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yuzukult · 3 years

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i’m bad too 18 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none for this chapter a/n: just two more chapters left to the end !! :D taglist: @wownajaemin @crescent-iak @ncttboo @byunbaekby @jinfizz @doyoungyoung @ahgayeah0305 @doyobun @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr @m1ss-foodi3 @hcwurld ← previous chapter || next chapter →

Doyoung’s favorite drink is caramel coffee.

He doesn’t like it hot—you recall him mentioning, he prefers it iced, and he finishes it so fast that the cubes don’t melt and condensation doesn’t drip off the sides of the plastic cup.

So you shouldn’t be surprised that he’s at this very café. Especially since it is his spot, but it also shouldn’t be news to you when you’ve come here everyday for the past two weeks in hopes of running into him.

You wonder how he’s been doing. It’s been months since you’ve last seen him; forever ago since you saw him with that girl Karina, and you’re curious if he thinks about you as often as you think about him. He’s on your mind daily, sometimes by the hour depending on what you’re doing, and he feels like a drug you can’t quite quit (despite the shortage of time you’ve done fine without him).

And you admit willingly that your feelings for him come rushing back the moment you see that pretty smile dressed upon his lips when he laughs from his chest at the video his friend shows on his phone.

But you continue to sit in the corner of the shop, face behind your device as if you’re immersed in the technology when you’ve got your eyes on him the entire time.

Instagram doesn’t do justice. You never know what he’s really up to, you learn, because his feed only shows the happy pictures he poses for. But his stories—you stay for that. There’s some nights you’d catch him posting something with a scenery, a little heartfelt description written along the horizon, and it gives you a glimpse of how he’s vaguely feeling. Maybe they’re for you, well, you were hoping they were, but for a guy who isn’t the greatest in the romance department, he’s very artistic, so it wouldn’t be surprising if it weren’t for you.

Maybe it was for Karina.

Okay, there might be a slight chance that you were bitter about that chick. She hung out with Doyoung often, from what you speculate, possibly involved in the same friend group, having mutuals together (which, already is how she’s so different from you). She roughly reminds you of that emotion that runs through your veins when you first saw Doyoung talking to Joy; that clenched jaw, tightened fist, and a deep swallow to push down all your anger. Joy was just a friend, and you eventually learned that without having to go the hard route, but Karina… didn’t give you any reason to believe her friendly motives. But Doyoung isn’t yours, you have to remind yourself, and because he isn’t, there’s no need to get upset.

For one, the times you followed (don’t judge, you missed him but didn’t want to approach him if he wasn’t ready) him, Karina always stuck to Doyoung like glue. She was practically joined by the hip; batting her pretty long lashes, cheeks brushed with that coral pink blush like she’s all embarrassed because sweet boy Doyoung accidentally touched the back of her hand, and whenever she got the chance, she’d hold onto his arm tightly, pretending that she couldn’t catch her balance in those Ultraboost sneakers that were basically socks on a sole with no support.

“Ugh, you always do this,” one of his friends says, loud enough that you could hear from where you’re sitting. “How do you manage to beat me every time?”

“I learned the tricks,” Doyoung retorts, voice stable but his face all smug. “Doesn’t look like you did though.”

The other guy rolls his eyes before tossing his phone onto the table. “Forget that dumb game. I’m actually curious about something,” he begins, leaning over with his forearms pressed against the surface. There’s a mischievous smile that tugs on the ends of his mouth, and you rest back in your seat in curiosity when his tone changes. “You and Karina. What are the two of you?”

You nearly snap the pen you’d been fiddling in your hand.

Fucking Karina. Again. This bitch just keeps being brought up, doesn’t she?

Doyoung shifts in his seat, hands with his phone dropping onto his lap. A brow quirks, narrowing a strange gaze at his friend. “Why are you asking?”

“Mmm, heard there’s rumors going around about Karina liking you.”

“And,” Doyoung takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Why’s that matter?”

The friend clicks his tongue, groaning that Doyoung isn’t picking up the not-so-subtle hints. “Because. Have you seen her? Or are you just blind. She’s smokin’ hot like… literally any guy would want to get with her. And you too, which is kinda crazy—”

“—is it impossible to believe that someone attractive can like me?”

“I mean, no offense Doyoung, you don’t exactly look like the type that would sweep those types of girls off their feet. You spent most of the time indoors! Watching movies, playing games, maybe sometimes you go out to clubs and parties but barely and it’s with our geeky friends. Even I can come to terms that I’m a geek. Jocks or bad boys are what she would be into.”

Doyoung sighs. “Where are you going with this?”

“You should date her. Since, you know, you have that chance.”

He shrugs, bending the straw of his drink like he’s occupied with something else that’s going on in his mind. He’s quieter than usual, especially around a friend, and it’s left you pondering what’s got him so tied up. But then, you hear it.

“I’m waiting for someone.”

His guy scoffs in belief. “You’re waiting for someone. Who? That chick you were having friends with benefits with like a year ago? Dude, she was also out of your league. Rode a motorcycle, didn’t talk to anyone, hot, and somehow you got her attention. But dude, she’s been gone for a while now.”

Doyoung purses his lips. “Told her to come to me whenever she’s ready. Karina and I don’t really have something like… that. Not worth dropping the chances of her coming back and seeing me with Karina.”

“She’s got you that bad?”

A soft smile pulls on his lips, and he nods confidently. “Yeah, she does.”

When Doyoung and his friend pack up their bags to leave, he halts in his tracks. “Actually, you head out first. I’ll meet you later tonight, I won’t be going to the pre-game.”

The latter stares at Doyoung suspiciously. “Really? What’s up with you? Thought you said you were tagging along.”

“Yeah but… I gotta do something real quick. I’ll meet up with you.”

Strange, you think to yourself, because Doyoung seemed like he was going to leave too, until that very last second. Then, you notice something. When his friend leaves through those double doors, he turns and looks directly at you.

At you. Like he sees you.

You’re not a ghost, but you’re pretty good at camouflaging yourself with a crowd. You’re not the prettiest nor the ugliest, so being average has an advantage in this field, but Doyoung isn’t like normal people. He sees you, and even though you’re in a black baseball cap with casual clothes to match, he still can spot you in a sea of people.

“You’re here,” he says, his tone between a question and a statement. Part of you expects him to be angry, fuming with rage because you’re here instead of asking him to meet up. “You’re… actually here.”

“I’m surprised you found me,” you retort, standing up from your seat and gathering up your belongings. “I thought I was good at blending with people.”

“I’m in love with you, you expect me to not see the girl I’m head over heels for?”

You pause.

Bag not even slung over your shoulder, your heart does the complete opposite of your motions and races. He what?

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Doyoung straightens his posture, trying his best to read the expression on your face. “Why… Why haven’t you called or reached out? Were you not ready until now?”

“I thought… you had a girlfriend,” you admitted, and truthfully, you’re not sure how Doyoung manages to get you to spill out your insecurities so easily. His eyes widened, and before he could say anything else, you interrupt his train of thought. “But that was months ago. It’s fine. I trained, and I’m back in the field, and I wanted to see how you were doing, that's all.”

“But you didn’t want to call me?”

You clear your throat, drifting your gaze elsewhere. “Like I said before. Thought you had a girlfriend. I don’t want to interfere with anything in your life that could be normal.”

He has a finger on your chin, directing your attention back to him. Your heart skips a beat this time, air sucked out of your lungs from his stare, and you swallow. “I waited for you, though. If you’re ready to come back, please come back. I have never dated anyone since I left your place, and I don’t intend to either. I made a promise and I’m keeping it.”

You hated reporting here.

There’s something ominous about this warehouse; it’s not just the people who occupy it, but it’s the building itself. Outside, it looks like an abandoned stone mill. Worn down walls, windows shattered, and located in a dangerous neighborhood, secluded from all the up-and-coming buildings that are being constructed a couple blocks down. The cars that came for drop off didn’t come here either, so it made the building even more mysterious and seemingly empty.

But the moment you stepped in the front doors—it’s like a factory.

A factory that manufactured everything from guns, grenades, to bombs, and so on. Everything that you wore on missions, everything you held between your fingertips, and everything you utilized in the field were all made here.

The headquarters.

Upon entering, you had to go through security. Guns are to be logged in, identities are checked through the system, quick but yet thorough pat down, and phones are chipped until you leave the premises. Needless to say, they were careful and even someone like you with so much skill and worthiness cannot go undetected here.

“Boss is asking for you.” A gorgeous girl says, clipboard in her arms. She’s got her hair tied in a low bun, glasses on with thick frames, and a pencil skirt to pair with her white blouse.

“I asked for boss, but yeah, that.”

She nods, bowing her head just slightly and you’re wondering how she even got in this field. Shy, quiet, and fragile, she seems, and you wonder if she knows what’s actually happening around here. “Please follow me.”

She takes you down a narrow hallway, far from where the other workers were posted, and takes you through these metal doors that looked too heavy for her to push, but the guards standing by the sides do it for her instead.

“Head on in. He’s waiting.”

“Right,” you gesture her a head nod in thanks.

Taeyong is seated at his desk, two additional guards standing on either side of the wood, and he’s fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “Lookie here. Our star player. Ten’s little sister. What do I owe the honor?”

“I want out.”

#doyoung fanfic #nct fanfic #doyoung smut #doyoung x reader #nct x reader #gyukultfics #idk what to tag these anymore

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nanoland · 3 years

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new chapter (lucifer fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here)

Ponder on the Narrow House, part 3

Mazikeen + Eve + Michael, gen fic (for now), warning for gun violence

Along the California coastline, the cruise ship Illustrious Voyager bore four thousand three hundred and ten passengers, one thousand two hundred and ninety-six crewmembers, and two guide dogs.

Five thousand six hundred and eight souls, in total.

At around 4pm, without anyone noticing, that number became five thousand six hundred and nine.

Hands clasped behind her back, Eve strolled down the promenade, admiring the vessel’s size and beauty. This fresh new millennium’s wealth astonished her. Sickened, sometimes. Entranced, sometimes. But always astonished.

Back in the garden, they’d slept on and under rocks. When it rained, they got wet. When large animals came by, they hid. No weapons. No shelter. No blankets. The only resource they’d had in abundance was food. Good grief – so much food. God had been so proud of all the different fruits and nuts and mushrooms he’d made available to them, and Adam had been so grateful. Eve supposed she had been, too.

It hadn’t stopped her from one day approaching her husband and the plump rabbits resting in his lap – two of several dozen pets – and asking if he didn’t think the cold nights would be much more endurable if they each had a warm pair of fur slippers.

Then she’d met Lucifer. Fallen in love. Bitten the apple. Learned how powerful he and his Father truly were. That was when the real questions, the sticky, prickly questions, had come bubbling up.

If Lucifer has such a vast family, with so many siblings, why can’t I have even one? she’d asked the sky. Why is Adam all I get?

And later: If You can simply bring people into existence, why must I scream and bleed and shit myself in order to have children? Am I doing it wrong? Is there another way? If there isn’t, why not?

And later: Why is nothing fair?

And, most recently, after meeting Mazikeen: Why isn’t everything at least equally unfair? Why do humans get a world of options while Maze and her family are expected to serve angels from birth to death? Why isn’t Maze allowed into Heaven, even after an eternity of loyalty and hard work?

“Sorry,” she said, flashing white teeth at a passing crewmember. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine. Can you tell me how to get to Room 835?”

Half an hour later, there was a splash and the ship’s population dropped to five thousand six hundred and seven.

Before binding his arms and legs, Eve had secured Andrew Bismarck’s lifejacket and gagged him. Furious and helpless, he bobbed alongside her as the ship moved on and Mazikeen rowed up in her inflatable raft, wearing a sunset-orange swimsuit.

“Should I be worried about those, babe?” she asked as she gripped Bismarck’s lifejacket and hauled him out of the water.

Eve smiled at the dolphin pod swimming in playful loops around her, and patted the nearest one’s nose. “No. They’re my friends.”

The inflatable wasn’t big enough for three people, so Eve held on to a friend’s dorsal fin and let him drag her back to The Choronzon.

Michael stood on the deck, looking bored. As they climbed aboard, their prisoner slung over Mazikeen’s shoulder, he drawled, “Seriously? This sad specimen’s worth two million dollars?”

“Actually, his net worth is eight hundred million,” said Mazikeen, dumping him down. “Two million is just what his ex-wife is willing and able to pay.”

Wringing out her hair, Eve added, “She took half his money in the divorce but she gave almost all of it to a chimpanzee shelter. I really like her!”

His lip curled. “How delightfully sordid. Isn’t this all a little beneath you, Ms Mazikeen? I mean, you’re a big deal in Hell. High Commander of Lucifer’s legions, head advisor to the king himself. Aren’t you worried taking jobs like this diminishes you?”

Busy handcuffing Bismarck to the railing, Mazikeen said, “Eve, honey? Do me a favour?”

“Boop!” Eve chirped, having already snuck up behind Michael, and pushed him overboard.

“I know it’s your whole gimmick,” Mazikeen called down as he splashed and spluttered, his face red with princely indignation. “And I know you don’t have a lot else going for you. But the next time you try that on me, I will stop being nice. Kapish?”

“Kapish,” he muttered.

The Choronzon had barely travelled a mile before Eve spotted Bismarck’s henchmen coming after them.

“Someone gimme details!” shouted Mazikeen, busy putting a bulletproof vest on over her bikini and opening up the box she’d told Dan contained a fishing rod, not a halberd.

Eve peered through her binoculars. “Two speedboats. Twelve guys on jet skis. Guns everywhere.”

“Heh. Awesome. Mickey – move that tight ass to the front and make like a nice juicy target.”

“Wait, what about-…” Michael began, trailing off as Mazikeen dove gracefully into the sea.

Bouncing from foot to foot, Eve shot him a grin. “Don’t look so glum, sourpuss. This is the fun part.”

She’d never spoken to Michael in Heaven, despite the millennia they’d both resided only two miles apart, her in a lakeside cottage on the outskirts of the Silver City, him in the crystal palace in its centre.

Granted, she’d not exactly had a warm and fuzzy relationship with any of Lucifer’s siblings. They all knew what had happened in the garden. Some had been nice – Amenadiel had visited often, even though he’d never had much to say and they’d spent their time together skipping stones across the lake’s surface. But the others had kept her at a distance. She was a bad influence.

Michael, however, was the only angel she’d not ever said one word to.

She’d seen him, now and then, in the early days, when she was the only human in Heaven and, as such, grudgingly invited to divine family get-togethers. On those occasions, she’d spent too much time feeling awkward and out-of-place to pay attention to the sullen figure lurking in whatever shadows were available. The one time she’d glanced his way, it had been to marvel at the stories of people getting the twins mixed up; beyond the raw basics of bone structure, Michael couldn’t have looked less like her old lover.

Bullets sprayed across the hull. Humming, Eve stepped daintily into Michael’s shadow, seconds before they started bouncing off his shoulders and chest.

“It is beneath her,” he muttered.

She made an ambiguous noise. “How d’you figure?”

There came a shout and a splash from the nearest jet ski. The bullets stopped.

“C’mon. She’s Mazikeen. Everyone in the Silver City knows about Mazikeen. Ordinarily, we couldn’t give two dry shits about Lucifer’s minions, but her? She’s a minor celebrity. The power behind Hell’s throne. Christ, it’s no secret my beloved twin couldn’t govern his way out of a paper bag.”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling fondly. “He’s kind of bad at everything. Except music. He’s a great musician.”

More shouting. More shooting. More bullets bouncing off Michael’s torso. Mazikeen rode by, one hand gripping her newly-acquired jet ski’s throttle lever, the other clutching her bloodstained halberd. Watching her circle the enemy, Eve was reminded of a sheep dog.

Michael went on: “And then there’s the fact that for a while, everyone thought Lucifer was going to marry her. It was all anyone could talk about. Jophiel was taking bets on when the proposal would happen. She’d have been High Commander and the Queen of Hell. Instead? All of a sudden, Lucifer takes an indefinite vacay to the mortal realm, drags her with him, and next thing anyone knows, she’s working behind a bar.”

The remaining jet skis and their terrified, wounded riders had been neatly rounded up, which meant it was time for Eve to open her purse.

“Um – how long have those been in there?” asked Michael, watching her take out three grenades.

“You want one?” she offered. “Don’t forget to take the pin out before you throw it. I did that my first time.”

One thing to be said for millions of dull, dull years spent sitting next to God’s Greatest Warrior, skipping stones across a lake; your aim got good.

The first blast was a warning, not close enough to actually kill any of Bismarck’s men, though the resultant waves did knock several into the water. They tried to retreat, turning their vehicles around, only to remember Mazikeen, corralling them single-handed and now armed with machine guns she’d confiscated from those already bested.

When they saw the second and third grenade incoming, they gave up and abandoned the jet skis, jumping into the sea and swimming for their lives.

“Fuck!” Michael yelped, blocking his ears at the concomitant explosions.

Gazing past the debris and smoke, Eve saw Mazikeen head for the nearest of the two speedboats. Its occupants, preoccupied with aiming a rocket launcher at The Choronzon, saw her coming far too late.

“I get your point,” said Eve, as her girlfriend and her halberd made short work of the crew. “But that’s a really… how can I put this? It’s a really angelic way of looking at things. Maze doesn’t consider anything ‘beneath her’.”

“Wow. Sick burn. You’re basically admitting she has no pride.”

“Oh, she’s got pride. Tons of pride. Her pride’s just dependant on how well she does a job, not on the type of job she has. She wasn’t happy working at Lux, but that wasn’t because she thought bartending was ‘beneath her’; it was because she prefers doing things she’s good at. Customer service isn’t really one of her strengths.”

The second speedboat was abandoned by its crew mere seconds before Mazikeen rammed the first speedboat into it, cackling victoriously.

“Actually,” Eve said, moving from Michael’s shadow to where Mazikeen had earlier set a crate of peach soda – her favourite – out on the deck, “now that you mention it, I guess I’m the one with no pride. Haven’t really ever had anything to be proud of. Your Dad never gave me the chance. I was never meant to do things. I was just meant to be.”

Michael snorted. “Lucky you. Trust me; he may have softened in his later years, but back in the day he never, ever stopped riding our asses. You think Lucy really rebelled because he had better plans for how the universe should be run? Because he was an innovator? Nope. Lazy dick just hated being told to do his chores.”

By the time Mazikeen swam back to them, saltwater had washed off the blood and her ponytail had come loose.

“Oh, hey,” said Eve, gripping her hand and pulling her up. “A mermaid.”

After pressing a rough kiss to her cheek and taking a swig of peach soda, Mazikeen asked, “You okay? He did his job?”

Eve patted the angel’s shoulder – the one that wouldn’t hurt. “He was terrific! Awesome addition to the team.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael mumbled.

Ignoring him, Mazikeen snatched up a towel to dry her hair. “Glad to hear it. Alright! Let’s get Bismarck back to shore, get paid, and find a place to have dinner so we can toast Team Hellrazor’s first successful mission.”

“R-A-Z-O-R,” Eve informed Michael. “To make it cooler.”

#lucifer #mazikeen #eve #michael demiurgos #demons #lucifer morningstar #amenadiel #michael #fanfic #my fic

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Chapter 2 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Sasuke skipped out during the cultural festival just like he did back in the last year of his middle school, content in hearing nothing but his own breath, the bustle outside his window, the sporadic chirping of the birds in early mornings and late afternoons, the shuffle of feet from his neighbors and the occasional clanking of dishes. When hours extended late into the evening, the activities would be replaced by the muffled night life that seemed like eons away but was actually just five blocks far and so he would pick out the drums, the bass drops, and the rave chaos and fall asleep when the crowds pack up, but not all days were like these. He would stay awake well past the closing time with silence confronting his consciousness, and his only friend would be the CD collection of a Japanese artist called The Charm Park from a previous tenant who left it behind. He spent his winter break like this.

When spring term came around, Sasuke noticed a shift around Naruto. The tiptoeing was still there, but it lessened to an extent where his classmates would greet him ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ while they walked to their hideout. He was right in not asking because the blonde eventually overshared everything.

The second years held an impromptu race before the culmination. Naruto, eager to get the front seat view, pushed against the crowds, incidentally landed on the track, became the representative of the first years, and won the race. Ultimately, it ended on a good note despite the rookie athletes being overshadowed, and Naruto’s bully magnet has transformed into some sort of people magnet. His classmates have asked him for lunch several times in the presence of Sasuke, but Naruto turned them down.

“You can ask for shares in their bento boxes or struck gold and have them make you one,” Sasuke said. “You don’t need to litter around here.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Naruto replied, grinning while handing him a juice carton.

It was cherry tomato flavored – an unusual choice for the simple-minded Naruto who would easily settle on an orange or grapefruit juice. Sasuke understood this was the blonde’s kind of pull on people, and he heard what he tried to say between the lines. “It’s the stares.”

“And the request for the background story no one really wants to hear.”

Sasuke sipped the last of the juice from the carton. “Just think of it as your villain origin story.”

“But I want to be a hero and do main character things!”

He crumpled the juice carton in his hands and playfully threw it towards Naruto, perfectly landing in the middle of the styled spikes. “You simpleton.” The blonde gave him an intense glare and threw the carton back to Sasuke, missing the small smile that formed on the latter’s lips.

When the last term wrapped up, student rankings were finally pinned in the major hallway entrance. Sasuke was itching to go home and eat a pack of instant ramen, but Naruto picked him up from his classroom and dragged him to the hallway. As usual, there were the awed and open-eyed stares, basically confirming that he placed first, but there was also clear contempt towards his nonchalance.

“You are really a genius, Sasuke.” Naruto patted him on the back – soft, gentle pats, reassuring, and proud. It was like the ones given to him by his parents when he placed first or won a contest. All of a sudden, the place was too stifling, and his hand unconsciously went to his throat to massage it, hoping he could get rid of the thing that was blocking his airway.

A hand with a bluish fingernail shot out from his dimming sight and brought him back to reality. It was Sakura holding out her hand for a handshake. “I guess you beat me…by 0.5 point.”

“You had a bet with Sasuke, Sakura?” Naruto asked. In between the cultural festival and the spring term, the two had become familiar with each other, occasionally greeting each other in the hallways between classes, but Sakura never had a direct interaction with Sasuke.

“Yes, during the cultural festival,” the walking cherry blossoms happily replied. Her hand was still struck out, earning questioning glances from the surrounding student body because who would dare ignore the unofficial darling of the school?

“It wasn’t a bet.” Sasuke tugged on Naruto’s collar. “Let’s go, Naruto.” He turned with the blonde in tow, but Hatake Kakashi blocked his way. He had on a protective stance with crossed arms and slight brow raise. The book he was always carrying was peeking out from his pants’ pocket.

“Don’t leave a girl waiting for a handshake, Mr. Uchiha. That’s disrespectful in a competition.” His lips were curved in that consistent ambiguous smile that highlighted the beauty mark on his chin. Kakashi firmly grabbed Sasuke’s hand in the next seconds and placed it on Sakura’s still open palm.

Contrary to his assumption, her palm was rugged with rough contours and with evident history of calluses – the hands of a hard worker. Sasuke wanted to blame his stored prejudices on her cherry pink hair. He looked up, annoyed and wanting to get his hand off from her hold but was frozen in place by the visible flush on her face. Oblivious of his effect, Kakashi’s grip remained on Sasuke’s hand in an attempt of a handshake. “That seals the deal this term. Looking forward to your competition next term.” The spectators rode on the teacher’s easy-going energy and shrugged off this weird encounter.

Naruto was the one who tugged on Sasuke’s collar and pulled him away from the crowd. The latter immediately shoved his hands inside his pockets and walked away briskly. Ever so briefly, Sasuke glanced back and saw Kakashi patting Sakura’s shoulder, probably offering congratulations, and validating her. He wondered whether the teacher noticed the subtle hair tuck or the redness of her ears and nape. Naruto’s arm blocked his view as the blonde placed it around his shoulders, snickering and praising his ‘friend’s genius skills’ all the way to the school gates where they eventually separated and welcomed the summer break.

------------------------------

Not a week into summer Naruto hunted Sasuke down and knocked incessantly on his door. “Grumpy! Save me!”

“If you’re on the verge of dying, call 119.” Sasuke increased the volume of the cd player to drown out the noise. The knocks stopped after a few seconds which gave Sasuke temporary relief.

“Sasuke!”

Nope, he wasn’t gone. “What do you want?”

“Math remedial classes. In exchange, I have ramen.”

No one really visited him and so if he would open the door, Naruto would be his first ever visitor. Sasuke tried to ascertain his feelings – whether he was angry that someone intruded in his personal space or relieved he didn’t need to be alone with his thoughts.

“You better brought a lot,” Sasuke said as he opened the door. Naruto held up an eco-bag full of ramen, chips, and soda. On his other arm were their school books and Math notebook.

“You’re hopeless.” Naruto’s scores were averaging between 40s and 50s. “I thought you were on scholarship?”

“There’s no academic crap so I’m good.” Naruto kept on glancing around Sasuke’s apartment, noting the neat line-up of books, the opened cases of CDs, the lack of television, and the closed curtains over the wide full-length windows. “How come your apartment is cleaner and bigger? I could never keep my space clean. It takes so much energy!”

“I have the better side of the coin, remember?”

“Eh but your fridge is empty,” Naruto noted as he started to cook ramen.

“As if yours isn’t. Besides, don’t you need to study first?”

“No, no, no. Haven’t you heard of positive reinforcement? Incentive first before the hard work!”

For the next two weeks, Naruto came over with ramen packs and Sasuke would help him with Math classes. On the last day, he accompanied Naruto to school as the blonde submitted his requirements.

“Thank you, personal tutor. Because of you, I have passed my make-up classes and can now enjoy the remaining days of summer!” Naruto punched his fists in the air, invigorated by his academic freedom. “So what are your plans?”

