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7ndipity · 7 months

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Take a Chance on Me

Yoongi x Plus Size Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi met during his enlistment and quickly became friends, but what happens when your friendship begins to grow into something more?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of insecurities and anxieties

A/N: A massive thanks to @bethanysnow for requesting this idea and for obsessing over it with me!😘 I’m so excited to work on this as a drabble series, I hope you’ll all enjoy it!

Masterlist

Requests are open

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‘Okay, you can do this, it’ll be fine.’ Yoongi repeated to himself, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel as he waited to pick you up from work, trying to quell his nerves before he spotted you jogging across the parking lot towards his car.

“Hey, Min.” You greeted him as you slid into the passenger seat.

“Hey, Y/n.” He said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of his mouth in spite of himself, your presence alone managing to calm him, if only a little bit.

It was remarkable almost, how in just a few short months, you’d come to be such an important part of his life.

When you’d first met following his public service assignment, he’d been a bit hesitant of getting too close with anyone around him too quickly, but you’d managed to worm your way into his heart almost instantly.

He still remembered the first time he realized how much he liked you; he’d made some dry, sarcastic remark that no one else had really reacted to, unsure if he was being serious or not, but you had let out a quiet burst of laughter that had immediately set everyone else at ease. It was just a little thing, but it had played over in his head for the rest of the day.

He hadn't even known that much about you at the time, except your name, your department, and that the sound of your laugh was one of the best things he’d ever heard.

Before long, he had started finding more and more excuses to come by to see and talk to you, even if it was just for a minute as he brought some forms for somebody else to sign, eventually asking if you wanted to hang out together outside of work as well.

You’d known who he was of course, in your own words it was impossible not to, but you’d never treated him differently because of it, something he’d come to appreciate more and more as you’d gotten to know each other.

You were so bright and warm and funny, and had a way of putting him at ease that few others had ever managed, he found himself easily charmed by you, and it was honestly your friendship that had made the rather jarring shift between his lifestyles bearable, if not almost pleasant.

But more recently, he’d begun to realize that his feelings towards you had grown beyond those of purely a friend.

Yoongi craved you, he wished there was a better word or phrase to convey his feelings for you, but that was the best he could come up with. He craved your presence, your comfort, the sound of your laugh when you found something he did cute or funny. He found himself missing you constantly, even if he’d just seen you, wanting to wrap his arms around your plush figure and keep you close at all times. It was like he was addicted, and frankly, it scared the shit out of him.

“You okay?” You finally asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. You’d noticed he’d been quieter than usual, having barely spoken the entire car ride to your place, stirring up your concern for him.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I-uh, wanted to ask you something.” He started, scratching at his palms nervously.

“Okay.” You said, eyeing him curiously, making him fidget even more.

Fuck, it would be easier if you weren’t staring at him with those fucking eyes, he thought. They’d been one of the first things he’d noticed about you, one of the first things to put a chink in his armor.

He had spent the previous night laying in bed, trying unsuccessfully to come up with a more eloquent way to put his feelings into words, but as soon as he looked up at you, everything seemed to shrivel up and drift away, like leaves on the wind, leaving him with only the simplest of thoughts and question in his mind.

“Would you… go out with me?” He asked softly.

Your eyes went wide. “What?!”

“Will you go out with me?” He repeated.

“But, w-why?” You asked, flabbergasted.

“Why do you think? I like you, a lot.” He let out a huff of laughter, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Fuck, honestly? I think I might even love you, but I know that’s way too much out of the blue. I just know that I want to be with you, as more than friends, if you’ll have me.” He finished, glancing down at his feet awkwardly.

It was quiet for a long moment as you stared at him, stunned, letting his words sink in.

“I don’t… get it.” You said slowly.

He blinked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why me? I’m not exactly your type.”

“You don’t know that.” He interjected.

You scoffed. “C’mon, Yoongi, be serious,” You said, skepticism clear in your voice.

“I am being serious.” He said, looking at you with utmost sincerity. “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

You shook your head in confusion. You’d seen the type of people that Yoongi spent time around in his line of work, and they were very different from you; thin, beautiful, perfect. Not that you didn’t think you were pretty in your own way, but compared to the idols that he was typically around, the idea of you and Yoongi just didn’t make sense to you.

“But I’m just… me.” You said, the last part coming out almost as a question, not understanding his logic.

He smiled. “That's why I like you. You're open and honest and kind, you don’t hide behind some front or mask, and you don’t put up with anyone’s shit. You’re smart, and funny, and beautiful-”

“But I’m-” Your hand went as if to gesture to yourself, but he was quick to catch it in his own.

“Hey.” The sudden sharpness in his tone caught you off guard. “Don’t you dare try to sell yourself short, you hear me? When I say you’re beautiful, I mean it.”

You bit your lip, mind racing. You wanted to believe him, but there was that nagging voice in the back of your head that kept saying it wouldn’t work, something was going to go wrong.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to date though?” You pointed out. “What if someone finds out?”

“They’ll say ‘good for them’, otherwise I don’t give a fuck.” He said firmly. “What I do outside of that building is none of the company’s damn business.”

You smiled at that, but said nothing, still thinking.

“Look,” He spoke again, this time much softer. “I realize that this is a lot all of a sudden, and you don’t even have to answer today, you can take however much time you want to think about it, I’m just asking for a chance.”

It was quiet for a moment before you spoke again, softly. “Okay.”

He looked up at you. “Okay?”

“I’ll go out with you.” You clarified.

“You will?” His eyes lit up.

“Yeah,” You nodded, grinning at him.

He beamed, letting out a relieved sigh before leaning across the center console and pulling you into a hug. “Thank you.” He mumbled against your hair, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

“I like you too, by the way.” You said.

“I was kinda hoping, given your answer, but thanks.” He chuckled, smirking at you.

“Ugh,” You shoved against his chest lightly, but he was giving you no room for escape. “You could’ve just said it back.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time, okay?” He asked, grinning at you.

“Fine.” You grumbled, feigning annoyance.

“Can I make it up to you?” He asked.

“Maybe. What did you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, he leaned closer, pressing his lips softly against yours.

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi fluff #yoongi drabble #yoongi reaction #yoongi oneshot #yoongi series #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #yoongi x plus size reader #bts scenarios #bts series #bts fluff #bts x plus size reader #bts x chubby reader #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts requests #bts drabble #7ndipity

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captainpondlilly · 5 months

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Okay! The Gilear plush has arrived. This is my best attempt at all of his lines. Two have been unintelligible to me, and several are pretty long and fast which made it hard to follow.

My search history is.. hospitals near me, foot stuck in object, head stuck in object

You're low, he's low, It's Gilear's day baby!*

A guy on the street kicked me in the nuts as hard he could

I don't like "lunchlad"

Help me to understand what I have done to deserve this

My horoscope says "today is a good day to die motherfucker"

I ate a quick cup of yogurt on the way over here to bolster my spirits after I changed, I'm ever so sorry

What do you mean "When" life gives you lemons

I went to apply for the guidance counselor position but I was usurped by a drug dealing werewolf named Jawbone

In my haste to put the armor on I buckled the leg plate and think I clipped the tip of my penis against one of the leg plates and Everytime I move it feels like it might fall off so I ASSURE you demon I have no pride to speak of!

In highschool I was voted "Most Likely To Get Pushed Out Of A Tree"

My car was repossessed by the ride share app that I was working for

It's actually a good thing that no one came to my birthday party because the bounce house flooded and was swept out to sea

I just discovered that *all* of my emails have been going to everyone's spam

Unfortunately I have been banned from that hot air balloon service not because of anything that happened to me in particular but the guys who run it just sort of know my whole deal

Mmm this yogurt tastes like *potatoes*

I asked the woman at Home Depot why my plants kept dying and she said it seemed like they were reaching away from the sun

I've found out recently that one of my shoes is so filled with mildew because a pipe in my bedroom is leaking and I've developed a fungal infection in my foot which I didn't know was possible for elves to get

I don't think that I've ever "Peaked" in that we started neutral and have been going downhill ever since

I am currently trapped in a storm drain. The bottom half of me is above the ground, the other is below

Another Own Goal for Gilear Faeth, yes

Everyone knows you eat 7 spiders in your sleep every year, but I have a bunch coming into me the backway

My sandcastle I'm afraid was destroyed, as I was about to finish it, the tide came in and with it a man holding a bazooka who shot me and killed me

I know you're not going to believe this but Ive just been kicked by a snake

I found out the hard way that people can legally reject status as an emergency contact

The title of my autobiography is going to be Gilear Faeth: Please Stop

On my way here I was carrying a large bowl of Italian wedding soup which shattered on the ground in front of me and several of the small pasta balls rolled through the cracks and alerted vermin to my presence. I've since learned after a trip to the hospital I am deathly allergic to the sting of millipedes which is a way of me saying I need someone to come down to the hospital and pay for this. There is a doctor holding a gun to my head and now that I think about it this clinic is in the back of a storage unit and I think have gone to the wrong place

he said and I quote "he'd stomp my goon ass" if I ever got on his bus again

Gorthalax it was very nice to meet you, you've made a cuckold of me

We're the throw up boys!*

I've been informed that the brownies I consumed were laced with cannabis and rat poison

I am completely unprepared for the perils ahead and am deeply frightened, I'll go get the coffee

A gorilla monster punched me so hard in the back of the head I died

Today I have been hit by 3 scooters

Everytime you squeeze my hand it breaks several small bones

My imaginary friend as a child ghosted me because he said I was too depressing

Do you want me to go back? I warn you, it will break me

Can I interest you in an herbal soda? You must understand I am an intern at a ponzi scheme*

When I go to sleep at night I dream of a world where I might be able to walk through a field without stepping on a rake or gopher hole

If anyone needs me... I will be surprised.

If it wasn't for bad luck, Id have no luck is both true and what was written upon the billboard I crashed through

I wonder if any of these will feature in Junior year 👀

*Thanks to @cappa-cappa for telling me the lines I wasn't able to make out!!

#d20 #dimension 20 #naddpod #bahumia #brian murphy #emily axford #brennan lee mulligan #gilear faeth #siobhan thompson #lou wilson #ally beardsley #dropout #spire #fantasy high #fantasy high freshman year #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high junior year

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heartthrobin · 1 year

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lay me at your feet and i'll hum your favourite tune

sam winchester x female!reader

wc: 860

warnings: pda, reference to chatty!reader, sam being smitten, dean being grumpy, sweet sweet kissin and one or two sexual references

an: the idea for this literally choked me last night as i was watching spn, based off/ set in the last five minutes of ep 4x5 Monster Movie (the one w the dracula). v short, i wrote it in like 20 min at 2am hence barely checked. enjoy :)))

summary: little pda + teasing Dean drabble

“well thank you G-man. you have been a great service … to your country.”

Pennsylvania was muggy, just enough that you could begin to doubt that the town had already slipped into autumn.

the hot sound of slurping suffocated the space again. it made the open air in front of the bar stuffy.

