shedding noble blood on the white marble. The Queen entrusted a maiden to help the child escape the kingdom, to raise her far away from the intrigues so she can come back when she reaches adulthood. People have been hoping for her to come home and fulfil the promise her parents made: marry the Crown Prince of Yan dynasty, end the war and create a Great United China again. But as years passed, there were no news about the youngest jewel of Tuan dynasty and the tension between the two kingdoms was worse than ever. Rumour has it that she was killed immediately during the escape. Others claim that the maiden sold her for gold. It’s just like a shot in the dark, nobody has facts, nobody knows the truth.

“The… the lost princess?” the courtesan croaks out taken aback by hearing this name and she recklessly commits the fatal crime of looking a royal straight into the eyes. Yet, the late king’s brother doesn’t seem to care, he just smirks as he stares back openly.

“Yes, we will make everybody believe you are her so you can marry in her place. If you play your part well and do as I say, you’ll live in riches for all your life and you don’t have to be a slave anymore,” he promises light-heartedly, offering her the whole wide world on a silver plate as she nervously sucks in a breathe. She’s waiting for the ‘but’ in dreadful anticipation. There’s always a ‘but’ part because nothing’s free these days and she isn’t mistaken. “If you don’t, I will personally make sure to take your pretty head.”

The Nightingale gulps, she knows she can’t afford to fail now. If they get caught by anybody, she can end up dead easily but she doesn’t have a choice, she never does. This deal at least can make it worth it. If she can become a Cheng Xiao nobody doubts. She smiles slyly at the thought, confidently. She isn’t their best for nothing after all.

She is given two days to prepare: to pack everything she needs and to transform into somebody who can be mistaken to be a princess. Since her mission is a secret and nobody should know about it, she does everything alone. Her long, wavy golden looks already bear resemblance to the rare blondeness that runs in the Tuan family but she cuts her fringe to look similar to the late Queen who died during the attacks a decade ago. She powders the scar on her wrist and wears the dresses the rich client sent her. Each bodice, dress and cape is made of expensive silk, the purest pearls brought from the deepest part of the oceans human can reach and decorated by gold that worth more than the courtesan house with everything in it. Maybe it’s the clothes or the gossip that started not long ago about the lost princess but everybody gapes at her in awe as she steps into the carriage sent for her. Even her fellow courtesan friends believe that she’s the princess miraculously found.

“First, we are going to see the King,” her buyer declares as they approach the royal palace in Xianyang. “You don’t say a word until you’re asked. And you absolutely cannot speak about the murder we plan.”

Tuan Yien is a kind-hearted and wise king despite being only twenty-four years old. He has gotten sick with weak heart condition since the wars between the sixteen kingdoms started and the search expeditions for her sister proved to be nothing but waste of time and money. It hasn’t even crossed the courtesan’s mind that he has anything to do with the evil plan.

The plan that, if carried out well, is worse than being stabbed into the back. Because the uncle doesn’t want her to marry the other kingdom’s Crown Prince, the soon-to-be-king, just to make allies but he also wants to poison him not long after his coronation so the Tuan King and the ‘Princess’ can unite the two biggest kingdoms of China.

So it’s hard, standing in front of the King and lying to him by not saying anything. But she’s selfish enough to not want to die.

“Is she the one?” the newly-crowned young king asks stepping down from his high podium, walking closer as the thumps of his steps echo in the throne room. The Nightingale knows where she belongs in from of the monarch and she doesn’t look into his eyes even if she should act like they are siblings. No, the client would definitely not approve that bold move.

“Yes, Yien, isn’t it marvelous? Even I would believe she’s your sister if I didn’t know better,” the man’s suggestive tone sends chills down the girl’s spine. Talking about the lost princess like this? How dares he?

King Mark, who is only called by his birth name by his closest relatives and allies, doesn’t say a word. He wordlessly observes the girl brought in front of him. Someone who has the same blonde hair and fair skin the rightful princess bore when she was only six and taken away from the royal family. He wishes he would remember her better but sometimes he’s even afraid of forgetting his own parents’ faces. Yet, there’s something about this girl, maybe the way she stands tall or the golden powder is hinted over her lashes but she’s nothing like the innocent little sister that lives in his memories. However, he doesn’t voice it out loud. At least, not with several people watching their every move.

“Can you leave us alone, uncle?” he asks politely, yet there’s firmness in his tone and it’s obvious that he doesn’t take no as an answer.

“As you wish,” the older bows slightly and then leaves with a smirk hiding his offended expression.

“You, too!” the king orders his soldiers authoritatively, slightly implying that questions asked aren’t appreciated. When even the last man leaves, there’s only the two of them left. But they can never be truly alone, in the palace even the walls have ears, after all. They cannot behave around each other like they used to. Not yet.

“It’s been a long time, your Majesty,” the girl bows again with a shy smile, testing out the new name, searching for his gaze.

The skinny boy she once knew has grown up well since they last met. He was merely a teenager then but now he’s a man, leading a country, more handsome and confident than ever. She isn’t sure how she should act around him: a slave like she is legitimately or an old acquaintance?

“It has. You have gotten pretty.”

Mark’s sudden compliment makes the girl blush furiously. It’s been a time since anyone said something like this to her. And coming from the king of House Tuan, it makes it even more special. “Thank you.”

The young man takes a deep breath as he doesn’t take his eyes off of the girl as if he has been seeing a daydream and she could disappear in a blink.

“Look I know uncle plots something but if you don’t want to…”

“It’s okay,” the Nightingale does the unforgivable and cuts off the monarch. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to mind, he’s rather interested in what she has to say. He hangs on every word that rolls off her tongue. “I just have to marry the Crown Prince. It’s the least I can do for peace.”

There are way worse ways than marrying a prince who will be a king soon. She would have settled for worse so she’s grateful. Even if it means she would have to kill to take what hers: freedom. In times like this murder is everyday occurrence, only the reasons vary: fear, anger or greed? People have them all and sometimes they act on instinct. If they don’t die in the war, they will be stabbed in the back. They live in cruel decades and harsh times have hardened the heart like steel of those who want to stay alive.

The courtesan gulps, thinking back of her training, every step and movement of defence and attack. But she doesn’t move when the King steps into her personal space and touches her wrist lightly.

“Do you still have it?” he wonders thumb sliding across the small scar that burnt permanently in her skin. She sucks in a breathe.

“It only fades with time but doesn’t disappear.”

Just like memories. It crosses both of their minds but they don’t say it out loud. There’s no need. The I’ve missed yous are lingering in the air. The older boy clears his throat as he steps back. His voice is formal again when he speaks up.

“I hope I can see you soon.”

The cold tone makes the girl shiver but she has to play her part well.

“We will meet at the wedding, your Majesty,” she promises, yet, it feels like goodbye and those always taste bitter. Maybe that’s why both of them prolong the last moments.

Something insecure crosses the man’s face and he’s biting his lower lip nervously. A bad habit he seems unable to grow out of.

“Xiao... Should I call you that?” His voice is significantly warmer and gentler than earlier when he forms the vowels and consonant of his sister’s name.

“It would make me delighted, Yien,” the girl smiles brightly, eyes sparkled and lies don’t sour her words. She should get used to it anyway.

According to the tradition, the bride should be carried in a sedan from her family’s house to the future husband’s. Since the distance between the two royal palaces has grown too wide, the journey takes days. Until then a messenger notifies the Yan prince that they found the princess, the one he was engaged with at an early age. Since the agreement is already made, set by the late Kings, there’s not much formality left. The wedding day can happen anytime soon.

Cheng Xiao is grateful because at least she gets to meet the groom before the ceremony. It doesn’t make her less nervous though. So when she steps out of the sedan and her gaze slides through the glamourous palace, she’s holding her breath in anticipation. And then, a boy, merely a man comes down the stairs walking over to her. First, she mistakenly thinks he’s only a servant since royals rarely do such things as greeting the arrived guests in person. However, he wears a traditional black attire with a golden dragon on it, the Yan’s symbol for their Crown Prince.

“Princess Cheng Xiao, I’m glad to have you here. Finally,” the prince bows a little and the girl does the same without saying anything. She’s still astonished by the man she should marry.

He is much younger than she’s expected him to be: an old crackled prince with dozens of wife already. Somebody ruthless and evil enough to make the kingdom starve and force every last capable man to die for him. Yet, Yan An looks like a kid with too heavy shoulders and too much responsibility on them. The sparkles in his youthful eyes are fading but with his delicate features as smooth as silk, sleek hair coal black like moonless nights and genuine smile that holds wonders, he’s still as handsome as the gossips whisper.

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness,” the girl bows down deeply, gripping on the edges of her breathtakingly pearl white dress.

“You must be hungry after such a long journey. You should join me on dining. Of course, we provide food for your men, too,” the prince hurries to ensure her about his hospitality.

The princess nods in gratitude and orders the soldiers who accompanied her to take a rest. She’s not afraid at all to stay alone with the Crown Prince.

He leads her farther into the gorgeous monument of building among massive towers and bright blue lakes and pastel green gardens until they reach a decorated common place with a large table and two settings. It looks like nobody else will dine with them and Cheng Xiao comes to know of the reason by the whispering maidens: there’s no other royalty in the palace, just them since his younger brother is down the southern front line and the prince has not yet married. The thought of being the first one scares her a little because then there would be nobody to hind behind, nobody to turn to with questions. On the other hand, it’s a soothing thought that probably he has never been with a woman either. Maybe the plan will be already over by the time he dares to lay a finger on her.

The dinner is quiet even though the prince is trying to broach a conversation relentlessly. He’s nothing but polite and understanding, kind and gentle, someone who would make a great king one day but maybe it’s all an act. So she stays silent.

After they are well-fed, they ought to take different paths, the new guest should explore her suite, change her travelling clothes and prepare for the night-time. But Yan An can’t seem to let her slip away without knowing:

“Are you really the princess?” he asks bluntly, chewing on the bitter taste of suspicion.

He has every right to doubt her even though it’s a dangerous thing to accuse a royal with lying. But special events require special approach. Isn’t it strange that after all these years, the princess was suddenly found now, when he’s supposed to take the throne after his father’s unexpected death. But he isn’t harsh or rude about the question and he bashfully looks away as he apologizes. “I’m sorry, I heard you were kidnapped and kept in a courtesan house. You probably still haven’t gotten over the fact that they freed you and now they practically sold you just to strengthen our allies. I understand if you hate me.”

The girl’s eyes widen in surprise. She has never expected him to genuinely care for her, about what the princess supposedly went through. She has learnt that people only care if they can use you.

So she says “No.” firmly and with all honesty.

She can’t hate somebody who seems so observant yet so naively trusting that he welcomes her in the heart of his kingdom not going back on the late Kings’ promise and not questioning the Tuans’ intentions.

“Pardon?” he looks up at her again, confused with creased forehead while his eyes bright up that she finally spoke up.

“No, your Highness, I don’t hate you,” she repeats and boldly looks straight into his almond eyes. “I feel sorry for you.”

The young prince doesn’t understand what it means. He doesn’t even suspect that she will stab him in the back or poison him the first chance she gets. The poor boy has no idea how it’s going to end for him. That the Nightingale will kill the prince once he carries the heavy weight of the crown on his head. By that time, as his first wife, the queen, it makes her kill the king.

They are bloody and dark times. The Great Chinese Empire on verge of falling apart. Splitting into multiple little kingdoms out of which only two had real power: the Tuan and the Yan dynasty. The two of them are having wars without end, without break, without sparing lives. When the Tuan king died a few years ago, the Yan king wanted to take advantage of the foolishly young new monarch and take over the country. Without a fair deal, King Mark refused and a new war started.

The Yan kingdom has the money but no real military force that could devour countries. The Tuans’ people on the other hand have been nothing but great soldiers without enough supplies. Both parties were struggling yet neither of them stopped this insane and meaningless battling. It was the matter of pride, it still is. So when Yan An’s father died in an accident (or who knows?), he tried to make reasonable choices, sign the peace but even his younger brother, the general thought that even without fighting, they can win if they wait until the other army weakens enough. The counsellors all supported the idea and Yan An as a new and inexperienced ruler had no say in it. He could only watch in silence as his people died.

So when he heard that the Tuans found the lost princess and they are willing to renew the marriage contract, he took the chance immediately. Because it meant the end of the war, finally the peace he yearned so much. Even if he thought it was merely a desperate attempt of the enemy to save their own people from dying of hunger, he didn’t care. Even if the princess wasn’t the real one. They just needed to become allies so together they can become the greatest kingdoms without putting a sword to each other’s neck.

They are in the middle of having breakfast when they get the news that the fights stopped at the fronts and General Sicheng is heading back to the palace. Since the coronation and the wedding both has to wait until him, the younger prince comes back, the royal court is waiting. Some think that only him who was born by the late Queen is the rightful heir of the throne while the oldest son, a bastard born out of wedlock shouldn’t claim the crown. A few counsellor hopes they can convince him to turn against his brother and lead the kingdom to victory in the Great War.

Yan An knows this, he is aware that even his people doubt his place on the throne but this is responsibility, his burden to bear. A promise he made to his father on his deathbed: he will protect his brother, everyone's favourite prince and he will let him form his own destiny instead of driving him into becoming a king too soon.

A week later, a group of soldiers arrive greeted by flowers and clapping commoners who think this means the end of the fights. Perhaps they are right or this is just a sweet delusion they cannot escape.

"Your Highness, we have heard the wonderful news. Will you really marry our enemy’s sister? Congratulations!" the second in command chimes ironically but he earns a sharp glance from the general for his disrespect.