“Leave me alone. That’s your payment.” Sasuke quickly said, followed with a sigh. His social battery was down, and he believed it was already swimming in negatives.

Naruto yelled a greeting to someone and damned if Sasuke knew who it was, but he was suddenly being dragged into a baseball field. Naruto had quite the strength, and Sasuke just knew he was lifting weights in his free time.

“Mind filling in? We’re just short for two in a practice game.”

“Yes, I mind,” Sasuke said without missing a beat. “Naruto, I hate you.”

Naruto gave him a very worn-out mitt while he swung the batt over his shoulder. “Just one game. I’ll have ramen delivered to your apartment.”

Sasuke released a sigh again. What a drag.

The players settled in their respective places, Sasuke stayed on the pitcher’s mound, and Naruto was the batter. The catcher signaled him to release the ball. Relying on his muscle memory, Sasuke pitched a curve ball towards Naruto, and the blonde easily hit it towards homerun.

“Sasuke! Great pitch!” Naruto ran towards him with his arms ready for a hug but Sasuke dodged the attempt.

“What a monster pitch. Are you sure you don’t want to try out?” the second years asked. Naruto was obviously very taken with the sport and didn’t miss the chance to start talking with the members. When the question was asked, he turned to Sasuke with a silent plea in his eyes, but Sasuke knew it wasn’t the place he can belong in.

“You have Naruto. He seems to be a great batter, don’t you think so?” Sasuke said.

“Well, if it came from the genius Uchiha Sasuke, then we gotta take Naruto in.”

Sasuke waved goodbye to Naruto who decided to stay for the remaining of the practice game. He didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for himself, having been left alone again by someone who found a better place. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t like baseball. It was his brother’s favorite game.

------------------------------

“When is Itachi coming back?” He kept on rolling the car windows up and down on his side, sick of the sights of the endless sea and the cliffs. “Why does he need to go to England when there are good schools here?”

“That’s where the best medical program is, Sasuke. Your brother is just chasing his dreams.” His mother turned to him from the passenger side. “When he graduates, let’s all go visit him in Oxford.”

“Let’s have him pay for our Euro trip,” his father jokingly added.

His father was a careful driver – his eyes never left the road, he rode with a constant speed that was neither fast nor slow, he was careful with blind curves. In his lifetime, he got a parking ticket once when his wife’s water broke in the office, and he haphazardly parked across the lane to quickly get to her and ensure the safe delivery of their youngest.

His father was a careful driver, but others were not. A motorcycle shot out of nowhere while they were turning on a blind curve. The car veered to the other side facing the sea and the cliffs, the tires sliding forward and then downward, loud thumps as if repeatedly beaten by waves on rocky shores, and finally a loud crash.

Sasuke was disoriented. The sun was setting on the ocean, but he smelled gasoline instead of the salty air. He had an inkling his forehead was cut because the blood was hindering his sight. He heard grunting noises and pained screams from his parents, but he didn’t know if they were still in front of him or under him, but he felt someone pull him out of the car.

Thank goodness all three of them were still alive.

“You’re bleeding. Sasuke, Sasuke, here a handkerchief.” His mother’s face was cut across, and her one eye was gouged out. She firmly put the bloody handkerchief in his trembling hands. “Go, put it on your forehead.”

His father. Where was his father? He was already lying down on the sand. That was weird. Weren’t sand supposed to be gray? Why was it red? Why was it bloody red? His father’s one hand was on his side, the red water flowing through his fingers’ tight clasp. He reached out his other arm to Sasuke’s leg, patting it reassuringly. “Are you okay, son?”

His mother was coughing now. And then there was a loud explosion. It was deafening and roaring and then Sasuke heard nothing.

He heard nothing but waves for the next twelve hours. Maybe he was just asleep, and this was just a long nightmare. Then the sirens came.

Sasuke woke up drenched in a cold sweat, his mouth dry, and his heartbeat convulsing in its own chamber. He probably screamed again. He checked the digital clock on his bedside table, and it blinked back eights at him. “What a useless thing.”

Regardless of the time, he slipped into his sweatpants and hoodie and made his way downtown. He saw a café with cream puffs on display and decided to order one as his dinner. Just tonight.

“Hello, good evening. What are you buying?” A cheery voice greeted him on the counter.

He quietly pointed at one plate of cream puffs. “And one iced latte for dine-in.” There was a flash of recognition when his eyes met those of the girl on the counter.

She was dressed in the usual neutral black and white get-up of café employees, her hair was black and cropped short below her neck, she had light make-up on – it was a good disguise to throw off her scent, but her emerald eyes were a giveaway.

“Got that.” She brushed this off so easily that he thought he imagined the previous scene. Never mind, he didn’t even want to ask. His demons were enough to occupy his headspace. He stood silent, looking aimlessly at the handwritten menus while she prepared his coffee. “Here’s your order. Thank you.”

He took the tray containing his cream puffs and latte from her hand. When he grazed her palm, he basically got the confirmation he needed. She was a hard worker. He quietly slid on the loveseat at the end of the café with the clear view of the passing crowd and streets and consumed the sweets he ordered from time to time. His stomach was grumbling; he might have missed dinner and he still didn’t know what time it was.

Yes, noise is good, crowds are good. In them, I can be no one. He didn’t know how long he was staring outside. When his hands strayed to the plate, his cream puffs were already gone and his latte almost halfway there. She was also sitting in front of him, out of her work clothes but still in disguise. They just sat there in silence as the café started taking final orders and closing some sections of the place.

“Tough day?” Sakura was looking outside the window when she asked this. He initially thought she was avoiding him, but it was apparently for his own sake. With her looking away, he was allowed to be vulnerable.

“Bad dream,” Sasuke replied, taking up her invisible offer. He swirled the latte and regretted not getting a pure espresso to keep himself awake for the rest of the night.

“Hmm, that explains the sweets and caffeine, but that’s no good.”

He didn’t want to go back yet to his apartment. He wanted to lose himself in the crowd. “I’ll also walk myself to exhaustion.”

“Just aimless walking with no particular destination in mind, huh? Did that too one time and arrived home with an intense stomachache.” She took something from her bag and pushed it across the table with her eyes cast downward. “Something to fuel you on your journey tonight.”

“That’s no good – skipping meals.” Sasuke pushed the untouched bento box back to her side.

Sakura pushed it all the way to his hands, her eyes still never meeting his. “Too late for that now. It’s twelve midnight, and I’ll go home to rest while you’ll still be walking for God knows how many miles until sunrise. E-A-T.”

“Don’t you charge for outside food?”

“Silly, you have me. Now finish that so I can go home.”

Sasuke opened the bento box, holding no expectations to the contents because any proper meal was sumptuous to the appetite of a hungry person, and as he ate, she watched the passing crowds and a few minutes later, the burst of fireworks in the night sky. It was the culmination of the town’s summer festival.

She accompanied him in easy silence until he finished eating and pushed the now empty bento box to her side. She didn’t move from her place, her eyes still glued on the sights outside, so he took that as his cue to leave.

He made the mistake of looking at the window and saw her reflection looking at him leaving. He held her gaze through that and sincerely conveyed his feelings. “Thank you.”

She smiled at him and waved him goodbye.

The lights went out in the café when he stepped outside, and while he started to walk aimlessly, her eyes followed his back, a stranger in disguise wishing him comfort from the dark.

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 3

#SCPS #student council president sakura #tw for trauma #sasusaku #narusaku #kakasaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #uzumaki naruto #hatake kakashi #sasuke #sakura #kakashi #naruto #full of friendship moments #she was his og comfort person

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not-close-to-straight · 4 years

Text

You Give Love a Bad Name (Four)

MASTERLIST

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

Chapter Four: Somewhere Classified

“What do you mean, the house was empty?” Alexander Pierce pushed aside his cocktail in favor of rubbing at his eyes wearily. “How was it empty?”

“Not just empty sir, but shot to hell.” Brock said on the other line. “I think they went at it and tried to kill each other and then when they couldn’t, they ran together.”

“The Black Widow and Winter Soldier wouldn’t run together even if the goddamn world was ending.” Pierce denied. “Additional options. A safe room built beneath the house?”

“Found it, destroyed it. The weapons racks were empty, so wherever the Soldier got off to, he’s well armed.”

“And the Widow?”

“She’s got bug out spots all over the country. We’ll never find her.”

“Damn it.” Pierce forced out an uneven breath. “Okay, you and your team stay on it. I’ve got to make a call to someone who might actually know what to do with this mess.”

“Oh no, not--”

“Yep.” he nodded grimly. “Stay on them and report back to me immediately with any word.”

“Yes sir.”

The phone went dead and Pierce pulled a different one out from a locked drawer, banged his head against the desk a few times and then finally dialed the only number he actually knew by heart.

“What do you want, Pierce?”

“Fury.” Pierce pursed his lips and tried for patience. “The worst has happened.”

“Oh motherfucker.”

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

“All I’m saying is that we could have jacked something better than a minivan.” Bucky complained as he merged into freeway traffic. “It’s like driving a bus, but somehow this is less cool than a bus.”

“Minivans are the vehicles people remember the least.” Natasha propped her little feet up on the dash and took a bite out of Bucky’s candy bar. “Their basic design hasn’t changed in the last decade, they rarely come in colors other than white, and people don’t want to look at them. No one wants to see a stressed out dad, exhausted mom and four bratty ass kids unload from a vehicle with sliding doors, sticky seats and a plethora of suburban paraphernalia.”

“Damn baby, you got something against minivans?” Bucky reached across the middle console and spread his big hand across Nat’s thigh. “You sound fifty shades of bitter about them. Oh and by the way, super glad the only thing that survived our little war last night was your summer skirt. My god, do your legs look good in this.”

“My legs do look good in this.” Natasha admired the shape of her calves beneath the flowy skirt. “I hate minivans because every day for the last three years, the Stepford wives have been asking me when we’ll have kids and offering me advice on which minivan to get. And by the way? I knew you stole my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. I knew it.”

“I didn’t steal it.” Bucky disagreed. “I threw that shit away. You want someone to tie you up, just ask. Don’t read that nonsense, it’s abuse pretending to be romance. You want to be dommed sugar, I can do that all night long. But don’t read that trash and get off to it when it’s nothing good.”

Natasha cut her eyes at him curiously. “You have….very strong feelings about that book.”

“I have very strong feelings about my wife looking for something gross when I’d’a been more than happy to give her something real.” Bucky snapped, then swore and shook his head. “Don’t mean to yell, sorry, I just--”

“I think it’s terribly romantic that you would have tried that sort of thing with me if I’d wanted.” Natasha had to climb over most of the console to kiss Bucky’s cheek, but she did it anyway. “But I wasn’t reading it because I liked it, or got off to it or anything like that.”

“No?”

“Remember that diplomat that got killed last year? He was into it, so when word got out he was looking for a sort of specific scene and liked those books, I read up on them to see what it was like.”

“So what?” Bucky shot her a scandalized look. “You got the guy naked and all subby and then killed him?”

“Men like him deserve to be killed with their dick out.” she answered calmly. “Take this next exit, please.”

“It wasn’t my real parents at our wedding.” Bucky said as he switched lanes. “I paid a nice couple in the hotel five hundred bucks to stand up with me.”

“My sister who was my maid of honor is actually Maria Hill, covert ops, all around bad ass and probably on the list of people trying to kill us right now.” she commented. “Stay left and take the road around.”

“I’m not allergic to fish, I just hate how you cook salmon.” Bucky slowed down to take the corner and grumbled about how unwieldy the minivan was. “Use some damn salt, Nat.”

“Eh, like I said.” she shrugged. “I haven’t cooked a day in my life, no harm done. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” Bucky pointed to her eyes. “What about you?”

“Your favorite color is my eye color?” Natasha asked suspiciously. “Since when?”

“Since you took that shot of tequila on the beach and never broke eye contact.” Bucky confirmed. “I was basically fucked from that point.”

“You were basically fucked.” she agreed. “I rode you hard and put you away wet.”

“All about that Bronco life, babydoll.” he chuckled. “By the way, why are we going to Fury and not Pierce?”

“Because Fury runs the world and he’ll have the full story whereas Pierce will only have your side of the story.”

“My side knows things too, Tasha.”

“Oh not like my side does.” She laughed quietly at his disgruntled expression. “Plus, I helped design our building. I know exactly how to get in and out without making a scene. We’ll get to Fury’s office, erase our files and anything else even slightly incriminating and then we’ll get out and start a new life somewhere outside the borders.”

“And if we get noticed?”

“Then we have a minivan full of things that go boom.” Natasha checked on their pile of ammunition, guns and grenades taking over the back two rows of the van. “We’ll be fine.”

***********

Despite Bucky’s misgivings and how weirdly unsure he was about leaving the minivan parked in a less-than-reputable spot downtown-- “What if it gets stolen, Nat?” “Oh my love, we already stole it once, what’s the harm in it getting snatched a second time?” -- Natasha’s choice to go after Fury’s office proved to be a good one.

She really did know the building inside and out, right down to which of the man hole covers was a fake and led directly down to tunnels beneath the building, how far down the-- ick-- stinky sewer pipes they had to travel, and which closet they would pop into when the tunnels finally turned up and into the headquarters.

“This is the supply closet on the first floor. Backside of the security desk.” Natasha whispered as she wriggled out of the trap door and waited for Bucky to follow her. “The desk is for civilians that come in, and there isn’t actually anything on the next twenty levels, just elevator cables and empty floors. Offices start at twenty one and Fury is on twenty six. We’ll have to go through the elevator shaft and hopefully catch a ride on top of one of the cars.”

“No problem.” Bucky said confidently. “I’ve jumped on top of a car or two in my day. You were in Germany, weren’t you?”

“I vaguely remember hearing about the Winter Soldier ripping the top off a car on the Autobahn and then blowing up a tunnel.” Natasha slung an automatic rifle over her shoulder, looped a rope around her waist and strapped twin holsters on her thighs. “By the way? I love that you are so capable. This would be at least a thousand times more difficult if you really were the clueless meathead I thought you were.”

“...you thought I was a clueless meathead?” Bucky sounded halfway to scandalized. “Is it because I’m muscly? C’mon Tash, I can have brains and brawn.”

Nat only twisted her lips in a smirk and pointed up to the ceiling. “Give me a boost?”

“Sure thing.” Bucky lifted her easily, first by the waist then holding her steady so she could stand on his shoulders. “You really thought I was clueless, huh?”

“It was either clueless--” Natasha huffed as she wriggled herself into the air duct that would lead out to the elevator shaft. “Or I had to think that you noticed me keeping my distance and didn’t care enough to try and reach me. The clueless option hurt less.”

“M’sorry, Tash.” Bucky heaved his bulk up behind her, grimacing when his shoulders pushed against the walls of the duct. “Truth was, it was so nice to keep such an easy cover that by th’time I realized how far away you were and how much I missed ya, it was too late.”

“Hm.” was Natasha’s only reply before she set off down the duct, her skirt tucked into her waist so the material wouldn’t catch under her knees and trip her up.

It was a practical choice considering how impractical her skirt was for this sort of mission, but then again, it was her own fault for not wanting to stop and get more clothing and faced with the rather tantalizing view of his wife’s backside, Bucky wasn’t about to complain.

He was going to comment though.

“Y’know, I don’t remember you havin’ those sorta panties before.” he reached out and flicked the curve of one ridiculously pretty, barely covered butt cheek. “I would’a remembered these for sure.”

“Flick my ass again and I’ll break your hand.” Natasha retorted. “And maybe if you would have done laundry every once in a while, maybe you would have seen them.”

“Yep, that’s fair. I got no idea how to do laundry.” Bucky conceded with a quiet laugh. “Tell ya what, if you’re still wearing these when it’s all said and done, m’gonna take them off with my teeth.”

“If I’m still wearing them?”

“Yeah, if I haven’t ripped them off before then, since now that I know what you’re wearin’, it’s all I can think about.”

“You are worthless.” Natasha decided, and Bucky cheesed, “They don’t call me Bronco cos I’m subtle!”

The pretty redhead hung her head as she tried to quiet her laughter. “Sweetheart, I am well aware of why they call you Bronco. Now hush up, the elevator shaft is just ahead.”

The elevators moved fast in this building, swooping down in the blink of an eye and rocketing towards the top floors at dizzying speeds. Natasha wasn’t scared of much, but trying to jump onto a runaway elevator car without plunging to a horrifying death several floors down was sketchy at best, sort of terrifying at worst.

Thankfully-- or not so thankfully, probably-- Bucky wasn’t scared of anything and after decades of less than fun experimentation and constant training and tweaking of his particular brand of super soldier serum, he had lightning fast reflexes and impeccable timing and--

“SHIT!” Natasha yelped when Bucky just pushed her, clamped her mouth shut and prayed when she hung out in mid air on nothing for a few terrifying seconds before the elevator car rushed up to meet her.

Bucky was on the car a split second later, rolling over and covering Natasha with his bulk until she managed to get her breath back and it was there with Bucky crouched over her and the elevator humming beneath them that Tasha whispered, “You know, I never worried you didn’t have my back. Even when I thought you were clueless.”

“Hell sugar, I would’a taken on the entire Home Owners Association for you.” Bucky whispered back, dropped a kiss on her ear, then rolled off to crouch into a ready position as the car raced towards the top. “Any chance this thing is gonna crush us into super soldier paste at the top?”

“Nope, there’s only stairs to Fury’s office, so it will stop one floor above.” Natasha confirmed. “Fury figures if people have to come up the stairs to get to him, he can shoot them all before they reach the landing.”

“Charming.”

“Oh yeah, he’s a peach.”

The elevator slid to a stop quick enough to make their stomachs swoop, and while Natasha peeked down into the car to watch the top floor receptionist get in and push the button for back down, Bucky eyed the steel support beams in the elevator shaft and listened to the timing of the doors on the floor below them. The second he felt the slightest change in the car that signaled it was ready to move, he snatched Tasha around the waist and stepped off onto one of the support beams, held her close while the elevator dropped into the yawning nothing, then made sure she was secure before reaching up above their heads and wrenching an air duct cover free.

“Up and at’em sugar pie.” he grunted, and Natasha climbed him like a damn tree, clambering up his waist, onto his shoulders and then leaping off to fling herself into the duct. Bucky wasn’t quite as graceful, but while he was trying to get his frame into the narrow space, Natasha cut the wires to the vent security systems and once the nearly imperceptible hum of surveillance shut off, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah babydoll.” Bucky wrapped his left hand around Natasha’s delicate ankle and squeezed gently. “Those undies ain’t gonna last this trip through the vent. You might as well drop trou now, there’s no way I’ll survive looking at your booty this long.”

“Behave.” Natasha warned, but her green eyes flashed bright enough to make Bucky’s mouth dry. “Once we’re out of here you can do whatever you want to my undies.”

“Fair deal. Let’s go.”

The vents let out in the stairs, and the moment they could stand up straight, both spies had weapons drawn and at the ready, watching for any movement, for any cameras that Natasha didn’t remember from before, for anything that sounded like voices on the floor above.

Up and up and up, and Bucky covered Tasha while she picked the lock, slid through the door to Fury’s office, and made a beeline for the computer at the desk.

“I thought you said you hated all this tech stuff.” Bucky commented as he watched her fingers fly over the keyboard. “What was that all about?”

“My love, I also told you it was adorable when you wore sandals and knee high socks.” Natasha glanced up from the computer long enough to send her husband a wry smile. “I lied about both things.”

“Our entire marriage is a sham.” Bucky lamented, and he was only half joking, mostly sad. “Tash, is anything I know about you true?”

“I never once faked it in bed.” Natasha kept typing, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “Never once. Even when we were as boringly missionary position vanilla as possible? You were always so good, and I don’t know if I hate it or love it that even when we were lying to each other, you still knew me well enough to wind me up like that.”

“Never faked, huh?” Bucky felt like maybe he shouldn’t be grinning quite so wide over that admission, and judging by the unimpressed noise Natasha made, she agreed. “Well if it makes you feel any better, I never faked it either.”

“I’m well aware.” Something blared an alarm on the computer and Natasha cursed under her breath before finishing, “Your mid-nut face is ridiculously stupid, there’s no way you could have faked that.”

“Fuck you, Tash.”

“We make it out of here alive, and I’m gonna make you do exactly that.” A few more key strokes and the computer made another one of those alarm noises. “Almost almost almost done, I just need a minute and then I can wipe everything--”

“Oh I’d hold off on that, if I were you.” Two new voices, Pierce and Fury walking into the office together, the two heads of competing espionage companies looking far too chummy for what they’d just discovered in the office. “No need to be reckless, Romanov.”

Guns up immediately, Bucky whirling around with rifle at the ready and blocking Natasha from view, thinking he did a good job of it too until he heard the familiar click of her guns on either side of his head and realized she had both pistols up and ready to unleash.

“I got you, baby doll.” he said easily, and Natasha murmured, “Oh, but I’ve got you first, my love.”

“This is cute.” Fury motioned between the two of them, his one good eye narrowed curiously. “The way you two act like you love each other instead of acting like you aren’t two minutes from killing each other. Romanov, hands off the button.”

“Hands are off only because they’re on the trigger.” she said coolly. “Tell me, Director. How long have you known I was cohabiting with the Winter Soldier.”

“Oh, I can answer that.” Alexander Pierce spoke up then, keeping more distance between himself and the two spies than Fury was, either more aware of exactly what the Winter Soldier could do, or more scared of what either pissed off operative could manage before he had a chance to defend himself. “It was the funniest thing, you know. I sent the Soldier deep cover to recover after replacing his arm. Only pulled him out for the most important assignments and we were ultra lucky that the Black Widow had seemingly retired and wasn’t disrupting our plans. We even hoped the bitch was dead but alas--”

He smiled tightly at Natasha. “--a pipe dream, as it were. Because about a year and a half ago when Fury and I decided to start sharing intel to take down a common competitor, we discovered that both our top operatives were under cover in the suburbs just outside the city.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Director Fury cut in again. “All the things I learned when Pierce and I started collaborating and nothing prepared me for the Winter Soldier files. Not his violence, not his vengeance, not the way he looked exactly like the doofus beach bum Natasha had seduced into a sham marriage two years previous.”

“It was nice to finally get a picture of the Black Widow.” Pierce added. “Not so nice to see a picture of her in pearls and an apron in the holiday card from The Winter Soldier. So we did the only thing we could do.”

“Which was?”

“Watching the two of you for the better part of a year to see if you were compromised and sharing information, or if you’d gotten so lax in your duties neither had any idea they were sharing a bed with the enemy.” the Director said flatly. “Sent you both on the same assignment figuring it would kick both your training in. Natasha, I’ve never seen you hesitate on a shot before, and the Winter Soldier has never missed once. By not killing each other, you solved our problem for us.”

“The problem of how to retire the two most dangerous people in the world.” Pierce confirmed. “And then you pull this little stunt and are up here trying to delete files-- Come on, Romanov. You didn’t think it would be this easy, did you?”

“I dunno, I thought it was sorta hard. That elevator was no joke” Bucky muttered, and Natasha kicked him in the back of the foot and hissed, “Hush, damn it!”

“You know as well as I do the protocol for deleting files.” Fury interrupted, wagging his finger warningly. “It’s not so much a delete thing as it is a share it with the world thing. All your covers would be blown, bank accounts frozen, every bit of information including pictures and aliases dumped onto the internet for any yokel to find. Every warrant for your arrest would activate and you’d land on the top of the most wanted list for half the countries in the globe.”

“Guess we’ll have to find a country without a most wanted list then.” Natasha set her guns down and went back to the computer. “Watch them, baby.”

“Oh, I got’em.” Bucky promised. “You sure about this though, sugar? Sure you wanna blow it all like that?”

“It’s either this or they make us kill each other.” Natasha went back to typing, glancing up periodically at the two men. “You know that.”

“He knows that.” Pierce said confidently. “But I’m willing to make good on our original plan, if you are. I’d rather not lose two valuable agents, let’s cut our losses at one. Whichever one of you puts a bullet in the other right now comes back into the fold, no questions asked, no issues taken.”

“Same deal goes for you Romanov.” Fury was quick to add when Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Shoot the Soldier in the back and I’ll call off the hit. I don’t want to lose you, but he’s compromised you, so he’s gotta go.”

Bucky was silent, and the constant click click of computer keys paused as Natasha closed her eyes briefly.

“Honestly, Barnes.” Bucky’s head shot up in surprise when Pierce used his real name. “Natasha Romanov? The Black Widow? In what universe do you think she actually loves you? Do you really think you could have a happily ever after with her? She can’t cook, she can barely make small talk beyond asking about weapons, hell she can’t even have kids.”

Behind him, Natasha sucked in a harsh breath and even Fury looked uncomfortable with the sudden turn in the conversation, but Pierce either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“How are you going to have a happily ever after with a woman who is less of a woman and more of a machine?” Pierce pressed, growing bolder as the door opened behind him and commandos filed silently in, guns raised and trigger fingers ready. “The Widow is so dedicated to her work she chose to give that up. You can’t tell me she’s going to be happy playing housewife in the suburbs.”

“Romanov, you brought a building down on the Soldier three years ago knowing full well it would kill him.” Fury growled impatiently when Natasha went back to typing. “Looked down your scope at him and killed him anyway. What’s different now? He lied to you for years.”

“Yeah, well I lied to him too.” Natasha spat, and then hesitated, a brief there and gone touch at her stomach. “Bucky, darling--”

“I don’t care about that.” Bucky tightened his hand on the rifle. “Don’t care about it, and to be real honest Pierce, you deserve a swift kick in the balls for trying to throw that in my wife’s face. Th’fuck is wrong with you?”

“Either way, there’s no way out.” The Director interjected. “You hit that button, your lives are ruined and these men will make sure you never see the light of day again. Don’t hit that button and kill the Soldier instead, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. I won’t leave you out in the cold, Romanov. I promise.”