Dean sucked down the remnants of Jamie’s breakfast straight off her tongue.

Jamie. the woman of the hour, predecessor to the ones that would surely follow over in the next state.

he hadn’t spent the night in the motel, Dean. you were sure he was being stripped of his little Hansel and Gretel outfit somewhere across town where Jamie stayed. maybe he deserved it, he’d been drugged and then fragments of moments from electrocution most of the night with Dracula at the wheel.

he came up for barely a second of breath. “what can i say, i’m very patriotic.”

but that doesn’t mean you deserved it. to stand and have to endure the sight and sound. your face twisted in mild disgust and your neck craned up to meet Sam’s head perched at the top of his towering figure.

his face painted uncomfortable, his gaze pointedly moving over the people.

the blonde woman let off a sigh far too hot and loud for the crowded town square at nine in the morning, Dean gripped at the back of her jeans.

Sam’s eyes found you. he shrugged softly. his lips parted and you already knew he was seconds off from suggesting that maybe it would be more comfortable to wait by the car.

but you were never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics.

you reached up, far up, for the collar of your boyfriend’s khaki jacket: flushing him against you.

“oh Sam, you’re my knight in shining armor,” you gasped loudly, enough to stir but not part Dean’s engagement.

tugging gently to not hurt him, but enough to nudge him down: Sam leaned over so his forehead pressed against your own.

“you’re so brave, and so handsome—“

a velvet red flush leaked up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks.

your hands came to the side of his face, one branching slowly behind to tug on the hairs at the base of his neck and he worked hard not to whine - eyes flickering feign irritation at your batting lashes because you knew how much he loved that - but you pretended not to notice either move.

his grip found your waist. your nose bumped his, asking for a quiet consent, and he gently met your lips to satiate your bottomless need to tease Dean.

Sam wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection.

well, maybe that wasn’t the right way to phrase it. he just preferred when everything was just a little … slower. when you would tire yourself out from talking against his neck after a long day before falling against his lips where he’d find his whole body vibrating with his love for you.

but you did. you liked “PDA” and Sam wanted to indulge you when he could. you liked to hold his hand, keep him close between thickets of people. he liked that okay most of the time.

but he liked this too, to his surprise. maybe there was the additional aspect that it was for the main point of pissing off his brother.

but he couldn’t really decide on that. not when your tongue was nudging softly against his amidst a hot, fast kiss. you pulled off with a pop, pretending to fan yourself: slumping against his figure.

“and so intelligent, and with such a big … heart.”

you were sure you could fry an egg off Sam’s forehead the way his skin burnt beneath your hands but the little curl at the edge of his now slick mouth relieved you of the thought that maybe it was too much. that, and the fingers that dug what would soon be deep purple welts into the swell of your hips.

your tongue was already pushing past his lips again, halfway through the most pornographic moan you could muster for such a public space when Dean had evidently had his fill, of Jamie’s breakfast and of your dramatics.

“alright, alright. we’re done. you guys can stop face-fucking now … please.”

you drew back from a blood red Sammy, grinning.

Jamie was laughing, giggling pretty like how you imagined someone as good-looking as her would.

“just saying our goodbyes. you guys did save my life.” she smiled, laughs cooking to a soft bubble and wrapping her arms around herself. “travel safe okay?”

there was a murmur of nods and goodbyes and, for Dean, last pecks.

by the time you’d fallen into the backseat and Baby began to grumble beneath you, Dean was still huffing.

“for the record, you two only had to listen to me make out for five minutes. i can barely go take a thirty second shower without having to hear you two going at it like wild animals.”

Sam still hadn’t said a thing, but a soft shake of a chuckle rippled from beneath his jacket. you laughed until your ribs hurt.

“so dramatic, Deano.”

“makes two of us.”

#sam winchester x reader #sam Winchester imagine #sam Winchester Drabble #sam Winchester fanfiction #sam Winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

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leavingautumn13 · 5 months

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first pass at a design for a deathclaw oc

Scout (he/him) is a chameleon deathclaw originally from the Chicago area, now working as a caravan guard in the Commonwealth. He uses a super sledge in combat (he doesn't like getting his hands dirty) and wears armor made of car parts and road signs. As a companion, he would be encountered at Bunker Hill offering his services for a modest fee.

While outwardly appearing to be a simple guy who likes bonking things with a big hammer, if befriended by the player he'll admit that he's homesick and misses the community he left behind, despite his love of adventuring and travel. He can later be recruited into the Minutemen, where he'll happily work as a settlement guard or provisioner.

[i have commissions open now]

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout oc #deathclaw #deathclaw oc #autumn.art #slides this guy into the list of ocs you can ask me about or send prompts about on my fanfic blog #need to draw him in a minutemen hat #pic is black and white bc i'm still working on a color scheme for him #probs lots of blues yellows and greens #autumn.oc #oc: scout

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captain-price-unofficially · 11 months

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Rolls-Royce Armored Car of No. 2 Armoured Car Squadron, British Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS), 1914

#Rolls-Royce Armored Car #wwi #home front #british armor #armored cars

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dynamic-defense-solutions · 2 years

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Bulletproof Glass for New Armored Toyota Hilux Revo 2023 Model

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#armored car services #Armored Cars Companies #Armored Cars Companies in UAE #armored cars for sale #armored hilux revo bulletproof glass #Armored vehicles #ballistic glass #Bullet Proof Glass Cost #Bullet Proof Windows for Cars #Bulletproof Cars #Bulletproof Glass For Cars #Bulletproof Glass For Sale #bulletproof glass price #Michelin Pax System #toyota sequoia 2023 bulletproof glass

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spines-tvo · 4 days

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Give me a crowbar as well as several large objects you no longer want. I will disassemble anything even if it was never intended to be disassembled. Oh? You want this giant fucking robot defeated so you can check it for weaknesses? Um. Nice armor plate. Let me take one off with the power of basic physics and I'll see what I can do with the mechanisms and wires inside. An old car? It might be slow but I'll break everything down bit by bit. An old LCD scrSMASHSMASHSMASHTHWACKSLAMSPITONITSBROKENBODY!!!!!!! Literally I will do it for free except for the first person who needs to give me a crowbar but I will offer my services to anyone who needs it afterwards!!! I think my purpose is this life is to break and destroy. I do wanna go ape shit but not because I'm tired of being nice.

#rambling

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years

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on my hands and knees begging for more gentle giant jason

"Where's Jason?" Bruce asked, looking around at the kids drying off and trying to get warm again in front of the fire.

"Making sure Y/N makes it home in one piece," Steph said, looking pleased with herself.

"Stephanie-"

"Wait," Dick intervened, "Before you go all broody and 'he's not ready' or whatever, just look." He pulled out his phone. CCTV footage of Barbara had sent him of the moment you'd been startled- it was just clear enough that they could see you vibrate for a moment and they could read your lips as you smacked Jason on the arm.

And Bruce smiled, just a little when Jason laughed, "And when they find out you forced them together?" he asked.

"I didn't," Stephanie said primly, "I just put them in each other's way and they happened to suit."

"Have you been reading Todd's Austen collection again?" Damian sniffed.

_____________

"This is my building," you say, stopping in front of a brick edifice and starting to unzip his jacket.

"Keep it," he said blushing a little, "You left yours in Steph's car earlier."

"But I-"

"It's going to be cold in the morning," he said reasonably. "Can't have you getting sick, Stephanie would never forgive me- I'll uh- I'll meet you and Steph tomorrow for lunch. You can give it back then?"

It was a flimsy excuse but, when you give him a shy smile his heart flutters. "Thank you, Jason I- haunted houses aren't really my thing."

"I kinda figured," he said, trying not to glance at the lip you were worrying in your teeth. "It's fine- I uh- it was fun, sitting in the Pavillion with you. Never had pumpkin beer before- and I guess. Yeah um-" The alcohol he'd had was warm in his stomach and he was having some trouble- he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to feel you pressed against his chest- but. This wasn't a date. You were Steph's best friend- there had to be a rule about this right?

"My knight in leather armor," you tease, crinkling your nose.

"At your service," he said, taking your hand to kiss it, giving his best imitation of a courtly vow. "If by my life or my death I can protect you I shall."

When you giggle, both nervous and thrilled, feeling light-headed and awkward- too aware that you're not really the kind of girl this thing happens for, Jason kisses your hand again and meets your eyes before letting go. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"We usually have lunch in the Atrium around 1," you tell him, nodding.

"I'll be there," he said, "Gotta get my armor back." But truthfully? He liked you wearing his jacket. He liked knowing you were warm and had something of his. Stopping, waiting to make sure that you made it INTO the building before finding his own way home.

#Jason Todd #Jason Todd x reader #gentle giant! Jason #ask answered #minors dni

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girlactionfigure · 1 month

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🔅Thu morning - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

🔻Air attacks on Israeli civilians…

HEZBOLLAH ROCKETS - heavy today, multiple attacks

Goren, Gornot HaGalil, Rosh HaNikra, Goren, Gornot HaGalil, Betzet, Shlomi, Hanita, Shlomi,

ANTI-TANK MISSILES - at border IDF post by Lebanon.

SUICIDE DRONES - Dishon, Iftach, Malkia, Mevuot Hermon Regional Council, Ramot Naftali

‼️TERROR ATTACK.. A terrorist fireed on cars and school buses on road 90 near Ojah (Jordan Valley). The buses were armored. A 30-year-old man is in serious condition with wounds to the limbs, a 21-year-old man is in a light condition with a wound to the limbs and a 13-year-old boy is in a light condition with glass shard injuries in the face.

A local commentator: “It is impossible to make this up: the two wounded in the attack in the Jordan Valley are left-wing anarchists who came to act for the benefit of Arabs in the Jordan Valley. I wish them a full recovery.”

❗️BLOOD NEEDED! MDA's blood services are warning of a significant difficulty in raising the amount of blood required to treat the sick and wounded. Give blood! Visit the MDA website at http://www.mdais.org/dam or call 03-5300400.

▪️PMO SAYS.. Contrary to the news, the Prime Minister did NOT approve the departure of a delegation to Washington.

▪️GAZA..

.. ANTI-AIRCRAFT FIRE.. Gazans report that the terrorists tried to fire a missile at an IDF helicopter in the northern area of the Gaza Strip. Unsuccessful.

.. HAMAS SAYS.. "There are about one and a half million displaced people in Rafah and this helps us maintain stability in the continued production of the missiles for the next round.”

.. IDF BUILDING IN GAZA.. For the first time: temporary residences will be built for IDF forces, along with buildings for technological needs - in the central area of the Gaza Strip and later in other areas.

.. KILLING CIVILIANS? (No) Al Jazeera published a document in which it was claimed that Israeli soldiers executed Gazan citizens. IDF spokesman in response: "The edited documentation does not show the context.”

▪️LEBANON..

.. ESCALATION.. (The Arab Desk) For the first time it is possible to write that the possibility of a real and tangible escalation with Lebanon has climbed several steps. Israel is escalating the attacks in intensity. Will Nasrallah blow a fuse and decide on his own to attack without permission from Iran?