“They are not our enemies. We merely fight over a misunderstanding. There shall be peace once they comprehend that they are wrong,” Sicheng says softly, his tone is much lighter than you’d expect from a soldier. He seems delicate and fragile, yet he’s mastered martial arts since young age to the point he can blindfoldedly defeat his master. His strategy skills are excellent and he cares for his people so he’s a perfect general just like his father has always wanted him to be.

“Brother,” he bows in front of the Crown Prince and the other man follows as Yan An acknowledges their presence in the throne room.

“How was your journey, General?” he asks politely, formally like he should no matter how much it pains him to greet his younger brother so coldly after he hasn’t seen him for so long.

“Great, thank you. How is your fiancée? Are you treating her right?”

The older boy smiles. So typically Sicheng, always worrying about the ladies. Especially, since this one will save him from having to rule. The younger has never wanted the throne and the crown to himself. His brother has always known this but being born like they did, counsellors tend to choose sides: favouring either the older but bastard son or the true-blooded but younger prince.

“She hasn’t complained yet. You can see her at lunch.” Yan An promises, his smile faltering a little as he thinks about the princess who walks the hallways pridefully and alone, not caring about dangers at all. Her quiet shyness during their meals also comes to his mind. She rarely speaks up but when she does all the attention is on her. She’s smart, she’s good at board games but doesn’t want to win. During all the time he was watching her closely, the prince has come to the conclusion that she’s watching him too. The first words they have exchanged still echo in his ears: I feel sorry for you.

“I can’t wait to meet my soon-to-be sister-in-law, our future Queen. I heard the rumours about her. They say she’s more beautiful than all the stars of the sky.”

Yan An takes a deep breath as he recalls the princess’ appearance, her fluttering lashes, the black holes of her almond eyes, those rosy cheeks and pretty, shiny lips along with the thick blonde locks framing her heart-shaped, lovely face. She can most definitely be compared with the wonders of the celestial sphere.

“She is,” he agrees and wouldn’t dare to take his words back even when Sicheng uses this against him not much later.

“Princess Xiao, you are just as beautiful as my dear brother said,” he coos as he kisses her hand when they finally get to meet. The Crown Prince catches himself blushing when the girl’s curious, dark eyes wander to his face.

The coronation along with the wedding is held on the feast of the God of harvest. The palace is dressed in the colours of celebration: red and gold. Dragon patterns all around and the double xi character for happiness and richness. Chinese people are deeply religious people in the age of wars and death, afterlife is just as important as their life here so to hope for a better era, a great dynasty, they have to make sacrifices of all kinds in front of the statue of the gods on the marketplace. The golden temple behind them is full of royal guests and other influential people who are eager to see the new ruling couple.

One of the guests is the monarch of Tuans, King Mark himself and his delegacy. Their presence is both feared and admired. A lot of ladies gush and swoon over the famous king’s handsomeness while grieving families of dead soldiers blame him for their sufferings. However, no matter the rage and hate, to bring the ruthless war to an end is far more important for now, so nobody dares to make a move.

The ceremony is like every other, vows and speeches on the newly crowned king’s part while Cheng Xiao sits beside him in silence. Everybody in the temple bows before them, even the other king nods a little towards their direction. Yan An, now a legal King, steals a glance at his wife, the Queen and he isn’t surprised that her gaze is set on her brother and uncle instead of him. They are the family she never really knew and she will be separated from again from now on after all. He hates to think about how lonely she must feel. Surrounded by these walls and gold but all alone. Just like him.

Long ago, once he had a bird, a beautiful songbird. It was supposed to die because it fell out of the nest and broke a wing but he kept it and took care of it. He personally nursed it, fed it and helped it to learn how to fly. Yet, he cried so much when the bird finally flew away. But aren’t they all trapped birds in a golden cage? Even if he doesn't know her that well, how would he feel if she just left? Like everybody around him.

“The time has come,” as a king, he declares. “Peace is here. Thanks to my marriage with the lovely Princess… now Queen Cheng Xiao, the two greatest kingdoms of China are now allies and we will fight side by side against any shared issue of ours but not against each other.”

The guests are clapping and there’s no faking in their relieved smiles. The war is over, they can finally breathe. However, there’s always somebody who isn’t quite satisfied and while the cheering crowd tastes the fine wine, a young, reckless soldier steps forward.

“You are not worthy of that seat, bastard,” the kingdom’s own second in command protests and everybody gasps in shock. Even the guards are taken aback, not knowing what to do but they point their weapons towards him to protect the king at any suspicious movement. It doesn’t help their case that the reckless warrior is a son of a nobleman, one that respects the sacred bone very much so it doesn’t take anybody by surprise that he wants the General as the king.

“Step down, Yifan. It’s an order,” Sicheng commands despite being younger and he stands up from his seat not far from the new king and queen. He keeps his hand hidden, probably ready to strike his friend if he threatens the newfound peace.

“Sorry but for the sake of true pure blood, I can’t let him rule,” the man shakes his head but starts to walk backwards without taking his eyes off of Yan An. His cruel, crazy smile seems out of place until a swoosh sound resonates through the temple and screams fill the void.

Only inches from the king's face, his younger brother catches the flying arrow aiming to take his life. Sicheng’s often lovely face changes to the one he wears on battlefields, cold and distant, as he turns his head towards the traitor. He waves his men to stand by and not interfere while he throws away the arrow cutting his hand.

“We learned everything together. You have to be better to beat me,” he shouts after Yifan who is now in a circle of armed and masked men. One of whom tried to end the king’s life, a deadly crime.

“You two, get out of here,” the General looks at the royal couple one last time and then marches into the chaos of scared crowd with the king's soldiers to seize the traitors. The Tuan guards join him but even though their number is greatly outnumber Yifan’s, the stubborn rebel doesn’t give up. They start to fire more arrows and on cue, the royals are ushered into safety.

It doesn’t matter how fast they move, farther and farther away from the temple, Yan An stops on his tracks when he notices the abrupt halt in the light steps following him. Looking back, he sees the Princess - the Queen, he has to remind himself - calming down a crying kid and searching for his parents in the midst of tossing, sweating mess of bodies. Her tiara is halfway down as her always perfect hair is tangled and falling in front of her face. She doesn't pay attention to her surroundings so she isn't aware of the archer and his arrow pointed at her fragile figure from afar.

They don’t know each other yet and Yan An knows there’s nobody a king should die for. But he isn’t only the ruler of his kingdom but also a husband and a honourable man. He can’t just watch her die.

“Cheng Xiao,” he cries out when the bow snaps and the metal is on its way to pierce through her heart. The girl looks up, startled. Maybe because she thought he left without her or because he called her by her name for the first time but she doesn’t move and Yan An doesn’t think when he hurries to her side.

He doesn’t feel the pain at first, it hits him only when he has fallen to his knees and blood paints his coronation outfit where the arrow hit him.

“Your Majesty,” she gasps in a panicky voice and hurries to help him. She’s looking around to find the attacker but there’s nobody on the rooftops, not anymore. He has probably already fled away. “Come on, let's go,” she takes his arm and puts it around her shoulder not even giving him a chance to say no. She pulls him closer so she can help him carry his weight.

Because of the blood loss Yan An dizzily wonders how she can be so strong. While he is painfully aware that this is the closest they have ever been and what a pity that it happens like this. He’s dazed, his sight blurred and he’s sure that he has fainted a few times already when he wakes up from this nightmare.

The characteristic aroma of aloe vera and alcohol fills his nostrils but the sharp pain is gone. He feels numb yet he remembers the blood. Is he dead or dreaming? Both can be true if an angel like his wife looks at him with such saddened eyes.

“Your Majesty, you are awake! Uhm… sorry for my inappropriate behaviour but I had to cut your clothing so I can look at the wound and...” she’s rambling and takes her hands off the the herb leaves placed gently on the side of his ribcage. For somebody who should be used to being washed and dressed by maidens before rituals and ceremonies, he feels naked without the upper part of his formal attire because now, there are Cheng Xiao’s beautiful eyes on him. On his pale and weak body, one that shouldn’t be a king’s. Maybe Yifan’s right and Sicheng should rule instead. He’s more capable for sure and everyone would accept him as a rightful heir. But he’s doing this for his sake, so that his brother can have everything he can’t.

“Thank you,” he interrupts the bashful girl in a raspy voice, trying to sit up while looking around. Since he doesn’t recognise this dusty, old place, they are surely not in the palace. “Where are we?”

“In a pharmacy close to the temple. The owner helped me get you here. He’s gone to the palace to tell the General you are here,” Cheng Xiao answers putting one last layer of cream on his aching chest. Yan An exhales slowly as he watches her work.

“Where did you learned all this?” he asks curiously because he has never seen a royal know about such things.

“I wasn’t brought up as a princess, remember?” his wife reminds him with a soft smile and there’s something bittersweet in her tone. Her fingers don’t even tremble as she dress the wound and they brush against his delicate skin.

The king has to realize, again, that they don’t know each other at all. He knows it’s common with arranged marriages but he has never thought he would marry a stranger. If the princess hadn’t been lost all those years ago, they could have been raised together. They could have been friends. But what are they now?

“You should tell me about it one day.”

“Maybe, I will,” she says but it sounds like never. Something nobody dares to tell a king. Yan An knows that he has to be an iron-handed monarch if he wants to keep his place, if he wants his people to respect him and his choices. However, he doesn’t want them to fear him and it’s an almost impossible thing to do if even his own wife doesn’t tell him the truth. Maybe he will never know who she is for real.

“You are bleeding, too,” he blurts out too lost in her pretty features while she helps him arrange the pillows behind his back. She’s so close, he can almost taste the salt of her (or maybe his) sweat and blood but her flowers scent is the strongest, enchanting him. The king finds himself mindlessly moving even closer and his thumb brushes over the tiny wound on her rosy cheek.

Cheng Xiao doesn’t move, doesn’t avert her eyes and he feels his blood burning his veins as the starry night is looking back at him.

“You stopped to help a little boy. Somebody who wasn’t even your people. Why?” he asks, curious. Pure kindness of a heart was such a rare thing to see these times but the queen seems to have this quality. Even her answers sound sincere:

“They are humans, neither my people, nor yours,” she claims, oddly believing in the power of individuals. She seems fragile but also strong at the same time, hopeful and hopeless, a mystery of full moons as he stares at her. A riddle he may never solve.

“Why did you save me?” she asks pleading, barely above a whisper yet it sounds like a cry out in the silence settled between them. It's almost hypnotic, the intimate closeness of them and maybe between their immortal souls. too.

“You are my wife now, I have to protect you,” Yan An tells her, remembering his mother, a commoner artist’s words. She believed in goodwill and people and every year on his birthday when he could see her (until death did them apart), she told him to care about those who lean on him so in need, he can also lean on them. “But you saved me, too.”

“I barely did anything. The royal physician would have done much better job,” she protests but he shakes his head because he didn’t mean it like this.

“You could have left me there, on the square, but you didn’t.”

At that the queen turns her head to the side and walks away. As she stares out of the curtained window, she looks like the goddess of moon and Yan An is already dreaming when she whispers those fateful words: “Maybe I should have.”

But oh, the stars keep her secrets so well.

The Tuan king isn’t happy, to say the least, that his so-called blood sister was also endangered but he keeps a straight face at dinner. Luckily the rebellion got cut short as soon as they captured the instigator but they couldn’t earn safety and peace so easily. Fear and doubt poisoned the thick blood of people.

“My sister told me you saved her life. I wanted to thank you,” Mark breaks the uncomfortable silence settled in the gardens guarded by the temples of gods and guards.

Cherry blossoms are swirling in the air as if it was a day like any other but a lot of things changed since the morning. A prince became a king, a courtesan became his queen and they saved each other’s lives.

“No need to thank me. I didn’t do it because of our ally or some hidden intention. I simply don’t want her hurt.”

He is being nothing but genuine but in times like this, full of rage and blood, being so selfless is unheard of. Especially if the person is a king. They should be ruthless, strong-willed rulers, not caring about anybody before their country and themselves. But there’s a crack in Yan An’s perfection, a flaw so fatal, his enemies could strike him in one go if they knew: he cares too much and he bonds too easily. Because he’s trusting a traitor and a killer, the one who will draw his royal blood once a new chance arises. That’s the plan, right?

King Mark glances at the girl still dressed in her formal wedding clothes and watching the tint of blush on her cheeks while her expression is lifeless. Could she be the same girl they all have heard so much about? The best pupil in that courtesan house in the desert? Could she be the same he once knew? It feels like another life and maybe it was, looking at the distance between them. It feels as vast as the deep blue oceans and he’s not sure he can sail through the wild waves to set foot on her shores.

As things are currently, he might never find out the answer because being a King doesn’t mean he’s almighty. There are a lot of things he isn’t allowed to do, his hands are tied because of profane things like diplomacy and formalities. For one, having actual emotions is a luxury for people like him. They only complicate everything. But it seems, he isn’t the only one who is affected. Both him and the new Yan king are men of emotions unlike their brutal fathers. Maybe it’s the start of a new era, a peaceful one, he hopes but he doesn’t back out on their cruel plan. It’s for his people after all, for their safety he swore to protect.

It’s hard to say whether he could consider Xiao under his custody but he was more than delighted to hear that her husband means no harm to her. It also surprised him how gentle the boy was, especially in the way he looked at her. Oh a naive, young king, he will bring doom to his own kingdom.

It’s later that night, well after twilight when he can finally be alone. At least, almost alone since his guards are always following him in the shadows but in discrete distance. That’s all he needs because he doesn’t want anybody to disturb his conversation with the Queen of Yan kingdom. The maids before her chamber bow to him and fling the door open without question. The scene that welcomes him is dumbfounding and infuriating the least. He can see his uncle towering over the vulnerable girl ready to strike as a predator.