“You have always been good to me, Director.” Natasha said softly, mockingly. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to do the proper housewife thing and defer to my husband on this. Bucky?”

“Yeah, sugar.”

“Do you trust me?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder lightning fast, saw all he needed to see in a blink of his eye and nodded. “With my life, Tash. Do you love me?”

“Viciously.” she whispered.

“On three then.” Bucky took a step back towards the desk, kept his rifle pointed at one or the other of their bosses. “One.”

“Two.” Natasha hit a final button on the computer and snatched the rope from her waist, backing towards the huge windows behind them, the ones that looked over the city and were several hundred feet above nothing. “My love?”

“Three---”

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

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

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#ncts fics #winterwidow

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buckybarnabus · 3 years

Text

Bungalow on the Beach, part 1

Of Pink Umbrellas and Other Things

Summary: Dawn and Bucky are forced on vacation. It really isn't so bad.

Warnings: Some cursing. Brief descriptions of sex, so be aware

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: Next part of my Snapshots series involving Bucky Barnes and OFC Dawn. I can’t for the life of me write a whole multi-chaptered story, so this will be a series of one shots in no particular order that may or may not develop into something coherent over time. You can also read on AO3 if you want. Thank you!

A gentle breeze through open windows. Late morning sunlight. The sound of the ocean, and sea gulls, and wind chimes dancing in the breeze. Warmth. Almost too warm, enough to leave the skin sticky and almost uncomfortable. These were the things that greeted Bucky when he woke up. More than that, what drew him from his slumber in the first place, was the shuffling of sheets beside him, the weight of another body settling over him, fingers sliding up the sticky skin of his chest.

He pulled in a heavy, tired sigh, furrowed his brows, kept his eyes shut against the sunlight. His hands came up to rest on the thighs encasing his hips, the bare skin smooth and warm beneath his fingers. Hair tickled his chest, and a sweet, gentle pair of lips placed the lightest of kisses along his collar bone. Bucky’s hands moved from Dawn’s thighs to her hips, fingers slipping under the hem of a borrowed t-shirt to touch her skin, and he let them simply rest there as she continued peppering little kisses along his chest. He just breathed for a while, let himself appreciate the feel of Dawn’s skin under his hands, let himself just touch like he never could before.

Bucky finally cracked his eyes open when Dawn shuffled just a little further up his body to gently nip at his chin. His heart fluttered in his chest upon seeing her. Hair wild and sleep mussed, eyes soft and sleepy, cheeks warm with wakefulness in the almost-too-warm morning. He would never get used to seeing her that way. He pulled a hand away from her hip when she pulled back, touching his fingers to her cheek, trailing a nearly faded bruise, a reminder of the mission that almost broke them both.

He didn’t want to think about it. They were on the beach to forget, to take some time for themselves, to just exist for a while. He pressed a feather light thumb against Dawn’s bottom lip, and she nipped at it playfully. Bucky didn’t want to break the peace with words. Not yet. He just wanted her. They looked at each other for a minute, lost in their warm, sleepy little bubble, and Bucky was so fucking in love. He cupped his right hand gently around the back of her neck and pushed himself up just enough to press his lips against hers in silent greeting.

She rode him right there, slow and lazy and perfect, the sounds of the ocean, and wind chimes, and sea gulls playing the soundtrack to their shaky sighs.

It had been Sam’s idea to send them on vacation, after everything. He basically had to force them into it, booked their flight and all but dragged them by the scruff to the airport. Bucky and Dawn had fought against the idea at first, but Sam was right. They were at the end of their respective ropes, one situation gone south away from losing it completely.

‘You two need to take care of yourselves for a while,’ he had told them, when they showed up, wild eyed and battered, on his door step.

‘Stop being weapons, learn how to be people. Separate the two. I’ll see you in a month. I also expect some grossly cute vacation pictures,’ he had told them at the airport.

Those first few days on the beach were... weird. Dawn and Bucky were in some sort of limbo, stuck somewhere between trying to relax and wanting to run back into chaos altogether.

It didn’t really click, at least for Bucky, until the end of the first week. They had somehow gotten roped into some kind of beachfront bar party by some of the locals in town. It was Dawn’s doing, really. They’d been in the marketplace, just wandering around and buying things they probably didn’t need, and she got to talking with some of the locals when they stopped to eat. They had immediately taken a liking to her. Bucky really couldn’t blame them. She had drawn him in easily enough, after all. She was just sitting there, with her bright smile and musical laugh, looking pretty in a sun dress, of course they loved her. Next thing he knew, they were at a bar at sunset on the never ending beach, surrounded by laughter and music and a whole bunch of people who either didn’t know, or didn’t care who they were.

He was standing at the bar, cradling a fruity drink with a stupid little pink umbrella in it, having a conversation with an older man in one of the ugliest shirts Bucky had ever seen. He found himself smiling, laughing. At ease in a setting he never thought he’d be at ease in again, and he had no idea how it happened. The sand was warm between his toes. The breeze felt nice, his drink was sweet, and he was content.

Bucky would remember seeking Dawn out the moment he understood the feeling. He spotted her on the far side of the bar, dancing with a group of people, her head thrown back in laughter. He briefly wondered how many of those decorated drinks she had since losing track of her in the first place.

“That girl you come with,” the old man said in his broken English, nudging Bucky to grab his attention. “Very beautiful. She has love. My people, they see. They know. You keep her,” he said, giving Bucky a knowing smile. Bucky huffed a breath of laughter, took a sip of his drink. He turned his eyes back to Dawn.

“She’s my best girl,” he said, voice far away, distracted. “I’d hate to let her down.” With that, Bucky pushed himself off of the bar, gave the old man a pat on the shoulder, and excused himself. He made his way through the sand, around bar goers, laser focused on getting to Dawn. He was riding some kind of high, with his newfound contentment with everything around him. He’d remember feeling absolutely drunk with it.

He’d remember the smile she gave him upon seeing him, the subtle furrow in her brow that told him she knew something had changed. The sound of her voice when she said his name in greeting. He didn’t say anything. Just took her face in his hands and kissed her because he could. He kissed her like he could pour every ounce of happiness and peace and contentment that he was feeling into it, like it would make her understand. He could taste the sugar on her teeth, the pineapple on her tongue, and he was so fucking in love.

That night was the first night they made love. It wasn’t just fucking. It wasn’t just the angry, desperate, rushed thing between two trained killers, two weapons who needed to feel something, anything, even if it wasn’t the right time. They made love under the moonlight shining in through the giant, open windows of their beachfront bungalow, and took a bath together in the stupidly large tub, and for the first time in a very, very long time, they started to remember what it meant to really be human. And they were so fucking in love.

#buckybarnabus writes #james barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #Bucky Barnes #bucky fluff #monday movie #sebastian stan #tfatws #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky barnes fanfiction #Winter Soldier #winter soldier x ofc #avengers #marvel

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ask-runaan-anything · 4 years

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So…the cat is out of the bag! A little shadowhawk has informed us that when you were first all smitten with Ethari, you were An Awkward Gay Disaster about it and just had SO MUCH TROUBLE with your weapons that resulted in you having to go back to him time and time again to get them “fixed.“ This is adorable and I need details. What’s the most desperate move you pulled to end up back in his workshop? Snap your own arrows? Break your own bowstring? Shatter your own knife? Did anyone ever catch you? Did anyone call you out because Ethari’s craftsmanship is so superb that it just made NO SENSE that his stuff “just kept happening” to break on you? How did you end up finally confessing the truth and that you had a crush? What’s your best story (stories?) about this? We must know. :)

__________

Little shadow, I have so many stories from this part of my life. And most of them are horribly embarrassing! Is it truly so amusing to ask me to relive those weeks of existential agony by retelling them? *sighs and smiles* It has been quite some time, though. And my affection was, in fact, returned. And I’ve been ridiculously happy with Ethari ever since. So, really, it’s just the first chapter in a long and beautiful story.

Very well. I will tell you some snippets from those days, if it truly pleases you to hear them. I do hope you’re comfortable, because this will take a while.

I hadn’t been living in the Silvergrove for very long before I realized that I’d caught feelings for Ethari. He was always so patient and capable, and the way he just hung on my every word, absorbing my very existence… it was intoxicating. I could barely think around him, and that was a new experience for me. I was absolutely a disaster. And I needed to be sure of him, sure that he felt like I did, and I do mean sure, before I said anything. Because some elves are just nice and helpful, and Ethari was definitely one of them, and I couldn’t just assume that he meant anything more by his attentiveness to me than to others, like Lain and Tiadrin. So the games, as they say, began.

I had to be very careful with my plan. I couldn’t be anywhere near as obvious as breaking arrows and bowstrings, no. I had to work my weapons into needing his help the hard way. And since I was new to the Silvergrove, it only made sense that I’d want to prove myself worthy to the other assassins. I trained so hard that I dulled and dented my swords on a wide variety of surfaces for which they were not intended. Rocks and other swords often, but not too many times in a row. I’d jam them into the ground at an angle and practice landing on the handle without falling off, which always bent them eventually. And I pushed everyone I sparred with, hoping for the odd bit of damage as well. It made all of us sharper, as it were. And it offered a far more legitimate sprinkling to my visits to my favorite craftsman.

It never hurt when I got to traipse into Ethari’s workshop with a bandaged arm or a cut on my cheek and explain that I’d just plain been sparring so hard because I was really good at what I was doing, very very dedicated and honorable, and now I desperately needed his help to continue my training, because my weapon had basically bent or chipped under the weight of my amazing prowess and could Ethari please very kindly take the tiniest moment to use his astonishingly accurate skills and set me right again, because I just can’t seem to be amazing without the work of his hands tenderly caring for my weapons.

Please understand, that was all subtext. What it really sounded like was this:

“Do you have a moment, Ethari?” I lingered at the doorway, waiting to be invited further in.

Ethari waved me closer with a welcoming hand. “Of course! How can I help you today?”

I approached him with my damaged sword held on my palms. “I… seem to have damaged my sword in practice today. An intense bout of sparring.” So he knew I didn’t do this every day, and that I had a perfectly logical reason for seeing him.

He kept his eyes on the sword. Very professional. “Oh yes? Let me take a look.”

His fingers always seemed to brush mine when he took my damaged weapon from me, and it always made me feel warm. But he never seemed to notice, even when his hands literally cupped mine and lifted the sword higher so he could study its damaged handle or blade more closely. Looking back, he knew exactly what he was doing to me when he’d touch me and pretend it was only for the job. I swear, I felt like a big, obvious, stammering mess most of the time. I can’t imagine how the whole village didn’t know how I felt about him. I really am a very good Moonshadow, though. All of my disaster chaos stayed on the inside. Most of the time.

At first, the repairs I needed would take some time, so I’d get to come back and see him the next day. But sometimes, the repair was quick, and he began to invite me to stay and watch. That let me hover over his shoulder, where I could admire him as he worked if I wanted to, without him catching me at it, and that opportunity nearly drove me to distraction. So I tried to damage my swords more lightly–dings and dents. And then he complimented me on improving! Ooh, he knew what he was doing there too. Ethari has such a light touch on me, in so many ways, and I’m shamelessly responsive to it, I admit.

Let me tell you, the day I finally caught him catching me staring at him nearly killed me. He has a little mirror that he uses to see customers come in behind him when he’s working. It sat on his work table the whole time I visited him. But I was so distracted by his shoulders, and his voice, and his hands, and did I mention those shoulders, that I didn’t really notice that he could see me staring at him instead of the work he was doing. He’d been fully aware of my gaze the whole time. Weeks and weeks. And he said nothing! He went still one day while he was retooling the pattern on my sword blade, and his sudden halt dragged me out of my admiring reverie. I jerked my eyes off his shoulders and they landed on the mirror, where our eyes met. And then there was no more hiding. He knew, and I knew he knew, and he knew I knew he knew.

I nearly panicked. I’d been so careful, and everything we’d done had been perfectly professional and orderly, and no one could point to any one moment and call me out for it. I thought that my falling head over heels for this elf had happened in perfect solitude, with none the wiser. Except then Ethari noticed.

And he wasn’t even surprised. He already knew. I nearly left right then. I had an excuse on the tip of my tongue–something casual, something easy. Something I’d said a dozen times before for perfectly legitimate reasons. But somehow, I managed to understand that, yes, sure, he had known I was staring at him admiringly–and he had let me do it. He’d let me come round with my perfectly reasonable excuses again and again. He’d touched my hands and pretended he didn’t see how I liked it. He stood close and pretended it was just business. He’d invited me to stay with him for an hour or two as often as he could, and then he’d pretended that he didn’t notice any of my admiring looks after he stationed me right behind him, where he could keep an eye on me. Because he didn’t want me to know he knew. He wanted me to keep visiting him.

Ethari’s all about eye contact. And when I stared into his sunset eyes that day in the mirror, I saw his heart. He smiled softly at me when he saw that I’d figured him out. He didn’t run, he wasn’t panicked. He knew his own heart and he accepted that for the truth it was. And that, that is what gave me the courage to reach out to him. Literally.

I rested a hand on his shoulder as I stood behind him at his work table, with my thumb pressing against his bare skin, and squeezed. hnggh so muscular And I told him, in a soft voice that was barely proclaimy at all, “Ethari, your work is beautiful.”

And he simply said, “You deserve my best, Runaan.” Then, very slowly, he reached back with his hand and took mine.

I couldn’t feel the floor. I could barely remember how to breathe. If you’ve ever had a deep love be requited, you vividly remember that first ethereal moment when you understand, believe, and truly trust that it’s being returned, that you are seen as more than just another ordinary person in your beloved’s life. We didn’t fall into each other’s arms and drown in passionate kisses–yet–but that moment in the mirror was the very first moment when we acknowledged each other’s hearts.

He finished repairing my sword and handed it back with the same gentle precision he always used. And I thanked him for his dedication and skills, as I always did. And then we stood there, smiling at each other like a pair of total idiots. He reached up and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ear for me. And I nearly fainted. I blurted that we should talk soon, and when he asked me what about, I immediately decided that I needed a new and better weapon, and maybe he could help me with its design.

It was the best bullshitting I’ve ever done in my life, because I believed it myself. What I wouldn’t give for a weapon Ethari designed just for me! What a good way to have to spend lots of time with him! He was instantly excited by the idea, and we stammered our way through some plans to meet up outside the village and discuss it.

Those plans involved a picnic somehow. Ethari’s idea. He cooked everything himself. We rode together to a private glade with an ancient massive stump and a loud waterfall, which meant we had to sit close together to discuss this new weapon of mine. After a few hours of honest brainstorming, I called for a break and asked him if he wanted to see the understump ruins nearby.

Understumps are like the basements of the Silvergrove. Large underground wooden rooms with several rooty hallways that connect them in a subterranean labyrinth, lined with glowing mushrooms for lighting. They’re usually for shadowy and secretive rites and meetings. But this one in the glade had been abandoned for centuries. And I wanted absolutely no prying eyes for this next part. Ethari readily agreed to join me, and we trekked down under the ground and deep beneath the ancient stump.

And there in that sacred silence, surrounded by soft glowing mushrooms and no one but the peaceful hush of Moonshadows long past, I took Ethari’s hands in mine and spoke one of the scariest truths I’ve ever uttered: “Ethari, I’m in love with you.”

When he replied, “I’m in love with you too, Runaan,” I nearly felt my soul ascend. I slid my fingers up along one of his arms, and he slid his up my other arm, and we pulled each other close and held each other. He smelled amazing, and he was soft and strong at the same time, and so very warm. That was the very first hug I got from Ethari. His arms were even more comforting than I thought they’d be. It took me several moments to get my breathing under control, I was so overwhelmed by this beautiful truth about this beautiful elf.

You can be as certain as you wish about anything, but until you actually hear and feel the truth you believe in, there’s always that tiny doubt that you’re just completely wrong. And in that moment, I knew: I wasn’t wrong. Ethari loved me just as much as I loved him. Having his warm, strong arms around me, finally, after all that time, felt…

It felt like coming home.

When I finally lifted my head from his shoulder and met his eyes–and his eyes are glorious up close, you have no idea–I lost all my breath all over again. I’d never stood that close to him before. He filled every one of my senses with euphoria. Well. almost every one of them–

“Can I kiss you now?” he murmured. “I’ve been waiting so long to do it.”

I managed a rather delirious gasp before his lips claimed mine. Ethari’s kisses are just as soft, warm, and strong as the rest of him, and by the end of that first kiss–not my very first kiss, but my first kiss where anything meant anything–he had to hold on tight so I didn’t fall over. It’s a good thing he’s so strong.

We left the grove holding hands, we started dating, he gifted me my bowblade, we got married, and the rest, as they say, is history.

#ask runaan #runaan answers #ethari #runaan #runaan x ethari #runaari #moonshadow courtship #first kiss #look you got me talking #submission

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aqvarius · 4 years

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If the MC from rmd was more mature and if rmd wasn't a love choice story with less episodes, would it be better? Or is there more stuff that needs changes?

yeah i do think so! so i think they tried to emulate hlitf (and mpd maybe? i’m not familiar enough with mpd to be able to say). in thinking about rmd and its future (in response to another ask which i’m still working on bc i lost my whole essay the other day lmao), i kind of theorise that they wanted rmd to be the next Big Title with a full lineup of “ensemble cast” type characters, instructor-student type dynamic (which can then ‘progress’ to colleague level), lots of lore/backstory, potential for lots of substories. the backlash against love choice has been strong in both japanese and international fandom as far as i know so i really think that was a big hindrance in terms of drumming up success for a title that is set up to have a LOT of content. hlitf has always had a leg up bc from the start, it rode off the success of msb and the demand for more public safety content, which is why right from the very start, they tried to push crossovers with hlitf/mpd. the very first rmd substory is a takado/kirisawa crossover, and then they had that extremely gratuitous cameo in ayumu (aka voltage’s king) season 3 in both the ms AND his pov. they keep pushing these crossovers, like with the vip room event which just came to love 365.

ANYWAY, the more i think about it, the more i’m convinced that they’re trying to emulate some of the successes of hlitf, so i find it a pretty useful point of comparison to see the things which i find are lacking in rmd.

so yes i definitely think that i wish the rmd mc was more vulnerable and maybe more romantically inclined and just generally more emotionally mature? i’ve said i wish she made more mistakes but i when i think about it more, i do see some parallels between dr mc and hlitf season 1 mc in that they go into a new learning environment with a certain set of values that get challenged. so i am willing to acquiesce on that point i’ve made before about her errors, since i do think that her values and the choices she makes because of those values get called into question (coming off the back of reading matsunaga’s routes, i do see this happen). also i’ve said this before but just to reiterate, i do also think that there’s a tone shift in the translation that to my perception (re-?)characterises the mc as being blase which i feel comes at the expense of genuine emotional connection between the reader and the heroine. however, i do also think that this tone perception thing is very subjective bc it reads as being quite american to me which is something that (1) is foreign to me as a non-american and (2) gives me a feeling of incongruence bc i’m very aware that this is japanese media. either way, i think in a long form title, there is potential for her to grow/develop when it comes to emotional maturity and romantic development, which leads me to my second point...

ANYWAY, the biggest (writing) issue that i find with rmd is its lack of romance FOR SUCH A LONG ROUTE. generally the main point of otome games is the romantic aspect, which i find to be super lacking in a game where romance is literally right there in the title. so one of my favourite things about hlitf is that we have the whole “meeting him” route before the “falling in love” route, and that generally each season is split into two halves in which the first half feels complete as a route on its own, but its strengths in setting up plot and character/relationship development become highlighted in the second half of the season (i know i talk about this a lot but kaga’s season 2 is the PRIME example of this). hlitf’s “meeting him” stories all tend to have abysmal ratings (which.... i pretend i do not see it) because of people not getting that they’re just introducing the characters and setting up their dynamic first. because of this, we essentially get a (relatively) slow burn romance that takes 20 chapters (or in tsugaru’s case.... 60 chapters lmao, or we’ll say 30 bc he has shorter chapters) to get to fruition.

so romance md has 30 chapters to get the job done, which SHOULD mean that there should be better pacing to get to the relationship stage, right? rmd does a similar thing to hlitf’s split routes where there’s generally one “introductory” case which introduces a moral dilemma, which then ties into a second case. in hlitf, the introductory case in ms1 serves to introduce us to the love interest’s personality and way of working as well as helping the two characters become closer by spending more time together. then it links to ms2 in that it tends to lead into wider criminal activity that may or may not be related to the love interest’s primary negative characteristics, and most importantly, the mc is instrumental in helping the LI overcome that issue (e.g. goto’s paranoia about losing colleagues/partners, kaga’s problems with internal corruption within the NPA, soma’s trust issues and devaluing of those around him, ayumu’s unrequited love). so let’s say that a full rmd route is equivalent to ms1+ms2 in hlitf.

rmd does a very similar thing in terms of plot structure with the main difference being that the medical cases tend to align explicitly with the LIs’ traumatic pasts, where in hlitf it’s a bit more indirect (only goto and soma have had their primary vengeance arcs complete). so why does the pacing feel so off? i think that the reason for that is that there is just so little energy put into romantic development. one thing to note is that the mc has already fallen by episode 10 of ms1, i.e. halfway through the ‘full’ route. the only rmd route that i’ve read where the mc has already caught feelings at that point is hosho’s route, where she realises in chapter 15 (which is why i did write in my review that i thought the pacing was better). secondly, it’s a LOT harder in rmd to see not just the mc’s feelings developing, but the progression of the love interest’s feelings. imo this is because they basically treat her uhhhh the same from start to finish??? she runs her mouth from day one and even during very intimate conversations, so i feel like there is no sense of increasing emotional closeness - it’s more just that we (the third person reader) get to know more about the love interest’s past and i guess we see them becoming friends? rather than seeing two people growing closer with romantic attraction. contrast this with hlitf, where they were never ‘friendly’ and the relationship that starts blossoming between them was always overtly special and romantic relationship and the way in which the love interest softens for his mc is already evident by the end of ms1. this means that we get a whole 10 more chapters for this development to really take its time to get to where it needs to go. this also means that we actually see obvious burgeoning attraction (or special treatment) before we get to any sort of climax confession scene. i feel like the mc’s lack of manners/impertinence familiarity with the LIs from the very start means that it’s a lot harder to see the dynamic between the two of them changing. just compare the way that dr mc and takado talk to each other in ch1 and ch29 vs the way that hlitf mc and kaga talk to each other in ms1 ch 1 and ms2 ch 8. i would argue that the action scene in the collapsing building in takado’s chapter TWENTY SEVEN is about equivalent to the action climax scenes that happen in hlitf ms1 chapter NINE.

(oh and i also think that the whole talking about how physically beautifully they are to their faces from day one also hinders the sense of growing mutual attraction.)

another GIANT hindrance is that a lot of the key bonding moments are actually paywalled behind heart scenes so you really don’t get anything if you don’t dish out THANKS LOVE CHOICE.

anyway, long story short is that romance md spends waaay too long and focusses way too much on plot stuff and character backstory (if you can even unlock it lmao) and leaves maybe 5% at the very end for romance rather than having a romantic element integrated throughout the story. if i were to try and compare it to hlitf again, i would say that to me, rmd routes feel like if hlitf ms1 was as it is but then there was one extra chapter at the end where it just goes straight to confession without the entirety of ms2′s development. but also like at least 2x longer. like imagine if we had ms1 and ms2 but there was no romantic engagement or indication of any romantic interest from the love interest in 20 whole chapters except you suddenly get one confession but only in the happy ending. actually matsunaga’s doctor ending literally FLOORED me like ???????? it’s literally like imagine if you only got through namba’s ms1 and half of ms2 (to that scene outside the dorms when you know what happens) and THAT’S WHERE IT ENDS LASKDJFLKSJ they finally had some early emotional awareness on the part of the mc and then they had to go and make it ENTIRELY one sided with not just zero but actually NEGATIVE romantic intention from the love interest i’m screaming

tl;dr: my biggest problem with romance md is that it’s literally SO LONG but there’s no romance

#wow i promise i did not intend to write this much but it all just came out #this took me a whole day to write too lmao thanks adhd!!!!#romance md: always on call #rmadoc #romance md #her love in the force #hlitf #voltage inc #otome romance #love choice #love 365 #meta #Anonymous #snow answers

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fandorkofeverything · 5 years

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Red Dead Redemption 2: Doubts And Scars Chapter Fifteen: The Battle Of Shady Belle

First time not being Katherine’s P.O.V! Whooooo

So, it’s been like a month since I updated….. Whoops. Sorry about that, guys!

//Kieran’s P.O.V//

“She’ll be okay, Kieran. We’re going to find her. And we’re going to bring her home to you.” Lenny attempted to comfort me, as I had tears in my eyes, laying my head down. We were sitting at the table alone at the side of camp, near the river. At this time, no one harassed me. No one made fun of me. And no one physically abused me….. But I couldn’t enjoy it. Not with Raine missing.

“B-B-But what if she’s not….. She’s my little sister, Lenny….. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” The thought of Raine never coming back to me broke my heart. I lost my parents, my friends, my family, everything….. I couldn’t cope if I lost her too.

“I know….. I’ve seen the way you are with her. She adores you.”

“She doesn’t remember our parents….. But I do. They loved her. And they loved me. If they never got that goddamn disease, she’d be here right now…”

“If they never gotten that goddamn disease, I wouldn’t have met you.”

I raised my eyes to look at him in that sense. It wasn’t like anyone to actually be grateful for meeting me. Besides Katherine, nobody really gave a shit about me, other than Raine….. God, Raine….

“I feel like the worst brother in the world…”

“Well, don’t.” Lenny put his hand on mine. “It’s not your fault. Nobody could have predicted this. And let me tell you, when we were fighting at Braithwaite Manor; that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” I looked at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever called me brave before, let alone a member of the Van Der Linde Gang. “Let people say what they want to say about you. it’s people like me and Katherine that really count. Believe me, I know what it’s like to be mistreated.” I looked him in the eye, clearly confused.