.. DRONE PRODUCTION HIT.. One of the targets that was attacked last night was a site for storing logistical materials for the production of suicide drones, which the Iranian militias have recently begun to produce in Albukhamal, was attacked.

.. HEZBOLLAH SAYS.. in a fancy graphic video “DOOMSDAY HAS COME”, feeding into Shia Islam religious prophecies.

.. NEGOTIATIONS? The Lebanese channel LBC reports that the talks conducted by the American mediator with all parties related to Lebanon are progressing in the right direction towards a diplomatic solution. (( Rating: Fake or propaganda to slow Israel down. ))

.. APPROACH CHANGE.. policy change in the north - every attack by Hezbollah will be answered with a sharp attack by Israel. (N12)

.. RUMOR, EXPANDED TARGETING.. (this via a less reliable source) The IDF Chief ordered to expand the circle of targets in Lebanon.

▪️US SENATOR SAYS.. Republican Senator Lindsey Graham in a statement to the media after a meeting with senior Israeli officials: accusations that Israel is starving people as a weapon of war is "bullshit". It's a blood plot. The Israeli army and the Israeli government are making great efforts to take care of the basic needs of the Palestinians.

▪️HOUTHIS vs. US.. The US Central Command: Houthis fired 4 suicide drones at a US Navy ship in the Red Sea. Intercepted.

#Israel #October 7 #Hamas Massacre #Gaza #Israel/HamasWar #Real Time Updates

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c0mbatchameleon · 2 months

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very small bartylus snippet cuz I love barty crouch jr and they are not friends and not lovers but a secret much deeper third thing

A quiet falls over them as Barty lazily swipes his thumb back and forth on Regulus’s back. The room feels a bit more concave without Evan, but it’s not awkward. Nothing could be awkward between them at this point—they’ve all beared witness to one another’s rock bottom too many times. Maybe that’s why Regulus decides to break the silence, speaking in almost a whisper now.

“Barty?”

“Yeah, Reg?”

“When you said…” He pauses, searching for the words that will sound the least mortifying coming from his own mouth. “When you said you’d be.. ‘of service,’ ” he brings his fingers up in air quotes at the phrase, “were… you being serious?”

In the silence following, he can basically hear the grin stretching across Barty’s face. “You requesting my services, Whiskers?”

“Oh, fuck off. Nevermind.”

Barty laughs. “Oh, come on I’m just teasing.” His hand comes to Regulus’ hair, ruffling it playfully as Regulus tilts his head up to scowl at him. The other boy’s expression is surprisingly soft, but something fierce flickers behind his eyes. Almost compassion, but distinctly sharper. It’s the kind of care that kills. The kind that drags the jagged edge of a key across a car and slices holes in all four tires; the kind that flicks a lit match onto gasoline-slick ground in the dead of night, before crawling back into bed with you. It’s the kind of care you wake up to, wrapped in the arms of its ash-stained body like a suit of armor, like your own calloused skin. The sheets smell of smoke and the world feels inexplicably safer than it did the night before.

Barty doesn’t love tenderly. He loves you like the knife under your pillow does. He’s the gun in your safe and the one in your hand, smoking. The dog bred to bare its teeth for you, because it loves you. Loves you so much it’s standing tall at the door, it’s ripping flesh off the intruder and dropping it at your feet, saying look at this, saying I did this for you, saying I’d do it again. I’ll keep you safe. Because the locks on your door only get you so far and Barty knows it. His love knows it.

#yet another random scene from that fic that’s been bouncing around my skull like a ping pong ball #but I don’t think it fits anymore which is a bit devastating #barty does give him head after this #but I digress #barty crouch jr #regulus black #barty crouch junior #bartylus #writing stuff and things #unnamed physics fic

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coldshrugs · 4 months

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talk me down

pairing: io laithe/estinien varlineau word count: 1.8k note: this is a modern au in which io and estinien are roommates but io has been offered an orchestra chair in a city across the country; she accepts it. estinien is grumpy about it. some cursing and alcohol mentions.

There’s nothing between them—not like that anyway—so why is he bothered?

Io would be stupid not to take this opportunity. Estinien told her that much. He insisted. And when it became real, well… it was easier to be excited about an application than the acceptance.

Now it's easier to hide.

Estinien shifts his weight and the fire escape creaks, another notch in his confidence that this place is actually suitable for inhabitants. The rent is cheap and the neighbors mind their business. That's always been good enough, because Io made it home.

The sounds of her going-away party stream from the window he crawled through. He tries not to think about each second bringing tomorrow that much closer. Focuses instead on the cars a few stories below, the wail of a siren in the distance, the glittering lights and warm breeze and none of it works.

Two years in this apartment together, a few years of therapy and studying and feeling each other out before that. “Friends” doesn’t feel like the right word, but it's the word he's got. The word they use.

Tomorrow he will take her to the airport and watch her fly east, and that will be that.

“Hey,” she says, more question than greeting. Io is already halfway through the window by the time Estinien turns around. “I thought you’d be out here. Everything okay?”

Last he saw her, she and their friends were getting a little rowdy during a drinking game, making the kind of memories he isn’t ready to accept as only memories. Each time she laughs, it’s a reminder this is finite. This isn’t how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and will they even be in contact next year? Just… fuck. So he came out to the fire escape (where it’s easier to hear her if he can’t see her), a reasonable behavior any of the people inside would expect from him.

Except for Io, who knew a going-away party was not his idea from the moment she walked through the door. And she knows he’s not out here just for a smoke.

Her hair has frizzed a bit with the sheer amount of body heat in their apartment. She wears an alcohol blush and a smile that says I can leave you alone if you want. But that’s the last thing he wants so he digs deep, past his natural inclination to run away.

“Just needed some air.” He lights a cigarette and leans against the rusted metal railing. An invitation if she wants it. “You know how it is. How I am.”

Io nods, and the sobering breath she takes, the mental armor she slips on to be around him right now... it kills him. He thought he was doing a decent job of keeping his sulking to himself. Her eyes flick to his, then out at the restless city as she says, “If there’s one thing I know, it’s you.”

But she decides to ignore the eggshells for now and pulls up next to him at the railing, their backs to the noisy street below and the bright lights beyond. Shoulder pressed tight to shoulder, and there's nothing between them.

They face the worn, brown-brick building. Their home. Tucked into the corner of the fire escape, Estinien catches only blurred glimpses of the party inside, but someone (Thancred) has found his guitar and a chorus of off-key voices squeeze out of the partially open window to join them in this already public hideout.

Io hums along for a line or two, then nudges him gently. “You like this song.”

“Alberic likes this song,” he corrects.

“And you like what he likes. Albie may not be your dad, but your taste in music? Something genetic about that.”

A tiny part of him wishes she would stop. That she wouldn’t put her blowout evening on pause just to stand in the dark with him. That she’d do him the service of pretending she doesn’t know his life inside and out.

But the bigger part of him is selfish.

He nudges back. “Yeah, well, you try being impressionable and depressed at fourteen, getting dragged to Blue October and Hinder shows every month. Not my fault it stuck.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Io shrugs. “It’s not just Albie, either. I like how you pick up things from people you love.”

What does he say to that?

His responses snag on "I like how you," trying to twist it into something... Something. So he takes a long drag from his cigarette and says nothing. As they stand there, listening to their friends (badly) sing this song, leaning on each other a little heavier than before, he wonders what she thinks he’s picked up from her.

The song ends in a round of cheers and whoops that cut through this little calm. Estinien shakes his head. Maybe they should go back in. He might be more fun after a couple of shots.

Next to him, Io laughs. The sound is small and out of focus, her real laugh. It’d be lost in the noise inside, so he commits to a few more minutes on this metal deathtrap.

“What?” He passes her the cigarette and she takes it without looking.

He looks though, watching the way their fingers graze, barely, handling something small and smoldering so delicately. Watches her follow some movement from inside, her smile creeping from lips to eyes until the skin on her nose wrinkles. A strand of dark hair blows across her cheek. She raises the cigarette to her mouth, pulls in a slow breath, and his smoke rolls between her lips and into the night.

She passes it back to him, still looking inside.

“Urianger just cleared the table for a tarot reading, but Tataru picked up his spread like he dealt her a hand of poker.” She mimics holding the cards, laughing again. Looks like her buzz is back, and maybe he’s catching it too. “He looks crushed. Ugh, I'll miss this. How am I supposed to do this without you guys?”

Estinien chuckles. He takes a final draw and stubs out the finished cigarette. “They'll be lost without you and you know it. You won't be left out of anything, whether you like it or not.”

“What about you?” She turns to him, breaking the line of warmth at their sides. Replacing it with a teasing smile. “Can't wait for me to go so you can finally have some peace and quiet?”

He looks through the grates under their feet, thinking about this apartment—this city—without Io: Never finding his clothes in her laundry, no surprise takeouts when he’s home late from work, not getting absorbed into her fucking obscure dramedy binge-watches. Her quiet hope, the music she radiates even in silence. The thing that’s taking her away.

How did she come to occupy so much space in his life, burning through him, like smoke in his lungs? Their friends won't be the only ones lost without her.

“That’s not true.” His lop-sided grin feels out of place in this sea of sudden nerves. Honesty has never been a difficult thing before tonight. “I’m gonna miss you like hell. I just—” he looks at her, and now he’s the one being watched. She holds him in those big, dark eyes, and maybe there is something between them. Maybe it’s always been there, dormant, or intrinsic and now he's forced to see it for what it is. “I just worry you leaving means we won’t… be like this anymore. That you won’t miss me like I’ll miss you.”

“Estinien—”

“Io—”

“Hey,” she says. Comfort, not a greeting. She surges forward, arms around his neck and waves of puffy blue hair in his face. He feels her cheek on his neck. Her breath, warmer than the night.

The railing is a sharp pressure against his back as he wraps his arms around her, squeezing her closer. The wind moves their hair and clothes, but they stay, swaying when one repositions an arm or chin. The lights and sounds fade to nothing. There’s only this.

Estinien isn’t ready to let go when Io loosens her grip and pulls back. He hasn’t fully etched the feel of holding her this close into his memory—then there's another feeling. Io presses a kiss to his cheek, so soft he isn’t sure it’s real. She turns her eyes on him again, and his are wide with surprise.

“Estinien." Her voice is low. It shakes. "All I can think about is how I miss you already.”

She lingers, too close to the corner of his lips, arms loose around his neck. Her full weight leans against him, trusting him to hold them both upright. What the fuck is happening? He hasn’t processed her breath rushing over his mouth or her half-closed eyes when she pointedly brushes her nose against his.

He doesn’t know when he started wanting this, but good god, he does. Whether she is in the next room or two thousand miles away isn’t going to change that.

He nods. Their faces glance. There is something comforting in the way even that new touch feels natural. They hover in the almost of it all, and Estinien wonders for the first and final time what Io’s lips will feel like against his, how she tastes.