“I organized everything for you, but you still missed the perfect opportunity,” he growls and slaps her as quickly as a viper attacks its victims with a hit so hard, it makes her gasp. Before he could make another blow, Yien grabs his arm and twists it behind his back.

“Don’t you dare hit her again,” he snaps at him angered like a wild animal and grits his teeth, pushing his uncle away from the girl that’s supposed to be his sister. He is bitter and mad out of his mind which is certainly not good for his weak health.

The goodhearted king had no idea that it was his uncle who supported those rebels and didn’t even care about if the courtesan got hurt in the middle of the action. He even paid for them to make a chaos out of the celebration. Even better if she was targeted because then nobody would suspect that she’s his little doll. He never cared about those who are endangered, just him, only him.

“This little princess act isn’t the only thing what we got her for,” his uncle hisses and yanks his arm out of his nephew’s tight grip. His gaze is furious as if he was questioning how the younger dared to tell him off and humiliate him in front of a mere slave. Mark may be the king but his uncle has a big influence on his reign. He couldn’t just forget what he should thank him for and why he’s keeping him so close.

“No, but if he died without any other witness, everybody would suspect an attempt of dethronement. It wouldn’t help our reputation,” Yien protests calmly and shoos him away patiently like a parent would do with a child. “Patience.”

The man curses under his breath and strolls out of the suite like a madman. Neither the boy, nor the girl looks after him.

“Are you alright?” the king asks in a worried tone, stepping daringly close to examine the bruised area.

“Yes,” the courtesan answers bashfully, looking down so she could avoid saying the things she knows she shouldn’t. Like that if he didn’t come, she would have killed the older man. She wanted to slice his throat for humiliating her even if she knows she can’t. King Mark wouldn’t forgive her so easily if she did.

“He won’t stop until he gets what he wants. And now it’s Yan An’s head,” the king sighs disappointed because he spent the whole journey arguing with his uncle about the real plan he found out about. He wasn’t as stupid and naive as the older thought.

When the girl looks up at him from under her fringe, he looks so young. His blonde hair messily falling onto his forehead and his hand freezing in mid-air not sure if he should touch her or not. Would it be too inappropriate?

“Why is it so important for him?”

“Who knows? He just really wants me to unify the two kingdoms and to be honest, it would be better that way. We wouldn’t have to worry about wars anymore, at least not against an army as big as theirs,” the young man’s hand falls back to his side. “Are you sure you could do it? What he wants you to do?”

Before he could say another word, the girl moves. So quickly he can’t even react and in the next moment, there’s a sharp hairpin digging into the soft skin of his neck.

“Do you doubt me, Your Majesty?” she quirks an eyebrow, clearly not amused.

“Never, xiaojie,” he touches her cheek in endearment, fear never crossing his handsome face.

She smiles as she drops the pin and leans into his touch. “Good.”

King Yan An hisses in pain as the clothes detaches from his body tearing the skin and opening the wound again. Even if it’s only a surface scratch, thanks to his luck, it hurts and hardly heals. The royal physician is treating his bruise severely, taking it a lot more seriously than she should but maybe it’s understandable. Now, he isn’t just another crown prince in the line for the throne, he is the ruler of their kingdom. He shouldn’t be that careless to let it happen again but he doesn’t regret saving Cheng Xiao at all. If he let her get hurt, he wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror without despising himself. What kind of man that would have made him?

“Keep an eye on her,” Lady Meiqi warns him while changing the old bandage to a clean one after applying some heady smelling cream on the damaged skin. She doesn’t have to say the name out loud, Yan An already know who she’s talking about. Is it because of the recent events or that his wife is always on his mind nowadays? Who knows?

“Why?” he asks confused. Mostly because the physician doesn’t seem like she’s worried about Cheng Xiao’s well-being. More like that she’s worried about his, that maybe he will be stabbed in the back if he’s not looking. It’s an absurd assumption, isn’t it? What would she do to him? And why? Especially after she practically saved him? What’s more, the peace is a beneficial deal for both parties. So it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Don’t underestimate her just because she’s a girl, Your Majesty,” Meiqi explains vaguely and gulps. As the physician she was there when Xuanyi bathed and dressed her to the ceremony to examine her health. She saw the map of torture on her back: constellations made of scars. It was even more suspicious that she did an excellent job with the wound on His Majesty after the arrow hit him. How did she get those ugly scars? And where did she learn medical stuff?

“She isn’t our enemy, Lady Meiqi. Don’t forget, Cheng Xiao is your queen now,” the king warns her firmly with a slight edge in his usually soft voice. It isn’t a threat but it does sound like one and the girl bows deeply.

“I am sorry, I didn’t intend to make accusations,” she apologizes heartily and adds, even knowing her head could be taken for saying this out loud: “I just think you should be careful who you trust. The Tuans has never been trustworthy.”

Yan An opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out, his words taste like bad wine and are swallowed by the dryness of his throat. After finished patching him up, Meiqi exits the room with a final bow, leaving him completely alone with his thoughts.

The palace is a colossus, big enough for two people to accidentally avoid each other but sooner or later, the king should meet with his legal wife especially if they didn’t consummate their marriage. They are both aware that they should soon since both kingdom is waiting for a heir, a future king to reign both lands with equal rights but Yan An busied himself with royal duties instead of husband ones. But they couldn’t keep it up forever. Weeks passed and rumours got around that the queen is always alone in her chambers. One day it even reaches the king’s ears and he’s ready to prove them wrong. Arranged marriages are always come to this point. Most of the times, sooner than later.

When he knocks on the gilded door, he’s surprised to be greeted by the queen dressed so little it’s almost obscene. He waves at the maids and guards to leave and they obey right away, pulling the door shut behind them.

Silence stretches in the spacious room as they look at each other. The king’s mouth is dry, the queen is fiddling with her clothes. Neither of them moves, not for a long time but then the girl is reaching out with her right hand, beckoning him closer. The silk robe she wears barely covers her breasts and only reaches her knees, showing off her ankles and Yan An can’t help but stare. He’s not sure how he’s still functioning when he takes her hand and let her guide him to the big, soft, baldachin bed.

“Did you...” he starts uncoolly and his breath hitches, “... know I was coming?”

Cheng Xiao looks him straight in the eye, standing up so they are only inches away. Her eyes seem blown and lips appear to be shiny and soft.

“The maidens, they told me to change. To look pretty for you.”

The king frowns bitterly, searching for her eyes.

“You are always pretty,” he says and he doesn’t lie. For him, it’s obvious just like the fact that the Sun is coming up every day. Yet, the girl looks taken aback as if she has never heard the compliment before, but she must have! A beauty like her should be showered with love.

She doesn’t answer. At least not with words as she leans closer and closer until there’s no more space between them and places her lips faintly on his. He trembles when she pulls back, catching her breath and Yan An automatically follows her body shift. It’s an entirely new sensation, something he hasn’t experience in all his life. Not even the innocent touch of lips.

Even as a prince, he has always been shy, never approaching any pretty lady while girls simply didn’t dare to approach him because of his lot higher class. He has only ever met with maids and relatives. He has never felt those sparks of flame when he looked into her eyes, his palms have never burnt to touch that honeyed skin of hers and adore her at the altar of her body. She tastes so sweet he believes he could get addicted on it, he’s already lightheaded when they fall onto the bed with a loud thud.

Cheng Xiao takes the side of his head into one hand guiding him to a better angle and Yan An couldn’t care less about the embarrassing noises he probably makes when she feels so good, so soft and warm against him. The smooth slide of their lips suddenly change into something more messy and desperate as she takes his hand into hers and places it on her bare thighs under the skirt and both of them gasps at the new feeling of hot skin on skin.

“Back then... did they force you to… you know...” Yan An’s panting barely an inch above her, searching for answers in the dark abyss of her eyes.

He’s selfish and he knows this but the thought of anybody else touching her this way makes him angry and sad. But otherwise, how could she know all this? That how and where to touch to make him all bothered? How to kiss him to take his breathe away?

“You mean to ask if I was a sex worker as a courtesan?” the girl mutters, not at all ashamed as she lies under him and receives a slight, uncertain nod as a reply. He may be the king but Yan An is just a boy, inexperienced with women, it’s pretty obvious. “They made me do a lot of things I didn’t want to do but my virgin price was too high for anyone. So no, Your Majesty, I was not.”

Everything she knows, she knows from stories of older courtesans and books a girl her age shouldn’t read under normal circumstances. But they made sure basically all her life that she was ready. However, she has always believed there would be no emotions, not even harmless fond ones.

“I’m sorry,” her husband whispers, a tight gut forming in his throat just from imagining what she had to have been through even if he didn’t know her back then.

“No need. You have every right to know,” Cheng Xiao shakes her head, her lips slightly brushing against his in the most intimate way, the puffs of her exhaled breath warming his already blushed cheeks.

“Not just that. But that you had to suffer,” the king corrects himself while stroking her jaw tentatively but oh so lovingly. “Now that you are here, I want to make sure you are happy.”

They live in such cruel times, selfless golden hearts are hardly heard of... but could it be? That the king of Yans is gentle like a cool breeze in spring? How could he rule a country then? How could she not getting weak for him?

“Why are you so kind to me?”

Don’t! You are just making it harder, she wants to scream at him from the top of her lungs but she can’t when he looks at her with those melancholic eyes.

“Because I know how it feels to be unwanted in the palace,” he says softly, genuinely and Cheng Xiao lets him kiss her everywhere, including that never-fading birthmark on her wrist.

Once upon a time, there was a golden haired girl. She had a tiara on her head, a brother by her side and crystal jewels all over her body making her a valuable target for any enemy. A victim or merely a show-off prey, because the more gold meant the bigger price on her head. So she was sent into hiding, waiting to reveal herself when the right times comes. But she had enough of lazing around, soon she will take back what’s hers.

"Have you heard the gossips, Your Majesty?" Chenle pries quietly at the next big family dinner. Relatives all over the continent from different kingdoms came back to congratulate on the coronation of the new king and discuss the tasks he had in mind for them. But somewhere along the way in-between drinks and majestic meals, the conversation’s topic soon changed.

"What?" Yan An looks up from his plate searching for the eyes of his second cousin. The younger doesn’t look at him, instead he shares a meaningful look with his brother, Yukhei who continues with a nonchalant shrug:

"They say that the Tuans just bought an orphan girl to play the part. That she’s not the princess we have all been looking and waiting for."

But yes, she is. The king argues silently. For him, she’s the one he searched for and didn’t even know. She was everything he ever wanted and more, a fair queen, a sincere but lovely woman and a passionate lover. He couldn’t help but fall for her. And the more times they spent together, the more he fell.

She’s still a mystery, an enigma nobody could ever solve. She’s quiet but observant, gives him good advice about not only household matters but politics, too. But sometimes, at night, she looks like the devil disguised as an angel with that fire burning in her eyes but he keeps letting her in to share a bed. Sometimes nothing happens, they just talk but on other nights, when the moon is out, they make love and he kisses each of her scars while telling her how beautiful she is.

"Never speak about the Queen like that, you hear me?" he fumes even though he is very well aware that the younger royal only voiced out the worry of people. They love their queen very much and maybe that’s exactly why they don’t want to acknowledge that she came from a house that led numerous wars against them. Still these kind of talks can be harmful, so Yan An would rather not have Cheng Xiao hear about these.

Since that night, the awkward tension between them has gone and been replaced by a different atmosphere. One that’s filled with fleeting touches and stolen glances.

"But... don’t you see? She has been manipulating you," Kun, one of his older relatives on a side-branch of Yan’s family tree, dares to add and everybody, even Sicheng eyes his reaction carefully. They all know what it means to have a puppet king controlled by a foreign queen. Maybe even the end of their kingdom.

“No, she hasn't,” Yan An objects and prorogue this ridiculous conversation by saying the wine tastes bad and it took away his appetite. Somewhere far away, the Tuans might smile in satisfaction because he really has no idea what they plan for him.

As the Moon Parade is coming up, Yan An suggests going to her home kingdom for the celebrations. Lately, he has seen Cheng Xiao looking quite down, so melancholically sad, especially after she read her brother’s letters. It’s only natural that she misses him, a sibling she only got back now and also lost him to the other king pretty soon. He just wants to make his wife happy, he reasons when he announces the journey to the eastern shore and the palace physician also approves. Meiqi told him that the queen is in good enough health physically to bear a child despite having being malnourished during her teen years and the reason why she hasn’t conceived yet may be in her head. The change of atmosphere might help.

But the queen is quieter than usual as they approach the place she was born in. She has sorrowful grey nostalgia in her eyes as she stares out of the carriages’ window, looking around, mapping the scenery as if she has never seen it before. However, Yan An doesn’t doubt her, doesn’t even want to. She has been lived away for more than ten years after all, these forests must be foreign to her even if she once knew the sprouts.

“Your brother...” Yan An’s gentle voice breaks through the silence and draws her moon eyes to him. “You two are quite close, aren’t you?”

Such a strange thing to ask, some might say but in royal houses tainted by the hunger for power, brotherly love is so rare. Not to mention that in their case, the miracle of finding his little sister was quickly followed by marrying her off. It was like he only used her as a property but the loving smile she kept just for him didn’t make sense.

“Yes, we are,” she whispers into the awaiting space and unconsciously touches her wrist. Now it's covered by her dress but they have spent together enough nights for the king to know that she has an ink spot-like scar there. “As a child, we played a lot in the gardens, just running around. I looked up to him, admired him but now we are both adults and we should stop playing hide-and-seek.”