“What’d you mean?” I asked the younger man and he sighed.

“Both my mother and father were slaves. My mother died of sickness. And my father was beaten to death by a drunken man. I killed the man when I was fifteen years old. Ever since then, I had been running on my own, until I met Dutch. Some days, I can’t even go into town without being ridiculed, even people not knowing I was an outlaw.” I nodded in understanding. It’s unfair. He shouldn’t have to be treated like that just for the color of his skin.

“Where I’m from….. Nobody is treated like that. We’re all treated equally. Men, women, blacks, whites, mixed of both. It doesn’t matter. All of us are treated as human beings. It doesn’t matter where you come from, it matters how you treat the rest of the town.” I confessed and Lenny gave a small smile.

“That sounds nice.”

“Dutch! We have a problem!” Karen’s voice caught our attention, we turned back to see Karen and Sadie, guns in-hand and aimed at two people. Arthur said one was called Milton, and he didn’t remember the other one’s name.

“Not a problem. Visitors. Good day fine people.” Milton walked into camp like he owned the place; Lenny and I exchanged a worried glance, and quickly made our way to the middle of camp, where Dutch, Hosea, Katherine and Arthur were discussing how to handle Raine’s kidnapping….. “Mr. Van Der Linde. Mr. Matthews, I presume. And that would make you…..” Katherine crossed her arms, clearly annoyed with the man.

“Jane Shelley.” Katherine told him, but the man scoffed, knowing it wasn’t her real name.

“Very well, Ms. Shelley. Ah, Mr. Morgan. How wonderful to see you again.” Milton faked a smile, looking to the girl and her father.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?”

There was a lot of talk involved. Basically, Milton said if Dutch turned himself in, he’d let us all go free and live like human beings. All of us scoffed or rolled our eyes at that. No way. Not without Raine. And I know Arthur, Hosea and Katherine wouldn’t leave Dutch in the hands of those Pinkerton agents, despite their little spats.

When Dutch acted as if he was going to turn himself in, all of us acted, guns in hands. I may not be a gang member in the eyes of most, but I sure as hell am going to act like one. Like Lenny said; “Let people say what they want to say about you. it’s people like me and Katherine that really count.” And he’s right. I just need to prove my worth.

“I think your new friend should leave now, Dutch.” Ms. Grimshaw told him, and Dutch smiled.

“Gladly. Bill. John. Escort our guests out, will you?”

“Certainly, Dutch.” John told him and basically pushed them out. “Let’s go! Move it!”

“Dad. They know where we’re located. We have no choice but to move camps.” Katherine put in and Arthur agreed.

“She’s right, Dutch. If we don’t move now, we’ll be dead by sunset.” Hosea put in and everyone agreed.

“Arthur and I found a place near Saint Denis awhile back. Big house, with walls and a roof. Big enough for everyone.” Lenny put in and Dutch nodded.

“Good. Arthur, you and….” Dutch looked around, trying to decide who to send with Arthur, and his eyes landed on me. he smiled and nodded reassuringly. “You and Kieran will check this place out. The rest of you get packing!”

“You’re really gonna trust the O’Driscoll boy?!” I heard Bill yell, and someone smack him.

“His names’ Kieran, you idiot!” Sean exclaimed and I gave a small smile. At least a few people have my back.

I grabbed Branwen, making sure Spirit was tied so he wouldn’t run off. He’s been antsy ever since Raine got kidnapped.

“You okay, boah?” Arthur asked as we rode, and I exhaled sharply.

“Do I look okay? My baby sister was kidnapped, my only family I have left, and the first question you ask me since then is ‘are you okay?’” I asked, clearly annoyed.

“Right. You’ve made your point. Look, nobody takes a child to harm her. They took her to scare us.” Arthur tried to reassure me.

“Nonsense! She may be a child, but she is also a teenager! She knows very little of how cruel the world is out there because I protect her from it! Do you know what the O’Driscoll’s tried to do to her?!” I exclaimed, and Arthur went silent for a moment. “They tried to rape her! On multiple occasions! And I took the hit for her, because I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her! She pleaded with you to let me go because she knew what they did to me and was scared you were going to do the same!”

“I’m sorry, kid…. I never knew.” 

“Yeah. Well, nobody was supposed to know.”

We arrived at the house, leaving Branwen and Splash a ways back.

“O’Driscolls…..” Arthur mumbled, looking at my past “gangmates” in anger. “What’d you say? We blow up that dynamite, or one of us go in there, faking an injury or something, then we attack?”

“They’ll recognize me right away….. So, if we do that, it’d have to be you.”

“Fair enough. So? What’s it gonna be?”

I hummed a bit a looked at the house. There were twenty, thirty O’Driscolls. If Arthur were to walk in on that and they started shooting right away, he’d be a goner.

“Shoot the dynamite; I think we’ll have better luck.” I told him and he took out his rifle, letting out a breath, and shot it, instantly killing ten of them.

“We’re gonna kill all of you!” Arthur yelled, pulling a trick with his gun, killing three. I shot two off to the side, and one in a headshot on the balcony.

 We had pretty much cleared out everyone outside and Arthur went inside to see if there was anyone in there. I kept my hand on my gun, just in case. I then felt my gun smacked from my hand, and me on the ground, and someone on top of me.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” The voice screamed and I looked up. The familiarity of the Scottish accent, brown burly hair and amber eyes widened my senses.

“Malcolm?” I asked in disbelief. Malcolm gasped in shock.

“Kieran?” He asked letting me up immediately, giving me my gun back. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought you were gonna stay in Montana.” I asked.

“Yeah, well, life had other ideas….” Malcolm mumbled, putting away his gun and I did the same. “Anna and Wilde got really worried. Sent me to find you. Found this.” Malcolm took of his jacket, which was actually my old jacket. “I thought you were dead. Fell in with the O’Driscolls a few months ago. Talked of the traitor who joined The Van Der Linde gang….. Never in a million years would I think it to be you.”

“I’m not a traitor….. You really have no idea what they’re capable of, Mac.” I told him and he furred his eyebrows.

“Where’s Sophia?” He asked and I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Raine….. She….. She got taken by Angelo Bronte.” I confessed and he gasped.

“What?! She’s what now? Fourteen? She’s still a child!” Malcolm expressed and I sighed.

“I know….”

“Kieran!” Arthur came out, gun in hand, pointing it at Malcolm.

“No, no, no! Arthur, it’s okay!” I stood in front of Malcolm, holding my hand out. “He’s a friend.”

“Friend?” He asked, gun still pointed.

“We knew each other from my hometown, we grew up together with our other two best friends, Wilde and Anna.” I told him and he looked between us but put the gun down.

“Fine. But any funny business….” Arthur made a cutting motion with his hands around his neck.

“Tell you what….” Malcolm looked around, seeing the dead O’Driscolls. “I like you already Arthur. And you have a lot of explain to do after you disappeared,” Malcolm pushed me in a teasing matter. “and I want to help you find Sophia. So, I’m gonna stick with you guys.”

“Really? You want to stay?” I asked and he nodded.

 “Why not? I can also write to Montana and let Anna and Thomas know that you’re alive.”

“His names’ Wilde.” I corrected and he scoffed.

“Whatever.”

“Should I understand you two?” Arthur asked and I shook my head ‘no’

“Absolutely not.” We said in usion.

“Fine. You two clear out the bodies; I’ll go get the gang.” Arthur left on Splash and Malcolm eyed me.

“Gang?”

“Malcolm, do I have a story to tell you.”

“Indeed, you do. But we didn’t leave off on the best last words…. Did we?” He asked and I sighed.

“I know… And I’m sorry.” Malcolm walked up to me and wrapped me in his arms. Just like he used to before and ran his fingers through my hair. Just like he always used to do.

“Do they judge people for love?” He whispered to me and I shook my head.   “I don’t know.” I confessed, him then resting his forehead on mine. “Do you still care for me…. Even though I left?”

“If you were the most wanted person in the world, I would still care for you.” Malcolm told me and I smiled. I breathed in deeply and he kissed me on the lips, and I kissed him back.

“You know what they’ll think of us.” I told him once we pulled away from the kiss.

“Who?”

“Everyone…. People on the streets. In cities. Towns. They won’t approve.” I confessed, looking away.

“Fort Peck would.” Malcolm commented and I sighed and stepped away for a moment.

“I know….” I looked around and sighed. “We better get this place cleaned up.”

“I’ll get the people inside and help you outside when I’m done. Then you can tell me about the gang.” 

I sighed and nodded. “Okay.”

I started dragging the bodies into the swamp and sighed. It’s really not fair. These times…. Are unfair to us.

If only we could change the world to be ours….

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption fandom #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #arthur morgan #john marston #lenny summers #dutch van der linde #kieran duffy #rdr2 original character #katherine morgan #sophia raine duffy #malcolm #red dead fanfic

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ythmir-writes · 5 years

Text

A Thousand Mended Seams ch03

fandom: Ikemen Sengoku character: Ieyasu Tokugawa

brief summary: Ieyasu goes to fix a Ward. But something seems to have been waiting for them.

A Thousand Mended Seams masterlist: prologue // chap 01 // chap 02

other works // ao3 // ko-fi

no warnings

Chapter 3/?? – Dousing

When Ieyasu and the others had first migrated to the City, all of the City’s Kapitans – or the Liga, as they were collectively called – had welcomed them.

On three conditions.

Not because their reputation preceded them but more because that has always been the arrangement; all Cities must receive back the protection they give. Those were the rules, and the City had named its price. Services to be rendered; bodies to be kept; favors exchanged for further favors.

The third condition was special. Tailored in a way for the unique conditions of their group: Ieyasu Tokugawa, famed sorcerer, potions master, and third unique timeshifter, the Stag Duke who Remembers, must paint the City’s wards.

Embarrassing titles aside, Ieyasu had jumped at the recognition of his talent and the rare opportunity to practice his craft on such a large scale. How many magicians in this day and age could claim that they were singlehandedly tasked with such a grand project?

However, after the joy of being commissioned had settled down, Ieyasu had thought it a rather unusual request.

In the usual course of protecting and setting barriers for a city, it was the local magicians that painted the wards. They were the ones who had the flavor of the city at the tip of their tongues, or rather hands, after all. And they were the ones who knew best how to bend and curate the magical protection unique to a location.

When Ieyasu had mentioned his doubts to Nobunaga, that he might not be the best sorcerer for the job, Nobunaga had only smiled and told him to just do his best. When Ieyasu had added that the Liga asking their group to set up necessary protection was only the Liga being more indebted to them – and dangerously so – Nobunaga’s smile had only widened, told him not to worry about it and leave it at that.

So Ieyasu had left it at that, and proceeded to do his best and beyond – painting all fifty-six of the City’s wards at strategic locations to create a web of protection so intricate that should the time come that they glowed at the same time, the City would become a sparkling gem.

Ieyasu had taken two whole months to complete the project and by the end of it, nearly swore off any chalk, charcoal, ink, and spray paint for half a century. To make sure he would not need to touch any marking instruments again unless it was completely necessary, Ieyasu had made the wards as permanent as magically possible. It had taken just a tad bit more time but it made them stronger and just a little bit more smudge-proof than most. It was his life’s greatest work to date.

So it was curious how anyone could tamper with them – much less prevent him from sensing that something was amiss. It was not impossible (nothing was truly permanent after all) but it did mean that there was serious magic involved.

Ieyasu worried about that.

Mitsunari seemed to worry about it too, his hands uncharacteristically fidgeting at moments while they rode the bus.

When they reached the block where the grocery was located, Ieyasu could feel a few wisps of magic in the air; something hot, burning, with just a hint of something electric, and the sound of popping bulbs.

But as they entered the parking lot, suddenly nothing. Just empty space.

Ieyasu chewed his lip again, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets f his coat. Sensing nothing was much more concerning than sensing too much at the same time.

He was not sure what he expected to see waiting for them but Masamune and Hideyoshi in the middle of an empty parking lot standing idly and chatting while waiting for him was definitely not on the list. It made a rather casual scene, and it looked as if the ward being smudged was not an emergency enough for the Liga to raise an alarm.

Masamune waved from where he stood and Hideyoshi turned around to greet them.

“What’s this?” Ieyasu asked as they came within earshot. “I heard ambulances, police cars – this doesn’t look like an emergency.”

“I did say that part was over.” Masamune said, pocketing his phone.

Hideyoshi sighed, crossed his arms. “The hubhub is over and done with. But our job isn’t.”

Ieyasu gave their immediate surroundings a sweeping glance. There was no signs of any struggle, none of the drunken fighting that had supposedly transpired. As a matter of fact, apart from the four of them, nothing seemed to exist within twelve feet from where they stood.

“What happened?” Ieyasu finally asked.

“Werewolf pups. Long night. Some sort of initiation? Ritual? A newborn Were?” Hideyoshi looked at Masamune, who in turn shrugged. “Their oldest was in charge and he was being pretty vague. Stories were completely inconsistent.”

“Clearly drunk, too.” Masamune added.

“In any case, the pups were sent directly to the police station for questioning and possible detention overnight.” Hideyoshi continue. “They’re not in any state to be wandering about.”

At that, Ieyasu raised his brows. He had half-expected the culprit to be strong and old magic, not were-magic. “Werewolves?” He asked. “Smudging my ward?”

“Pack magic?” Mitsunari sounded partly shocked partly curious.

Masamune raised his hands, equally baffled. “We’re not sure either how it happened. They didn’t have an Alpha with them. According to the pack, one thing led to another and then one of the pups slid down across the cement like it was ice. Next thing they knew, she had paint on her paws when there shouldn’t be and then there was only pain.”

“Ahh.” That would explain the ambulance Ieyasu had heard when Masamune called.

Part of the formula that gave the wards their permanency was how any disturbance or tampering could not be made by simple physical means. No matter how often the wards could be painted on, rained on, marked upon, or even slathered with concrete and made into a busy parking lot on, the Ward stayed. Like stubborn graffiti, or tough grime. Or really old chewing gum stuck on a wall.

If anyone attempted to disturb it, the Ward would react defensively. Mostly depending on how much of the Ward was affected. Like a good punch to the gut, if the Ward had not been completely nullified. Violently, if it was completely erased. The point wasn’t so much as to stop the ward from being tampered – that was near impossible – as it was to make sure Ieyasu would know who to look for. Traces of his magic from the erased Ward would stain whoever did it and Ieyasu, along with possibly Nobunaga, would follow the trail to ask some very serious questions.

Ieyasu looked around the parking lot a second time. Nothing. No trace of anything. Like something had gobbled up –

“Did the werewolf pup die?” Mitsunari asked.

“Nah. Had to be rushed to the hospital though.” Masamune said. “She got concussed. Thrown what, fifteen meters? Ward shot out some really fierce lightning too. The Kapitan here made sure the Alpha was on their way to reach the pup.”

Ieyasu could imagine how it had happened. “Did the Alpha ask for reparations?”

Hideyoshi made an impatient sound. “If anyone should be asking for reparations, it should be you. It’s your ward. Commissioned by the Liga, no less.”

Hideyoshi was right, however Ieyasu found the idea of claiming reparations from a were-pack tedious. It was not like he could not fix the problem to begin with.

But something did not feel right, like he was missing an obvious clue. “To smudge any ward discreetly without the warder knowing, you should know it’s there in the first place.”

His three friends nodded. That was basic knowledge.

Ieyasu chewed on his lip again, looking around the parking lot as if the perpetrator would unwittingly try to come back while they were there. “The wards’ locations are not public knowledge. No one except us and the Liga know. How did the werewolves know where it was? How could they smudge it without me knowing?”

“They claim it was all an accident.” Hideyoshi’s eyes told Ieyasu he did not believe it. “We suspect someone might have accidentally tampered with it before the werewolves got their hands on it. We’re requesting the tapes. We got eyes there, there, and there.” Hideyoshi pointed to the streetlamps that had security cameras. “Whoever could have done something to it, consciously or not, would have been recorded.”

“It’s a good thing too the place is currently closed.” Masamune said. “Can you imagine the collateral damage a shocked werewolf pup in pain could have caused? Without an Alpha trying to calm it?”

Hideyoshi and Mitsunari’s frowns meant yes, they could. And so did Ieyasu. It was not pretty or even relatively safe for anyone who was not part of the pack. It would be a longer night for all of them if that had happened.

“Nothing to be done about what didn’t happen.” Ieyasu then said. “I’ll start on the ward.”

“How long will you need?” Hideyoshi asked.

“Depends.” Ieyasu began to walk fifteen steps to his right, counting as he did. “But seeing as the werewolf pup isn’t dead and we don’t have the City’s packs howling for blood, I’d say maybe twenty.”

“Mitsunari and I will get the tapes.” Masamune said, heading for the store, quickly followed by the other.

“Be careful!” Hideyoshi shouted at them.

Ieyasu stopped just a short way from another street light, its bulb broken, probably from the Ward’s reactions to being disturbed. He knelt down on one knee, and began poking at the concrete with two fingers, trying to feel for the center of the Ward.

Before being cemented over, the entire block had once been just a small empty park, a splash of green in a city transforming into a sprawling metropolis. Back then, Ieyasu had simply walked towards the middle of it all, found a good rock, sprinkled the ingredients over the soft, fresh grass under it, and the Ward had come to life.

Right now, it was not going to be just as easy.

Ieyasu found the center about two feet from where he started, a minor zing that raced up his arm and went all the way down his spine and up again towards his nape. Tiny crackling sounds, electricity snapping at air, and then there was a warm glow as the Ward recognized him and his magic.

Ieyasu pulled with his mind, coaxing the Ward to resurface. Slowly, the place where he knelt glowed with a bright teal color, as if neon lights had flickered open beneath the ground.

He brought out his supplies: a small paint brush, a small bottle of ink, a pack of mint candies, a parking stub, and three used cigarette butts. Back then, it had all just been flower seeds, bird feathers, and maybe drops of sweat and tears. All of them, even magic, had to keep up with the times.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Hideyoshi asked.

“It’s smudged all right.” Ieyasu said. “Almost a third is all that’s left, just wiped out clean. Werewolf magic is strong, pack magic stronger, but not erasing-wards-with-a-simple-swipe-of-paws kind of strong. Even with a full moon. Or several.”

“The Liga wants to know if you can fix it.”

“With my eyes closed.” Ieyasu answered, bemused. “Did they really ask that?”

“Yes. You should’ve seen the look on the Kapitan’s face when they saw what caused all the alarm.”

Ieyasu frowned. Why doubt his abilities after everything he has done?

“We got the tapes.” Masamune called out as he walked back towards them, with Mitsunari in tow who in turn was grasping his backpack tightly with both hands, smiling brightly at them.

“All right.” Hideyoshi said. “It’s your floor now.”

“You might want to stay back a little.” Ieyasu placed the pack of mint, the parking stub, and cigarette butts in the middle of the Ward, covered them with the plastic bag, wrapped it around thrice. Then, he dipped his brush into the black ink, took a deep breath and –

The sun searing into his back as he walked across the lot, long lines at the cashier and even longer queues of vehicles snaking around the small space, the smell of newly painted pedestrian crossing, paper bags rolling empty in the wind, a crash of – I can’t believe you forgot to get tissue rolls again! mum said I had to wait in the car it’s inhumane to leave a pet under this weather and didn’t I tell you to park it nearer do you know how much two bags weigh – gum chewed until the mint turned into ash and there was nothing but the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and the pairs of eyes that watches watches watches you enter and cross and leave and don’t forget your coupons and your receipt sir please –

Ieyasu gathered the sensations into him, channeling them through his body, turning them into energy and magic and pushing them back out again into his brush as he wrote the protective seals that formed the Ward.

That was all there really was to Warding; take the rules of life around an area, those repeated actions done again and again and again, those that form life through repetition, and became rituals in their own right – and gather them and mix them and pray they help keep the place safe.

Take a parking lot, for example. Walk in any country, any city, any small town anywhere in the world, and grocery parking lots basically worked the same way. You got a parking ticket, or stub, depending on where you were in the world, you chewed on gum when you waited, maybe you have a cigarette or two or three – because damn the line is long and there’s plastic everywhere and did you forget that corned beef brand your mum told you to get and were you even counting your change? Little things that were universal. Little things that make up the experience. Little things that, if you knew how to capture them and knew how to bend them, you could create a ward to protect it all.

At least, for sorcerers, that was how it worked. You found magic in life. You breathed it. And you channeled it to work for you.

But you have to know how to listen to it first.

Ieyasu opened his eyes and was just about to put in the final seal to finish the ward but suddenly, something hissed – at first a whistle then before any of them could pinpoint where the sound came from, it turned into a loud screeching roar.

“Get away!”

Ieyasu felt more than saw Hideyoshi – ever alert, ever careful – pull him back with a gesture of one hand. Then the concrete underneath both of them caved down nearly three feet, to avoid whatever it was that had swiped at them from above.

A frustrated screech, the sound of train wheels magnified several times and the urgent thud thud thud of metal on metal.

“Incoming!” Mitsunari alerted them.

Ieyasu saw the car, a small dark spot in the sky becoming bigger and bigger, and then his line of view was blocked by Hideyoshi again, who had moved in front of him, arms moving upward. As if summoned, the lights from the remaining streetlamps all flew towards the car, impaling it before making it explode into harmless chunks. Bits of car parts rained down in a noisy clack clack clack.

“Another one!” Masamune shouted, tracing the arc of the car with his ancient katana. Ieyasu clicked his tongue. Masamune would use any excuse to wield his sword again and a flying projectile was enough of one. Masamune swung in a lazy arc, blue light pulsed from his sword and cut the second car in half, which fell in a loud crash.

“What the hell is going on?” Ieyasu shouted, scrambling to his feet. The magic of the ward was slowly ebbing from his mind. If they did not act quickly, he would have to start the ritual again. That was the downside of being a sorcerer; it was pretty hard to concentrate on doing magic while you were being distracted by projectiles. “Mitsunari?”

Mitsunari was looking towards the other side of the parking lot. “I’m seeing one spirit. One very big and angry spirit.”

“What kind?” Ieyasu asked.

“Anger, movement, a solid core, the desire to sleep and wreck havoc. Poltergeist or Kanaima.” Mitsunari said, squinting. “I’m not sure which from here.”

“Why is there a spirit?” Hideyoshi asked over the sound of another car falling in bits and pieces around them. “There was absolutely nothing in this parking lot when we got here! And we disturbed nothing. Nothing!”

Ieyasu gritted his teeth, an odd sense of déjà vu filling his tongue.

“I’m not sure either.” Masamune was poised to strike. “But oh boy I’m not going to wait to find out!”

“Wait!” Ieyasu tried to hold Masamune off but it was too late. Reckless, aggressive, so very very sloppy in watching his back, Masamune shot off like a bullet towards the spirit.

With a frustrated grunt, Ieyasu held out his hands. “Mitsunari!”

“Here!” Mitsunari did not need any other instruction. Mitsunari, purple-eyed and pale, whose soft features belied the fact that he was the most precise sorcerer among them, who saw with cat’s eyes and spoke to foxes, who needed only flick a wrist and there was wind beneath Ieyasu’s feet and he flew towards Masamune who had just barely reached the spirit –

“Kanaima!” Masamune announced. “We got ourselves a vengeful spirit!”

Ieyasu landed with a grunt, shifting his knees to soften his fall, his hands touching the ground. Instantly, teal colored lights zigzagged towards Masamune, coating him in a ward for protection.

And it was just in the nick of time. Masamune had raised his sword to strike but the kanaima had roared and it sounded like trains colliding in the underground. Hot and angry smoke billowed towards them, and both men braced themselves against it.

More smoke blew from the holes of what looked like the kanaima’s mouth and eyes. Its entire body was black liquid, dripping and dripping like oil and tar and muck, and every time it moved, something seemed to spark inside it.

The kanaima arched towards them, raising its hands and swiping at them, howling in a garbled tongue. Masamune deflected the blows with his sword and tried to strike back. But no matter how much he cut, his blade did nothing to the kanaima, which simply roared again, irritated that it could not pin Masamune down.

“This is what you get for being reckless!” Ieyasu shouted at him while he searched for his bag for his left-over containers.

“We all need exercise!” Masamune shouted back.

“Masamune! We are literally going to be sucked into a vortex of doom if you’re not careful!” Ieyasu wrapped his hand around a bottle, prayed fervently it was his extra round of blessed water, and took out his hand from the bag. “We got one shot –”

Then as if it had had enough, the kanaima slammed down its hands. The ground shook violently, large cracks cutting through the parking lot and Ieyasu staggered for even footing. Somewhere a pipe blew and water hit him square on the back, soaking him and blurring out the sound of the kanaima’s screams.

Ieyasu wondered if the night could not get any worse.

Masamune charged, sword glowing in golden light, and managed to cut one of the kanaima’s arms, sending the spirit in a frenzy all over again. Ieyasu scrambled to his feet and then cursed under his breath. The kanaima’s torn arm simply dissolved into steaming pool of black tar, smelled of despair and death. Then the kanaima regrew an arm. Two. And then three and four. And Ieyasu raced towards Masamune, pushing the bottle of blessed water in his hands.

“One shot.” He said through gritted teeth. “Dead center in that glowing bit right there. Make it work!”

“Three.” Hideyoshi squeezed in, suddenly beside them. “Mitsunari and I have extra.”

Ieyasu whirled to see Mitsunari several feet away, hands planted on the ground and doing his best to counter whatever earth shattering chaos the kanaima was doing.

Thank all the gods for Mitsunari –

“You’re the only one unprepared.” Ieyasu hissed, would have shook Masamune if they were not so busy running from the kanaima’s reach. “I told you to always always bring condiments – !”