They meet, then they sink. He follows her lead, the gentle press and the beginning of a hungry rhythm. Her hand drifting from his shoulder to the nape of his neck, and he shivers at the thought of her sliding it into his hair, fingers tangled and tugging—

Glass breaks, and so does their kiss.

“Shit!” Cid’s unmistakable voice is thick and slurred.

Io bolts toward the window. “What on earth did they do?”

“Hey,” Estinien says softly. She turns back to him and when they're eye to eye, he knows she finds his meaning without the need to spell it out. She’s confused like he is, and sheepish delight brightens her expression as she waits for him. “Are we okay?”

“We’re always okay.” She climbs back into the apartment and pokes through the window again. “Now please come back inside. I don’t want to be at the party you planned if you’re not there.”

She air quotes you and planned. Estinien laughs through his nose, but even this pulls him toward her.

“Fine. Move so I can get through.”

They rejoin their friends. Tomorrow still fucking sucks. The difference is now Estinien thinks about how his life will be next week, or six months from now, and how many times he will have kissed Io by next year.

#azia writes #io/estinien #io laithe #otwr au #i truly do not know what is happening anymore but #i'm having fun #i miss writing modern stuff like. the energy i had during the wayhaven days flowed through me for this one #i'm not editing this. it's just write and post. BYE #i feel like. they're not saying or doing enough in this #but that's fine because in the story of this au that's in my head all of this means so much a;sljfdlsk

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slippinmickeys · 4 months

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Three Part Harmony (20/?)

“This is,” Rhonda said, looking at Scully with nervous apprehension over the console of her hatchback, “exactly what Assistant Director Skinner warned us not to do.”

Scully sighed from the passenger seat, lowering the binoculars she was using to watch the activity at the Sheriff’s station where Mulder was being held. They were parked a block and a half away, on the side of the street facing the department, and Scully had one of Rhonda’s winter hats pulled over her hair, a scarf muffled up, obscuring the bottom half of her face. From his car seat behind Rhonda, William babbled happily, cheered to be somewhere other than the cabin.

Skinner had given Rhonda the information on Mulder’s transfer, cautioning the woman that she and Scully should take William as far from Mulder as they could. He’d included the details–including mentioning that it would be done using a US Marshals attachment and SWAT-outfitted LLE escorts–as a warning, hoping to scare the women away. But Scully felt only emboldened by the information, enjoying the rare feeling of knowing exactly what she was up against.

“Skinner,” Scully said, looking Rhonda in the eye, “doesn’t know that we have more than just a couple of guns and our wits.”

It had taken Scully a full forty five minutes to explain the one part of their story that they had kept from Rhonda: William’s incredible gifts. And Scully had spent the last several days testing the limits of what she could do with his power. She was nowhere near to tapping his full potential–something she could sense was buried deep within him—but she was somewhat confident that what she could do would be enough to at least give them a chance of freeing Mulder. Maybe. They’d have to play their cards right. And Mulder would have to seize the opportunity when she gave it to him.

Rhonda barked a nervous laugh and Scully couldn’t help but smile back at her. “William the Conquerer,” Rhonda said ruefully, shaking her head.

Scully looked south, where the mountains beyond the low buildings of the town were wreathed in thick gray clouds. For once, she thought, foul weather might work in their favor.

Up ahead at the station, what looked like an armored van pulled up, cages around all the back windows, thick treaded tires rolling to a stop. In white on the side, US Marshals Service was emblazoned in block letters. Four agents tipped themselves out of the vehicle and headed into the department. Outside, two local cruisers pulled in as well, one ahead of the large van, and one behind.

Rhonda whistled.

“Geez,” she said. “You’d think they were transporting Dillinger. How are we gonna…?”

Scully looked the van over and sighed. “I’m still figuring that out.”

She turned to look over her shoulder at William in the back, probed him a little with her mind, seeking their connection until she could feel it thrum between them. Scully then leveled what she hoped was an honest look at Rhonda.

“I think we’re going to have to follow them at a safe distance. Nearly all the routes down into Utah are through some pretty sparse, mountainous country. I think we’ve got to hit them when we’re way out there. No access to backup or people that might get in our way.”

“...hit them?” Rhonda said, going pale.

“Metaphorically,” Scully said. “Probably,” she muttered, an afterthought.

“Either way,” she went on. “William will stay in the car with you. I can stay connected to him from a fair distance. A hundred yards or so.” She had been testing the limits of their connection. “I need you to keep him that far back. If anything happens to me or if things go badly…Leave. And take him.”

“Take him where?” Rhonda said, paling further.

“Do you still have that address I had you send the package to?”

Rhonda nodded, visibly swallowing.

“Take him to that man. John Doggett. He will help you.”

Several deputies bristling with paramilitary gear got out of their vehicles and congregated by the back door of the Sheriff’s station, where there seemed to be a fresh build up of activity. The deputies were in tactical vests, a couple with larger semi-automatic weapons. Scully felt a swell of raw, tingling nerves.

How she was going to get her partner was still largely a question mark, though she had a few ideas. The odds, however, appeared to be pretty stacked against them.

Oh, Mulder, she thought with a pang of worried apprehension. Mulder.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Scully!”

Mulder sat bolt upright on the narrow mattress. The metal plank upon which he rested took up more than half of the cramped cell. Something had roused him, like an electric jolt to the brain, and he woke up disoriented and startled.

“‘Fraid not,” said a voice from the other side of the bars, and Mulder looked up to see Agent Bryson standing there in a dark wool suit with a navy FBI slicker pulled over it. There were four similarly dressed pasty-faced white men with the stars of the US Marshals Service stamped on their lapels milling around behind him.

A local deputy was at the door, sliding in a key and unlocking the cell. He was loaded for bear, so far as Mulder could tell, having been around the local deputies for a few days now; the man uncharacteristically outfitted in a full kevlar kit, a second pistol strapped to his leg.

“We’ll take it from here,” one of the suited men said to the local, who backed off respectfully.

“On your feet!” called out another, and Mulder was briskly pulled to his feet and two of the Marshals secured shackles to his wrists and ankles. He was marched out the door of his cell, his legs shuffling along with the too-short chains, on down the hallway and to the back door of the department. The two men holding his elbows pulled up short when they got to the door.

“We have the prisoner at the back door,” one of them spoke into his walkie. “Be advised. Prepare convoy.”

“Convoy is a go,” a voice came in over the radio, and then the back door was unlocked and Mulder was marched outside, the thin material of his orange prison jumper not much protection from the cold. The air was heavy, moist with unfallen snow, and there was a frigid wind that felt like needles along the skin of his cheeks.

He did not get much fresh air however, as he was escorted into a large, dark Econovan with caged windows, his shackles secured to a metal eyehook that was bolted to the floor. Three of the Marshals got in behind him, and the fourth, who held up a hand to Bryson as he attempted to get into the front passenger seat, turned the FBI agent away and got into the driver’s seat. There was a cage separating the cab of the van with the back where Mulder and the other Marshals were, with a small door the size of a video cassette through which items could be passed.

Mulder had his first smug moment of the day as he connected eyes with Bryson, who turned unhappily on his heel and made his way toward the lead car, sliding into the front seat of the sheriff’s cruiser that would be leading the small convoy.

“Marshal One ready for transport,” the driver said into his radio, and a moment later, a crackling buzz came through from the other cars.

“Local One ready.”

“Local Two ready.”

“Let’s roll,” the driver said, and dropped the walkie into the empty passenger’s seat.

The other Marshals secured their seatbelts as the cruiser in front pulled out onto the street, followed by the van and then one other cruiser bringing up the rear.

Mulder turned to the Marshal sitting nearest him. “I don’t get a seatbelt?” he asked. “Thought it was the law.”

“Hey fellas, this guy in a DOC suit and handcuffs is suddenly very worried about the law,” one of the Marshals announced. He then toed the eyehook Mulder’s shackles were locked to. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said without emotion, and turned to look out the windows of the van, scanning the streets around them as they passed.

The officers were not a very talkative bunch, and for the most part ignored Mulder’s few probing questions. When he couldn’t get a straight answer on how long the journey might last, he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes, letting himself doze and fall back into dreams where he might see Scully and William once again.

XxX

When he woke, it was to that odd electric feeling in his head, and he took a sharp breath and sat up. The van was rolling along through a high valley pass, and snow had begun falling in earnest. It wasn’t so thick that Mulder couldn’t make out the cruisers that were still in front and behind them, but the mountains they were passing were shrouded in thick whiteness, the van’s windshield wipers going at top speed, struggling to keep up with the deluge.

He looked to the other men in the vehicle with him, and could sense a tension that hadn’t been there when they’d pulled out of town. The Marshal sitting next to him was squinting through the window at the back of the van, then leaned forward to mumble something to the driver that Mulder couldn’t make out.

The driver sighed and reached for the walkie.

“Local Two,” the van’s driver said into his radio, one hand steadily on the top of the steering wheel.

“Local Two,” a voice answered.

“Two, there’s a late model, rust-colored hatchback that’s about a quarter of a mile behind us. Can you drop back and check it out?”

Mulder turned to look, but the weather was worsening, and it was now hard to make out anything much beyond headlights through the swirling snow.

“Copy, Marshal One,” the voice said. “Falling back.”

Mulder watched as the cruiser behind them slowed and eased back into the whiteness.

Several minutes later, the driver of their van, huffing a sigh of annoyance, picked up the walkie and opened the cab cage’s small pass-through door, handing the radio to the Marshal sitting next to Mulder.

“Get him back on the horn and get a report,” the driver instructed. “I need both hands to drive in this shit.”

The other Marshal nodded and gave the walkie two clicks before speaking into it.

“Local Two,” he said.

There was a crackle of static, but no response.

“Local Two, come back,” he said a little louder, turning to look out the back window. Mulder couldn’t help but do the same, but there was nothing to see now but snow coming down around them and the windy swirl of white crystals being kicked up behind their own tires.

When there wasn’t an answer, the Marshal sighed huffily and raised the walkie back to his mouth.

“Local One, radio check.”

“Local One receiving,” came Bryson’s voice through the walkie. “Do we have a problem?”

The Marshal holding the radio rolled his eyes. “This fucking guy,” he muttered, before pressing the speaking button. “Be advised, Local Two isn’t responding after the drop-back.”

The radio gave a low squawk. “I noticed. Can you see him back there?”

The Marshal turned, squinting through the back windshield. “I can’t see shit.”

“It’s probably the fuckin’ weather,” said the agent who was sitting in the far back bench seat of the van.

“I don’t like it,” came Bryson’s clipped voice.

“Advise we pull over to regroup,” said the Marshal holding the walkie. “Visibility is shit anyway.”

“This weather is the reason we told him to hold off another day on the transfer,” the back seat Marshal rumbled, clearly unhappy.

“No stopping!” came Bryson’s voice sharply. “We continue on as planned.”

“This isn’t his fucking op,” said the driver, who opened up the small pass-through again and reached a flailing hand back. “He’s lucky we let him ride along. Give me the walkie.”