That’s what you were doing? Hiding? Yan An wonders, marvelling at the lovely frame of her face. Of course, the courtesan house is the last place anybody would have searched for her. But… did it worth it?

The king brushes a thumb over his wife’s right cheek lovingly and she instantly leans into his touch, perfectly fitting like the yin to the yang. He almost makes the mistake of asking what it was like and how they found her but now and there it isn’t the time or place for questions like this.

“We are here,” the rider announces loudly as the horses halt and they make their way out of the carriage. The peasants welcome the royal couple with cheers.

Luckily, the reception is better than expected but they walk into the glorious palace with practiced smiles. When they are offered moonflowers in honour of the feast, Yan An takes both with a fond expression on his face and turns towards this beautifully dressed wife.

“May I?” he points at her hair that’s already decorated with diamonds and golden accerssories. What could a tiny white, trivial flower add to the sight? Still, she smiles, brighter than the Sun itself and nods.

Yan An’s fingers don’t shake anymore when he touches her. Yet, his breath still hitches when their eyes meet after he’s done with placing the flowers among her locks. The adornment she treasures the most out of all the jewels she wears.

The flowers are stepped on where they lay on the floor trashed and useless. Cheng Xiao is shoved to the ground as well while barbaric hands tear at her pretty outfit and the palace guards are nowhere to be found.

“Why can’t you just obey and do what you were ordered?” the man riots and the girl had always known that Mark’s uncle didn’t need much to snap.

Now, it seems like he certainly had enough of the games the courtesan played. Who did she think she was anyway? They had an agreement and if she didn’t keep her word and promise to fulfil her part of the deal, he might as well throw her into the dungeon she, as a slave, belongs. But he needed a plan, one that ensures that the reputation of the Tuan kingdom doesn’t get damaged. He wouldn’t want that merely because of a silly, silly girl. They can always make it seem like it was the Yans’ fault. But at those times they lived in, even a king killing his wife wouldn’t have been obnoxious So who cares?

“You can’t even do that much! I have to take the matter into my own hands, you stupid slut. You would deserve to have your tongue cut off for your lies and that bastard you protect so much, he should have an arrow through his heart before you could break it,” he growls into her face with so much spite, it makes her nauseate. “I made sure that he will be dead by tomorrow. Then Yien will rule and I will let you rotten in the dungeons. But first I will make you watch your precious husband die. Slowly. Painfully.”

The man grabs her hair and yanks it so hard she has to grit her teeth not to scream. But she won’t because she doesn’t need help. She has never been that weak, innocent thing they thought her to be.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” she glares at him just like a mad goddess full of fury and he doesn’t even feel the first stab, it happens so fast. He gasps and his grip turns into a desperate hold on her shoulders as he loses his balance. Blood already coats the girl’s hand scarlet red as she twists on the fancy hairpin, another gift from Yien, deep in his chest. Every tiny flick of her hand is emphasized by a word she hopes he will remember even in the afterlife. “I. Am. Your. Queen.”

She has fire in her eyes and a soul as black as the night. She’s the warrior now they raised up in the courtesan house. She’s like the man himself wanted her to be: a ruthless killer and she has become the ruin of him.

There’s still blood on her hands when the Tuan king finds her with a dead body at her legs. The guards following him draw their swords immediately but Mark stops them with the wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Cheng Xiao looks at him pleadingly, not being able to read in his masked expression but the king calmly offers her a handkerchief. It’s white and clean. May it be the symbol of forgiveness?

“He would have never stopped,” he sighs looking over his glassy eyed uncle who has always been obsessed with the idea of their golden age. Look where it took him: defeated by a girl he dismissed.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh and gets onto her two feet. Her left cheek is angry red where the man hit her earlier and the blow left scars across the pearl skin due to his rings. It will be so much trouble to cover it with makeup.

“You did the right thing. I don’t want war or rebellion. These previous weeks have been tranquil, we didn’t have it that way for so long,” the king says knowing fully well that his uncle worshiped chaos in the name of greatness. He would have done anything to take the throne from the Yans. No wonder why he despised the fact that the match for the marriage seemed prosperous.

Silence has never felt so odd between them before but now, they both are immersed in their own thoughts that somehow shift into the same direction.

“Will you tell him?” Yien asks and the queen knows right away that it’s not about the uncle anymore. Memories of big, bright, hopeful eyes appear in her mind and her heart threatens to break if that fond look turns into a frown. However, lately even him, the oh so loving Yan An seemed suspicious of her and he has every reason to be doubtful.

“I should. Even if it makes him hate me.”

Mark chuckles lightly.

“I don’t think that could happen. But just know that you’re always welcomed here,” he promises as generous as always but his serenity is sincere. He thinks of himself as someone who can read others well and he saw how the Yan king looked at Cheng Xiao. It would take a lot of him to push her away. Especially now.

“I have missed you,” she confesses, almost tearing up. She looks more like the 6-years-old girl that lives in his memories than a queen with cranberry red blood on her hands. Her beautiful doe eyes bore into his with the same adoration they held all those years before.

“I know. I missed you too, my little Nightingale,” he smiles at her sweetly and dips down to press a feather-like kiss to her forehead. Siblings should stick together after all, don’t they?

Another king stands tall in an all blue outfit in front of the wide window of the shining palace. His hands are curled into fists by his side, the letter he got earlier teared apart and burnt by the candles he found in the room. Chaos would arise as soon as its content got out and in this uncertain era, even a rumour would be enough to bring him doom. But what if it’s really nothing more than hearsay? Why should he believe somebody he has never spoken to? Well then why does he feel so unsure?

Maybe because the letter was right about a lot of things and suddenly everything makes sense. Still, he doesn’t want to believe it. Why would King Mark go through the trouble of paying for a high-level slave to marry him just to kill him? Why would he lie about his sister? But again it would explain a few things. For example, that mystery around her.

There’s no knock on the door, nor announcement, so he wouldn’t even heard the noises if he didn’t pay close attention. The girl comes from the shadows, like ghosts in old folktales but she’s real and solid like the marble she steps on.

“You are brave for coming here so boldly,” he speaks up firmly, not looking away from the window.

Nobody should disturb a king in his chambers without invitation. Nobody. So he tries to keep his tone cold but it sounds rehearsed instead. He doesn’t have to look, he has her portrayed in his head so detailed, he can literally imagine her standing in the corner in a dress fully black just as the night when there’s no moon up. Oh the irony.

Her long blonde hair falls onto her back and shoulder, the contrast so ethereal like a painting. Though, Yan An blames the gods that such beauty could even exist in human form. It’s weakening. Especially since she is here, it means the letter was right. Then why does he still has doubts?

He forces himself to stay put, accepting his fate but he has to ask that one tricky, heartbreaking question: “Are you here to kill me?”

The question takes Cheng Xiao by surprise and she almost slips. To the Hell with the slippery floors of these palaces. She tries hard not to tear her gaze away from his nostalgic form. He’s just standing there, not at all like a majestic king but a boy waiting for her next move. He doesn’t even try to defend himself or call the guards. Is it because he trusts her too much or because he’s okay with dying?

“Would you let me?” she asks fingers closing around the sin-tainted hairpin in her hand. It’s still wine red and sharp, ready to kill, yet her fingers tremble and her throat is closing in discomfort.

There’s nobody around. It would be the perfect opportunity to fulfil her original purpose but she can’t. She cannot bring herself to do it even though she did the same thing with cold-blood earlier.

Although Yan An has the answer on the of his tongue, he doesn’t reply but the slope of his shoulders goes rigid as he turn around to face the sudden visitor. There she is: oh so beautiful and more dangerous than ever.

“Why now? You could have killed me dozens of times,” the king inquires further, seemingly cannot drop the topic until he gets his own answers. He’s eager to know what happened, even if he doesn’t dare to hope that the reply will satisfy him. Especially if they only shoot questions back at each other.

“How do you know about this?” the girl furrows her brows, taking a few careful step closer, idly looking around in the majestic guest room her brother had prepared for the Yan king. Since only a handful of people knew about the plan, she wants to know who ratted them out. And what if he knows more?

“I got a letter from your uncle…” he says letting out an awkward laugh, “But he isn’t really your uncle, is he?” Yan An corrects himself quickly, back straightening. His voice is suddenly cold, formal and Xiao flinches at the unfamiliarity of it.

“What did he tell you?” she’s ignoring his question. Again, and it makes the king sigh exasperatedly. Always those damn secrets. It’s getting tiring.

“Just that you are an impostor,” he sums up the content of the letter he had read more than four times before burning it. The words engraved themselves into his brain haunting him, mocking him. They never found the real lost princess, just picked one of the girls who looked like her and paid her to play the part, the letter said and he wondered how could he love a liar?

Cheng Xiao takes a breath of air sharply at the accusation as the king watches her closely, drinking in every feature and wondering whether her smiles were genuine at all.

“Is it true?” he can hear that goddamn hope in his voice and he curses himself for being weak and love? But what if she says no and he’s being paranoid for no reason?

However, the queen has that sad look in her pretty eyes, It’s unfair, nobody should look so unearthly beautiful if they are guilty as charged.

“No,” she answers finally and looks straight into his eyes, voice steady and sure but isn’t all courtesans trained actresses, professional liars? Maybe she faked the whole thing just to trick him into loving her, getting high on her kisses and intoxicated by her scent. He’s burning in the inside to believe her but how could he? Where are the facts and proofs? And why would her uncle lie then?

“But he didn’t know,” she adds at last, answering his last silent question but the past tense makes the boy furrow his brows in suspicion.

“Where is he now?”

Despite the nonchalant look on her face, silence tells it all and it shatters into pieces when she drops the bloody pin.

“He was the one who wanted you dead, I had to,” she starts explaining when the tension becomes too much and too heavy on their chest. She isn’t that well put together queen anymore, she seems rather desperate to confess her sins. “I never really intended on killing you after I got to know you. If I did, you would be dead already. I just wanted back what I was taken away.”

“So you’re telling me that you’re the real princess but your uncle didn’t know and you went along with his crazy plan? Why would you hide in a courtesan house in the first place and why didn’t you just tell him you are the one? Why did you need me for getting back what was yours?” Yan An snaps at her, more confused than ever and he feels like yanking at his own hair in frustration. He should despise her for killing his relative since he shouldn’t love a killer after all. But it doesn’t matter at all because desperate times require desperate measures and everybody is a murderer on their own. He led a war against her kingdom that shed so much blood it could fill his bath. They are all monsters in the end.

According to King Mark, with the marriage offer they let him choose his own destiny. He could have rejected it and keep the rage and carnage going. But since he’s weak for young, pretty and innocent, his choice was obvious: he couldn’t say no to the lost and found princess who has been engaged with him since birth. He’s said to be a good man. He thinks he can save anyone but who will save him then? Will it be her?

“Once you asked me if I would tell you my story one day. I tell you now if you’re willing to listen,” she says slowly, hoping he would at least listen to her before kicking her out. He would have every right to do that and restart the war with their kingdom. Yet, he simply nods and ever so politely offers her a seat to take.

Cheng Xiao bows and sits on the sofa. Every movement of hers is tentative and respectful, with no intention to invade his place or offend him, so she doesn’t sit too close or too far. Still, it feels like they are strangers again.

“He wasn’t my uncle because I’m not the late king’s daughter,” she confesses the secret only a few people knew in the court. Affairs aren’t unusual in their class, but women keeping company for themselves seems a much more despicable thing rather than when men do the same. “But don’t worry, the queen was really my mother so it makes me a princess. I got my hair from her, Yien as well. Also, we both have a birthmark on our wrists here. That’s how he knew I’m really his sister,” she adds and to prove herself, she rolls up the sleeves of her dress to reveal her bare wrist. Even though she knows he has already seen it, he never asked what it is or why she keeps it hidden sometimes. But if it was the proof, wouldn’t it be the best to let the world see? What is she afraid of?

“I was never really lost, I was just in hiding,” the girl continues, gaze filled with nostalgia drifting afar. “When the rebellion broke out, a maid rescued me at my mother’s request. She took me to the courtesan house of Jianfeng because she knew the owner and paid him a lot of gold to keep my secret and train me. His job was to teach me how to protect myself until the time comes. So when Yien’s uncle came to get a girl to kill the Crown Prince, we knew my time is close but I couldn’t reveal myself, not until I was sure he or other traitors wouldn’t kill me if he knew the truth.”

“Why would he have done that?” Yan An suddenly interrupts her, confusion colouring his strict expression.

“Like I said: I’m not his brother’s child so I’m basically a danger to their bloodline if I claim the throne after Yien’s hopefully very far future death.”

“Alright, I get it,” the king nods and he really does but the little pieces still don’t make up the big picture. It seems too much work just to get him killed. “But... wouldn’t it have been easier to pay for an assassin to kill me rather than going through all this procedure to find somebody to marry me?”

Cheng Xiao gulps and looks at him sharply. It’s a warning look, the one that says he doesn’t want to hear the answer but he doesn’t take the question back. So she sighs.

“I think you know the answer already. If people believe that I’m pregnant with the king’s child, both kingdoms can be ruled by the Tuans.”

“Of course, it’s always about that damned crown,” the boy hisses looking wounded as if the words hurt him physically. This time, when he looks at her, he’s angrier than ever. Disappointment glowing in his eyes like never before and it’s a scary look on him. It might be the first time when the queen is afraid of him. “Did you feel anything for me or was it all just part of the plan, to bear a king's child?”

The blame burns and she retorts with equally hurtful words:

“And did you? Or you just wanted to become a king as soon as possible so you were okay with the first princess thrown at you?”

Yan An’s jaw tightens but he knows two can play this game.