“Focus!” Hideyoshi peeled away from them, pointed at the kanaima, holding his wand now and blasting a beam of light at it. Hideyohsi’s spell tore a hole through the monster’s shoulder for two seconds, before it filled up again with blackness and the night. The kanaima aimed for Hideyoshi – missed – and Hideyoshi rebutted with two more beams of light.

All the while, Masamune was going for the kanaima’s left, flanking him.

As if sensing their teamwork, the kanaima’s gaze shifted towards Masamune then back to Hideyoshi. It screamed and grew three more pairs of long, spindly arms.

Masamune swore. Hideyoshi doubled his efforts. In response, the kanaima grew in size, as if gathering more energy, and turning them into more arms and legs than they could bother to keep count.

Ieyasu planted his hands on the ground, called on his ward, and got to work.

They say kanaimas were vengeful spirits. Those who died violently come back with murder spewing from their hands, and unanswerable questions where their hearts had once been. Anger. Sadness. A dying scream stifled too soon, too abruptly. There was no appeasing a kanaima. There have been efforts over the centuries; pity always the soul that cannot move on. But all efforts to calm kanaimas have failed. Some debts can never be erased. There was only retribution or death.

Ieyasu’s eyes stung with wind and water but he kept his gaze on the ground. He tuned out the kanaima’s screams, focused on warmth, protection, and guarding light glowing below him, drew out the symbols with the mixture of dribbling mud and broken concrete.

No one knew exactly how to recreate a kanaima by choice, what kind of death had to be suffered, what kind of wish so ardent for the victim to be brought back and chained ever after. Some say that to become a kanaima, you had to be killed by one, sucked into its abyss, drained of all blood and magic and hope. It went without saying that none of them had any intention of letting each other go down that path.

But there was another entry on the kanaima, a footnote he had read once, lifetimes past. Ieyasu scoured it in his memory, lifting it from other memories, something about a desire, a wish, a craving –

And as Ieyasu remembered, it all made sense. The emptiness. The déjà vu.

“Mitsunari!” Ieyasu called upon his friend again. How many times had he relied on him tonight? How many times in so many lifetimes? He could fill a ledger, maybe more. Maybe he should make sure to watch the damn tapes next time with Mitsunari to compensate.

“Lord Ieyasu?” Mitsunari was beside him, smelling of burning hair and lightning.

“Kanaimas are vengeful spirits but there is one thing we’ve forgotten about them.” Ieyasu wrote feverishly on the ground, fingers almost splitting in effort. How in the ever loving hell did Nobunaga ever manage to do sorcery while talking? “They aren’t so much victims as they are often spectators. Made to witness those they love die and be lost before their eyes.”

Mitsunari’s eyes were trained on the kanaima, watching out for Hideyoshi and Masamune, but his ears were all Ieyasu’s.

“This kanaima was triggered by the Were.” Ieyasu said.

“When the Were was rebutted by the ward, the kanaima must’ve seen it.” Mitsunari followed his reasoning. Frowned. “But it does not make sense, Lord Ieyasu. This kanaima is nearly fifty years old. Its vengeance is older – and the pup was a new were, maybe only in its teens.”

“I know. But this is my ward.” And at those words, the ward beneath them glowed, as if proud of its ownership. “A ward that no one should know about except for us. A ward that has been repeatedly attacked and attacked and attacked until – ”

Ieyasu was unable to finish his sentence. One moment, he felt Mitsunari’s hand on his shoulder. In the next, underground pipes burst out from below them, shielding them both from hot smoke and tar.

Mitsunari grunted with effort, curled his fingers and then opened them, and the water turned sharp, piercing, and pushing back the kanaima, its spindly limbs flailing.

Ieyasu was drenched to the bone, his teeth nearly chattering. He could hear Hideyoshi and Masamune close in on the kanaima, fierce magicians attacking and trying to pry open the defenses of an unrelenting spirit at its moment of vulnerability. Ieyasu needed to match them, needed to finish the ward quickly so he could at least be of some help.

Ieyasu rekindled the sensations he had grasped earlier in his head. The everyday details of ordinary people walking to and from the grocery, the waiting and hunting for parking space, the rush of afternoon sales, credit card points, loyalty card points, vouchers, the smell of a typical Saturday afternoon when groceries were packed to the full and you could not even squeeze in to just get into the counter please just this one item ma’am, my daughter needs this she’s going to die please just let me in line I’m just buying one item one item why can’t you let me –

Ieyasu breathed through the kanaima’s seen memories – forced to witness repeated acts of hurting and pain – held himself up above its sorrow, and let it go.

That was why it was very important for the local magicians or sorcerers to do Warding. They who knew the ground and the air and the walks of life and who spoke to the soul of the city and to whom the city talked back. Not fresh immigrants, not a group of six wandering magicians and sorcerers with the crest of an ancient name branded on their backs.

Then again, none of them were strangers to the city anymore.

Perhaps that was why at the moment, the Ward somehow felt stronger. More sturdy, like a wall of doubly reinforced steel. Ieyasu was no longer just a commissioned sorcerer but a living, breathing, part-of-the-city-kind of folk now, and it gave his magic an extra kick.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nobunaga had said. And Ieyasu hadn’t. And Ieyasu didn’t. And maybe Nobunaga had seen that this might happen; that they would stay this long were still here, it was easier to fix them.

Perhaps this was a sign that Ieyasu should touch up on the rest of the wards. He should discuss it with Nobunaga soon.

With a last swipe of his fingers, Ieyasu finished the last stroke, sealing the Ward into place, breathing and willing protective life into it, grasping the tiny threads of what made magic alive in a simple parking space for a local grocery and concentrating them into the defensive circle that now pulsed again with magic.

The ward glowed with its fresh seals. Alive. Almost sizzling.Guarding the place anew. For a few seconds, Ieyasu regarded the glowing Ward with a sense of pride, tracing his bloody fingers around its edges, feeling the magic fuller and more vibrant now.

At almost the same time, Masamune had thrown the blessed water into the kanaima’s vulnerable center, that hot pool of anger and hunger and frustration, and it sizzled on contact. The kanaima howled in pain, thrashing its many legs and arms in an attempt to inflict as much pain as it had just experienced.

However, Ieyasu’s ward was in place and the kanaima could now only do very little. For every attempt the kanaima made to destroy, the Ward answered back with equal fervor, striking at the kanaima with particularly powerful bolts of lightning.

Lightning?

“Everyone out of the water!!” Ieyasu shouted at his friends.

Thank the gods none of his friends were that stupid. Even before Ieyasu could finish what he was saying, Masamune nimbly leapt into the air, higher than what was humanly possible. Hideyoshi pointed his wand below him and he and Mitsunari were lifted up on dry land. And Ieyasu –

Ieyasu was damn well near swimming, drenched from head to toe –

Three things happened very quickly.

First, the lightning, fat and angry and very difficult to follow, lashed out towards the kanaima in retaliation to it striking the ward. The kanaima wailed in screeching agony, a screaming tearing sound of metal against harder metal.

Second, Ieyasu had closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable. What was another death for a timeshifter if it meant his friends and the city was safe? And vainly hoped that the ward was smart enough to bounce back from him unharmed. His ward. His sorcery. It was impossible (magic never really recognized masters) but men faced with death often thought impossible things.

Third, something tall and dark had intervened, stepping into the circle of the ward harmlessly, and with a wave of an arm, deflected the lightning meant for Ieyasu, finding a way to turn his impossible thoughts possible.

Ieyasu looked up, and gasped with relief.

Nobunaga Oda stood in front of him, his black coat swirling around his feet in a way that no coat should ever move. Wisps of shadow and black smoke drifted around his ankles. He looked for all the world as if he had just came out for a stroll, a picture of casual perfection amidst the chaos around him.

Nobunaga extended an arm to help Ieyasu up. Ieyasu accepted it without fuss and was lifted with what looked like barely any effort. Then, Nobunaga turned his attention back to the kanaima, adjusting his black gloves as he did.

The kanaima had not yet lost its fight. It shrieked again, aiming for the two of them now. It struck out with all of its remaining limbs and Ieyasu would have braced himself, would have answered back with an attack of his own, except –

Nobunaga was there. And his ward was restored. There was nothing for him to fear.

Ieyasu’s ward glowed at the approach of danger, ready to protect. Nobunaga paid it no heed and instead began to walk towards the kanaima. His coat billowed wildly even if there was no wind, and shadows as dark as moonless and starless nights, darker than the kanaima itself, lashed out to deflect the spirit’s attacks.

Where the kanaima’s limbs were heavy lumber, Nobunaga’s shadows were whips, extending nimbly and cracking like thunder. More and more shadowssnaked out from Nobunaga’s coat, more than the kanaima could counter, more thanthe kanaima could possibly even follow, more than it could possibly defenditself from. Its wail – then angry and frustrated – turned sorrowful, panickyand almost almost as if it was afraid.

Ieyasu gripped his wrist with his other hand.

The kaniama was right to be afraid.

Nobunaga did not relent in his attack as he approached. His shadows struck the kanaima repeatedly, some pining it down, some seemingly tearing at it with a hundred unseen hands. Until it was reduced to lie spread-eagle on the concrete, until it had shrunk and shrunk down to only three feet tall and looked less and less like the destructive spirit it had been just moments earlier.

It tried to crawl away wailing, but there was no escaping its inevitable end.

Nobunaga stood over the kanaima. His shadows climbed into the air, twisted together to form a huge curved blade, and came down striking the kanaima straight in its abdomen, straight through its faintly glowing light, putting it out of its misery. There was a flash of bright light. Then silence.

And just like that, the kanaima was gone. Lifetimes of pain, lifetimes of being an unwilling witness, reduced to nothing in a mere instant.

And not for the first time tonight, Ieyasu felt a pang of something that hurt. He wished there was a better way for them to go, an easier way, a less painful way. But then, where would all that anger go? Where would all that pent-up frustration be channeled into if not in a final display of aimless destruction? A plea for a swift death.

Ieyasu wanted to sit down, and think for a while.

“Lord Ieyasu, you were amazing!” Mitsunari immediately exclaimed, turning back to look at him, beaming with a sense of wonder. “Your performance with wards is top-notch as usual.”

“I was just doing what I normally do.” Came Ieyasu’s automatic response, deflecting Mitsunari’s wide-eyed praise. He felt nothing like amazing and Ieyasu was sure he among all of them was the one who least looked like amazing.

“It appears I arrived just in the nick of time.” Nobunaga said. His shadows were gone, his black coat unmoving as all black coats should.

“Yes you did, Lord Nobunaga.” Mitsunari turned his attention to the other man, and Ieyasu mentally thanked him.

“Lord Nobunaga!” Hideyoshi approached them, all smiles despite being out of breathe, tucking his wand into his inner breast pocket. Masamune was close behind, sword hidden wherever it was that Masamune tucked his weapons.

“We weren’t expecting for you to come.” Hideyoshi continued, almost vibrating with joy.

“I was on my way home and thought something was not right.” Nobunaga said. “But it looked like you were handling it.”

“Sure.” Ieyasu grumbled, running his hand through his matted hair. “And I am a perfect example of someone who was handling it, all right.”

Hideyoshi and Masamune had only soot and a few scratches as proof they disabled a kanaima. Mitsunari looked pristine, his bag not even riddled with any dirt. And Nobunaga – well, he looked like he always did. It would be unfair to Ieyasu to compare himself to them.

Nobunaga chuckled. “You do look a little worse for wear.”

Ieyasu shrugged.

Mitsunari’s smile had not dimmed. “I wish I had my camera.”

Ieyasu shivered. “There’s nothing worth recording.”

“Give yourself some credit.” Masamune slapped Ieyasu’s back and Ieyasu almost toppled back to the ground. “You did in a short time what other sorcerers or magicians do in an hours. Maybe even more.”

“They just need more practice.” Ieyasu deflected again. “Besides, we all did our part.” Ieyasu gave Nobunaga a pointed look. “Some less than others.”

At that Nobunaga chuckled again. Hideyoshi choked in disbelief.

“Of course. The Duke Stag who Remembers, can do it all.” Nobunaga teased him.

Ieyasu hoped the heat in his cheeks was fever and not him blushing at compliments; he never did like that nickname. Too many responsibilities. “Whatever. Look, it’s done.”

And it was. The ward was slowly fading back into obscurity, sinking into the concrete. Ieyasu regarded it one final time before turning back to his friends.

“I’m still confused though.” Masamune said. “Why did the spirit attack us?”

All eyes went to Ieyasu and not for the first time tonight, he felt a little bit overwhelmed at the attention.

Ieyasu would have adjusted his coat if it were not wet and sticking to his skin. “Kanaima’s are vengeful spirits, yes. They’re animated by something that caused their deaths – it fuels them to seek out and execute retaliation.”

But those were basic stuff. Ieyasu dug further into his mind. His friends waited for him to carry on.

“There was a footnote on the kanaima that I’ve read.” Ieyasu continued. “I think around the industrial revolution when the scientific approach to understanding spirits became more aggressive. Someone noticed that the kanaima’s weren’t just the angrier cousins of poltergeists – more like, as part of the consequence of a successful revenge, they don’t move on. They’re forced to see more and more acts of cruelty, pain; the consequences of their action. And they can do nothing to stop it. Again and again and again.”

“How does the ward fit in?” Hideyoshi asked.

“The kanaima must’ve thought the ward reacting to being erased against the Were was a trap. Or something similar.” Ieyasu shook his head. “I don’t think it has anything to do with the ward though. The kanaima simply reacted to the Were being hurt.”

“And it thought we were the perpetrators?” Masamune asked.

“I think so. I repaired the ward. The kanaima attacked as soon as I touched it.” Ieyasu turned to Nobunaga. “Which reminds me, we need to look at all the other wards, reinforce them. Someone or something was able to poke at this one.”

And prevented me from sensing it. Ieyasu wanted to add but he did not want Hideyoshi to panic any more for tonight.

“We’ll put that in the agenda.” Nobunaga looked thoughtful. “But for now, I think we all deserve some rest. It’s been a long night.”

Ieyasu gave him a sidelong glance, wondered how much Nobunaga already knew.

“Right.” Masamune clapped his hands twice. “Now we’ve saved the city again, yes. Congratulations! We have to celebrate!”

“We still have to tidy up.” Hideyoshi reminded them.

Masamune flinched. “Can the Kapitans do this – just this once? Like, can we please just go home right now?”

Ieyasu surveyed the parking lot which looked nothing like how it did when they had first arrived. And someone had to do a lot of explaining with the wrecked cars. He could already imagine the paperwork.

“Please take clean-up seriously.” Hideyoshi frowned at Masamune. “I’ll be heading over the nightwatch HQ and have someone look over the tapes. Then there’s a report we’ll need to make for the Liga. Ieyasu, I need your statements so –”

Masamune made a face. “But we can literally do that in the morning –!”

Ieyasu sighed as the two bickered about which task had to go to whom, when to do the appropriate task, and how Masamune did not again bring at least the basic condiments to work. Ieyasu looked at Nobunaga, who in turn was looking up at the night sky, somewhat pensive, as if he was trying to trace something above them.

Ieyasu looked up as well, saw the stars as they usually were, and was just about to ask what Nobunaga had been looking at when he felt Masamune grab him by his neck, pulling him in for something resembling a hug.

“No. And no. Both of you can do that in the morning. Like, after resting and waking up.” Masamune said. “Ieyasu here needs his beauty rest – ”

At those words, Ieyasu felt ready to fight again. “What does that even mean –?”

“It’s been a long night for all of us – especially Ieyasu.” Masamune mock-frowned at Hideyoshi. “And I call for a late night snack for all of his hard work at the restaurant tonight. And of course, Lord Nobunaga’s here!”

Nobunaga was smiling. “I think I can use some late night snack.”

“Lord Nobunaga!” Hideyoshi placed his hands over his face.

Ieyasu rolled his eyes, tried to put as much as his heart to make it as believable as he could. “You want us to celebrate by making me work again?”

Masamune gestured. “I mean, who else is gonna –”

Mitsunarialmost raised his hand, “I would be very happy to – ”

“No.” Ieyasu grabbed Mitsunari’s arm before Hideyoshi could, pulled it down. “Let’s not go there again.”

Mitsunari angled his head. “But Lord Masamune can’t go into the kitchen and you’re tired Lord Ieyasu and we can’t have Lord Nobunaga cook so it’s only natural – ”

“I’ll do it.” Hideyoshi and Ieyasu said at the same time.

“We will order takeout.” Ieyasu hastily added. “You can just,” he struggled for the words, “rest.”

Mitsunari looked surprised. “But I don’t feel particularly tired.”

“That settles it then.” Masamune grinned from ear to ear, dragging Ieyasu and Mitsunari along. “We’re celebrating working hard and hard work!”

“We have not yet decided on clean-up!”

It had taken a call from Nobunaga for some other local agents of the nightwatch to help with the cleaning. Then after much debate, decided only by a flip of a coin, they stopped by a local burger joint for takeout, moved on to buy drinks (juice for Masamune), and walked back to their apartment which was three floors above their restaurant. They ate and drank for the city, for good health, for their successes, and for the gods to continue smiling kindly upon them all.

By the time they finished, the sun had begun its climb from the Sierra Madre. Ieyasu wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and sleep the rest of the day away. The moment his head touched his pillow, he was gone and Ieyasu Tokugawa dreamed of teal colored wards and a woman running hard to catch up on him.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen ieyasu #a thousand mended seams #atms 03 #ythmir writes #ythmir fanfics

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sourwolf-sterek32 · 6 years

Text

You’re Not Alone Pt. 2 ( Daryl Dixon x Reader )

Summary: The reader and Daryl have started to settle into life at Alexandria, but once the group runs into the Saviours and more specifically Negan, your way of life as you know it will change forever. While the universe seems to be set on pulling you and Daryl apart, how far are you willing to go to get back to each other and make things right?

This series picks up during the Season 6 finale and follows the basic story line up till the Season 8 finale, through yours and Daryl’s eyes.

(Spoilers for Season 8 of TWD)

Parings: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 4,264

Warnings: Language, violence, mild descriptions of blood and gore, slight references to a miscarriage (this can be a sensitive topic for some, so please do not read if you feel it might upset you, look after yourself guys).

Chapter 7:

Morgan showed you all where you would spend the night and although there were enough rooms for all of you to have one for yourselves, you all stayed together in the larger bedroom. Rick and Michonne took the double bed on the left side of the room while Tara and Rosita shared the queen bed on the right. Sasha, Jesus and Carl took the three single couches along the wall while you and Daryl shared the larger three-seater couch.

It wasn't as comfortable as having your own rooms and beds but you guys have had worse, much worse. You were just grateful that you were together, that you and Daryl were together.

Daryl laid behind you, his back against the back of the couch with his arms wrapped around you, he had one of your hands intertwined with his as your thumb made soft circles over the back of his hand. You could feel his soft even breaths behind you and you smiled, glad that he had finally fallen asleep. You glanced around the dimly lit room noticing everyone was asleep until your eyes landed on Carl who was sitting on the other couch looking over everyone.

"Carl." You whispered softly not wanting to wake anyone as Carl turned towards you and smiled noticing you were awake.

"Hey." He whispered back, his eyes glancing at Daryl behind you before looking back at you.

"Can't sleep?" You asked softly but Carl shook his head and you looked at him in confusion.

"Someone's gotta keep watch. We don't know this place or these people and I am not letting anyone else die." Carl whispered causing you to smile. When did he grow up so fast? It just felt like the other day you were teaching him how to ride the old dirt bike back at the prison, even though Rick wasn't a fan of it. But the look of pure joy and happiness on Carls face when he rode around the prison in first gear was totally worth it. He reminded you so much of your little brother, Matthew. The two of them would have gotten along so well.

"You need to look after yourself too. Now get some sleep, alright? I will be up for a little while longer. Get some rest." You replied softly watching as he contemplated what to do.

"You need to sleep to. You have been through a rough few days, Y/N." He whispered kindly and you smiled shaking your head.

"I have rested at Hilltop for long enough, now shut up and sleep." You said unable to hide your smile as Carl laughed quickly rolling his eyes at you.

"You would have made a great mother. Good night Y/N." He whispered as he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders.

"Good night, little bro." You replied softly causing him to smile as he closed his eyes. He always wanted an older sibling and after Hershel's farm got over run you, Carl and Sophia all became really close. The kids took a liking to you, although you had no idea why. Daryl said once that it's because you always had a smile on your face, even during this screwed up world, you were always smiling and it made you easy to approach and talk to, that's why they took a liking to you. But, when Sophia got killed by a walker a few days after Judith was born, you and Carl become even closer. With Rick going a little crazy after Lori's death you were the one that was by Carls side and basically becoming like a big sister to the kid. Ever since then the two of you had stuck together.

"This is life here. Every day. But it came at a cost. And I wanted more of this. I wanted to expand. To create more places like this. Men and women lost their limbs. Children lost their parents because I sent them into battle against the wasted when I didn't need to." Ezekiel stated as you all looked around the Kingdom, walking down the road watching the children do archery lessons. You smiled sadly watching a little girl trying to shoot while her father gave her advice. It reminded you so much of when you were her age and your dad was teaching you to hunt in the woods with your compound bow.

"This is different." Rick replied glancing over at the group of you making sure you were all still with him before he turned back to the King.

"It isn't." Ezekiel responded but Rick shook his head.

"It is. The dead don't rule us. The world doesn't look like this outside your walls. People don't have it as good. Some people don't have it good at all." Rick explained and Ezekiel sighed glancing around at your group as you all stood in the middle of his town.

"I have to worry about my people." He stated but you heard Daryl scoff from besides you, bringing your attention back to the conversation happening in front of you.

"You call yourself a damn king. You sure as hell don't act like one." Daryl commented, his southern drawl thick as he looked over at you and you nodded supporting what he said.

"All of this came at a cost. It was lives, arms, legs." He replied, staring at Daryl as he pointed towards his people before walking back over to Rick. "The peace we have with the Saviours is uneasy, but it is peace. I have to hold on to it. Although the Kingdom cannot grant you the aid you desire, the King is sympathetic to your plight. I offer our friend Daryl asylum for as long as he requires it. He will be safe here. The Saviours do not set foot inside our walls."

"How long do ya think that's gonna last?" Daryl questioned staring at the King before grabbing your hand and walking off towards the gates. You could tell Daryl didn't want to stay here and you didn't want him to stay while the rest of you went back to Alexandria, but you knew this was the safest place for him while the Saviours are out there looking for him.

"Alright, open it up. We're goin'." Daryl shouted towards the guards by the gates who nodded as they began opening them.

"You're not." Rick suddenly said turning around to face Daryl as the others started walking out.

"I'm not staying here." Daryl responded glancing over at you before staring back at Rick.

"You have to. It's the smartest play. You know it is. Try to talk to Ezekiel. Or stare him into submission. Whatever it takes." Rick replied following Daryl's eyes as he began to pace left and right.

"You can try talk to him, we need the Kingdom on our side if we have any chance at taking down the Saviours." You said grabbing Daryl's arm to get him to stop pacing and to look at you.

"I ain't leaving ya, something could happen." He replied sternly but you shook your head. You didn't want to be away from Daryl, but Alexandria needed you, you had to go back and he needed to stay, it's the only he would be safe.

"I can take care of myself. You need the Kingdom, please Daryl. If the Saviours find you back at Alexandria or the Hilltop they will take you again. I can't let them take you, I won't!" You stated folding your arms over your chest. "I can't lose you again Daryl! I'd rather you be here for a few days safe, then back at Alexandria while Negan is out looking for you."

"Don't do anythin' stupid while I'm not there to protect ya. Alright?" Daryl asked and you smiled before pulling him in for a hug as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

"I love you too, Dixon." You replied as you lifted your head, kissing him deeply.

"We'll be back soon." Rick reassured, placing his hand on Daryl's shoulder for a few seconds before he nodded at the two of you as you and Rick began following the others out the gate. You could feel Daryl staring at you, so you glance over your shoulder giving him a gentle smile before the gates closed behind you.

*An hour later*

You, Rick and Michonne quickly got back into the car as Tara hit the accelerator driving away from the large herd of walkers. You came across a walker trap on your way to Alexandria, it was a large steel cable across the road with explosives strapped to it. Rick ordered you all to collect the explosives after Rosita showed you all how to. You had to admit it was pretty nerve wreaking cutting the explosives off and to make matters worse the herd was coming down the highway towards the group.

Jesus and Sasha went back to Hilltop on foot to tell Maggie that you weren't giving up. While Rosita, Tara and Carl all ran towards the cars to shift them back where they were to block the highway, leaving you, Rick and Michonne to finish getting the explosives.

"That was too close for comfort." You gasped, trying to catch your breath as you sat down in the backseat between Rick and Carl. You, Rick and Michonne had to make a run for it to the car, through the herd of walkers. Michonne was killing the walkers in her path with her katana, Rick using his axe while you used the end of your bow, smacking the walkers in the face with enough force to kill them before the three of you reached the car.

You glanced over at Rick who was looking out the back window when something exploded from behind you and it took you a few seconds before you realised it was the explosive that Rosita left there.

"Yeah, I didn't like the look of that shit at all." Rosita commented and you laughed shaking your head, if she didn't notice something was wrong with it, you all would have been dead.

"I pushed it. I pushed it." Rick muttered, taking deep breaths as he shook his head before Michonne leaned over the back seat grabbing his shoulder.

"We're here. You can smile. We made it. We can make it. We can." Michonne replied kissing him on the cheek and Rick sighed leaning back on the seat as he glanced over you making sure you were okay as you nodded giving him a smile.

Rick told Tara to park the car in the woods a few miles from Alexandria, so the Saviours couldn't find the explosives if they decided to check your vehicles. You knew the Saviours were coming to try find Daryl, you heard Negan over the radio Jesus stole from them. So after making sure the car was hidden from sight you all began walking back to Alexandria.