The other Marshal passed it up to the driver, who snapped it quickly to his face, leaving the pass-through open. “That isn’t your call, Local One,” he said. “Pull over now. We regroup with Local Two and reassess. Over.”

With that, the driver tossed the walkie into the passenger seat once again and pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway, flicking on the van’s hazard lights.

They were in the middle of nowhere, Mulder realized. And not a single car had passed them since he’d woken up.

The cruiser in front of them, though parked no more than twenty yards ahead, was really only visible by the flashers on the light bar. A few moments later, a dark figure emerged from in front of them and Bryson was momentarily lit by the van’s headlights as he walked through them, making his way to the driver’s side window. He tapped on the glass angrily.

Mulder could hear the weary sigh that the driver huffed before he reached over and manually rolled the window down half-way.

“You need to take Local One back to get a visual on Local Two,” the driver told Bryson, whose head was shaking ‘no,’ before the man even finished talking.

“I’ll send him back, but I’m not leaving the prisoner,” Bryson said, flicking his eyes angrily to Mulder, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a cold wind cutting in through the window.

“Suit yourself,” the driver said, and rolled the window back up.

Bryson went back to the cruiser and reappeared a minute later as the police car initiated a three point turn and passed them, heading back in the direction they’d come.

“You gonna leave him out there?” The Marshal in the backseat asked, nodding at Bryson.

“I’d like to,” the driver said noncommittally.

The man to Mulder’s left snorted, the first sound Mulder had heard him utter all day.

“If you don’t let him in, he’s going to be an even bigger pain in the ass,” said the guy who had taken over radio duties.

The driver sighed in defeat and leaned over to the passenger door and threw the lock open. Bryson wasted no time swinging into the seat on a gust of subarctic air. He picked up the walkie that had been left in his seat and held it to his face.

“Local One, stay on the radio, please.”

“Roger that,” came the officer’s voice through the device. “Visibility is almost nothing,” the officer went on, “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to–” on that, there was a burst of noise so intense that everyone in the car flung their hands to their ears. The walkie went sailing out of Bryson’s hand, and Mulder nearly took out his front teeth with the chains from his handcuffs as he raised them to muffle the sound.

The driver yelled something, but the noise continued, and finally, with a wince, he took one hand off an ear and swiped the walkie talkie from the floor and turned it off, leaving the van in a sudden and violent silence.

Everyone sat, dazed for a few moments before the driver turned to Mulder and spoke to him directly for the first time.

“I swear to God, if this is some breakout rescue attempt…”

Mulder, still shaken by the noise, could only gape at him.

“We’ve read your file,” said one of the other Marshals. “We know you had help escaping custody at Mount Weather.”

Mulder seriously doubted Alvin Kersh was out there in the snow, willfully breaking the law once again to save his least favorite erstwhile agent. And Scully didn’t have the resources to so much as attempt something like this, (plus he was confident Skinner would relay his message to stay far, far away from him).

The only explanation, Mulder thought, was that this was some kind of play by Bryson to get him out of official custody and into a much oogier unofficial custody in an attempt to get Mulder to give up where William was. However, Bryson–who had pulled his service weapon and was holding it and appeared to be sweating–was doing an admirable acting job if that was the case.

Whatever was going on, Mulder didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was.

“We need to-” whatever the Marshal was saying was cut off with a now-intense buzzing Mulder could feel in the back of his skull. When he darted his eyes to the other passengers, however, they seemed totally unaffected and the man who had been speaking was still moving his mouth, though Mulder couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“--der,” he heard, in what was unmistakably Scully’s voice. But he didn’t hear her voice with his ears, but rather in his head, where the buzzing was emanating. It was remarkably similar to when he could hear others’ thoughts, pushed into what bordered on madness by an alien craft. But this didn’t feel like lunacy; it was warm and euphoric.

“Mulder,” he heard again in Scully’s voice, this time more clear, the buzzing lessening. “Is that you?”

“Scully,” he thought. “What are–”

“There’s no time for explanations,” she said in his head. “I need you to look around. Show me what you see.”

Though his mind was racing with thoughts and questions and alarm, he instinctively turned his head and looked around the van. The Marshals were getting agitated, all of them pulling their own weapons, and Scully’s voice tuned in and out, interspersed with the angry voices of the other men in the vehicle. His head was turning more and more into a confusing jumble.

“--we need to–”

“--this is not your fucking op–”

“--call it in–”

“--get down–”

It was the last voice–Scully’s–that Mulder instinctively heeded, leaning sideways and down as far as he could in his awkward, chained position as all of the weapons from every officer in the car went flying out of hands, some through the open pass-through of the cab cage, to form a ball of glistening steel that hovered in the air between the driver and Bryson. And then, just as quickly, the windshield of the van blew out and the guns went with it, leaving a momentarily stunned silence with only the backdrop of the howling wind blowing icy flakes of snow in through the gaping gap at the front of the vehicle.

And there, now standing in the dull cones of the van’s headlights stood Scully, dark hair whipping around her face.

Mulder stared at her in awe.

Just as the other men in the car were getting over their shock, all four of the US Marshals were pulled violently back as the seatbelts, which they all were still wearing, tightened around them with a startling whip of hissing nylon. Sparks then flew from the ignition and the van’s engine died.

Bryson began shouting, but the Marshals were all pulling at the straps and jamming the buckle release buttons which refused to disengage.

“Lean back!” came Scully’s voice, no longer in his head, and Mulder just had time to obey as the eyehook that held his shackles was wrenched from the floor of the van with an ear-splitting groan of metal.

The sliding door slid open on its own and Mulder wasted no time, diving past a Marshal who was still tearing at his restraints and out into the snow. The van’s door whipped closed behind him and Mulder spun in time to see all of the van’s door handles simultaneously collapse on themselves, like a tin can crushed beneath a boot.

Behind them came the rumble of an engine, and Rhonda’s old Datsun puttered up beside them, slowing to a stop next to the disabled van.

“Get in the car, Mulder!” Scully shouted, already opening the passenger door and disappearing into the back seat, where Mulder could see the handle of William’s car seat sticking up from behind Rhonda.

Mulder swung into the passenger seat and the second his door was closed, Rhonda goosed the gas, and they were off into the snowy beyond.

The last thing Mulder saw of the van before it was swallowed by a squall, was Bryson crawling out of the hole where the windshield used to be and turning to watch as the old Datsun drove away.

#fanfic #my fic #the x-files #msr #wip

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

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The Night Nurse - Ch 8

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much. │ Masterlist / Chapter Map │

VIII.

This was a day for firsts. John found himself seated at his dining room table, the modern behemoth that could seat ten, but had only ever serviced dinner for one. Later, there would be two. Now, it was being used as a medical table while Helen administered fresh stitches.

“This time,” she mused while finishing off a knot, “Let’s wait for you to heal completely before engaging in strenuous activity.”

“I would never get anything done.” She leveled him with a look, indicating this was not the correct answer. Though he knew he walked on dangerous ground, the corners of his mouth twitched. “Yes, Nurse.”

“That’s more like it.”

She applied a fresh bandage. “Try not to get this wet in the shower.”

He was no stranger to wound care routines. “Sure.”

As she pressed the last bit of adhesive her fingertips lingered over the curve of his deltoid, tracing the black cross there lightly. It caused a shiver to run down his spine. This time, he didn’t try to hide it.

“Are you…a religious man, John?”

He shook his head slowly, anticipating her next line of questioning.

“You have a lot of religious tattoos.”

“They mean a certain thing to people in my world. It has very little to do with Christianity, believe me.”

“You mean, our world?”

John titled his head in a silent question of Really?

“Just saying. I made my oath to the High Table. No one’s come after me with a tattoo gun.”

“You haven’t done hard time,” he answered quietly. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Her eyebrows shot high at that. “Were you in prison?”

“Once.”

“For how long?”

“Three years.”

“You didn’t get three years for homicide.”

“I was very well behaved.”

She narrowed her eyes, weighing him with that molten caramel gaze. “I think you’re fucking with me.” Hearing her say it, no matter the context, twisted him up with a sudden unforgiving wave of desire. Then, she sighed. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

He caught her hand before she could draw away, so quickly she’d barely seen him move.

“I’ll tell you,” he offered quietly.

“Okay.”

She stepped closer, standing between his splayed legs, as though sharing these dark secrets required a more intimate proximity. Her fingertips toyed with the ends of his hair, and not for the first time, John thought he might just die.

“I...said I was an orphan.”

“Yes.”

“My mother died in a car accident, when I was very young. Not long after, my father was…killed, in a street robbery.”

“Oh, John.”

“I spent years in the orphanage. When I proved strong enough to survive...I was adopted. Sold, more like. To a crime organization that took children to mold as they saw fit. They taught me how to kill, and they gave me these tattoos. The arm cross, for my first kill. It signified my devotion to their cause.”

Her eyes went wide. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Shit.” There was the glimmer of tears in her eyes, and he felt a tremor inside, a fissure in his armor, cracked open by her compassion. He could not stop himself from holding her hand against his cheek with a desperation that he had not felt since he was a young boy. John closed his eyes, knowing he could not go on speaking while looking upon her lovely features pulled with such worry and pain, for him.

For him, he marveled, a creature so cloaked in darkness and destruction so as to never deserve forgiveness.

She truly was an angel of mercy.

“The praying hands came when I graduated from their school. It’s like a brand of ownership. It means…the bearer is asking for mercy that is rarely granted. Not from God though. From…Her. The woman who ran the syndicate. She was our God. Our judge. Our Executioner.” John found he couldn’t bring himself to name the Ruska Roma to Helen. He had a sinking intuition that it could be dangerous. A feeling that she might do something brave, and stupid, like ask around until she found the Tarkovsky theatre, and march out to tell The Director off on his behalf, with that magnificent Irish temper of hers.

“That is horrible. You can't own people,” she protested, her words brittle. He almost smiled for her naivety.

“You can, where I come from. Where life is cheap, and freedom is a fairytale. It’s how most of the world lives, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped from his lips before he could stop himself. She did not seem to take offense though, so absorbed in the horror of what he was telling her.

“But...this wasn't the Tarasovs who did this to you?”

“No. They bought me, essentially, when I was a young man. I was becoming difficult to control. She didn’t quite manage to break me, like so many of the others. I wanted…more, than the enclosed world She allowed us to inhabit. I think She sensed I would tear down what she’d built, if She didn’t let me go. In a way…Tarasov was a blessing. At least in the Bratva you can have a life that is somewhat your own, so long as you get done what Viggo needs done.”

“Oh, John…”

It was so heartbreaking to her, that his formative years had been so brutal that joining the fucking Russian mob had been a kinder placement.

But there was more, and now that he’d started talking about it, it was as though he couldn’t stop. The words just kept pouring.

“I didn’t put it together until I was much older, but I suspect my father was like me. He came from the same…syndicate. Raised to do what I do from a young age. But he must have run away to be with my mother. I think they found him and killed him for it, then She took me as…revenge? Payment? A warning? I’ve never known for sure.”