“Well, somebody has to rule,” he says harshly because he won’t say sorry for doing the right thing no matter how selfish it sounds.

“And somebody has to fight for what they have,” the ex-courtesan argues, tone just as rigid.

They stare at each other, flames in their eyes, hearts beating fiercely and then the queen stands up. It happens so fast: she hears the movement of shuffling before she hears the bow’s snap and she turns, quickly like lightning and throws a small dagger, hidden under her sleeve, towards the unwanted visitor. It hits the masked figure straight in the chest and blood bubbles up from the dark haired girl’s mouth as she drops down dead. It’s been a while she had to use her skills but her aim is deathly, they used to say. It doesn’t look like it changed.

Cheng Xiao remembers the girl with glazy eyes from the courtesan house, always quiet and observant, great in archery but she also remembers the uncle’s words about making sure to end this. Of course, he didn’t do half work, he didn’t pay for only her to do the job. This is the reason why she doesn’t feel regret, only pity… and pain. A pain so awful that it makes her grasp and losing balance as her knees go out under her. It’s only then when she looks down on her own chest, staring at the dark dress getting darker and darker each passing second. The blood is like a waterfall going down, down, down and she feels like drowning.

“Xiao!” the king cries out in panic and crouches down beside her. With a hand holding her back, the other tries to suppress the bleeding from the fresh wound. “Somebody help!”

Even in the haze of pain, the girl feels warm all over. It’s not the first time he called her that but she considers herself lucky to be able to hear it again.

She coughs a little and her voice becomes raspy when she opens her mouth to speak. “They won’t come. I sent them away.”

The arrow just above her heart makes it hard for her to breathe and she’s grabbing on her chest to ease the sore but it’s like swimming against the current. Beyond reason.

“Ssh don’t talk, it’s alright. I will get help,” Yan An makes another promise he probably can’t keep but he cannot just sit and wait. He’s holding her close not wanting to let go and the frustration of his helplessness hits him hard. What’s the point of being a monarch if you can’t save those you care about?

“I love you,” Cheng Xiao forces out desperately, not to run out of time. She can barely keep her eyes open and her trembling fingers are closing around the king’s shirt as if he was her only anchor. Her blood-covered lips are quivering as she’s confessing. “You should know... It was a-all real. I loved you from the day y-you saved me. We are even now.”

She touches his face lovingly, a sad smile forming on her pretty features but instead of goosebumps, she’s only leaving bloody handprints behind.

“No. Don’t say it like you are saying goodbye,” the king, acting like a lovesick boy, can only protest and shake his head as he pulls her closer. No, it can’t be, it can’t end like this. There are still so many things left unsaid between them. “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet. I love you,” he whispers it like a prayer, kissing the words into her sweaty skin.

Maybe he has always loved her. The girl he was supposed to marry. But then he met her, the shy yet brave princess and when he fell, he fell hard. He knew it’s love when nothing could come between them anymore. When he read that letter and didn’t care who she was. For him, title doesn’t matter. She could be a queen, a courtesan or a commoner, he would love her the same.

“We are more alike than we originally thought, Your Majesty, we both have scars people can’t see,” Cheng Xiao mutters with her last breath hitting his cheek and then her lashes flutter closed. Darkness welcomes her with open arms as she loses consciousness, falling limply into the arms of the man she loved in secret but oh so dearly.

It’s a rare sight. The two kings in the same room, silent, waiting. Everything smells like herbs, even the heady air around them and it darkens the gloomy atmosphere even more until Yien can’t take it anymore.

“How is she?” he asks quietly but with loud concern. Without their crowns, they are just two young men who gave up a lot and lost even more in the process. Neither of them is ready to lose another loved one and nothing has ever brought the two kingdoms closer than their love for the same girl.

“According to the physician, it will take time but she’ll recover,” Yan An nods towards him, momentarily looking away from the unconscious girl lying on the cosy bedding. If there wasn’t a bandage on her chest, it would look like she’s only sleeping. Or hiding like summer’s beauty, the flowers, during the harsh, ice-cold winter.

“She is a survivor,” Yien notes relieved and turns to the younger king, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Take good care of my sister or I’m going to change my mind and agree with my uncle about killing you.”

He’s talking threateningly yet it feels like he’s giving his blessing and not only as the king of his country but also, as Cheng Xiao’s brother. It makes Yan An smile.

“We will take care of each other,” he promises and doesn’t let go of her hand.

Never again.

A year later, the Queen gives birth to a healthy son, the rightful heir of both Yan and the heirless Tuan throne. It takes almost two decades but with his reign, the era of sixteen kingdoms is coming to an end and they welcome the dawn of a new age. May it bring peace finally.

History books will remember the rule of Yan Yalun as one of the most flourishing era of China and the monument he built for his parents will make sure that people never forget: true love conquers all even under the weight of the crown.

#kkreationsnet #angstykpopnet #pentagon scenarios #pentagon oneshot #yan an oneshot #yan an scenarios #yan an pentagon #got7 mark scenarios #got7 mark oneshot #royal au #royalty au #historical au #wjsn scenarios #cheng xiao oneshot #long live china line #stories

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lukeysgirl · 7 years

Text

The Note Tree ❋ L.H. Pt.8

Part E I G H T

Summary: A cherry blossom tree, residing at the farthest part of the schools courtyard. Nobody dwelled there, and you didn’t care much for it. Until you kept hearing one song played over and over, with lyrics changed to touch at your curiosity. They knew you were listening, and one day you gave in and made your way to the pink tree. Waiting for you, a series of notes tied to a single strand of string.

Word Count: 3.5k

AN: im so so so so so so fucking sorry for my absence. like seriously, i want to apologize. ive been so demotivated and my recent family loss has made me crash quite a bit. and for that im so incredibly sorry. thank you all who love it and support it so much. im going to try my very best to keep producing parts to make you happy, bc that’s all i want right now aha. so 100 notes please and ill be seeing you :)

Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I M A G I N E

Monday

“You were at a diner with Luke yesterday?” Savannah blasted into your ear, having you already dread this Monday morning.

“Savannah, I haven’t even gotten the chance to eat a single bite of this here granola bar,” you began quietly, already vexed as you held onto your still-wrapped food. “It’s too early for this.”

You walked down the corridor with the girls, still as exhausted and hungry as you are every day when you’re forced out of bed to attend institution. The girls were dreading it just as much, but once you told them of your small hang out with Luke, they declared it as a date. The squeals, the fangirling, the asking for ‘deats.’ It made you hesitate to tell them what happened between you and Nathan the night of the party.

“But you were with Luke Hemmings at a diner,” Des began, grabbing your shoulder to halt you. The girls halted as well, guarding both sides of you as Des’ brown eyes gashed into yours. “‘Mr. Popular’ that you claim to dread ever so much. You wouldn’t do that with him if you despised him as much as you say you do.”

“He was around and I was hungry,” you muttered, the easiest excuse you could think of. “He also had a car, so like, yeah.”

“Wait.” Alexis grabbed your shoulder and tilted you to face her. “Does that mean he knows?”

“No,” you responded. “I made him drop me off at a nearby super market and stayed there for a good 2 hours. In that time, I read the nutrition facts of every bread produce they had to offer. And I tell ya, all we eat are straight up chemicals.”

“Subject changer.” Savannah, took your older shoulder and spun you to face her. You had unutterable words for this very situation. “The real question is how did you go home? You left a long while before we did.”

“Hemmings didn’t tell you?” You began quietly, having Des quickly spin you. She stared at you, wistfully, her brown eyes attempting to burn into yours. But she’s too busy using fire with ice that cannot melt. You let out a shaky sigh before emitting words. “Holland took me home.”

“Nathan?” All 3 exclaimed, having you wince from their reactions. It was awful peculiar how those 3 could react so in sync. If they looked similar to one another, you’d assume them to be triplets.

“The one and only!”

As if on cue, the blue-eyed stranger chimed behind you. You turned around to look into those eyes, seeing hints of gray playing in the weak blue. His chestnut hair had been messy, but somewhat contained, with a few flowers stuck in it. His salmon lips were lathered in Blistex (you guessed) and the bottom was unfortunately stuck between his perfect pearly whites. Nathan shot you a wink, and you were positive you were going to vomit.

“This is proving to be a really shitty and cliche sitcom,” you groaned, your words right on time before the bell traumatized the corridors. Students began sprawling around, and that unfortunately meant bidding farewell to the girls. “See you guys later.”

As Savannah and Alexis said bye and began rushing away, Des looked into Nathan’s eyes. She was glaring at him, which made you snicker. You hadn’t known why she was being silently aggressive, but it was amusing to see such a short entity attempt to be threatening to a tower tall man. But she skipped away, having you adjust your bag before sauntering down the corridor.

“You’re not gonna tell me why my name was in that conversation just now?” Nathan hummed, walking beside you with curiosity evident in his eyes. You didn’t bother to glance, knowing that if you did, he’ll try to lock eyes and probably further to vex you.

“If I tell you, will you keep shut about what happened that night?” You asked simply, not really in dire need to keep it a secret. You’d just rather not have people knowing so you didn’t receive obnoxious reactions.

“Oh-- I don’t intend on telling anyone even before you asked this of me,” Nathan began, having you raise an eyebrow as he placed his hands behind his head. The two of you struggled to get through the crowd, but Nathan just kept spewing words. “It’s something I know and no one else does, so I want to keep this all to myself.”

“Well, aren’t you a bit--”

“Selfish? Yes,” Nathan continued and answered for you, having you roll your eyes. You were glad he’d be keeping shut, but now you had to suffer his presence more and more due to this fact. At least, that’s what you guessed. “I was also sorta hoping that we could talk about it.”

“What the fuck is there to talk about?” You muttered, passing through the sea of students before you. “Anyways, you’re not the only one who knows. My best friends know, too.”

“Does Luke count?”

“No.”

“Then I’m sated,” Nathan hummed, having you groan as you rushed over to find your locker. You fumbled to open the lock, struggling from the intense stare that Nathan had been giving you. But you managed it open and revealed several textbooks as well as photos all over the door. That’s when you noticed a small, folded index card on top of the stack of books. “Is that from the secret admirer?”

“Stalker,” you corrected as you took the small note in your hands. “Also, why the fuck are you looking into my locker? D’you have any respect?” You slammed the shut and attempted to keep walking, but Nathan was just proving himself to be more of a bother than expected.

He slammed his forearms against the lockers between yours, having you trapped between them. You had your back leaned on the locker, as that’s how cliche shows and movies do it. He attempted to get you flustered, pushing out his neck more to highlight his jawline more. His blue eyes locked on yours, dimming a bit in intensity. His black, V-collar shirt hung loosely as he had to bend a bit to meet head-to-head.

“I have no respect,” Nathan growled, having you roll your eyes as you watched students shoot you with stares. You merely shrugged, looking discontent at Nathan as he tried boring his eyes into yours. “None for personal space, especially.”

“You could be a fuckboy if you aimed for it,” you suggested, crinkling your nose a bit from a sudden itch. “Well, you probably already are if you’re so good at doing this. You must get all the girls and have them write petty songs about you.”

“They’re good songs, too,” Nathan joked, having you snort quietly before letting out a sigh. Okay, Taylor Swift’s ex. He stared at you, seeming amused and almost satisfied. “What’re you doing for lunch today?”

“Eating,” you replied simply. Nathan smirked at your respond, giving yourself kudos for your cleverness.

“No, I mean are you gonna be in the lunch room or at the tree?” Nathan pondered, having you shrug. You played with the note on your right hand, feeling the corners jag into your palm. “Will it be determined by that note?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to read it,” you huffed, finally reaching your irritated point. “Look, I don’t have math this period, so I’d really like it if you went away so I can use my study hall productively.”

“But I also have study hall right now,” Nathan hummed, smirking as he bent his fingers a bit against the cool, metallic lockers. “We can spend it together. I think it’d be a good bonding experience.”

“She said no, Nathan.”

As predicted, you turned to your left to find the Luke Hemmings stood there. Of course, the lanky boy was in his typical all-black attire. This time, his shirt was a more ivory black with an Arctic Monkeys logo splattered there in a teal blue. But as you lowered your gaze, you saw his fists clench, seeming like he’s more than prepared to lunge at Nathan and break his nose.

“Of course you came right on time, Hemmings,” you began, laughing to yourself as Nathan diverted his attention to the blonde a few feet away. Nathan stands up straight again, your small little prison cell broken. “Are you guys going to fight now or can I go?”

“No,” Nathan began, smirking at Luke as he tightened his jaw in anger. “Lucas here is going to say a bunch of mushy gushy words and walk away with you because his insane jealousy cannot be contained for any reason whatsoever.”

“And you’re going to walk away with that disgusting smirk on your face that I’d like to punch off someday,” Luke hissed. “Also: stop fucking calling me Lucas.”

With that, Luke quickly shoved him while walking passed him to make his way to you. You watched as Luke stood in front of you, his arms to his sides as his blue eyes looked into yours. He was studying you, his rouge lips pursed together to keep from distraction. And this bothered you because every time Luke caught you in a moment like this, your cheeks feel much hotter than moments prior. So you took his chin and turned his head to look at Nathan.

“Look at that dude, m’kay?” You hummed, having the two glare at one another. You took the opportunity then to open up the note. You noticed the intriguing H on the outside of one of the folds before opening in completely.

Come to the tree at lunch. I have an I’m Sorry gift for you.

You didn’t know what the apology gift was for, but if you had to guess, it would be for the drinks at the party. It was really creepy to think how observant he is on you. He truly is a stalker. Especially when you don’t feel any eyes on you and you have yet to see someone around that looks immensely suspicious. But you agreed to this, and hopefully it’ll be worth it.