"Lose the car?" Tobin asked as he opened the gate letting the group back into Alexandria before his eyes landed on, giving you a small nod indicating that things were good between the two of you. He had a small bandage over his nose from when you punched him and a nice bruise over his left cheek, but he clearly realised he stepped over the line the other day.

"It's somewhere safe." Rick replied as he began walking down the street towards Aaron and Eric who were heading towards you guys.

"You didn't find anything?" Tobin asked as Rick turned around.

"No. Listen, we need to get ready. The-" Rick began explaining before the sound of engines filled the air and you all turned around to find the Saviours driving towards you. Shit, a few minutes later and we wouldn't have been back in time.

You all took a few steps back as the vehicles drove through the gate, parking around the corner. Rick nodded to Tara to shut the gate before you walked towards the Saviours getting out their vehicles.

"Rick. Hello. And hello again." Simon greeted walking towards the group of you as you crossed your arms over your chest, staring at him.

"We thought it'd be longer." Rick replied, playing dumb to why the Saviours where back already, you just hoped like hell they believed him.

"Do you think we're here for a tribute? Do you?" Simon replied, placing his hands on his belt as he stared at Rick.

"Is there another reason?" Rick asked glancing over at the Saviours behind Simon before bringing his attention back to Negan's right-hand man.

"There is. We're here for Daryl." Simon answered, taking another step forward so he was directly in front of him.

"Negan took Daryl." You stated bitterly, glaring at Simon who grinned before looking back to Rick.

"But then your son showed up, Daryl went missing. Might those two things be connected?" Simon asked pointing to Carl. He better not touch the kid, you thought to yourself as you gripped the strap of your bow over your shoulder.

"They're not. We didn't know he was gone till right now." Rick responded causing Simon to grin, shaking his head and it was clear he didn't believe him.

"Then this should be easy. Now, everyone find a buddy. Gonne have to show us around. If he's here, we really need you all to see him die." Simon ordered as he began walking away from Rick towards you. "You're his pregnant wife, right?"

"I'm just his wife." You muttered, glaring up at the man who was a lot taller now that he was standing right in front of you.

"Shit. My condolences. Now follow me, you're my buddy." Simon responded grabbing your arm, but you shrugged him off causing him to grin before he walked off and you followed, glancing back over at the rest of the group who were all being dragged to various houses with other Saviours.

You watched in silence as they went house to house. Destroying anything that got in their way, tables, chairs, book shelves, they didn't care. Leaving the insides of houses completely wrecked. The searching lasted nearly an hour before the Saviours deemed that Daryl wasn't here.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Rick. My apologies for leaving the place a bit of a mess, but we got a litany of other shit to attend to. So do you I guess." Simon said patting Rick on the shoulder as you all made your way back to the gate as the Saviours began driving their vehicles out. "Now, since we no longer have Daryl, I have direct orders to bring Y/N back to Negan to take Daryl's place." Simon suddenly said turning to face the group of you before his eyes landed on yours and you froze. Shit.

"What?" Rick questioned, sudden fear hitching in his voice as he glanced back at you with worried eyes.

"I'm taking Daryl's girl back to the Sanctuary. Someone's gotta take his place since he escaped, and Negan would love to have Y/N's company." Simon explained as he reached out grabbing your arm but this time you couldn't shrug him off as his grip tightened.

"We need her. She's our best scavenger, we need her here, so we can get more supplies for Negan." Michonne suddenly shouted, but you knew there was no point trying to argue. Negan gave Simon an order, there was no way he was gonna let his boss down.

"No! Don't. We didn't know anything about Daryl escaping." Rick quickly argued grabbing your other arm to stop Simon from pulling you away, but that only made the other man angry as he pulled out his gun aiming it at Rick

"Don't make me kill one of you, I'm sure you have all lost enough people." Simon said, gun still aimed at Rick whose eyes were flying from you to the gun and then back to you as you gave him a sad smile.

"It's okay, Rick. We'll work this out." You reassured as Rick released your arm hesitantly and you quickly handed him your bow before Simon pushed you into the truck as he climbed in next to you.

"Oh! And, Rick if Daryl does turn up here two days from now, two months from now hell, two years from now, just know there's no statute of limitations on this. Keep that hatchet handy. You're gonna need it if he turns up with you people. And it won't turn out how it did for your boy." Simon shouted before he began driving off, out the gate.

You watched through the revision mirror as the group stared at the truck driving off before someone closed the gate to Alexandria blocking your view from your people. You had a bad feeling that it was last time you'd see your family again. Whatever Negan had planned for you, it wouldn't be good. You just hoped like hell that Daryl stayed safe and hidden from the Saviours.

"We're here. Now a little word of advice lady, play nice otherwise Negan will make your life hell." Simon suddenly said after hours of driving in silence. You didn't respond, watching as the vehicles in front of you slowed down as they approached a gate. To the right you could see walkers chained the fence and various posts, while a few men in dirty white jumpers and pants were running around them trying to chain more to the fence. Who the hell does that?

You stayed silent observing the scene around you, if you were going to try escape this place you needed to know as much as possible.

Simon pulled the truck up next to the other vehicles after driving through the gate. You could see the Saviours starting to exit their vehicles before they all suddenly stopped and knelt down to the ground with their head down. What are they doing? You thought to yourself when a familiar whistle filled the air and you instantly knew it was Negan.

"Get out." Simon ordered grabbing your arm and pulling you out the truck as he pushed you to the ground trying to get you to kneel, but you pushed him off as you stood up straight. Like hell you were going to kneel for Negan, he and his men killed Glen, Abraham, Olivia, Spencer, Denise, your unborn baby! You were never going to kneel for this asshole.

"Well. Well. Well." Negan's voice called as he walked out from behind one of the trucks, his bat slung over his shoulder as his eyes landed on you. "As you were." Negan shouted glancing around at his men as they all suddenly stood back up, going back to whatever they were doing before like nothing ever happened.

"Daryl wasn't hiding at Alexandria, but it will only be a matter of time before he finds out we have his girl and he will come running back." Simon suddenly said from besides you as Negan walked over in your direction.

"Yes, he will." Negan replied with a grin as he stood in front of you, his eyes roaming over your body before his eyes locked with yours. "Now, you have two options here Y/N. Option one. You tell me where Daryl is hiding and tell me what your buddies at Alexandria are planning, because knowing Rick the prick he would be trying to plan something stupid! If you tell me what I need to know I will guarantee your safety and you could live in luxury here at the Sanctuary like my wives. Or option two. You don't tell me what I need to know, and I will make your life here a living hell. So, what will it be doll face?"

"Fuck you." You spat, glaring at the man in front of you as he shook his head with a sigh.

"Wrong answer sweetheart." Negan stated giving Simon a nod and before you even realised what was happening something hard hit you in the back of the head and everything faded to black.

When you finally started to wake up, you realised you were lying on your back, the cement floor sending a cold shiver through your body. Where the hell am I? Everything around you was black minus the thin line of light shining through the bottom of what you assumed was a door. Negan had thrown you into a cell. You should have seen that coming, it's what he did to Daryl.

You slowly sat up, finding the corner of the small cell as you leant against the wall, the cold cement hitting your bare back and that's when you realised your shirt was gone. What the hell?! You quickly felt over the rest of your body in panic, realising you were only wearing a bra and undies.

"Fucking assholes." You muttered, pulling your knees up to your chest as you wrapped your arms around your legs trying to keep yourself warm as you stared at the light through the bottom of the door. There was no way you were gonna stay here, you just had to wait for the right moment and you would break out of here and get back to Daryl and help the group fight against the Saviours.

A few hours had gone by... or maybe it was a few days? You honestly had no sense of time in this cell, but finally someone opened the large steel door.

You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to cover your body the best you could as the door suddenly opened. You had to close your eyes for a few seconds at the sudden brightness before your eyes eventually adjusted to the light and you found Negan leaning against the door frame, his arms folded over his chest and you realised he wasn't holding Lucille, that's a good sign.

"Bored shitless yet darling?" Negan questioned raising his eyebrow as he stared down you in the corner of the room.

"This is the most relaxed I've felt in years." You replied sarcastically glaring at the man in front of you as he grinned shaking his head.

"So, I don't suppose you'll tell me where Daryl took off to? Or what Rick is planning?" Negan asked and you shook your head, not breaking eye contact with him.

"You'll have better luck at trying to get a walker to talk." You answered bitterly and Negan chuckled, rubbing the stubble starting to grow along his jaw.

"I don't want to hurt you Y/N. I hate hurting women, but if you don't tell me what I want to know, I won't have a choice." He said with a sigh looking down at the ground for a few seconds before looking back over at you. "Stand up." He ordered but you didn't move a muscle, he wasn't the boss of you.

"Stand the fuck up." He suddenly shouted taking a step into the cell as he grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet. Suddenly you were standing right in front of him, your body exposed and even though you had your bra and undies on, in that moment you felt completely naked.

You kept your eyes down, avoiding Negan's gaze. You knew his eyes were wondering your body, taking in your curves and the scars that lined your chest and stomach. His hand suddenly brushed against your bare shoulder as he took a step closer.

"You would fit in perfectly with my other wives, darling. Hell, you would be my favourite of the lot." He whispered, his hand slowly moving down your left arm. You felt panic starting to rise in your body, images of your abusive ex filling your mind and before you knew what you were doing you swung at Negan landing a solid punch to his jaw.

He quickly let you go, holding his jaw as you gasped taking a step back, shocked with your actions. You shouldn't have done that. If he didn't kill you, he sure as hell won't play friendly with you anymore.

"Damn! You have more balls than most my men." Negan shouted, sounding both angry yet amused as he suddenly pushed you into the wall behind you. Pinning you to the cold cement with his forearm over your chest. You stared at his threatening hazel eyes as you tried to calm your breathing, not wanting the man to realise you were scared, but it was probably too late for that.

"You do not want to piss me off." Negan said sternly, his face inches away from yours before he took a step back. "My offer still stands, you can become one of my wives and I will look after you."

"I'm married." You stated, folding your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself up as Negan chuckled.

"Just think about it." He replied as he began walking out the cell before stopping. "I will have one of my men bring you some clothes and food." He said before closing the steel door behind him.

You sat back down on the floor, staring at the light through the bottom of the door when suddenly music began blasting through the cell.

We're on easy street And it feels so sweet 'Cause the world is 'bout a treat When you're on easy street

You tried to block your ears from the loud music, but there wasn't any point, you could still hear it. Fuck. So, this must be that annoying happy song they played on repeat while Daryl was here, God how'd he not gone insane with this?

MASTERLIST / Next Chapter

Tag List: (If you want to be added or removed from the tag list just flick me an ask or a message)

@phantomfiresidesims

@jodiereedus22

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd #twd fanfiction #twd masterlist #The Walking Dead #You're Not Alone #You're Not Alone Pt 2

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promptistrashqueen · 6 years

Text

Sunshine from a Stranger 3

Part 1 Part 2

Short on account of a need for a transition chapter and also because I have to sleep soon?

Prompto stares at a wall, it’s got lovely black and silver filigree paint and in the center a piece of art depicting the ascension of the first Lucian King. He doesn’t really see it, just notes, idly that if he breathes on anything it will probably lower the value and yet still, he would be outclassed by the dirt on the floor here.

Probably, he assumes, scuffing at the nicely polished floor with the cheap sneaker Iggy-Ignis had provided him, because that dirt has touched the feet of royals. He’s so out of his element.

Lucis. Insomnia. It’s all beautiful and he’s met alphas from here now and they are more than he could’ve hoped, they are...god they’re human. Not the monsters he’s come to fear, even the most sane alpha’s in Niflheim twist when they get too near him in his heat and yet…

He remembers Noct, pressed against his side as he rode out the uncomfortable, sometimes painful heat. The memory makes his cheeks color especially when it occurs to him, he was cuddled to the Crown Fucking Prince.

He breaths in slowly, looking back at the wall and trying to actually take in the painting. Slightly down the hall from the bench he sits on, his tank top and jeans a testament to his lack of belonging, there’s a man with dark hair in a uniform he’s starting to recognize.

Kingsglaive. The word is supplied to him from his limited knowledge of Lucis, the whispers of a place without dread, with equality that overlooks the secondary sex, see’s people. The Kingsglaive are elite fighters, protectors of the crown, outshone only by Crownsguard, the specific protectors each King picks as his personal guard.

Prompto can’t look at the painting anymore, so he tries to observe the man without being obvious about it. He’s fairly tall, a few days growth of whiskers, his dark hair is partially shaved a few braids swing when he turns his head instinctually to listen more to the earpiece he wears. The black garb is decorated with faint silver and he wears it well, his eyes are blue, not as captivating as Noct’s but...oh. Shit.

Prompto blinks, the blue eyes wink at him and he blushes. The glaive starts walking toward him and his leg bounces as he thinks about bolting, but, well there’s nowhere to go, not while Noct and the others are talking to Noct’s dad.

The King, Prompto reminds himself.

“Hey kid.”

Another surprise, the Glaive speaks Gralean. He smiles quickly at the other man, breathing in carefully, Alpha.

“Hey. Uh, ‘m Prompto?”

“I’m Nyx. You sure that’s your name?”

Prompto laughs a little and relaxes a bit at the way the Glaive smiles, “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m...new to this whole, people thing.”

Nyx nods, humming a little, and Prompto gets the impression he’s going for sage agreement.

“We all gotta start somewhere. You came in with Prince Noctis from Niflheim?”

Prompto nods, looking away as he does, his leg is still bouncing.

“Well kid, I don’t know shit about you but if the Prince brought you here you’ve got to be alright, especially if Lord Scientia agreed to it. I know it’s a lot to take in but trust me, past the ancestral grandeur the King and his son are decent people.”

Prompto smiles a little, he already could’ve guessed as much from just a few days travel with Noct.

“Yeah, Noct was great, for an alpha.”

He cringes Nyx is one too after all, but he doesn’t get a chance to take it back.

“Yeah, hard-headed lot we are.” He laughs and Prompto relaxes again, grinning.

“You’re not from here either though?”

Nyx shakes his head, “Nah. That’s a long story, I’m sure yours is too. Maybe if you stick around for a while we can share,” he tilts his head again, listening, “Sounds like the King’s asking for you kid.”

Prompto swallows, brushing off his shirt a little as Nyx responds to someone over the communication device, “This is Glaive Ulric, I’ll bring him in.”

It’s almost startling to hear him speak Lucian and Prompto has to consciously switch back over, having settled into Gralean again. Nyx raises an eyebrow at him, standing, as though to ask if he’s ready and Prompto nods, blonde bangs falling into his face and he shoves them back again, determined.

Nyx leads him through the door Noct and the other’s went through before and he steels himself, expecting a throne room. Instead it’s a comfortable office-like space. A large desk covered in papers, several chairs, shelves, some art. No windows though and when his gaze lands on the man behind the desk it makes sense that the security risk would be too high.

Noctis, standing beside the desk, Ignis seated, Gladiolus leaned agains the wall. Prompto marks their locations thoughtlessly, his fight or flight kicking in because the two Alpha’s behind the large desk are giving off such strong influence he feels his knees threaten to give.

“Hey Prom.”

Noctis voice draws his attention and he realizes he’s not really breathing. He forces in a breath and smiles quickly, “Hey Noct.”

Winces, because fuck that’s informal, but he’s starting to get his head on straight again and Nyx nods to the room at large before excusing himself, Prompto misses him immediately. Another odd man out, well, kind of.

“This is my dad Prom. He has a couple of questions, if that’s cool?”

Prompto looks back at the seated man, grey hair, Noctis’ eyes, but a little bluer, the raiments of a King. Yeah Noct, he thinks, your dad.

“Yeah. Uh, what uh, what did you need to know your Majesty?”

Shit. He should’ve probably bowed or something, well...there goes that. The King doesn’t seem particularly disturbed but the man on his right, short white hair and a scarred face, is much more frightening, at least until Gladio speaks up.

“You’re freaking him out dad, lay off.”

“Dadsclub.” Prompto says it out loud, he can feel the shape of the words on his tongue and he’s pretty sure it’s from spending too much time alone because there is no good reason for him to blurt that kinda shit out in front of these men.

The tension that’s been coiling in the room snaps as the King chuckles and Noctis laughs aloud, even Ignis gives an amused huff.

“Prompto. I’m glad you seem remarkably chipper despite coming from what Noctis assures me is a bleak situation. I simply wanted to ask if you would be willing to do a full interview once you’ve had a day or two to settle here, there are many things that we do not know about our northern neighbors and also I wished to see if you were alright with arrangements being made to stay here in the citadel. Normally we would request you be placed under watch until our security concerns were cleared but from what Gladiolus and Ignis have said I do not believe such measures necessary.”

Prompto nodded quickly, his hair falling back in front of his face, “I can do that. I mean, I don’t know how much help I can be but uh, Noctis brought me all the way here it’s the least I can do. If it’s too much trouble for me to stay in the citadel I can go somewhere else but I don’t know anything about Lucis really so if I could stay here that would be great! Your Majesty!”

The king smiles again, “You may call me Regis when we are in private Prompto. I am not your king by birth and I don’t expect your allegiance so quickly. Take some time to learn more about Insomnia. I’m sure Ignis can find accomodations here quite quickly. If you choose to stay with us I only ask that you take the time to learn more of our customs and manners.”

Prompto nods again and glances at Noctis who gives him a thumbs up and a smile.

“Thank you...Regis.”

“Now then, Clarus and myself are needed elsewhere. Noctis I would like a full report by the weeks end and if you would please help Prompto settle in, I believe we can reschedule our dinner for tomorrow night.”

The king and Gladio’s father left them quickly and Prompto stared at the desk in their absence.

“Prom?” Noctis’ voice cuts through and Prompto looks at him with wide eyes.

“Oh man I am so out of my depth dude!”

Gladiolus laughs and pushes off the wall, clapping his shoulder, “Don’t worry kid, Iggy and I will catch you up on important stuff since the nap Princess won’t be any use. He can show you all the fun stuff I guess.”

Noctis makes and indignant sound and Ignis rises, “Alright. If the two of you can keep the scuffles to a minimum until I show Prompto where he’s too sleep for the night?”

Ignis turns to him and Prompto smiles a little, “You probably are tired but I’m also going to give you some brief information about Insomnia’s laws, particularly pertaining to secondary sex. When you decide more about what you want for the future we can talk more about gaps in your knowledge of the laws here and of biology as I don’t think Niflheim has comprehensive education?”

Prompto shakes his head, not that he’s never been in class, but it was a lot more fight things or fuck things oriented and he doesn’t know a lot about basic life stuff. Hell, he can barely make food that tastes like anything.

The thoughts are drowned though as Noctis swings the door to the hall open again, a bright smile, “I bet there’s a free room near mine.”

Yeah, Insomnia’s fuckin’ weird but Prompto thinks he might be able to find a home here, besides, he’s already started making friends.

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bob-giovanni · 6 years

Text

A Casual Affair - Part 19

Characters: Simon X OFC

Summary: Simon and Violet make the most of their last few days of vacation.

Warnings: Cursing, Fluff, Smut

Song for this Chapter: “Make Me Feel” by Janelle Monae (Playlist Here!)

Simon and Violet had been in Bora Bora for ten days but it felt like ten hours honestly. The time flew by so quickly but they were having the time of their lives. Being able to temporarily not worry about work, family, friends, bills was heaven. Simon and Violet knew they were gonna have a lot to deal with once they got back so they were making sure to really live it up during their last few days. Today was jam packed. After breakfast they went out and rode around on jet skis. Violet truly could not drive hers to save her life but she had a blast anyway. Then after jet skiing they went scuba diving and swam with dolphins. It was a magical experience. They only got out of the water to grab lunch and a quick nap before going parasailing.

After parasailing they decided to just lay out on the beach and enjoy the beautiful weather. Around dinner time they headed back to their villa to get changed before heading to one of the nearby restaurants. They decided to try one they hadn’t been to yet. This one served sushi. Simon wasn’t a huge fan of sushi but Violet loved it and he wanted to make her happy. Violet knew Simon only agreed to go because she wanted to, but she had every intention of paying him back later. Once they were seated inside the restaurant, Simon smiled over at Violet. “What?” She asked softly. Simon shook his head. “Nothing. You looked like you really enjoyed yourself today.” Violet smiled and nodded. “How could I not? I mean, swimming with dolphins? Parasailing? Scuba diving? I’m exhausted but I had the most fun I’ve ever had in my life today. And that’s all because of you.”

Simon smiled softly as he looked over the menu. “Alright, I’m new to this sushi thing so I’m gonna need your help.” Violet laughed softly and started to explain the different types of rolls to Simon. The idea of eating completely raw fish seemed to gross him out so she suggested he go for some tempura. “It’s not completely cooked but it’s not completely raw either.” Simon nodded and decided on a dragon roll. Violet licked her lips. “Mm, delicious. I love dragon rolls. I’m gonna get a spicy tuna roll and a rainbow roll.” The waiter came over and took their orders. He returned a short time later with a tray with a carafe and two small glasses. Violet clapped excitedly. “This is my favorite part! Sake!” She poured each of them a glass and held hers up so they can toast. “To the most wonderful vacation with the most incredible man in the world.” Simon grinned. “And to the most beautiful woman in the universe.” They giggled and clinked their glasses before drinking.

After having a few drinks their food finally came. Simon took a bite of his and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow, ok, this is actually pretty good.” Violet grinned and popped one of her spicy tuna rolls into her mouth. “See? I told you you’d like it. Want to try one of mine?” Simon nodded. “Yes, please.” Violet placed a couple of rolls on a plate and handed it to Simon. The pair laughed and told stories as they ate and drank. Once they were finished the waiter came over to ask if they wanted dessert. Violet shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “No I’m way too full. Do you want anything, Si?” Simon shook his head. “No thanks, just the check please.” Violet smiled over at Simon. “So, are you head over heels in love with sushi now?” Simon laughed softly. “I wouldn’t go that far but I’m ok with it now.”

Simon paid the check and stood, holding his hand out to Violet. She smiled as she placed her hand in his and they left the restaurant, making their way back to their villa. It was an especially beautiful night. The wind blowing in off the ocean was soft but cooling on her skin. Because there wasn’t a lot of light pollution here, the stars were so bright and vibrant in the sky. It was just so romantic. Violet stopped walking and pulled Simon to her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him sweetly. Simon pulled back after a moment and smiled. “Mm, what was that for?” He asked. Violet shrugged. “Just cause I felt like it.” Simon put his hands on Violet’s waist and leaned down to kiss her once more. Violet smiled against Simon’s lips and pressed her body against his. Simon held her tightly as they stood on the empty boardwalk kissing for a few moments. Violet felt dizzy as she pulled back. “Mm, let’s head back now.” Simon nodded and laced their fingers together as they walked.

Once they were inside the villa, Violet leaned up to kiss Simon once more. “Why don’t you go sit on the bed? I have a little surprise for you.” Simon grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “A sexy surprise?” Violet giggled. “You’ll find out soon enough.” As Simon sat on the bed, Violet grabbed a small black bag from the closet and went into the bathroom. The day before Simon had to have an impromptu business meeting and was on the phone for a few hours so Violet went shopping. She’d found this cute boutique that sold lingerie and found a really sexy purple set. The bra was a mix of mesh and lace that really left nothing to the imagination and had a matching thong. She’d also picked up a black silk robe which she slipped on and tied around her waist. She bit her lip before opening the bathroom door and standing in the doorway for a moment staring at Simon.

Simon looked Violet over and licked his lips. “What do you have going on under that robe, baby?” He asked, his voice thick with lust. It really didn’t take much to get him worked up. Not with Violet anyway. A simple smile from her could get him all hot and bothered. Violet grinned. “You’ll see.” She sauntered over to the bluetooth speaker on the desk and quickly connected her phone, scrolling to the song she was looking for and pressing play. The song “Make Me Feel” by Janelle Monae filled the room. Something about this song just made Violet feel really sexy. She started swaying her hips and mouthing the words. Simon finally realized what was going on, that Violet was basically doing a striptease. He swallowed hard as he watched her move in time with the song.

Violet could tell that Simon was getting more and more worked up, causing a mischievous smirk to tug at her lips. As the chorus approached, she untied the robe, pulling the belt from the loops and draping it around Simon’s neck. She wrapped the belt around her fists and pulled Simon towards her as she leaned in and teasingly licked his lips. Simon parted his lips but Violet shook her head and pushed him back a bit as she continued moving along with the beat. When the chorus finally hit, she really started getting into it.

It’s like I’m powerful with a little bit of tender, an emotional sexual bender.

Violet turned her back to Simon and let the robe fall down her shoulders a bit, exposing the back of the bra. After a few seconds she pulled the robe back on and turned, purposely leaving the robe a bit open so Simon could see the top part of her cleavage.

Mess me up, yeah, cause no one does it better, there’s nothing better. That’s just the way you make me feel.

Violet quickly straddled Simon’s waist and started grinding her hips against his. She smirked when she felt that he was already hard. She loved that she had this effect on him. It really turned her on that no matter how many times they’ve had sex, no matter how many times he’s seen her naked, Violet could still turn Simon on like it was their first time.

That’s just the way you make me feel. So good, so good, so good, so fucking real, uh huh, that’s just the way you make me feel.

Violet stood and finally took the robe off, letting it simply fall to the floor and pool at her feet. Simon’s eyes raked over Violet’s body. He had an almost animalistic look in his eyes. Violet fucking loved it. She ran her hands over her body, moaning softly as her fingers brushed over her hardened nipples. Simon could see right through the lingerie Violet was wearing. He could see exactly how turned on she was and it was fucking hot. Violet took a few steps towards Simon before turning, showing her exposed ass cheeks and pulling a soft groan from Simon.