He had not found out, from an offhanded comment here and some digging there, until long after he’d left the Ruska Roma. If he’d known when he was a young firebrand, he absolutely would have burned the Tarkovsky Theatre to the ground no matter the consequences.

“Jesus, John.”

John finally opened his lids when he felt her fingers sliding through his sweat-damp hair, her eyes filled with compassion. He did not resist when gently she pulled him into an embrace, his cheek resting against her chest. The steady beat of her heart beneath his ear calmed him, grounded him from the spiral calling up these memories could inspire. Her hand rested on the crown of his head, and maybe it was ridiculous, but…for the first time, in a very long time, he felt safe.

He could have stayed there forever, but it seemed…disingenuous, to take advantage of her compassion that way. Little did he know, she would have held him for hours if he asked her to.

She looked down at him like she could see straight through him, nodding slowly to all this information he’d imparted, her fingers still sliding languorously through his hair.

“If I ever meet this bitch, I’m going to punch her in the face.”

The very thought pulled the tiniest suggestion of a smile from John’s lips. “I believe you. And that’s why I’m not giving you a name.”

“Are there that many women-led crime syndicates in New York?”

“You might be surprised.”

“Hmm. So…if the Tarasovs bought you….Jesus, I hate that…do they still own you?”

His heart felt as though his blood had thickened to lead. But they’d come this far, and he owed her nothing less than the truth.

“I’ve climbed the ranks. I have standing. I’m not a slave, but no one gets out, when you’re in as deep as I am. It would require…an Impossible Task.”

The furrow between her brows broke his heart. He wondered if that quick and beautiful mind was absorbing all this information, sorting it out and weighing the gains and the consequences…and inevitably arriving at the only sane conclusion: how can you be with a man, if he’s owned by someone else?

It was a conclusion she had every right to make, but it hurt. It hurt in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, an ache deep in a part of his heart he hadn’t managed to numb over the years.

“Are you happy now, at least?”

The question only further twisted the knife. Only recently, had he begun to actually feel that elusive emotion. It had more to do with her than any of the relative freedom or vast wealth he’d accrued.

“I'm...getting there.” A part of him wanted to finish the thought. Because of you. But his conscience stopped him—he didn’t want the burden of his happiness resting on her shoulders, when already this amazing woman carried so much. He had to lighten the mood, or their evening would be ruined, and it would be all his fault.

“You know there was one good thing She taught me.”

“Oh?”

“How to dance.”

“What?”

“Ballet.”

Helen frowned at the absurdity of this notion before laughing out loud. “I think you’re fucking with me again.”

John decided to take that moment to stand, the fronts of their bodies nearly pressed in a line. His hands found her tiny waist, as though it was their natural resting place. “I’ll prove it to you. Want to do a lift?”

“Don’t you dare!” she squealed, skipping away across the floor, putting a chair between them. “I am not redoing your stitches again!” It took every iota of his self-control not to give in to his hunter’s instincts and chase her, grab her up, and finally slant his mouth over hers to make her his. He found his cheeks hurt from the strain of grinning wider than he ever had, though he feared it might more resemble a baring of teeth.

Helen’s eyes shone with laughter, her lips parted. She really was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Did you do that just to cheer me up?” she asked, the softness in her voice squeezing his heart like a fist.

“Would I do such a thing?”

She narrowed her eyes, seemingly for the umpteenth time that day. “I am going to go take a shower, Mr. Wick. And you had better get started on that dinner you promised me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He watched her disappear down the hall towards the guest bedroom, a lightness in his heart that almost confused him. Was this the relief to be found in confessing one’s sins? Or was it her? Just the miracle that was Helen Morgan, and these feelings she inspired in his breast. He dared not name it; for anything John Wick had ever loved, had died in some way.

He couldn’t bear to curse Helen too.

#for my Helen stans #i luv u guys 😘#thanks for being patient #john wick #john wick x helen #john wick fic #keanu reeves #helen wick #john wick the night nurse

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heliosthegriffin · 3 months

Text

Shadow Knight and Magical Girls XXII

A03 Link

Chapter 22

There was an aura of malaise across the Museum, and It spread relentlessly that afternoon, becoming heavier and more infectious by the minute. Moving around the building like an oozing river of filth, its odorous presence repulsing anyone and everyone that was in the building. Well, most everyone, anyway.

The overwhelming majority of the visitors of the Museum, though, were hit by an invasive feeling of tightness in the chest with a sense of incredible tension hanging over them, as if some disaster was patiently waiting behind the curtain to play its role. The vast majority couldn’t take the feeling, leaving the historical site en masse. The moment they stepped through the door, they were struck by a feeling of immediate relief, like having some long term debt finally be paid off.

Most were all too happy to forget such a feeling existed. With only a minority of a minority that were overtaken with curiosity, wondering, speculating, guessing what could possibly throw that many people into a flight on such a nice evening? They stared at the building, still basking in relief, however none dared even think about stepping back inside.

Not one among them possessed the bravery to find out the answer.

----

Security couldn’t believe what their eyes were seeing, as an orange-haired man made a mad tear through the building. Going from victim to victim, leaving what could only be called monsters in his wake. A gut-deep feeling of dread rose the longer they watched, as they saw him move like something out of fantasy. This was not something they were prepared for, or were willing to risk their lives to face.

An attempt was made to call law enforcement, as several of them exchanged glances until one of them finally stepped up, dialing up the police. They are the ones that should handle this, right?

The call opened up, as a younger security officer made the call, finally spoke. “Hello, Vale’s Emergency Services, what is your situation?”

Holding his phone with shaky, numb hands, the guard had trouble getting the words out of his mouth. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

“...Yeah.” The guard said after what felt like days. “W-we, I work at the Museum, a security guard, and we have a situation.” He finally managed to stumble the words over his lips.

“I see which Museum, Sir?’

“It’s the Historical One, the one that has all the old weapons, armor, and relics.”

“That one, ok. What is the nature of the emergency?”

The young guard looked at the screen, watching that man with orange hair tear people apart with his bare-hands, a sense of dread sank into his stomach. The feeling was so intense that it made him want to fall to the floor and ball up like a frightened child. He hadn’t felt like that sense saw his childhood puppy get hit by a car right in front of him.

He didn’t realize he had been stuck staring at the screen, until one of the other guards shook him. The lady on the other end didn't stop trying to communicate with him.

“Sir?”

“Sorry.” The words that he said weren’t sincere, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He wanted to flee. “There’s a man here killing people like animals, and he did something to their bodies…” On another screen, two lanky things were mauling people, splattering blood and limbs everywhere. “They're getting back up and killing people.”

He didn’t stop paying attention this time, the operator stopped trying to talk to him for a full five seconds. “Are you sure? You’re not under the effects of any illegal substances are you?” He looked around at the other guards. “Even if I was, I don’t don’t have enough for everyone here to be imagining the same thing.”

“I see, is this armed assault?” There was a plea in her voice.

“Only if you count him killing people with his arms.”

He heard a crack in her voice. “How many would you estimate-”

“Is this really the time?!” The young guard broke. “Just send the fucking cops already! People are getting killed! This isn’t something that we can handle, so fucking- ” He stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, how many?”

“I don’t know, at least twenty? Probably more.”

“When did the attack start?”

“Ten minutes ago, maybe? I don’t know, he just appeared and started killing people, we’d have to rewind the footage to know for sure.”

“Don’t touch the footage.” The operator warned. “I’m going to send you to a different line now. For what it’s worth, I wish you all well.”

“Thanks-”

“Here’s what you're going to do.” A strong, deep voice spoke to him. “You’re going to shut down any cameras that are recording, you're going to patch me into the Curator, then you’re going to walk out the nearest exit, and forget everything you saw.”

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?” He asked calmly.

“No, it’s just-”

“Do as I say, and you get to walk out of here without any trouble, try and do anything funny, and I’ll make sure you never have a moment of peace again, Xavier.”

Xavier, the young guard, froze. “How-”

“There’s only so many security aids at the Museum under thirty, Xavier, and on shift, it wasn’t hard to figure out.” The man on the other end breathed out slowly. “Now, I don’t want to do that, but I will if you make things harder than they have to be. So, call your boss, tell him to pick up the fucking Scroll, and then you can go home, alright? We can even make sure you get paid for the whole week, and at double time, considering what’s about to go down. Sounds good?”

“...Yeah,” Xavier swallowed. “I’ll do what you say.”

“Good man.” Then the call ended, and then Xavier called the Curator. “Mr. Stone, you need to pick up, it’s from -”

“I know. Just, go home, son.” The call ended. Xavier watched as his co-worker filed out like a demon was chasing them. Soon, it was only him left in the office, the rest having left him to shut down the cameras.

His fingers fidgeted as took a step towards the cameras, watching as two young men were being closed in on by those monsters. Xavier stared for a moment, watching with disbelief, as a flame of rebelliousness rose up inside of him.

----

A call over the intercom would help sooth the visitors as they left, offering an explanation to soothe their minds.

‘Attention visitors, a Gas-Leaks has been identified in several points in the building. Please, in a calm and orderly manner, find the nearest exit and leave. If you hold onto the receipts for your tickets, we will refund your entrance fee at a later date.’ The sound that came over the intercom was the voice of a pleasant, artificially polite young woman. ‘If you feel dizzy, light-headed, nauseous, or the symptoms of a panic-attack, please seek medical attention. If you cannot seek medical attention on your own, please wait in the courtyard, the City of Vale has been alerted to the situation, and medical experts are on their way.’

That was the explanation. Anything that seemed weird was just the gas playing tricks on the senses. The Gas was the reason for the disquiet, their instincts warning them about the toxic air. Everything was fine, and this would all be sorted out in due time. No, there was nothing wrong with the Museum; they were leaving due to a gas leak.

Those people that were moving oddly, watching them as they left, those were just people that needed medical attention. The attack that had happened? Probably just a man having a violent-outburst as a side-effect from inhaling the Gas. Anything else was hysteria!

Those who left made sure to remind anyone who brought this up, that they were misremembering, and needed to move on. It was just an unfortunate incident that no one was prepared for.

It was easier to forget than to change.

-----

Attack!

Trained reflexes spoke before conscious thoughts could. Ren unconsciously catches something out of the corner of his eyes, as a shadow moves, clawing towards his head. It was only just slightly lighter than the shadows around it, so seeing it move was jarring enough to draw attention.

No words came to Ren’s mind, as his body acted ahead of his thoughts. There was no time to make a plan, or strategy, as they were attacked. He was numb to the world and himself, as a group of strangers suddenly set upon them. Something drawled out across the loud-speaker, it sounded alien, as Ren fell into the motions of combat.

A long, dark arm swept at his face in a wild, but unsubtle swing. Ren stepped back, it seemed to crawl across the inches over his skin, feeling the wind rush across his face from the force, and allowing him a detailed look at the heavy claws that almost rent his skull in two. Five claws of differing lengths and widths, covered with what looks like black-colored plaster. He had enough time to realize they weren’t very sharp, and if they hit him, they wouldn’t cut, they’d rip into like dull meat hooks. Painfully.