“You know, it’s good that you got rid of that lip piercing,” Nathan began, having you turn to notice the two still glaring at one another. “It looked like a thin piece of shit hung on it.”

“You’re just mad that you can’t because your mommy and daddy said no,” Luke cooed, having you snort a bit at their immaturity. “If we’re gonna be acting like dickheads, how about don’t steal Ashton’s hairstyle? At least try to be original.”

You giggled quietly at the connection, and Nathan gritted his teeth a bit.

“Alright well.” Nathan let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes before stuffing his hands into his pockets. He winked at you, revealing a smirk to agitate Luke beside you. “Thanks for confiding with me, Y/N. See you later?”

“What?” Luke asked, pure confusion evident in his words and face as he turned to you. You sighed, wanting to punch Nathan just as much as Luke did. But you gave Luke a small wink before looking back at Nathan.

“Oh I didn’t tell you, Nathan!” You said a little loud. “I’m actually gonna eat lunch with Lucas here, but after school. He’s probably gonna take me to the diner we went to yesterday, so yeah.”

Nathan glared at you a bit, obviously pissed that you sided with Luke this time. Luke chuckled, pointing at Nathan to taunt him a bit. But you were already wasting precious study time and you desperately yearned for at least a page to read. So, you grabbed Luke’s wrist with your free hand and began dragging him down the corridor and away from Nathan. But Luke didn’t fail to have his final word.

“It sounds good when she says it,” Luke hollered, having you roll your eyes as you turned the corner to another hallway and dragged him away from Nathan’s view. As you managed to get Luke far away, you slowed down a bit but still kept your eyes forward. “So are you actually letting me take you out?” Luke asked quietly, having you look back at him with a glare.

“Of course not,” you huffed as you let Luke go and walked over to a vacant classroom. The lights were on, and the door was wide open. These were one of the rooms allowed to be used to study, as a lot of students have study hall and need as much silence as they can get. Desks organized into rows, just like in a grid. Fern-green chalkboards, and written, yet brief, summaries of lectures and info. You could see papers left behind of homework or due assignments, having you pity those who left or forget them.

You then realized this was one of the history classes for the sophomores. You noticed the paper ships hanging from the ceiling, voyages from important people sailing the seas to come on top. There were clay structures made, practically statues, ornate by the front. Models of Abraham Lincoln and John Locke, all with dignified faces but immensely large noses. Maps of the world, those of the past and the modern ones to exhibit change. Immensely dire changes, those that fascinated you very much about the worlds development as a whole.

“You make me wonder a lot about you, Y/N,” Luke began, having you turn around to see him leaned on the doorway. A soft smile played at his rouge lips as those ocean eyes studied you. “Maybe because you’re so you that you’re wonderful.”

“What’re you on about, Hemmings?” You began dully, unsure as to where he was getting this random sentiment from. Why was he creating a moment?

“The way you look at all this stuff,” Luke hummed, walking inside to saunter over at the old, ripped up books-- artifacts from the past. “Your eyes glow, more brilliant than it ever is when you see these things. Your lips part, not a lot, but enough to show how trapped you are in a trance. You drown yourself in what you love, and I drown myself in you.”

“You can’t be saying stuff like that!” You exclaimed, looking distantly down to the ground by his feet. It bothered you, these random jolts of flutters or heat that crawled into your cheeks. “You don’t make any sense.”

“Love isn’t supposed to make sense,” Luke replied simply.

“Luke, you don’t love me,” you dismissed, looking back at the chalkboard to see doodles done by the students. There were probably a few of them a bit prior to their arrival. “You just think you do because you supposedly like me.”

“Whatever you wanna believe, Y/N,” Luke gave in, having you look up to see a smirk now crawled on his lips. He then started walking up to you, having you remain still. He didn’t scare you, and you weren’t prepared to let him back you into a desk or a wall. “As long as I know and feel it, it’s okay if you don’t believe me. Not yet, anyways.”

“Once again, I have no clue as to what you’re on about,” you replied, watching as Luke was finally just a few inches from you. His tall, lanky being hovered over you, producing a shadow on you as he did. This was the sudden closeness that you couldn’t seem to ignore like Nathan’s. There was something about this peculiar idiot that makes your body react so strangely.

“Again, you don’t have to,” Luke teased, bringing his hand up to your face. Suddenly, he poked your nose with the tip of his index finger, feeling a brief swipe of coldness before he flicked the tip of your nose up. “Are you going to the tree today? Do I have to cut myself again?”

“That’s sounds incredibly fucked, Luke,” you muttered, shoving his chest to get him away. He erupted in laughter from this and you couldn’t help but wonder just as much about him. “What did I ever do to deserve this?”

With that, you took yourself a seat at the cleanest desk you could find. You dropped your bag carelessly on the floor beside you. Rummaging through it, you revealed a notebook and a pen. You flipped the pages until you found the essay you had left off and went right in to continue it. As you did, you noticed Luke in your periphery and seeing him hop on top of the teachers desk.

“August,” Luke muttered, having you flinch at the word. No matter what you did, he’ll never let up on that one day in August summers ago. “I don’t mind if you don’t care as much, but that is my favorite month, day, and year of all time. I’m at this point I always dreamed of being at, and I have you to thank for that. So that’s what you did to steal my heart and my annoying being.”

Lunch time rolled in, and you found yourself sauntering over to the tree.

You felt extremely disconnected from your stalker in this tree, even though it’s only been a few days with this mystery and only 2 days was the last time you got a note. But you weren’t too in a rush this time, not really wanting to go to your science class immediately. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to learn, but Luke was being too much for you today.

He was such a bother. For an attractive boy such as himself, it surprised you to see the boy single. And yes, you were well aware of his proclaimed love to you in front of not only his friends, but yours, too. But it’s too difficult to believe, even with 2 years stacking on him bothering you and you allowing him to float around like small moons to your planet.

Luke always made you wonder about him. He could have any girl he pleases, seeing as so many would like to throw themselves at him. Nadia is as desperate as a man stuck in the desert for water. It made you want to know what is it that Luke sees. It would seem he is basing the entirety of his feelings on the one instance that was August so very long ago. And yet it is fresh in his mind and, so long as he keeps speaking about it, it’s fresh in your head, too.

As you slowly approached the tree, you noticed that the shadow as expanded a bit and you were quick to be swallowed up by its shadow. You looked around at the beautiful pink petals dancing to the wind and its lovely music. It made you ponder how this tree was surviving in such an ugly place like this schools courtyard. How is a lovely thing to thrive around hormonal teenagers and crabby teachers who for some reason hate kids though their degree was all about education. You had always guessed teachers were always pissy at teenagers because they were annoyed at themselves when they were young idiots.

At least, it’s your own solid guess.

Suddenly, your eyes finally diverted down to stare at a small, white box right in front of the bark. You slowly approached the cardboard thing, noticing how it looked more of an over-sized, cardboard shoe box that was spray painted white. But nonetheless, the container remained there, with yet another note sat on it lovingly. Once more, with the H initial on top.

Looking around, you look back down at the box and bend down to take the note in your hand. Opening it slowly, you read the words with ease.

I’m so sorry for buying you the drinks. I know you’ll try to blame yourself as you chose the drinks, but I gave you permission to and I’m ever so sorry. Here’s just a little something for you x

Putting the note in your pocket, you bring your hands to the edges of the top, horizontal-wise, and lifted the box with ease. You quickly lifted and tossed away the wrapping paper that covered the gift and softened your eyes to see your well-crafted gift.

The first thing you saw was a Blue-Ray DVD version of the Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience. You were in disbelief, truth be told. You couldn’t be bothered to admit it, but you fancied those boys when you were young. Though, you always pointed out how much of a tool Joe Jonas was, since at the time, he only played the tambourine. But then again, you couldn’t say shit: you’ve never even touched a tambourine.

The next item you touched was some Adventure Time socks. One sock held human hero, Finn. And the other, infamous, orange, organ-stretching dog, Jake. They had looked so cute, seeing as their faces resided by the toes of your feet. It made you giggle a bit.

Then, in a small box beside the pair of socks was transparent, and held a series of small pins in them. Opening them eagerly, you giggled at how many there were and the cute sayings on them. You saw a pin that said ‘Bernie Sanders 2020′ with the old man printed on it. Another had a small, purple container of fries that said ‘Fries Before Guys.’ You admitted that these pins were amusing and you were a little too excited to leave school to use them on your bag.

You finally reached the bottom, where you noticed a black entity filling (practically) the entirety of the box. Carefully allowing the smaller items to fall down on the box, you lifted the entity into your hands and unfolded it. It finally revealed itself to you and you allowed a curt smile to play at your lips.

It had been a black Linkin Park sweatshirt, the logo and the words white and fairly huge at the front of the sweatshirt. It felt so nice and smooth in your hands, having you bite your bottom lip. You had been eager to get band sweatshirts, and this had been one of the many you wanted. You hugged it tightly, allowing the scent of cologne and softener to intoxicate your nose.

“You’re so sweet, stalker,” you whispered to yourself, looking up at the tree to see the lovely pink petals begin to fall all around you. “Thank you.”

please tell me what you think right here, if you’d like. thank you for reading and i really hope you enjoy it. xx

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deepfriedtwinkie · 6 years

Text

Kingsman: A Trainee’s Mission (Pt. IV)

PREQUEL FIC, this section ~2kw

pt. I | pt. II | pt. III

“Here.”

Harry slides a plastic tray in front of Hamish, who looks up, startled, from the disassembled wristwatch in his hands.

“What’s all this?”

It’s a curry, a hunk of bread, and a clementine, but they both have eyes, so that’s probably not the answer he’s looking for. Harry slides into the seat opposite, setting down his own tray. Its contents are the same, except his clementine is a lemon Danish. He’s not the one who needs to improve his eating habits.

“I thought perhaps you could use a proper meal,” he explains, unfolding a cloth napkin to tuck across his lap. “We’ve been here a half a month already, and I don’t believe I’ve seen you take anything besides crisps and Tab.”

There’s a shade of something in Hamish’s expression that looks to be on the verge of protest. Harry waits, watching until it passes, only satisfied by his friend’s nod of concession, several moments later.

“S’pose you’re right. Thank you. That’s very kind.”

A smile flares on. “Don’t mention it.” The curry smells wonderful, and he tucks in while it’s hot.

They’re alone in their corner of the mess hall, which bears quite a bit more resemblance to the ones at university than those provided for any branch of military intelligence. He should know. About the first part, at least. His years at Oxford were, up to now, the most rewarding of his life, not the least because he never lacked for a hot meal involving sturdy greens and a port wine gravy. The latter he misses now especially, although Kingsman has far better dinner rolls, so he supposes it works out to a draw.

In a fortnight’s time, the remaining candidates—down to eleven now—have settled into cliques, as it were. Prat Winston has taken to holding court at the front table, with Graham, Chauncey, William, Edgar, and Derrington gravitating to him like gnats to a ten-watt light bulb. The other three lads, whom he’s learnt are called Courtney, Philip, and Kenneth, tend to huddle to themselves in the dimly-lit corner near the chafing dishes, whispering back and forth as if they’re going to be caught and beaten, which is a tad dramatic. Of all his options, he’s glad to have settled here, content with the company of no more than his bunkmate.

About whom he still knows very little, come to think of it.

He waits with extraordinary patience until Hamish has taken at least five bites of food. Then the rest be damned, because curiosity really does kill people, you know.

“I thought we might have a chat, you and I,” he says brightly. “Clearly the both of us are in this for the long haul. I feel as if I hardly know a thing about you.”

“You know my name,” Hamish reminds him. “That’s the highlight, I can promise you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t believe that for a moment. You’re here, aren’t you?”

His chin juts toward Sir Winston the Odious. “So’re those pricks. Doesn’t mean there’s anything interesting about them.”

“Them, no.” He’s not going to give up that easily. Harry leans just slightly forward, forearms pressed illicitly on the table. None of the agents are in here anyway. They eat in the conference rooms, like respectable adults with people to kill. “But I have a very different feeling about you.”

Hamish’s expression changes. He pauses in his eating, lowering his spoon, hovering his face above the bowl. He sniffs. Then he takes up the bowl in both hands, holding it toward Harry.

“What?”

“Does that smell funny to you?”

Cautious, concerned, Harry inhales. Maybe this is meant to be another trial. Except there’s nothing. Nothing acrid. No bitter almonds. Cumin, but that’s nothing outside the ordinary. “I don’t smell a thing.”

“You don’t?” Hamish sets the bowl back down, and that’s when the mystique dissolves, replaced by deadpan. “Smells like bribe to me.”

You shit.

“I’m only trying to get to know you.”

For what it’s worth, he’s got Hamish engaged in the conversation now, whether or not it yields anything. Bemusement has the lad now, and he folds his arms on the ledge of table between himself and his supper tray.

“D’you know what I find interesting?” He points at Harry. “That you’re the one always after answers about me, yet I can’t help but notice that other than university, you’ve never volunteered so much as piss about yourself. When I’m sure I could just as easily be the one asking the questions.”

“Could you?” It’s not a challenge. He genuinely doesn’t know why.

Clearly Hamish does. “Oh yes. There’s plenty. Like how the fuck you knew about Kingsman before you were recruited.”

Oh.

Oh, damn.

“Mmhm.” He’s barely paused at all, and taken great pains not to react facially, and yet for Hamish, somehow, it’s enough. The smug thing’s got on a ‘checkmate’ look now. “That’s what I thought.”

Well, fuck it, then. “How do you know I knew anything before coming here?”