He reached out and ran his hand over Violet’s ass. She quickly grabbed his wrist and looked over her shoulder, shaking her head a bit. She grabbed his other wrist and held them to his sides as she rolled her body against his, making sure that her ass brushed against his clothed erection with each movement. Simon was going to cum right there in his pants if Violet kept this up. She must have sensed that Simon was getting a little too worked up because suddenly she stopped and turned so she could straddle Simon’s waist again. She leaned in and started kissing along his neck and jaw. She grabbed his earlobe in her teeth, giving it a soft tug before pressing her lips to his ears. “Did you enjoy that little show?”

Simon took her hand and placed it over his painfully hard cock. “What do you think?” He asked. She giggled softly and unbuttoned Simon’s shirt. She ran her hands down his toned chest and over his abs as she bit her bottom lip. “God you’re so sexy.” She said as she pushed his shirt off before unbuckling his belt and pulling it from the loops. Simon ran his hands around Violet’s hips and down over her ass, giving it a firm squeeze. Violet moaned softly and quickly unbuttoned and unzipped Simon’s pants. She moved off of Simon’s lap and crawled up to the head of the bed. He quickly stood and pushed his pants down, kicking them to the side before nearly ripping off his underwear. Violet stayed on her hands and knees and looked over her shoulder, pushing her ass out a bit.

Simon climbed back onto the bed and gave Violet’s ass a smack, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. Violet kneeled in front of Simon, gasping a bit as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He slid one hand down and hooked his fingers into the elastic of her thong as his other hand unclasped her bra. “You’ll definitely have to wear these again.” Violet bit her lip and grinned. “Yeah? You like it?” Simon nodded. “You look so fucking hot.” Violet gently brushed the tip of Simon’s cock with her fingertips. “Mm, I can tell you think so.” Simon hissed as he leaned down to kiss Violet deeply while he pulled off her bra. Violet wrapped her arms around Simon’s neck as he pushed her panties down her hips. As Violet kicked off her panties, Simon leaned down and started sucking on Violet’s nipples.

Violet groaned as her head fell back and she threaded her fingers through Simon’s hair. Simon kissed along Violet’s neck, nipping at her skin gently until he reached her lips. She grinned, as did Simon. “I love you.” He said softly. Violet’s grin grew wider. “I love you too.” Simon gently laid Violet on her back before settling between her legs. He ground his hips down against hers, causing both of them to moan and whimper. “Fuck, baby.” Simon groaned and pressed his tip to Violet’s entrance. “Do it, baby…fuck me.” She pleaded. Simon slowly pushed into Violet’s tight heat, groaning as her pussy completely enveloped him. No matter how many times they had sex, it always felt like the first time because Violet was so damn tight.

Violet’s eyes rolled back as Simon pushed completely inside her. She whimpered softly as he started to thrust slow and deep. As much as she loved when he manhandled her, Violet also couldn’t deny that when Simon took his time with her it made her come undone. There was just something about the way he was so gentle but whispered some of the dirtiest, filthiest things in her at the same time that just really worked on her. Simon reached down and grabbed Violet’s hands, lacing their fingers together before lifting her arms above her head, effectively pinning her down as he continued thrusting slow and deep. With each thrust, Simon’s member brushed against Violet’s spot, causing her to whimper and struggle against Simon’s grip.

“Simon…oh god, don’t stop.” Violet begged softly. Simon groaned and leaned down to kiss Violet deeply. “You feel so good, Violet…so hot and tight, fuck.” Violet moaned as she felt her stomach start to tighten. But she didn’t want this to end, not yet. It felt too good. She was able to get her hands free from Simon’s grip and grabbed his face, kissing him sweetly. “Turn over, baby.” Simon furrowed his eyebrows. “Everything ok?” He asked, panting softly. Violet smiled and nodded. “Everything is perfect. Just turn over.” Simon slipped out of Violet, causing both of them to moan before rolling onto his back. Violet straddled Simon’s waist and leaned forward to kiss him deeply as she lowered her hips down onto his member. She whimpered against his lips and sat up as she started to slowly rock her hips.

Simon slid his hands up Violet’s thighs and dug his nails into her flesh as he thrust up into her. “Oh god, Vi…” Simon licked his lips as he grabbed her hips. Violet put her hands on Simon’s chest and leaned forward as she rocked her hips a little faster. She swore she could stay like this forever. Just her and Simon in bed, kissing and fucking and touching and squeezing. She could never get enough of him. After a few more minutes of riding him, Violet could feel her thighs start to tremble in Simon’s grip. She knew she was getting close. She kept one hand on Simon’s chest and used her other hand to start rubbing her clit. She moaned Simon’s name loudly as she started to rock her hips faster. “Simon, baby, I’m getting close.” Simon started thrusting up into Violet a bit faster. “Me too, baby.”

Violet’s whole body started to shake as she clenched around Simon’s dick and came hard, moaning Simon’s name loudly. Simon thrust up a few more times before releasing inside Violet with a deep guttural moan. Violet lifted her hips, whimpering softly as Simon’s now flaccid cock slipped out of her and collapsed next to him. “Damn, that was good.” Simon laughed softly and turned onto his side, pulling Violet close to him. “Mm, it was.” As the pair laid there, cuddling and catching their breath, Simon noticed that Violet seemed a little down. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Violet sighed softly. “Do we have to leave? It’s so perfect here.” Simon laughed softly. “I know it is. This has been the best two weeks of my life, honestly. And it’s not because of this place. It’s because I’m here with you. But we do have to go back to reality. But it’ll be ok because we’ll have each other.” Violet smiled and kissed Simon softly. “I love you so much. It almost hurts how much I love you.”

Simon ran his hand through Violet’s hair. “Sometimes I swear I don’t know what I did before I met you. I mean, I know that I was doing stuff but I haven’t felt like I was alive for a really long time. But when I met you…it was like everything in my life finally started making sense. Like I was truly alive and seeing things clearly for the first time. From the moment I laid eyes on you I knew that you were gonna mean something, no…that you were gonna mean everything to me.” Violet could feel tears stinging her eyes. She leaned in and kissed Simon deeply as a few tears streamed down her cheeks. As they parted, Simon used his thumbs to wipe away Violet’s tears. “You ok?” He asked softly. Violet laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve just been weirdly emotional lately.” She shook her head and looked up at Simon. “But what you just said was so beautiful.” “But not as beautiful as you.” Violet wrapped her arms around Simon’s torso and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Simon kissed her temple before pulling the covers over their naked bodies before they both drifted off to sleep.

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Rachel was laying on her couching watching TV when she heard her text alert go off. It was from her mom. A picture with the message “Isn’t this your friend Violet???” under it. Rachel furrowed her eyebrows and sat up as she looked at the picture. It was Violet and Simon walking hand in hand on the beach. She texted her mom back.

Rachel: Where did you find this?

Mom: On Twitter. Did she have an affair with Charlotte Scott’s husband???

Rachel went on Twitter and saw that Charlotte’s name was trending. She clicked on her name, gasping and covering her mouth with her hand when she read the first headline. “Charlotte Scott confirms divorce rumors; announces she’s pregnant with soon-to-be ex’s child.” Rachel quickly clicked on her contacts and scrolled to Violet’s number. She clicked her name, cursing when it went right to voicemail. “Violet, it’s Rachel. I know you’re on vacation but I need you to call me back right away, it’s important. Shit is about to get real.”

Tags: @collette04 @66psychotic99 @simons-thirst-squad @mwesterfeld1985 @negans-castle @neganismyobsession @laymetorest77 @brittlw @faith-lynn9

#Simon X OFC #Simon the Savior #Simon TWD #TWD Fanfiction #Steven Ogg

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anintelligentoctopus · 6 years

Text

Here's the rough first chapter of my Rawhide Pete/Favor fic (working title: The Return). It’s basically a draft, but I wanted to share something

There’s also an illustration in there

It had been two days now. Two days of nothing to do but sit in the saloon, drop by the livery stable, or wander aimlessly up and down the short street. Two days of something constantly gnawing at his stomach. Anticipation, maybe. Or fear. They ought to be coming by soon. He'd asked around enough towns along the trail to figure out roughly where they were. Unless they'd run into some trouble -and they could run into a lot of it- their dust ought to be appearing on the horizon any time now.

Spending the day standing at the end of the road squinting out across the prairie wasn't going to make them appear any sooner, and Pete Nolan wasn't sure he wanted them to. He sighed and pulled his hat lower, and turned to walk back in the direction of the saloon, leaving his own small trail of dust as he went. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the two months it had been since he rode out of Fort Sill he wandered if he had made a mistake and the army did still need him. Despite General Morgan telling him he and the army had different ideas about what 'peace' meant. That there was government policy to be followed, and to the letter. That they didn't want any repeats of what happened with General Perry. Even though that had mostly worked out for the best, it almost didn't. They both still got in hot water over it, especially Pete, who got most of the blame.

The hinges squeaked as he pushed through the swing doors. The barman gave him a cursory glance before returning his attention to wiping down the bartop. Just that quiet fellow coming in again to buy a drink. Sit at a table for a couple of hours, not talking to anybody, then leave without a word. A couple of hours later he'd be back again. Pete guessed he was used to it by now.

He made his way to the bar, casting a glance round the room. It wasn't busy. A small poker game at one table. A couple of men and one who looked barely old enough to drink chatting away by the window. Someone leaning on the battered old piano while one of the girls played. He ordered a whiskey, pushing a coin across the bar. It was probably watered down. "Who are you waiting for, mister?" He looked up from staring at the wood. The barman's expression was open, curious. No suspicion in his voice. "What makes you think I am?" He shrugged. "You got that look about you. Restless-like, wandering around town like that." Pete gave a wry smile. He had noticed the occasional stare from some of the locals during his frequent wanderings. "Guess you could say I'm waiting on some old friends." Basically true. The whole story wasn't one he felt like telling. The barman was either friendly or nosy. "Meeting them here?" he pressed, hoping for a slightly less cryptic answer. "They're in these parts." He made a motion to move away, hoping he would take the hint. He did. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged again, turning away to busy himself with something else. The kid by the window had approached one of the girls and was trying out his charm on her. She was humouring him, but Pete had a feeling she wasn't interested. One of them had tried getting friendly the previous evening. Not being in the mood, he brushed her off. He wondered if she told the others not to bother with him, because none of them had approached him since. Normally he quite enjoyed their company, but the way his stomach had been twisting in knots put him off socialising. Mostly he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts. The same thoughts he had been dwelling on for weeks. The kid wasn't doing a very good job. Rowdy would probably have got friendly with half of them already. Saloon girls liked Rowdy. Pete sometimes used to wonder if it was because they saw him as a soft touch or because they genuinely liked him. Probably both. He was good-looking enough and charming enough, and he liked just about every woman he met.

He managed to make his drink last for the better part of an hour. Some people had left, some had come in. One man had quit the poker game, clearly broke. The group by the window had left. By the time he got up to leave it seemed even quieter than when he came in. He could use something to eat. And some coffee. There was a place a few buildings down that looked slightly more alive than the saloon. As he crossed the street he cast a quick glance to the horizon. It was just as empty as it had been an hour ago.

Another hour passed, and the shadows got longer. The remains of his coffee had long since gone cold. A half-eaten sandwich sat next to it. In spite of being hungry he hadn't had much of an appetite. Now there was nothing to do except smoke and stare into his cup or out the window. Not that he could see any sign of them from the window. They must be getting close by now. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette on the edge of the table. Hell. Sitting in here was making him just as restless as drifting up and down the street. He scraped his chair back, the harsh noise on the floorboards drawing a few looks in his direction. He dug a few coins out of his pocket and pushed his hat low over his eyes. Nothing seemed to have changed since earlier in the afternoon, or even the morning. It didn't look any busier or emptier. Men leaned against veranda posts or slouched in tilted-back chairs. Women walked from shop to shop in groups of two or three. A beat-up wagon trundled past, wheels squeaking, leaving a small cloud in its wake. He stepped down off the boardwalk, with a mind to swing by the livery stable and check on his horse. After that, most likely he would wander some more. He cast a quick glance up and down the street, watching out for any more wagons or horses. Out of habit, his gaze briefly wandered past the low roofs at the end of the road and out to the horizon. The sun slipped behind a small cloud and the world around him seemed to stop. He blinked and rubbed his face. Maybe some of the dust from the wagon had got in his eyes. No. The haze in the distance was unmistakable. "That's all we need. Trail herders coming in here and tearing up the place." The harsh voice jarred him out of it. He looked over his shoulder at the speaker. The man was already walking away, shaking his head. He looked back to the dust cloud rising beyond the horizon. They couldn't be more than a few miles away. A few more hours and it would be sundown. Probably make camp a mile or two the other side of town.

He took his time picking up what little gear he had from the hotel and saddling up his horse, hoping his insides would calm some by the time he was ready. His heart had stopped pounding but the churning in his stomach kept coming in waves. He could ride alongside the herd from enough of a distance that he wouldn't be seen and the cattle wouldn't be bothered, matching its pace, until they bedded down. What he would do once they made camp was something else to worry about. The cloud moved away from the sun and a warm breeze picked up, rustling the trees and sending waves through the grass. It would be smooth going for the herd through here. Riding in, he'd noticed a small creek a mile or so northwest of town. Perhaps not much for the cattle, but the men wouldn't go thirsty. If his replacement knew his business, he'd have found it sure enough. The sun dipped lower and the world around him began to turn a golden hue. Behind him, the dust cloud grew ever larger.

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labgrownsteaks · 3 years

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Chapter 6

I was watching Ninja III The Domination again when Erin popped her head up into the garage door. After opening the door for her Erin burst in before telling to come outside. She had just bought a dirt bike. Errr, at least I thought she had bought it. While I was staring at this dilapidated, muddy, dirt bike she cheerfully recounted the story of how a colleague of her had heard about this rich redneck who was jumping a bike and trying to crash it up on beer can hill. Turns out the kid couldn’t kill the bike, but instead busted his ankle up in the process. When the ambulance came for his screeching ass, they just left the bike there, and nobody ever did anything with it. So Erin got her uncle’s truck and they loaded it up, and fixed it up together.

“So. You stole it?” I said.

“He left it!”

Ok, I had a feeling this conversation wasn’t going to really ever resolve itself so I just agreed. “He left it” I said. “Cool! You got a bike!” Erin had got on it, and kick started it before revving the engine and making a growling face at me.

“Now we can be in a gang!” she said.

“Yes please! We need some patches!” I had a “motorcycle” of sorts. It was actually an add on for bikes. A small engine that you could place on the bike tire of your bike. They’ve since made them electric, but mine still ran on gas, and sounded and smelled like a 70s moped. It was next to a broken ladder on the side of the house, and was under a ripped up blue tarp. Erin and I moved some tree banches and junk out of the way and pulled it from the side of the house. I immediately jumped on top of it, and tried to pull start. The first couple times it felt pretty gummed up, but on the third it finally turned over. I cloud of white smoke emitted from the miniature tail pipe. The bike was an 80s mountain bike which I had got from Goodwill. A specialized “Stumpjumper” which still had good bones. I revved the engine and made the same snarly face back at Erin.

“WE NEED PATCHES!” I yelled at Erin.

“I KNOW!”

I pushed my bike up the embankment, the engine still sputtering away, and Erin hopped on her bike. We drove through some residential streets before making it onto what was generally referred to as River Road. It was a long winding road with trees on both sides of it. It was nice because the speed limit there was just 25, so you could just cruise and get a good view of the river. The sun was going down on the day, just as fall was sunsetting as well. We both pulled into a large parking lot where boats would dock.

“We need a mascot? “ I said after Erin turned off her engine.

“A rat?”

“Rats are dope actually. Super smart. Would be good for the cartoon as well....River rats?”

“OMG YES PLEASE! River rats! Lets make some sketches back at your place!”

River rats made sense. We were quiet for a few moments and just looked at the river flowing by. Soon it would all freeze over. We picked the worst part of the year to start a motorcycle gang.

“Have you printed anything lately?” Erin asked as we watched the last few moments of the sun twinkle away on the river.

“I printed a sheet of acid. Still haven’t taken any of it. “

“Nice, you know what’s weird? Now that I can basically have anything, I don’t feel like I really need it as much. It’s like a pigeon with too much food. They just fly away”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But we should trip this weekend. Siri asked me what design I wanted on the blotter paper!”

“Your Siri is crazy!”

“I know, I had to roll back an update. She like became a cop or something for a hot minute. Said she wouldn’t even print weed. But then I just rolled back the update and all was good”

The sun had gone down at this point, and we were both starting to feel the soon to be winter air chilling our bones. We both were just wearing flannels and jeans so not exactly equipped for an artic exploration. We hopped on our bikes and began the night ride back to my place. As we rolled up to the “Falling Rock” sign we saw a suburban which had stopped in the middle of the road. It’s lights were on, and there was something small standing in front of it. From a distance it looked like a little kid. The dome light of the vehicle was on, and it was still running, but no sign of the driver. As we rolled up closer the “person” in front of the vehicle came into focus. It wasn’t a person at all, it was a light grey creature of some sort. It was standing on two legs which covered with a light grey fur, and it was looking down at its hands. We had only one choice as we got ever closer, and that was simply to gun it. Both of us hit the accelerators as we came closer to the thing, and as we past, it put its hands up in the air and screamed at us. It’s face was like that of a wolf mixed with a badger of some sort. It looked completely alien. And I kid you not. It had red eyes. For real. Bright red eyes. Both of us kept our throttle at full blast down the road, Erin looked back a few times to check on me and make sure I hadn’t been eaten or anything. We pulled into Lure’s Tackle which was a bait shop and gas station. The fluorescent lights beamed down on us.

“What the fuck?!” I exclaimed to Erin the moment the engine cut.

“What The......FUCK!” She responded.

“That thing had red eyes. God help me, it had red eyes Erin!”

“And where was the driver?” Obviously somebody got out, because the dome light was on”

“Probably ate him. We should call the cops!” I retorted.

“I don’t want them seeing my bike, I never registered it. Plus. You think they’d believe a couple of heads out for a night cruise?”

Erin paused before continuing.

“I think that was the driver.”

“What?!”

“Did you see how it was looking at its hands? They probably freaked out that they had turned into a miniature werewolf, got out of the car and started wondering “What the fuck am I!?” before trying to call for help from us”

I had actually heard stories about shapeshifters in these parts that go way back. Under the circumstances, it honestly seemed like the best possibility so far. We walked into the shop and I got a frozen blue Guzzler, and Erin got a bag of popcorn for 15 cents.

We chilled out on a parking barrier, and erin rolled a cigarette as I stole her popcorn. She took some of my Guzzler.

“You realize if we told absolutely anyone they would just think we were on acid?”

“lawl, of course, you do have a literal sheet of acid in your house right now”

“Did we take some by accident? Like. I’ve heard about people having similar hallucinations”

“Do you feel like you’re on acid? Come on, this is the most sober I’ve been in days.” Erin responded.

“maybe some sort of mass hysteria. Like, with UFOs in the 50s, all of a sudden everyone started seeing them”

“we weren’t even talking to each other, how could we influence what we both saw? That thing was real, and it’s out there”

“And it saw us”

“That it did”

Erin kick started her bike, and I pull started mine. We rode back to my place, and the excitement surrounding designing our patches for our biker gang subsided. When sat at my plywood table and I had put out some markers and colored pencil and a stack of copy paper.

“We gotta draw it” Erin said to me.

I wanted to get the thing out of my head, I had to sleep alone there after all. But Erin had already begun. She started off with pencil, lightly sketching in some legs, which she then erased before opening up her phone.

“What are you searching for?”

“Wolf legs. It’s back legs looked like a dog didn’t they?”

“I guess so. “ I responded. My drawing was looking more and more like a 1st graders the more I thought about it. Erin’s was coming out fantastic, and she was working in some of the colored pencils as well. Even though it felt mostly grey, there was a hint of blue in its fur.

“Maybe it had mange. You know, like a mangey dog. Didn’t people used to say that? You mangey dog! I think that makes their hair fall out”

“So, why was it standing on two legs then. Why did it have hands with fingers?” Erin retorted, her eyes transfixed on her drawing. This actually made sense. The thing was looking at its hands. And they were hands. They weren’t paws. Plus, how could a dog even look at its hands, it can’t turn its paws around if it wanted to. Maybe a bear... A mangey bear.

“maybe a guy was transporting a mangey bear, the bear broke out of its cage. The guy ran away, and the bear screamed at us because he’d been abused?”

Erin stopped drawing and looked up at me.

“Why is it so hard to believe what you saw?” she asked.

“I’m just trying to make sense of it. You know. I mean..It seemed like a thing. But your mind can play tricks on you.”

“But we both saw it”

With that Erin picked up her paper and showed me her drawing and said.

“We both saw this”

And she was right. What I was looking at was a perfect sketch of the thing. Looked like it ws straight off of Unsolved Mysteries, but that was it.

#lgs

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neuxue · 6 years

Text

Wheel of Time live blogging: The Gathering Storm ch 24

In which I have less patience for Gawyn than I thought I did. Also I wrote this on a 12 hour flight and am posting now after 5 more hours or transit and no sleep so I have absolutley no idea how coherent it is. Enjoy?

Chapter 24: A New Commitment

Oh it’s Gawyn.

I don’t think I realised until just now how thin my patience for Gawyn has become.

You know that feeling, when you’re reading a book that has multiple viewpoints or plotlines and it changes from one to the next and your immediate response is ‘ugh, do we have to?’ Yeah.

To be fair, I suppose those last two chapters are a hard act for any change in viewpoint to follow. But still.

Gawyn yawned

Even he’s bored of his character.

Okay, sorry, give me a minute and I’ll see if I can dredge up some last few fucks to give about Gawyn Trakand.

Surprise surprise, he’s gone to Bryne’s camp. And by that I mean this is not the least bit surprising. Gawyn’s still seeking authority and command; he chafed under Elaida’s, but for all that he acted as a commander of his own forces, he was never truly autonomous. And now he’s left her, but he doesn’t know what to do and he’s still lost, so he goes to find a different authority. Someone he knows, someone he trusts – or at least, trusted. Someone who can give him answers, tell him what to do or – perhaps more importantly – tell him he’s doing the right thing.

What it comes down to, I think, is that Gawyn hasn’t grown up the way so many other characters have. He hasn’t, but he thinks he has. So he thinks he’s playing one role when really he’s playing another.

I think I’ve said this before but it’s as if he’s in the wrong story. Not narratively, but in the sense that he’s vastly out of his depth. This isn’t the story he was prepared for – he was raised to be First Prince of the Sword, to be a hero of sorts, but within a particular structure. And none of that applies here, when everything is chaos and nothing is as he expected, and the lines are blurred and there aren’t always clear-cut answers or easy ways to tell what the right thing to do is. And he doesn’t know how to cope with that. And instead of learning how, he runs away, he avoids making decisions, avoids truly acting, truly committing, even when he tells himself he is. It’s all very, very human and in that regard understandable, but the frustrating part is that Gawyn himself doesn’t see it, doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s as if he’s still trying to force the framework he thinks should apply onto reality instead of looking around and letting himself see the truth of the situation.

So for all that he is – or I suppose was – in a position of command, he’s ultimately still letting others call the shots. As if, subconsciously, he’s looking for a way to avoid making those decisions that threaten to overwhelm him because he doesn’t know what to choose or what to do. Following orders, even when he chafes at them, gives him…something of an out. Except now he has finally made a decision and acted on it – he’s left Elaida and the Tower, rather than simply ruminating on it and being frustrated. Still, though, his first instinct is to go to Gareth Bryne. A different figure of authority.

All things considered, though, Bryne is definitely a better choice than Elaida. And maybe Bryne can either slap some sense into him or help him find his feet and sort some of his shit out. Or both.

Not to mention the fact that it’s probably no bad thing Gawyn is seeking out someone like Bryne rather than just running off on his own. Because he is lost, and well out of his depth. He just needs to be made to actually recognise that and either do something about it or step back.

No, a single man approaching the army was not a danger. A single man riding away from it, however, was cause for alarm. A man coming to the camp could be friend, foe or neither. A man who inspected the camp then rode away was almost certainly a spy. So long as Gawyn didn’t leave before making his intentions known, Bryne’s outriders would be unlikely to bother him.

I’m not sure why this paragraph in particular made me think this but: Gawyn seems like a classic example of someone who is very skilled at tactics but has absolutely no aptitude whatsoever for strategy. Or perhaps no understanding of the fact that the two are not synonymous.

This paragraph also highlights what I was thinking earlier – Gawyn understand things within a certain framework, and when he’s operating within that framework he’s good at what he does. The problem is, that framework doesn’t always apply, and he doesn’t know what to do when it breaks down.

By now, the Younglings knew of their leader’s betrayal

Clearly I have Star Wars on the brain because all I can think of here is Anakin.

Yet leaving had been the right thing to do. For the first time in months, his actions matched his heart.

There’s a kind of irony in the fact that my patience with Gawyn has run out at precisely the time he’s finally showing some positive growth.

Maybe I just liked him more when he was suffering. That would be like me.

Saving Egwene. That was something he could believe in.

I just rolled my eyes so hard I think I severed the optic nerve. Seriously, Gawyn? It’s a good thing he and Mat haven’t spent much time together. But it fits right in with Gawyn’s whole…concept of who and what he’s supposed to be. It’s a simplistic concept, and one that doesn’t really work in practice, and he just has absolutely no idea. He sees this as a perfectly realistic and sensible thing to think. Go save Egwene, because clearly she needs him to save her.

But really. Not helping Egwene, or even ‘Egwene was someone he could believe in’, but straight to I Must Save Egwene. Maybe take ten minutes to get your own shit together, Gawyn, before you run off trying to save someone when you know precisely nothing about the situation. Maybe try not jumping to conclusions for once. Shall we give that a try?

They were the ones who had propped Egwene up as an Amyrlin, as a target. Egwene! A mere Accepted. A pawn. If they failed in their bid for the Tower, they themselves might be able to escape punishment. Egwene would be executed.