It had come at him from the left. He stepped back in, turning to face his attacker; they had yet to recover from missing the swing, allowing him to snake a jab through a non-existent guard across their jaw.

It landed solidly, and despite Ren’s fists being well-conditioned from his long training, it hurt. It felt like he had struck concrete instead of flesh, and his opponent didn’t seem affected despite hitting them dead-on in the jaw, it should have knocked them out cold. He could see them turning to swipe at him again, and Ren snuck another jab in on the head, and followed up with a cross, the first hit knocking the head back, and the last knocking it off balance.

Ren snuck his leg behind his opponents, then pushed with a palm strike to its off balance torso, sending it tumbling down onto the ground. Where it writhed, trying to get itself off the floor, allowing him a chance to see what he was fighting, and it came with the grim realization that he was not fighting a person. There was no way it could be.

It was like someone had been molded out of black clay, and given a pair of beady, red eyes. It’s arms nearly dragged across the floor, and it’s legs looked almost short by comparison. Its head seemed swollen and round, like a snowman made of black earth. Small pieces of white bone seemed to appear at random across it’s sinister body.

With that good look, it was clear that he hadn’t done any damage to it, or not at least to a meaningful degree. It was rising back up, slowly getting it’s limbs under it. Ren fought back his disgust watching it. He needed to finish this.

Looking inward, he found his center, and let it flow out through his core. Stepping forward, he made a motion that defied human limits for a brief instant, as he kicked low at the head of the creature. There was a brief pink flash of light as the arch of his left foot caught it across the center of its head, there was a slight amount of resistance, and then there was none. Only a disturbing glob of red and black matter across the wall behind the creature.

He stood there staring at the scene, as his awareness expanded outward as the focus of combat evaporated. What in the world was that? What had just happened? He looked down at the steaming black matter beneath him. Ren was struck with a sense of dread and dis-ease at the sight. Confusion followed as his thoughts fell into chaos, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The sound of a body falling to the ground behind him stirred his mind back into action, ‘Jaune!’ What if he was being attacked too? He wasn’t going to leave his friend to fend for himself! Turning around, he moved to intercept anything coming towards the blonde, only to have to stop himself.

Ren stared at the sight of his friend, standing over two of those things, their bodies brutalized beyond identification, breathing steadily, calmly, holding one of things by the head and a stanchion in the other. He let the last one drop to the floor, before clubbing it into a pile of black mush.

Jaune looked at him, meeting his eyes, and Ren took a step back unconsciously. His eyes were empty and entirely focused on him, his face blank, cold even, as if this was nothing of note to him. His body told a different story, as it seemed ready to spring into motion at any second, like he was about to strike at any moment.

Then light came back to his eyes. “Behind you!” Ren sidestepped, just in time to avoid what would have been a killing blow, as a clawed hand swept past him. He peered out of the corner of his right eye, seeing a new one of those things appear. He slid behind it, and kicked it forward, sending it stumbling towards Jaune, who swung down with Stanucion on its head. Black fluid flying everywhere.

Ren and Jaune stood there for a moment, taking each other's measure.

“You ok?” Jaune broke the tension.

“Yeah, I think, how about you?”

“I’m good.”

“I didn’t know you had gotten so adept at … handling things.” Ren observed the mess on the ground.

“Yeah, uh, you do pretty good yourself.” Jaune peered around for any more challengers. “I think we’re good for now.”

Ren’s eyes lit up. “We need to find the girls. Now.”

Jaune nodded. “Agreed, let's get going.”

The two took off sprinting down the hall, with the drinks they went to get, now left behind in the mess of battle behind them.

----

“Ah!” Ruby jumped, as a hand reached out from the shadows behind her. With a quick slap that glowed with a silver light, it was sent away back to it’s hissing owner. As Blake stepped out behind her.

Ruby looked at her embarrassed, opening her mouth to apologize, but Blake cut her off. “Not now! Bigger things are at play, and we need to get the other girls together.” Ruby tried to respond, but Blake’s shadows moved faster than sound, as they drew over the both of them. Leaving an empty space where they just were.

A sensation that was like being stretched, shrunk and pulled through a tube the size of an atom hit Ruby all at once. It wasn’t painful, but it was disorienting and uncomfortable. It wasn’t any different from being stuck in a space too small for her, just that it didn’t damage her, or give her time to panic. Judging by the series of yelps and sounds of surprise, she wasn’t the only one, as all of them, aside from Pyrrha and Blake, tumbled onto the floor.

“We have a problem.” Blake led with.

Weiss scowled up at her, as she rose on shaky legs. “It better be a big one.”

“It doesn’t get much bigger than a General of Grimm.” Blake’s face was set and firm. “I saw him and he had a magical presence unlike anything I’ve met, and he was very clearly controlling some kind of Grimm that he was attaching to people.”

“Oh,” Weiss took a step back, the information hitting her like a sucker-punch. “I should have known the power here would have drawn him in.”

Pyrrha seemed tense, stuck between shame and anger.

“Wait, what was he doing to people?” Ruby asked, eyes wide and alert.

“He was putting masks on people, they were… I’m sorry, but If it didn’t kill them instantly, It did by now.” Blake let that sink in. “We need to stop him from doing it to anyone else, and more importantly, stop him from getting the Power that’s building up here.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?!” Ruby’s words were like a sledgehammer.

Blake subtly looked away from Ruby’s bright silver eyes. “There was nothing I could do, and he had already attached the masks.” She looked towards Pyrrha. “And, considering she couldn’t defeat him on her own, I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You didn’t even transform!”

Blake forced her eyes back at Ruby. “I have enough targets on my back as it stands! I’m not going to have another one forced upon me by transforming in public!”

Rubys eyes glowed brighter, but Blake didn’t back down this time.

Yang, surprisingly, stepped in. “Not the time, girls.” She sighed, fire beginning to engulf her, as the transformation began. “The longer we wait, the bigger lead this Grimm Creep gets to kill people and do what he wants.”

Pyrrha had finished her transformation. “Agreed, we need to stop him swiftly and decisively.”

As the transformation finished in the secluded room, Red stared at Blake. “Before you take us to him, just tell me. Did you see Jaune among them?”

A faint sense of dread fell among Yellow and Crimson, while White and Black looked at her in surprise. “He’s here?”

“Yeah, with Ren at least, so did you see them?”

Black thought carefully. “No, not them, but the longer we wait, the more in danger they will be in. A regular human like him, or Ren? They don’t stand much of a chance against a Grimm General, not even the previous generation allies like Dragonfist, or Harbinger would be able to beat him, much less the Shadow Knight.”

Red looked at her fiercely, eyes glowing like the full moon. “Then get us there, yesterday.”

----

It was at the intersection of hallways that led to different exhibits that the two highschool boys came upon the next encounter. As several Monsters took turns slamming against a utility closet and making good progress on knocking it open. Everytime one of those things slammed a long arm against the door, the sounds of panic leaked out.

It took Ren several moments to notice that he was running alone, he looked back to see if Jaune had tripped, or been attacked, only to see his longtime friend having charged straight into the pack of those things! What was he thinking?!

Ren had a half-second to process this, conflict boiling up inside him. He couldn’t just leave the girls alone, every second he waited was a second that could get them hurt, or worse. But, he also couldn’t just leave Jaune. He was felt torn in half by two different priorities, internally damning the people who were stuck behind that door, and Jaune too was he was at it!

Cursing under his breath, he dove into the fray. Just as a monster was creeping up behind his friend, Ren called on his center again, sprinting forward, he leaned back and kicked high, aiming at the neck of the monster. A flash of pink light shone across the impact site, a small shock-wave rolling out across its body, as its neck cracked and shattered. It fell down limply.

The fight didn’t last long between the two of them working together, the two of those things lying broken on the ground and not getting back up. Jaune went to knock on the door. Ren grabbed his wrist, breathing deeply. “What just possessed you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean!” Ren hissed. “You almost got yourself killed! We need to go and get to Nora and Velvet! We can’t be playing heroes!”

Jaune looked at him with heavy eyes. “And, what if Nora and Velvet are behind that door?”

Ren didn’t have an answer.

“Even if they aren’t, I’m not going to walk past a person in need.” Jaune knocked on the door, as he called out to the utility closet. “You’re safe! If you want to follow someone out of here, you can follow us.” There was a soft conversation from behind the door, as a young couple opened the door meekly.

They stared in awe at the sight before them, and Ren had to admit he was flattered. Still the urge to find Nora and Velvet, to make sure they were ok, was eating him up inside. He flashed a look at Jaune, urging him to get a move on.

Jaune returned a look at him, a very heavy and dutiful one. A message was passed between them. Ren was free to leave, but Jaune wouldn’t abandon anyone he could see was in need of help. Ren wanted to curse him, and run looking for their friends.

If not for the thought of, what if it was Nora behind that door? What if by abandoning these people, he lost Nora in the process, if she was one of them?

Jaune snapped a quick order to the couple, to grab anything they could use as a weapon in there and quickly, they needed to make a move on. While the couple was searching, Ren turned to Jaune. “And, if it gets you killed, what then?”

“I won’t die, not if someone that I can help is in front of me.”

Ren looked at the blonde, then shook his head. “I swear, you make me want to believe you.”

A couple seconds later, the couple had returned, the man holding a heavy-duty wrench and the woman a pair of pliers duct-taped to what used to be a broom.

Their pace took a hit, as the couple was unathletic and couldn’t keep up with the sprint that Ren and Jaune had set beforehand. However, they didn’t need to wait long as they heard the sounds of combat and yelling up ahead, one that sent Ren’s heart swelling as he could have recognized it anywhere.

Running faster than he thought he could, they entered the dinosaur exhibit, where Nora stood on top of a t-rex’s skeleton wielding a petrified femur and bashing it across the heads of anything that got too close, while Velvet hid behind her, making a squeaking whenever one of those long-limbed things got too close.

“Yeah! Who wants another of Mama’s Nora’s asskicking special! You or you or you! Or how about you!?” She screamed wildly as they climbed up, only to get knocked down from a series of chaotic headblows.

Wasting no time, the two boys launched into an assault on the gathered monsters. There were seven of them gathered around the skeleton display, trying to climb up and get to the pair of girls. One already almost at the top, which had to deal with Nora clubbing it over the head, over and over, until it fell down.

Jaune went to work grabbing the monsters and throwing them to the ground, with Ren making critical blows that left them, if not dead, crippled enough for the couple to come along and finish them off, with much effort on their part.

When down to the last one there came a scream from above as Nora jumped down holding the femur over head, smashing it into the smooth inky head of the monster, splattering it into uncountable pieces that would leave a forensic scientist incredibly frustrated.

“Nora!” Ren cried out, catching her just after she smashed the monster to pieces, barely keeping himself tripping as he caught her.