“Oh, you mean for starters?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”

Hamish ticks off each point on his fingers. “You’ve never asked a single question of Arthur in regards to what’s expected, almost as if you’re familiar with how all this shit goes. You seem to know precisely what to do in any given situation, despite the fact you’ve spent the last four years in a posh boys’ dormitory watching other idiots wank and do cocaine off their midterms.”

“Well I hardly did that.”

“And d’you know what I’ve heard you mutter to yourself when you thought nobody was listening? ‘Make Mother proud.’ Now how the fuck could she be proud of what you’re doing unless both of you knew what it was?”

It’s rather uncomfortable, being read like this. Outside his childhood home, this may be the very first time it’s ever happened. He fidgets unconsciously in his seat for a moment. Were he a pettier person, this might knock a point of two off his new friend’s appeal, to be honest.

“I could have meant it figuratively,” he finally comes up with.

“You could, aye. But you didn’t.”

God damn it.

Harry sighs. “All right.”

Furtively, he glances each way, hunching closer across the tabletop. Just because he’s not remotely ashamed of his advantages doesn’t mean he wants the resident cavemen accusing him of unearned nepotism. It’d be terrible form to have to beat his competition unconscious. He looks Hamish in the eye.

“You won’t repeat a thing you hear?”

“My name’s on the body bag, isn’t it?”

It’s not the most reassuring answer on earth, but Harry doesn’t plan to give him the soup-to-nuts version, anyway. No one gets that. Not for a thing. He gets the abridgement, at least for the time being. If that’s not enough, he can kiss his ass.

“Fine. If you want the truth, I’ve wanted to become a Kingsman since I was ten years old. My mother was in intelligence.” Still is, but the past tense is an insulating feature of this version, the same as lack of detail. “A Kingsman agent once assisted her organization on a case; I happened to be shadowing her at her offices the day they met.”

“Were you, now?” It’s slightly insulting that Hamish is incredulous. And just the right blend of amused and unfazed to be irritating as hell. “You’re telling me even high-stakes intelligence has a Take Your Kid to Work Day?”

“No. It was only me. Mother was high-ranking enough that it was allowed, on the grounds that everyone knew she wouldn’t raise a moron. I was expected, by most, to join that organization someday. Secrecy was a normal everyday part of my upbringing. No one ever questioned telling me anything. It was a means of priming me.”

“And that’s how you met a Kingsman agent. Who just conveniently proposed you for the job nearly eleven years later, after openly admitting to a ten-year-old who he was.”

“Only by codename, obviously, and I was a special case; Mother was an internationally-respected VIP agent of one of the most vital—look, you’re the one who wanted to know, aren’t you? And now you don’t believe me?”

Chuckling, Hamish tucks back into his curry. “Nah. I believe you. You just make it so goddamned easy to fuck with you.”

I have no fucking idea why I ever liked you, you tacky, obnoxious, sentient little thistle. To hell with patience. Turnabout is fair play, and he’s going to have it now.

“And what about you?” Harry demands. “At least I had a reason to be secretive. How is it that you manage to evade your own story to make a guess at mine instead?”

Setting down his spoon, Hamish levels with him. He blinks. That’s not what he expected either.

“Because it takes one to know one,” Hamish says. “I knew about Kingsman before I was recruited too.” Then he lifts the wristwatch he’d been fooling with, turning it over to reveal its Kingsman emblem. “There’s a bug in this model. I know because I helped develop it. That’s what I was working on. I’ve been attempting to pin down the problem.”

It’s Harry’s turn to be incredulous. And he is. Very. The scoff practically bursts out of his mouth. “Please. You can’t even be eighteen.”

“I’m seventeen. I’ll be eighteen before the training’s over. That’s old enough.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“That’s the minimum. I checked when I asked for consideration. And you’re not exactly collecting Social Security at twenty. Frankly I’d expect someone who got into Oxford at sixteen would understand a bit better.”

“Frankly I don’t know how you expect Arthur to allow an eighteen-year-old to play handler to the most elite agents in the world.”

“I don’t, not independently, at first. We’ve spoken already. If I win, he’ll shadow me for a year or so, observe, sign off on all my work until he’s confident. But it’s like you said. I’m here for a reason. I graduated secondary at fourteen with high honors in computers and mathematics. I turned down six international scholarships when I was offered the chance to be an intern in Kingsman’s tech department in Edinburgh. I signed my first body bag a long time ago.”

Absolutely none of that was anywhere on the list of what Harry expected. Several moments pass where he can’t think of anything to say. What finally comes out is, “I didn’t know there was a tech department in Edinburgh.”

“Aye.” Hamish picks up his bread. “They’re moving it to Berlin, though. So I hear. That’s me shit out of luck if I don’t get the job, I s’pose.”

They go back to eating. At least Hamish does. Harry stares. For a solid minute, if not two.

“You’ll get the job,” he says at last, quietly. “I…I never imagined…” He starts over. “Well. You must be fairly brilliant. I suppose I owe you an apology.”

Hamish nods. “S’alright.”

“Thank you.”

Spearing a piece of meat on his fork, Hamish blots off the sauce on his napkin, holding it under the table for Ainsley. It reminds Harry to do the same. Hamish shakes his head. “I can’t believe you fucking called him Mr. Pickle.”

He smiles as the rough little tongue laps his fingers. “Oh, I think he likes it all right.”

“The look on Tristan’s face was worth it, though.”

“Oh, yes.”

They do it again. “So, your mother, huh? The family business? No wonder you’re not concerned with competition.”

Harry nods. “It’s only a matter of who gets the job along with me; I must admit I’ve been hoping it’s you. You’re a good conversationalist.”

“I barely speak to anyone,” Hamish points out.

“Yes, well. I’m grading on potential.”

pt. V | pt. VI | pt. VII | pt. VIII | pt. IX

#Kingsman #Harry Hart #Agent Merlin #Kingsman: The Secret Service #Kingsman: The Golden Circle #fanfic #oh look Aud did a thing

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forgedobsidian · 7 years

Text

Aphelion

A MHA fanfiction. Chapter 5.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

AO3

Summary:

Izuku has been kidnapped by All For One, for reasons the young boy doesn’t understand. He is forced to stay at a rundown facility, surrounded by villains and, for all he knows, completely without help. In-between his attempts to escape or learn why he has been stolen, the young boy spends his time with a near-comatose man who seems strangely familiar.

Trigger Warnings for: kidnapping, body horror, medical torture, needles, and pain

All For One sighed around the tube in his throat, his chin resting on a fisted hand.

Really, this is beyond tedious.

He was seated in a familiar chair, nodes and drips connected to the remains of his head. Medical machines and IV bags hung from the metal stands surrounding his seat. His legs were stretched out in front of him, a familiar monitor resting on a nearby desk. The screen was blank - Kurogiri had just given his report. Everything was quiet.

“I’m back,” his companion said.

Eihei was a short and stout man, a full brown beard not seeming to match his bald head. The tips of his fingers were covered in organic circuits, sparks of electricity zapping between the joints. He was surrounded by electrical cables, all of them plugged into the wall. They gave off a faint heat, their previous use wearing through the protective shielding that surrounded the wire.

“Any more resources for me, Eihei?”

“None of any particular interest, at least as of yet. How’s the boy I found for you?”

“Useful.”

Eihei snorted. “That’s all well and good, but how soon are we gonna see the fruits of our efforts, so to say?”

“Before long. Murata and I have been working on a special project of mine. The boy is helping us move along at a much greater pace that we originally anticipated.”

Eihei looked him over, eyes flicking over the chair, before he shrugged and nodded. “Sounds alright.”

“How about that one we’ve been watching?”

“The girl from the Eight Precepts? The kid isn’t old enough quite yet, but before long we’ll see if that investment Chisaki made pays off. He’ll have to work a while, though, to get the right amount of trigger he needs. We have time.”

“Good.” I can’t allow the playing field to get too level. That makes things messy. “If need be, we’ll organize a raid and get our hands on the girl ourselves. But only if she turns out to be promising.”

Eihei nodded. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Good.”

They both quieted down when Ito opened the door and walked into the room, an angry twist to her mouth. She stalked over to the pair, carefully stepping around all the medical equipment and Eihei’s cables.

“Damn kid made another escape attempt.” Ito had a fading snarl on her face, and her eyes were angry. “Murata left the door unlocked. I’ll have to have a word with him.” Red flared up her fingers and lingered around her wrists. She came to a stop in front of All For One, an angry twitch to her shoulders.

While he would prefer to keep the true nature of his physical state under wraps, there were a few people All For One allowed into this innermost sanctum. Shigaraki was one, Eihei was another. Ito was relatively new, but she had proved herself and it was easier for his commandments to be understood if he gave them to her directly. He could always kill her if the need arose.

“He left the boy’s door unlocked? That’s a little unfocused, even for him,” Eihei muttered.

“He left the boy with that . . . that thing, you know? That we used on the raid? That’s the door he forgot to lock.”

All For One shifted. “He left the boy there? I wonder why.”

Ito shrugged. “I have no idea.”

All For One steepled his fingers as he thought. A moment later and he gestured at Ito. “Your report, then.”

She nodded. “I’ve reestablished contact with some of our inner city dealers. Told them we’ll have a good product for them in a little while, and that it’d be in their best interest to leave some room for us unless they want trouble. I’m having trouble tracking down our people on the coast, though.”

“We need them, Ito, if we plan to get back to a global level.”

“Understood, sir.”

He nodded, ignoring the pain as the tube shifted in his trachea. “Well, then. To work.”

Ito nodded and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Eihei. When will the first test batch be ready?”

Eihei harrumphed. “A day or two more, I think. It’s taking a bit to work out the obvious kinks, like time and the cooldown period.”

“That is acceptable. When you deem it ready, I know where to find our first test subject. It’d be best to get as much use out of that particular resource before it becomes obsolete.”

Izuku walked after Murata with a satisfied feeling in his chest.

Yagi. Toshinori Yagi. That’s his name.

“Sorry for dragging you all this way. I’m a little tempted to just not bother with bringing you to the room, but I like having my tools nearby.”

Izuku shook his head, breaking out of his thoughts. “It’s alright. I don’t mind the walk.”

“That’s decent of you.” Murata seemed subdued, and he kept rubbing at the bandage that was wound around his right forearm.

Izuku’s brows furrowed. “What happened?”

“My mistake, my mistake. Won’t happen again.” He sighed and smiled. “Left your door unlocked. I’m not supposed to.”

“You got hurt . . . because of me? Because I tried to get out?”

“From a certain point of view, sure. But Ito was very specific, and it won’t happen again, so don’t worry about it.” Murata opened the door into Yagi’s room and stepped inside. “You know the drill. Sit down and stay still so I can get more samples.”

Izuku nodded, even though Murata couldn’t see him. The chair was where he had left it, the arm straps hanging over the edge of the seat. Izuku fell into the chair with a sigh, trying to find something to occupy his mind. He didn’t want to think about his situation.

Yagi was sleeping in his chair, which was normal. The oxygen mask had been fastened back around his head. There was a thick bandage stuck across his back, and Izuku could see the edges of the burn around the lip of the covering.

He’s not looking much better, but at least he’s resting, Izuku thought.

He sighed again, almost not noticing when Murata tied the rubber strip around his arm. He did notice the sting of the needle, and he forced himself to not watch as Murata drew his blood. It was over quickly.

Izuku made to press his fingers at the needle mark to stop the bleeding after the syringe was removed, but Murata’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Wait there for a second. I think I might try something out really quick.” Murata walked over to his desk, muttering under his breath.

Izuku shifted in his chair, shooting another glance at Yagi. The man hadn’t shifted, hadn’t even twitched since Izuku and Murata had entered the room.

“Maybe just a little . . . just to see . . .” Murata placed a piece of cloth over the top of a small bottle, the orange contents splashing as the doctor quickly turned it upside down. A blot grew on the cloth, and he quickly righted the bottle and replaced the cap. Then he walked towards Izuku.

The boy felt his heart beat faster, and his vision tunneled to the cloth held in Murata’s hand. He could feel his muscle freezing in place, keeping him from moving. He wanted to jump from his seat and run, but he couldn’t force his body into leaving the chair. He could only watch as Murata pulled out Izuku’s arm, baring the new needle mark to the open air.

Then Murata pressed the wet cloth against Izuku’s skin, centering the wet blot on the puncture where he had drawn Izuku’s blood. Izuku yelped when Murata pressed the cloth harder, the pain from his bruise and the recent shot worsening. Then, the pressure was gone, and Izuku stopped squirming.

“Well, now, this is interesting.”

Izuku took a shaky look at his arm. There were bumps raising along his skin, and even as he watched the bumps seemed to fold in on themselves and harden. Except for a vague itching, it hadn’t hurt. There was a faint green color spreading along the bumps, though, and Izuku started to feel nauseous.

The bumps and color faded a moment later, leaving his arm looking like it had before. The bruise throbbed, though, and Izuku wanted to scratch at his arm.

“W-what was that!?”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Murata said, waving his hand. “It wasn’t permanent, and I just wanted to see how a little of it reacted to a quirkless body.”

“What . . .” Izuku swayed in his seat, stiffened, and took a desperate dive for the trashcan.

Murata watched as Izuku gave a dry heave. “Well, that was interesting.”

Izuku was breathing heavily. “That . . . what . . .”

Murata gave a chuckle. “Just a little experiment. No worries. You’ll feel better soon. Out of curiosity, did it hurt?”

The boy shook his head and rested the back of his hand on the cold tile floor. Eventually the nausea passed and he was able to stand, only to collapse back in his chair when he realized how shaky his legs were.