On the one hand, he’s not wrong. On the other hand, you’d think he would have enough confidence in Egwene to trust her to see the truth of the situation as well. It reminds me of when Mat tried to mansplain Egwene’s situation to her. SHE KNOWS, GUYS.

It’s easy to see why Egwene is consistenty underestimated by various characters. That’s not the issue so much as the fact that supposedly Gawyn loves her and you’d think that if he knew her, he’d at least think ‘okay Egwene’s not stupid, maybe I should find out more about what’s going on and see if she needs my help’ rather than MUST SAVE THE DAMSEL FROM HER DISTRESS.

I’ll save her somehow. Then I’ll talk some sense into her and bring her away from all of the Aes Sedai. Perhaps even talk sense into Bryne. We can all get back to Andor, to help Elayne.

What.

I just…what. I don’t even know where to start. Every single word of that was absurd. Every phoneme.

Let’s start with I’ll save her somehow. Who needs a plan? Not Gawyn Trakand! Because running into things with only a vague understanding of what’s going on always works out so well! Also just the brash arrogance of it – that he, with no thought and no plan, can just somehow do what he doesn’t even consider she could ever do for herself.

And then there’s I’ll talk some sense into her and even talk sense into Bryne and at this point I just give up.

And then they can all go back to Andor and help Elayne and everything will be all fine and dandy, just like a little storybook, nothing to worry about. PLANS, GAWYN. STRATEGY. BASIC KNOWLEDGE OF THE SITUATION. MAYBE EVEN A TOUCH LESS HUBRIS. You are not the only person alive capable of accomplishing things.

This next bit is a very Sanderson description.

A random Aes Sedai amongst the washwomen…I can’t think who this would be. Are we supposed to know? The rebels don’t have any spies from the Tower, do they, the way the Tower had Beonin and maybe others with the rebels? Or have Aes Sedai from the tower begun defecting from Elaida’s travesty of a regime?

“I’m not a recruit,” Gawyn said, turning Challenge to get a better look at the men. “My name is Gawyn Trakand. I need to speak with Gareth Bryne immediately about a matter of some urgency.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow. Then he chuckled to himself.

I can’t help but compare this to Rand walking alone into Ituralde’s camp, and the way Ituralde immediately took him seriously just because of his bearing, his look, the way he spoke. Gawyn…doesn’t have that, it would seem. Then again, I’m not sure how fair a comparison that is. Not to mention Rand isn’t exactly a role model at this point in time.

So Gawyn is entirely failing at gravitas, and while this seems entirely perfect for his character, there’s a small part of me that’s at least a little bit sympathetic; there really is very little more purely frustrating than not being taken seriously, or being taken for a liar or braggart when you’re actually telling the truth.

(Yes, I am a Slytherin, how could you tell?)

Gawyn met the man’s eyes. “Very well. We can do it this way. It will probably be faster anyway.”

The sergeant laid a hand on his sword.

Gawyn kicked his feet free of the stirrups and pushed himself out of the saddle.

And proceeds to win without killing, against several opponents. The fight scene also feels rather Sanderson – especially with the frequency of ‘fell into [stance]’ phrasing, which Sanderson has a slight tendency to overuse, and which I don’t recall Jordan using as often; he tended to go more with ‘Parting the Silk met Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose’ and constructions along those lines – but it’s well executed. (Ironically, that sentence I just wrote is a classically Jordan construction in terms of construction…)

“I am unarmed,” he said over the sounds of the wounded. “And none of these four will die this ay. Go and tell your general that a lone blademaster just felled a squad of his guards in under ten heartbeats. I’m an old student of his. He’ll want to see me.”

Gawyn is, by the rules of the title, a blademaster. He earned the title, and he is certainly skilled in a fight, and he knows it. And this takes me back to what I was toying with just a few pages ago, the sense that Gawyn is a good tactician but a terrible strategist, and doesn’t seem to recognise that there’s a difference.

He can plan a battle or a raid, and if you put an enemy or five in front of him he can win the fight. But he could never win a war.

He doesn’t think through cause and effect and consequence, doesn’t consider the entirety of the situation before focusing in on a single piece of it, doesn’t look at the bigger picture or the longer term. He gets lost in the middle, and there are parts of that middle in which he excels, and he sometimes mistakes that for a different ability altogether, and it just leads him further astray.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to fight the men, but he had already wasted too much time. Egwene could be dead by now!

She’s been Amyrlin for months and a prisoner for weeks. Five minutes one way or another probably isn’t going to make much difference now, Gawyn. I mean, maybe it will, but the fact that you only found out about this a few days ago doesn’t mean it didn’t exist before then, or that it’s suddenly become more immediate a problem just because you’re now aware of it. But again, that’s…not really how Gawyn looks at things. Or rather, that’s the kind of thing Gawyn doesn’t look at. He’s aware of it now, so it’s the centre of his focus, so it’s immediate and urgent and there’s no time to waste on things like…figuring out what the hell he’s actually going to do.

It’s like my never-ending frustration with people who run red lights, or the equivalent. Is that thirty seconds really so urgent? And is it worth the risk of being stopped for far longer than it would have taken you to just wait for the damn light to turn in the first place? Sometimes running headlong into a situation without stopping to consider the bigger picture or plan just means making a bigger mess of things. Sure, there are times when snap decisions are necessary and where there really is only a matter of seconds in which to act, but more often than not it just feels that way, when actually taking a few seconds to make sure what you’re doing isn’t going to fuck everything up is worth it.

Hi Bryne. Please slap Gawyn in the face. Just once.

“You, come with me.”

Gawyn clenched his jaw. He hadn’t received such an address from Gareth Bryne since before he’d started shaving. Still, he couldn’t really expect the man to be pleased.

No shit.

“Gareth,” Gawyn said, catching up, “I—”

“Hold your tongue, young man,” Bryne said, not turning towards him. “I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do with you.”

Gawyn snapped his mouth closed. That was uncalled for! Gawyn was still brother to the rightful Queen of Andor, and would be First Prince of the Sword should Elayne take and hold the throne!

Through no help from Gawyn, as it turns out. This is where Gawyn in many ways is still something of a sheltered boy, who hasn’t really grown past that. Hasn’t really learned that the world – or at least the apocalypse – isn’t so simple, while so many of the other characters have. It’s as if Gawyn has been left behind while the rest have developed as people – as leaders, as politicians, as heroes, as whatever else – which I think is part of the whole point.

Bryne should show him respect.

He should earn it. This is an interesting comparison to Bryne’s interactions with Egwene. The one Gawyn wants to run and save because she’s just an Accepted and a pawn. But in truth she is the Amyrlin, and while she’s still young she has earned Bryne’s respect. He doesn’t give it out based on rank or training or ‘should’. He respects those he has deemed worthy of his respect, those who have proven themselves. Egwene has. Gawyn hasn’t. Not yet, at least.

“All right. Explain what you’re doing here.”

Gawyn drew himself up. “General,” he said, “I think you mistake yourself. I’m no longer your student.”

Then, with respect, you’re an idiot. Because if you think that at the age of twenty-something, with a short time in command of a group of soldiers – yet still under the command of Elaida – you have nothing more to learn from Gareth Bryne, you’re kidding yourself.

Well, or you’re lost and uncertain and full of self-doubt and trying desperately to be the person you think you should be, and seeking someone who can help you do that while at the same time wanting to prove to yourself and those around you that you’re worthy, that you’re not just a pawn in the game.

So, okay. It’s not ego, precisely. Or it’s not just ego. It’s…a sheltered upbringing and a duty and an oath to give his life for queen and country, to be a leader and a hero and a sacrifice if necessary, it’s a great deal of skill combined with not a great deal of experience, it’s a need to be good enough combined with doubt that he is good enough combined with always feeling second-best to his brother yet unable to resent that and so instead pushing himself, it’s feeling lost and uncertain and so in desperation overcompensating and trying to do something, but not having the experience or information to match his ability.

“I know,” Bryne said curtly. “The boy I trained would never have pulled a childish stunt like that one to get my attention.”

I think that counts as a slap in the face. Gawyn needs this, though.

“Look,” Gawyn said, “perhaps I was hasty, but I have an important task. You need to listen to me.”

Why does he need to listen to you, Gawyn? Also, do you really think he’s leading the rebels’ armies and yet is somehow ignorant of Egwene’s situation? Do you not think, maybe, that he might actually know more about it than you do? There’s a time and a place for a ‘you need to listen to me’, but right now is more a situation for ‘I’ve heard some worrying things about Egwene; what do you know and can I help?’

It’s the sort of arrogance that isn’t conscious or even based in a sense of superiority but more is based in completely failing to take a second to think. Or to realise that you aren’t the centre of the universe. In other words, it’s the arrogance of immaturity.

Here’s the thing. Gawyn’s irritating me right now, and I’m obviously being critical of him here, but I still find him such an interesting narrative choice, and an interesting character and character arc to have included in this story full of people who grow into their roles as heroes of one kind or another. Because Gawyn provides something of a foil to that – a character who really should have been a hero, who was trained for it and positioned for it, and who tries so hard to do the right thing and save and protect those he loves, but so often makes the wrong choices. Sometimes through misinterpretation or failure to understand the situation, and sometimes through lack of information more than any fault of his own, but who nonetheless ends up adrift, while so many other characters are moving in the opposite direction. From confused and uncertain and young to more and more capable.

“If I instead throw you out of my camp for being a spoiled princeling with too much pride and not enough sense?”

More or less, yeah. Please sit him down and explain the concept of strategy to him, Bryne.

Gawyn frowned. “Be careful, Gareth. I’ve learned a great deal since we last met. I think you’ll find that your sword can no longer best mine as easily as it once did.”

And just like that, he proves Bryne’s point. And mine: that he thinks he has learned and grown, but he fails to see all the ways in which he hasn’t. He’s learned, but he’s learned the wrong lessons – or rather, there are so many more things he hasn’t learned. One of the greatest being that it isn’t about being able to stab his way through all of his problems.

It’s an issue of self-awareness, and of awareness of the rest of the world outside of himself. It’s being able to take honest stock of his abilities and his shortcomings. It’s recognising that he’s good at hitting things with a sharp stick but he has by no means learned everything there is to learn.

That’s kind of the tragedy of the Younglings (aside from their name); they’re…okay so the description that comes to mind is one of my favourite poems: “the lads that will die in their glory and never be old.” Those skilled enough and just experienced enough to think themselves wise and knowledgeable and ready, but too young and too caught up in the glory or the honour or even the sense of duty to see beyond that, to see that they are condemning themselves to being used by powers they aren’t truly equipped to contend with, to fighting to no purpose, to dying for nothing in the end. It’s a child’s sense of honour, and Gawyn can’t afford that anymore.

“I have no doubt of that,” Bryne said. “Light, boy! You always were a talented one. But you think that just because you’re skilled with the sword, your words hold more weight? I should listen because you’ll kill me if I don’t? I thought I taught you far better than that.”

Subtle as a hammer, but that’s what Gawyn needs right now. Especially since he killed his last Hammar.

Bryne held his gaze, calm. Solid. As a general should be. As Gawyn should be.

Gawyn looked away, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself.

The thing is, while Gawyn is in many ways still far too young and too immature, it’s…not all meant as a criticism of him. Some of it, sure. But it’s also an aspect of his character and his position – he did have a relatively sheltered upbringing, and while he was trained for some of these kinds of things, a) there’s not a whole lot of training you can do for an apocalypse you don’t know is coming and b) he was thrown pretty immediately into ‘reality’ before actually learning how to apply his training to it. The Tower coup was a baptism by fire when it comes to chaos and impossible choices. He wasn’t ready, and he got thrown into the middle of it, and because of his name and his title (and his skill) he ended up in a position of authority when he was in no way prepared for it.

And he had no guidance, from that point onwards. Even Rand had Moiraine and Lan and Verin in the early days, and then Rhuarc and Bashere and arguably Cadsuane. He was thrown into the deep end and it hasn’t exactly gone well for him, but he has had people along the way trying to teach him and guide him and occasionally serve as role models. Gawyn had that, when it was all still training. But from the moment it became reality, he’s been alone.

Which is, I think, another part of the reason he almost instinctively seeks out Gareth Bryne.

Bryne doesn’t like tea? Okay forget it, Gareth, you’re dead to me.

“Gareth. It’s Egwene. They have her.”

“The White Tower Aes Sedai?”

Gawyn nodded urgently.

“I know.” Bryne took another drink, then grimaced again.

Perfect.

I mean really, Gawyn, did you honestly think hadn’t noticed? What did you expect? “Oh, shit, you’re right, we’ve misplaced the Amyrlin! Thank the Light you’ve come to inform us of this! Hey, anyone seen Egwene in the last month or so? You know, dark-haired girl, wears a stole? Hall freezes in terror every time she walks past? No? Weird, could have sworn she was right there…”

“We have to go for her!” Gawyn said. “I came to ask you for help. I intend to mount a rescue.”

Bryne snorted softly. “A rescue? And how do you intend to get into the White Tower?”

“Oh, you came for help? Alright, let’s see the plan. You do have a plan, don’t you? No? Okay so maybe let’s start there.” Thank you Gareth Bryne. And to Gawyn’s credit, at least he went to the one person who probably stands a chance of getting something through his head.

“But tell me this, lad. How are you going to get her to come out with you?” Gawyn started. “Why, she’ll be happy to come. Why wouldn’t she?” “Because she’s forbidden us to rescue her,” Bryne said

Ah this is glorious. The value of information. Gawyn hasn’t the slightest clue what’s actually going on and he wants to run headlong into it with a half-baked plan and a whole lot of determination. Which is admirable and all, but it’s also probably the best way to turn a shit situation into an absolute catastrophe, so, you know, maybe let’s not.

And Bryne does this well; he doesn’t just refuse Gawyn outright and tell him he’s an idiot. He actually doesn’t tell Gawyn anything at the start. He leads with questions, and lets Gawyn see the extent of his own ignorance. “Okay, sure, so we do that. What next?” is a great way to get someone to poke holes in their own idea, rather than poking them yourself. This way, Gawyn’s more likely to actually learn something, and to understand what he’s learned, because he can see for himself that he’s already worked his way into a corner, and that’s only in the hypothetical.

“Bryne, she’s imprisoned! The Aes Sedai I heard talking said that she’s being beaten daily. They’ll execute her!”

“I don’t know,” Bryne said. “She’s been with them for weeks now and they haven’t killed her yet.”

“They’ll kill her,” Gawyn said urgently, “You know they will.”

I’m on a plane so it’s a little hard to hit my head against a hard surface but you can trust that I’m giving it my best effort.

It’s not that Gawyn doesn’t have a point in theory – there’s something to be said for his ‘eventually you mount your enemy’s head on a pike to make a point’ logic – but he still doesn’t have anything close to all the information. Even that isn’t an insurmountable obstacle, but he still doesn’t realise the pitfalls of not having the information. I’m reminded of what Lan said to Rand: “You can never know everything, and part of what you know is always wrong. Perhaps even the most important part. A portion of wisdom lies in knowing that. A portion of courage lies in going on anyway.”

Gawyn’s got the ‘going on anyway’ part down more or less, but it’s the rest of it that he’s lacking. He trusts too much in the little information he has, and doesn’t think about where the holes are, or what he might be missing, or what might have been altered in the telling. He doesn’t think about all the ways in which what he knows may not actually be correct in a particular situation, because it’s different from what he’s been taught or what he’s seen. He doesn’t think about the uncertainties, and the way they can compound into catastrophic errors.

Which is central to the series in so many ways, and Gawyn is yet another variation on the theme of information and the lack of information, on truth and rumour and supposition, on the way fact and story and rumour can all be warped by time and distance, on how it’s virtually impossible to know everything, but it’s important to work with what you have in the best way you can.

“I’ll try to get you an audience with some of the Aes Sedai I serve,” Bryne said. “Perhaps they can do something. If you persuade them that a rescue is needed, and that the Amuyrlin would want it, then we’ll see.”

I can’t decide if I’m annoyed at this or not. On the one hand, why should they take Gawyn’s word for what is in Egwene’s best interests, when Egwene herself says otherwise? On the other hand…it’s not a bad idea to have a Plan B if you need one. Also, this is perhaps a good way for Bryne to basically encourage Gawyn to actually think everything through, and consider more of the situation, and make a genuine plan – because there’s no way he’ll be able to persuade the Aes Sedai without more than he has right now. And even then, it’s a ‘we’ll see’. It’s a test, of sorts.

So the Aes Sedai with the washwomen was definitely not a random aside, and I still can’t think who she might be, except a defector from Elaida. I suppose it would be the right time in the arc for that – Egwene’s last chapter was, as she saw it, the end of her own war within the Tower, and now it’s up to the Tower to take up the…fight? Non-fight? Struggle? Anyway, she provided the impetus, so now it’s time to see if she’s managed to break through the inertia, if it will be enough to start a cascading effect.

Meanwhile Bryne is finally like okay so Gawyn what the fuck were you even here for in the first place. Pretty sure he knows, he just wants Gawyn to say it.

“Why aren’t you back in Caemlyn, helping your sister?”

GOOD DAMN QUESTION.

“Well, rumours are unreliable,” Bryne said.

You might need to make more of a point of that, Bryne. Though Gawyn’s issue isn’t precisely gullibility so much as something almost along the lines of confirmation bias.

“Your sister holds the Lion Throne. It seems that she’s undone much of the mess your mother left for her.”

With no help from you, Gawyn.

It serves to highlight how lost and adrift Gawyn has been, how futilely he’s been running around trying to help, trying to do the right thing, but ultimately getting nowhere. His sister has become Queen of Andor. His girlfriend has become the Amyrlin Seat. They’ve claimed two of the most powerful stations in the world, and Gawyn is with neither of them, has helped neither of them, though everything he’s done has been in an attempt to do right by both of them. Also he still thnks they need his help – that Egwene needs him to rescue her, that Elayne needs him to help her. But they’ve achieved this without him, and it puts the spotlight back on the question of what are you doing, Gawyn?

“Your place is at your sister’s side.”

“Egwene first.”

“You made an oath,” Bryne said sternly, “Before me. Have you forgotten?”

In fairness to Gawyn, he was what, four? There’s an argument to be made there about oaths made well before what anyone would reasonably call age of consent. And about what that does to the one who makes the oath before they’re truly old enough to understand.

“But if Elayne has the throne, then she’s safe for now. I’ll get Egwene and tow her back to Caemlyn where I can keep an eye on her. Where I can keep an eye on both of them.”

Now you sound like Mat again, and not in a good way. Tow her back? Keep an eye on her? Gawyn you can barely keep an eye on yourself. You mean well but…you have also never seen Egwene take on the Hall. Or Elayne take on Andor. Give them a little bit of credit; they’re doing better than you are right now.

Bryne snorted. “I think I’d like to watch you trying that first part,” he noted. “But regardless, why weren’t you there when Elayne was trying to take the throne? What have you been doing that is more important than that?”

Gareth Bryne, asking the real questions. This is what Gawyn has needed for about eight books now. Someone to sit him down and say, calmly and clearly, what the fuck.

Especially because Gawyn’s reasons – ‘I grew entangled’ – are going to sound so much more feeble when said aloud than during all those long hours agonising to himself over what to do, and how to choose, and what is right. Don’t get me wrong; I rather liked a lot of those moments. It’s just that this plays so well; we’re so good at lying to ourselves, at justifying things to ourselves, and it’s so easy to get caught up in something and it all makes sense at the time, and it doesn’t seem like there’s any other choice…and then when faced with a conversation like this that cuts to the heart of it, and you have to explain those choices, and really look closely at them, it all…falls apart.

“Blood and bloody ashes!” Bryne exclaimed. The general rarely cursed. “I knew that the person leading those raids against me was too well informed. And here I was, looking for a leak among my officers!”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Um? Sorry, Gawyn, I believe the correct response is “I have toh.” Or just a simple “Yeah I fucked up.” But to dismiss it like that? Really?

I had so much patience for Gawyn, you guys. I was so interested in him as a character concept, in the notion of a character who doesn’t grow the same way as the rest, who tries to do the right thing and should be a hero and instead makes the wrong choices, through poor decisions or poor luck. I was so interested in seeing the effects of that on him, on those around him. Plus I liked him at the start.

And he’s really done as much as he can to THROW IT ALL AWAY. I WAS PATIENT WITH YOU, GAWYN, AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME. *scowls*

“I’ll judge that,” Bryne said.

Gareth Bryne, singlehandedly ensuring that this chapter doesn’t actually drive me insane.

“But you still haven’t explained why you didn’t return to Caemlyn.”

Gareth Bryne, singlehandedly ensuring that this chapter doesn’t actually drive me insane.

“Regardless, once I get you a meeting with the Aes Sedai, I want your word that you’ll go back to Caemlyn. Leave Egwene to us. You need to help Elayne. It’s your place to be in Andor.”

“I could say the same of you.”

Touché. One point to Gawyn. Several hundred behind Bryne, still, but hey.

It’s hard to blame Bryne for being angry and upset and even disillusioned with Morgase after what she did and said to him. Because…well, back to information people have, and information they don’t. But…ouch.

“It must have been part of some scheme,” Gawyn said. “You know Mother. If she did hurt you, there was a reason.”

Bryne shook his head. “No reason other than foolish love for that fop Gaebril. She nearly let her clouded head ruin Andor.”

“She’d never!” Gawyn snapped. “Gareth, you of all people should know that!”

“I should,” Bryne said, lowering his voice. “And I wish I did.”

The interesting thing here is the reversal. Gawyn is still trusting to what he thinks he knows, what he believes, and Bryne is still trusting to observation and reason. But this time, Gawyn’s actually…well, he’s not completely right but he’s closer. But how on earth would anyone who saw Morgase, and saw Andor at that point in time, believe that? In this case, no one alive knows the full truth of what was happening. Not even Morgase. She herself would likely agree with Bryne. Which…yeah. That’s just so many kinds of horrific.

“Curse al’Thor! The day can’t come soon enough when I can run him through.” Bryne looked at Gawyn sharply. “Al’Thor saved Andor, son. Or as near to it as a man could.”

Well…at least Rand’s got Gareth Bryne on his side? (~It must be nice, it must be nice…)

This conversation is so well done in terms of showing how complicated the ‘who has what information and what does that mean for them’ game can get.

“How could you speak well of that monster? He killed my mother!”

Actually he was trying to avenge her, but why would you listen to literally anyone except that one rumour you hate and therefore cling to?

“I don’t know if I believe those rumours or not,” Bryne said, rubbing his chin. “But if I do, lad, then perhaps he did Andor a favour. You don’t know how bad it got, there at the end.”

Rahvin’s treatment of Morgase is one of the cruellest things done to an individual in WoT, possibly with the exception of…uh…Semirhage two chapters ago. It’s not just what he did to her directly in the form of physical and mental rape, but what he did to her as Queen, what he did through her to Andor, and what that did to an entire nation’s perception of her. To how those who loved and trusted her now see her. To her own perception of herself. And also to Andor as a whole; he nearly destroyed a country. And not only is she blamed for it, but she herself shoulders that responsibility, and she has no way of knowing that it’s not her fault. That’s…frighteningly thorough and perfect destruction of a person. Not just Morgase individually, but the very memory of her in the minds of thousands. The destruction of her, her memory, her legacy.

And you see it in moments like this, when someone like Gareth Bryne, who loved her and whom she loved, believes that maybe her death was the best thing for Andor. Believes the worst of her, because what else is he supposed to believe?

Anyway, Morgase’s story hurts, news at 11.

“I’ll always speak truth, Gawyn. No matter who challenges me on it. It’s hard to hear? Well, it was harder to live.”

Ow, stop it, this is NOT OKAY. Because he’s right. He’s right to speak the truth, despite how hard it may be to face. That’s so desperately needed…but in this case it isn’t truth. There’s just absolutely no reasonable way for him to believe that, because who looks at a situation like that and goes “ah. Of course. This must be a classic case of manipulation via a largely forgotten magical ability that no man should be able to wield anyway so he must have been one of the legendary monsters from millennia ago, disguised as the lover of the Queen of Andor. Also the earth is flat.” Occam’s Razor would be crying in a corner, shortly accompanied by all principles of logic and reason.

“In the end, Gawyn, your mother turned against Andor by embracing Gaebril. She needed to be removed. If al’Thor did that for us, then we have need to thank him.”

And every word of that is wrong. It was her loyalty to Andor that saved Morgase in the end, and it was out of loyalty to Andor that Morgase fled. It was out of loyalty to Andor that Queen Morgase, for all intents and purposes, died.

“Yes, Morgase the woman I can forgive. But Morgase the Queen? She gave the kingdom to that snake. She sent her allies to be beaten and imprisoned. She wasn’t right in her mind.”

No, she wasn’t, and it’s so much worse than you can imagine and this is FINE, everything is FINE. She herself was imprisoned, and now she has to live with the memories of doing all of this.

All that aside, I of course love the separation between Morgase the person and Morgase the Queen. It’s something we see and are seeing with so many characters, this conflict between who they are and what they are. How that plays out in their own mind and sense of self, but also how it combines with the way they are seen and treated by others. Who can still separate the person from the title, and who conflates them. Whether an individual can take on some of those roles and still hold onto themselves.

“But you have to bury that hatred of al’Thor.”

And Gawyn’s response, of course, is ‘nah’. HOW MANY TIMES DO YOU NEED TO BE TOLD THIS, GAWYN. BY HOW MANY PEOPLE YOU SUPPOSEDLY TRUST? He even saw Rand, at and before Dumai’s Wells. And yet, he holds to the thing first believed.

And in an abrupt change of subject…hi, Shemerin.

Interesting. So…kind of a defector from the Tower. And, actually, an altogether fitting one, to be the first one we see. The beginning, perhaps.

(Side note: the woman sitting next to me on the plane just asked if I’m writing my thesis).

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