“Hello!” Jaune looked up at Velvet who was still stuck up on the T-Rex. “I need help, please!”

Jaune looked at Nora and Ren, then at Velvet. “I’ll be up in a second.”

“Please do! I don’t have the courage to jump!”

It wasn’t long before he climbed up and to Jaune’s surprised Velvet practically bonded to his arm, shaking. Not that it was much of a problem for him, as he easily carried her down. He noticed that Ren was still carrying Nora, as he got back down.

“Hey, hey Rennie, I’m fine, thanks to you hunky lads!” Not that she didn’t appreciate the closeness, as she pulled him closer.

Ren didn’t let go for a long moment, he opened his mouth, he couldn’t think of any way to put the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions in mouth and turn them into proper words. He had so many things he wanted to say, but no way to say them.

Nora felt the tension around him, slowly rubbing his back. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

Ren squeezed tight, then let go. “Please, keep close.”

Jaune watched the two, a sense of guilt weighing over him, something compounded by the shaking faunus attached to his arm. He should have never agreed to this. All the if’s in the world hitting him, on how this could have been avoided. Like he was suddenly dropped in a pitch-black room with white letters crawling over the walls, spelling out all the ways he could have stopped this.

None of them spelled out what to do now. He was at a loss, and honestly, just wanted a damn break for one day. He looked at Velvet, still holding onto his arm like a raft, completely out of his depth on how to help her. As the Shadow Knight he never really had to worry about helping someone's mental state. It was more, that he killed what was distressing them, and moved on.

“H-how?” Velvet whispered so low that Jaune barely caught it.

“Yes?”

“How are you so calm?” Her eyes darted around the room, her rabbit ears alert and looking for danger. “I feel like my heart is about to implode.” Jaune nodded, he could feel her thudding heart with how tightly she clamped against his left arm.

He smiled dryly. “Am I?” Velvet looked at him in disbelief. “I don't feel that way, it’s just that, if I started going crazy and acting afraid, it wouldn’t help anybody.”

“You’re afraid?” Velvet asked, disbelief in her every syllable.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaune answered tiredly. “My friends, myself, and a bunch of strangers are stuck in a Museum crawling with weird, tall monsters, with who knows what worse things waiting around the corner? It’s natural to feel fear, and I’d be insane to not be afraid, even if it was just the tiniest nugget of fear in the world.”

“D-do you always feel fear?”

Jaune laughed, it was both bitter and sad, but with a hint of pride. “Everyday, Velvet. Not a day goes by without me being afraid.”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah. It’s always something, something to be worried about, and it’s not about me either. I’m not just afraid for myself, but for my friends, my family, and sometimes, complete strangers. I just can’t help myself, fear is my oldest and strongest emotion.”

“How do you live like that? It must be unbearable. You’ve always seemed like one of the strongest people I know, if you live like this, then how does anyone live like this? Is that just what life is, going from one fear to another until you die?” Her ears drooped. “Why live at all then, if it is going to be so miserable?”

Jaune didn’t answer back for a moment, gently, but firmly, grabbing her hand. “I think other people are why. Life might be full of fear and uncertainty, but it’s also full of people, good, bad, and in between. They might make you feel fear, anger, jealousy, and all these other emotions, but at the same time, they fill in the spots of your life that you didn’t know were empty. I think that outweighs the grief lifes brings upon us, simply by having these connections that make life so meaningful. It won’t always be that way, but the fact we can lose it, well doesn’t that just make it worth something?

“It’s what makes fear valuable too, as you know what you have to lose, it’s necessary evil. It can paralyze at times. Not just physically, but in the head too. But, other times, well, it can make you do things you never knew where possible. Go beyond your limits simply due to fear of losing your life, a friend, or even something simple like your favorite piece of junk, it’s a power all on its own. But, most of all? It’s something that everybody can understand, it’s a universal experience. All it comes down to at the end of the day is the person who’s feeling it,” Blue eyes met brown. “And how they chose to use that emotion.”

Velvet's eyes regained some as light as she stared at him and digested his words. Jaune softened his grip, realizing that he grabbed her in the first place, slowly letting go of her. “That’s how I look at things. It may not be healthy, or rational, but it’s how I live. It’s how I’m going to keep living.” He looked at her, searching her for a response.

She looked away. “I just need a minute.” Her ears twitched, brown eyes darting to look at him for a moment, then shying away. “Not that you did anything bad! It’s just, I need to reassess my thoughts.

“Okay. Take all the time you need.” He looked at Ren and Nora, with the two of them giving him sly smiles. “Those two are there if you need them, I’m going to make sure that our other two party members are doing ok.”

Nora sped in as soon as he left, with Ren joining him over to the young couple they saved. “So, Nora’s fine?”

“I needn’t have worried. She was having a blast.”

“Just shows how much you care for her.”

Ren smiled. “More than she can imagine. Velvet?”

“I don’t know, she’s not in the best of states.” Jaune bit his lip, thinking of how to put his words. “It’s up to her how she wants to handle this. I’ll do my best to protect her, for whatever that’s worth.”

Ren ran his eyes up and across Jaune’s body, from his feet to his hips to his shoulder then met his eyes. “Enough. More than enough. I’d say.” He paused looking at Jaune’s hands, looking at the calluses. “You’re more than skilled enough to protect a person or two.”

Jaune smiled. “I appreciate that.” He looked up. “It never feels like it’s enough.”

“What does?”

“My skills. Experience. My ability to fight. It never is.” Jaune stopped talking, remembering who he was talking to. “I must have taken a hit to the head. I don’t listen to me.”

Ren gave him a thin smile. “Never stopped me before,” He looked relaxed, but his eyes were alert and discerning. “Though, I think your real problem is, you’ve had too many late nights. Maybe, you need to start living in the daylight?”

Jaune paused, looking at Ren, measuring him and his words. “If it was that easy, I would. Days are short, and nights feel so long.” He looked across the exhibit, there was a trio of standing stones on the other end of the room. For a moment, he thought he saw a shadow move. Ren caught his attention.

“They don’t have to be. Good company can make days long and nights short.”

His eyes drawn back to the standing stones. The shadow was gone. “You’re right about that. If only there were people fit to be out so late.” Jaune looked at Ren in a very meaningful manner.

“Is that so, would that imply you are?”

“I’m still standing aren’t I?”

Ren chuckled. “Barely. But, your point stands.” He sighed. “We’ll continue this at a later date and time, hopefully we'll not be fighting for lives then, too.”

Jaune cracked a broad smile. “That’d be great, wouldn’t it? … and I suppose I don’t have a choice do I?”

“No. You do not.”

“Pardon me.” The two of them turned to face the young couple. They had been talking in front of them for a little bit now. “Have we got a plan to get out of here?” The man asked, holding a heavy wrench in his hand anxiously, his partner/girlfriend/wife(?) was looking at them, hopefully holding a make-shift spear.

Jaune looked at Ren, then back at them. “Yeah, don’t worry.” He didn't have a plan, other than kill everything in a line from A to B till they were out of here, but they didn’t need to know that. “Just follow our lead, and we’ll have us out of here in no time.”

Ren nodded. “Yes, we have already discussed with each other the minute details down to the letter, with back-up plans in place as well. It is already in motion as we speak, and can’t give great details as they will become apparent as we come into them, just know you are already doing your part as you follow Jaune’s order,” Jaune looked at Ren, since when had he been put in charge? “Everything will become clear, and work as intended, as you will understand your roles and importances as irreplaceable assets in Jaune’s plan.” Jaune’s smile wavered. “Over time, you will understand how you slot into the spaces needed to fill the very important roles you two will have, along with any other survivors. Any questions?”

The young couple looked thoroughly lost by Ren’s intentionally vague explanation, but also oddly proud and secure in knowing that someone knew what was going on. The two turned to Jaune with looks of amazement that someone had a plan of action. “N-no, I think we understand. By the way, I guess we should introd-” The young woman tried to speak, but was cut out.

“HEY!” Nora called them over, cutting off the couple mid-introduction. “Velvets got a brainy-plan thing!”

“Nora, please!”

“But, you do! It’s a good one!”

That quickly took precedence over any introductions, as they gathered around Velvet expectantly.

“Look, it’s just a simple idea.” She tapped her foot quickly, not committing to looking at anyone. “We should arm ourselves, I think.” She almost backpedaled, but remained steadfast. “It’s just,” She looked at the couple with the make-shift weapons, Ren’s bare hands, Nora’s club, and Jaune’s stanchion. “I think the Museum won’t mind us using something for its historical purpose, with circumstances as they are.”

The blonde stared at the faunus, a broad smile on his face. “I like it.” He looked around. “Any opposed to us arming ourselves in the midst of a life or death situation?” No one seemed to. “Alright, let's arm ourselves.”

Quickly the group left, unaware as behind them, sitting on the top of the standing stones and kicking her feet into the air, was a girl with mismatched eyes watching them with amusement. Dropping down and following as the group left the exhibit for anything that would weigh the odds in their favor.

Omake: The Stealth Arc(h)er

The Shadow Knight looked at his horse, and then on the ticket on its forehead, then back at his ticket.

“What do you mean he’s not street legal?” He looked at his stallion. “I thought they’d be more concerned about all the horse crap, but I guess not.” The knight scratched his head. “Oh well,” He looked at the boot they put on his horse. “That’s just cruel.”

The stallion snorted.

“Yeah, I figured you agree.” A few minutes of fiddling later, his horse was free. “Alright, go back home. We’ll figure this out another night.”

He snorted.

“Of course you’d say that, if you bring any mares back, put a horse-shoe on the stables or something.”

The stallion went over and nudged Shady with its bulky head. “Ok, fine here.” He handed over a sack of apples. “There, go impress some lady horses.”

The equine nudged his head against him again gratefully, then trotted off into the distance. “There goes Buckeye, oh well. He’ll be back.” The Knight looked at his bow and quivers. “Well, I don’t have the time to go and change out equipment, let's make this work on foot.”

Walking into the nearest alleyway, a Grimm seemingly materialized out of the shadows, yet to notice anyone, peacefully existing between bouts of murder.

Also materializing out of the shadows, unnoticed, was the Shadow Knight. Who then crouched, holding his bow in a very awkward manner, fired an arrow that struck true. The Beowolf died instantly, its body rag-dolling across the alley way, despite only barely sinking into the head.

The Knight looked at his bow, then at the still rag-dolling Grimm. “Ok?” He looked at the Grimm whose limbs were stretching out and flying all over the place. He fired another arrow, launching it into the night sky. Where it zoomed past a quintet of magical girls, who flinched as it passed by.

“What was that?!” Yellow cried.

“I don’t know!” Red responded.

Shadow Knight looked at the now long gone Grimm. “Huh, that was easy.” Several dozen red-eyes closed in on him, only for him to crouch and the pack of beasts to be left looking vaguely confused. At least until a storm of arrows hit them, sending them to meet their kin in outer space.

White stared in horror as several black and white meteorites flew towards them. “Oh, Dear Oum-”

#shadow knight

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