Izuku didn’t try to ask Murata anything. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, and he doubted Murata would be as talkative now as he had been in the past. He swallowed and cradled his arm close, trying not to scratch at his skin.

Eventually Murata sighed and walked to the door. “Come on. I’m taking you back. And no, you can’t stay here to take a nap or whatever. I have to get you back to your room.”

Izuku blinked.

Murata sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Why do you like talking to him anyway? He’s a terrible conversationalist, from my experience.”

Izuku started. “You . . .”

“I know that you like talking to him. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

The boy swallowed, trying to push down the panic in his chest. “I-I just, I don’t know. He . . . um.” Izuku’s mind scrabbled for an answer. “He reminds me of someone. I’m trying to figure out who, is all.”

“Oh, now that’s interesting!” Murata suddenly seemed very happy. “Conducting your own experiment, are you?”

“I . . . I guess, sort of.” Izuku tried not to squirm in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention. He’s in the same boat as me. Neither of us wants to be here. He’s the closest thing I have to an ally, right now. And he needs help.

Izuku knew that his drive to help others might not help him in his current situation, when he needed to focus completely on keeping himself safe. But he couldn’t just let someone else hurt and suffer when there was something he could do about it. If Yagi knowing he wasn’t alone helped ease his situation, then Izuku wanted to help.

“Well, that’s very interesting, kid.” Murata was pinching at the skin on his hand. “As much as I support what you’re trying to do, let it never be said I don’t support the scientific method, I can’t let you have free range just yet. Besides, Ito’s scarier than you. So, maybe some other time.”

“. . . okay.” Izuku got up from his chair, making his way to where Murata had swung the door open. He gave Yagi’s limp hand a consoling pat as he walked by.

Murata kept talking as he walked Izuku around the compound, taking the long way back to the cell.“I mean, besides, he’s only been so aware recently because of everything that’s going on. You, the raid, et cetera. He’ll quiet back down before too long.”

Izuku spoke before he could think. “Raid?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to get in trouble with Ito again. You’re not getting anything out of me.” Murata snorted and ran his fingers along the wall.

“Oh. Okay.” The curiosity in Izuku’s chest was squashed.

Murata peered around the hallway, a mischievous twist to his mouth. “Though, I do like you. You help my work. Maybe I’ll tell you a bit, just to get that expression off your face.”

Izuku nodded, trying to control his expression. The more information I have, the better.

“Boss sent some folks out on a raid, along with your friend in the chair. That’s where he got that nasty burn.”

“He wanted to go?”

“Doubt it. He’s stubborn when it comes to stuff like this. Ito had to get a little persuasive, apparently. Anyway, we got our hands on some really important data. It’s changing the entire game.”

“Game?”

Murata just grinned. “Now, now, don’t worry about it. It won’t hurt you. I think.”

“Oh.”

Izuku didn’t get a chance to ask any more questions. Murata opened the door to his room, Izuku stepped in, and Murata closed it. There was the distinctive click of a lock.

Izuku sighed, kicked at the door, and fell backwards onto his bed. A moment later, and he dug his notebook and the salvaged pen out from his backpack.

He wrote down everything that had happened that day, from seeing Yagi to what Murata had told him. A determined expression fell across his face. He turned the page, and kept writing.

Four years ago . . .

There was something wrong with his chest.

He couldn’t breathe past something in his side, he couldn’t move his arms. Blurry light filtered through his closed lids, painfully drilling into his head. When he tried to say anything his dry throat tore and something warm dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. His feet were cold.

His hand twitched, and he dimly registered the click of his nails against something metallic. A wave of chilled air trickled over his arms.

Why can’t . . . I breathe . . .

Toshinori tried to blink his eyes open, but they felt gummed shut. He wheezed and tried to throw his shoulders up. All he managed was a feeble twitch before he fell back, winded. His left side felt numb and crinkly.

It took everything he had to reach up and rub at his eyes. His fingers met his eyelashes, and he could feel something thick and globulous holding them closed. His nails scratched away the substance, and before long he blinked his eyes open.

The bright light spiked into his head and he twitched with a groan, clenching his eyes shut against the pain. The next time he slid his eyes open carefully, giving himself time to adjust.

His vision was blurry and unfocused, but the sight that met his eyes managed to send a jolt down his spine even through the thick haze over his senses.

His hands were bandaged, but he could still see the way the joints were twisted and warped under the wrappings. He turned his head, looking down at his torso, the flicker of a dark memory licking at the edge of his mind.

He found the edge of the bandaging first, his hand slowly tracing the edge the off-white fabric. His head turned further. The bandages bulged suddenly at his sternum, and he could feel sweat beading on the back of his neck as he turned further.

His side was mangled. He could tell even through the thick padding that was stuffed around what was left of his ribcage. He could feel now that he was turned slightly on his side, bandaging on the left half of his back pushing him up. Clarity spiked his mind even as he wondered where the pain was.

A groggy tendril of determination went through his brain, and he managed to sit up and swing one leg to the floor. He dimly took note of the loose pants he wore, and the fact that he had been lying on a thin gurney. A twinge ran up his side, but the discomfort didn’t increase.His toes scraped against the cold tile floor, but he couldn’t feel it. His feet were numb.

He swung his other leg over to the floor, legs dangling off the edge of the narrow gurney. Only then did he see the various IV lines stuck in his left arm, tendrils of thin plastic tubing attached to several fluid bags that hung from a metal stand.

“Wh-”

His voice rasped and caught in his throat. The taste of iron filled his mouth, and it took all he had not to throw up. Instead, he coughed roughly into a bandaged fist, his eyes widening at the blood that gathered on the white wrappings.

What happened?

The door across from the gurney opened, a person of middling height walking through with a tray held in his hands. Their eyes widened when they saw Toshinori sitting up.

“Woah, didn’t expect you to be up and around quite yet,” the person quipped. They set the tray to the side and walked to the side of the gurney, one hand reaching out to rest on Toshinori’s forearm. “And how are we today?”

Toshinori cleared his throat, hunching in on himself as a painful cough built in his chest. “W-where am I? Who’re you?”

“Easy, easy, fella. I’m Masumi Murata,” the man said, gently turning Toshinori’s wrist over to check the IV’s. “You’re in a safe place. No worries.”

Toshinori knew he was a mess, that his face was pale and sweat was tracking its way down his cheek. His hand shook where he gripped the edge of the gurney. Something in him felt broken and out of place, but that didn’t stop him from trying to figure out the feeling of warning at the back of his head.

“Well,” Murata said, giving Toshinori’s shoulder a friendly slap. “Looks like you’re knitting together just fine. Just don’t squirm around too much, and don’t try to leave the room. Too much movement and we’ll be back to square one.”

“S-square one?”

“You were heading down a tunnel towards a bright light when I got my hands on you. It was touch and go for a while.”

“How . . . how long?”

“Long enough. Anyway, let me run a few tests, and I’ll let you get back to sleep, yeah?”

Toshinori swallowed, but gave a hesitant nod.

Murata smiled and turned back to the tray, picking up a stethoscope. “I’m just gonna listen to your chest real quick.”

Toshinori felt his back twitch when the cold metal of the stethoscope roamed around his back. The faint feeling of unease had increased, and Toshinori tried to keep the worry from his face as he gave Murata sidelong glances.

He couldn’t find any official identification, and Murata’s clothing beneath the lab coat wasn’t anywhere near regulation. His surroundings didn’t look the slightest like a hospital room, either. It felt more like a modified storage closet, crammed with medical tools.

A chilling thought grew in the back of his mind.

Well, there’s one way to find out . . .

“Gran Torino? W-where is he?”

“Who? Oh, him! He’s fine! Not a scratch on ‘em. Don’t worry about that.”

Toshinori grappled with his memories, and his mouth turned sour.

Torino had broken his knee in the fight, and landed on a shattered window. There had been glass shards sticking out of his elbow when Toshinori had last seen him.

And with that Toshinori knew what had happened.

He wasn’t safe, wasn’t in a hospital. He didn’t know what had happened to Torino, or if Sir had ever shown up. He didn’t even know what day it was or how debilitating his injuries really were.

All For One’s people had gotten there first. It was as simple as that.

Toshinori swallowed, and steeled himself for movement.

He made his move when Murata had his back turned, his bare feet slapping against the tile. When he stood he felt something twist in his side, and pain flared along his sternum. He moved quickly, despite the discomfort. There was a painful jerk in his arm as the IV’s pulled free.

Before Murata could react, Toshinori had opened the door and skidded out into the hallway beyond.

His side hurt, but not as much as he had expected. It was hard to keep his balance, but not so hard as to keep him from staggering down the hallway.He heard Murata running up behind him, and without much thought he turned and grabbed Murata’s outstretched hand, pulling him in close, twisting his wrist. Then he pushed Murata away, trying to tangle the fake doctor’s legs as Murata staggered.

Pain flared up his side, forcing Toshinori to take a couple steps back and sag against the wall.

Murata was swearing under his breath and holding his twisted hand, slowly massaging the fingers.

“The hell was that for?!”

“You’re lying,” Toshinori snarled, feeling his hands shake. “Where am I?”

Murata glared at him, cradling his twisted hand. “Geeze, was it something I said?”

“Answer me!”

“Okay, okay, just calm down.” Murata raised his good hand in a placating gesture. “No need to get riled up.”

Toshinori felt his hands curl into fists at his sides and he took a threatening, though wavering, step towards the doctor.

“Woah, okay, chill! You’re gonna be fine, but just let me give you this, okay?” Murata pulled a loaded syringe from his pocket. “This’ll help you relax, nice ‘n easy.”

Toshinori snarled, but his voice cut out as something warm and tasting of copper surged up his throat and out his mouth. He looked down, and saw blood dribble from his chin onto the floor.

“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Murata said, his voice surprised.

Toshinori coughed and felt something give in his side. His vision started to blur. The ground moved up to meet his knees, and he dimly felt himself slip sideways. There was a dull thump when his head connected with the ground.

There was a tremor going up and down his spine, and he couldn’t control his limbs. His jaw spasmed and he bit the inside of his cheek.

He could dimly hear Murata’s footsteps coming closer. “That’s quite the seizure you’re having there, buddy.”

Toshinori felt his shoulder relax, and he tried to take a swing at where he thought Murata was.

“Now now, none of that.”

There was a prickle in his neck, and everything faded away.

Time lost all meaning for him after that. He was occasionally aware of something happening around him. His ears constantly felt like they were stuffed full of cotton, so he couldn’t pick out the voices that danced around his head. There was a smell of antiseptic and iron, and sometimes the sticky scent of something rotting.

He floated in an out of consciousness, sometimes held in a drugged sleep, other times forced to undergo more painful procedures under Murata’s supervision while awake. The few times he managed to shake himself to awareness he was quickly put back under, only able to get a quick, blurry image of his surroundings before falling back into the jagged feeling of unconsciousness.

He could feel himself losing weight, the proud muscle along his shoulders and arms fading the longer he was captive. He was growing weaker, unable to move for more than a few minutes at a time. He never got another chance to try and escape.

In his more lucid moments he wondered what was happening outside his cell, how his friends and companions were handling his absence, how the world was responding to the disappearance of All Might. Guilt at not being strong enough to get back to them ate at him just as much as the injury to his side.

He couldn’t remember when he was moved to the chair, or when the ports were surgically implanted in his torso and arms. It took him a while to figure out that there were ports winding up his spine, as well. Sometimes he managed to get a look at his arms, and could track the passage of time by the number of old and new needle scars.

One time he woke up feeling light-headed and chilled, and he realized that his hair had been shaved.

He didn’t get many visitors that he could remember, his waking interactions usually limited to Murata and his needles. Sometimes, though, All For One was there.

“I intend to make your failure complete, All Might.”

He jolted, pulling out of the drugged sleep and giving a wet cough.

“For how strong you were, you were weakest when it most mattered. You’ve failed so many people.”

Toshinori groaned, trying to stifle his voice. His eyes roamed over the room in a blurred haze until they fell to focus on All For One, sitting across from him in a chair.

“You know, it’s astonishing just how quickly everything fell apart. Even I was surprised, in truth.” All For One seemed whole, only the black helmet left as a testimony to Toshinori’s efforts.

He swallowed, clenched his eyes, and tried to school himself into resistance.

“You won’t be a problem any more, All Might. In fact, you’re going to help me rebuild from the ground up.”

Toshinori tried to snarl, to fight back, but his willpower was tattered. He had nothing left to fight with. Still, he pulled his lips back and bared his teeth, mentally scrabbling to put a more coherent form of resistance together.

“I always knew you were a brute, but I hardly dared hope for such an animalistic response.”

Toshinori felt a clammy hand rest on the back of his neck. He shivered and tried to duck away, but he was stopped by the weight of the tubes along his spine.

“Eventually, I’ll take back the quirk that I made. I’ll take you apart piece by piece until I get my hands on what I want. And until then, you’re another tool of mine, to use and discard at my whim.”

The hand tightened and Toshinori choked. His head was pulled back until he was staring up into All For One’s mask, his drawn features reflected in the dark material. Spots swam in front of his eyes.

“And there’s nothing you can do about it, hero.”

Something dug into his side, and his vision went white.

Author’s Note: All For One is a really interesting character to write!

I’m pretty surprised at how many people seem to enjoy Murata’s character. It’s a nice feeling; it took a while and A LOT of development to get his character down. I’m so glad that people are responding to him!! He’s a blast to write, honestly.

Thanks for reading!!

#izuku midoriya #all might #toshinori yagi #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #aphelion #FRICK YEA THIS CHAPTER WAS A BLAST TO WRITE!! I'M SO EXCITED!!#forged fanfiction

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