#that picking someone to solely blame would be pointless
Text
Chapter 8 of TPiaG: Body Swap AU
Next [>]
[<] Prev
Start [O]
@sincerely-sofie I think this is my favorite chapter I've written so far!
Twig is unconscious
Darkrai couldn't sleep.
As ironic as that sentence is, it's nonetheless true.
He'd long since gotten used to the needs that Twig's body demands for. And he would be lying if he didn't say he, to some extent, enjoyed being able to fall asleep.
But for the last week, he couldn't fall sleep for the life of him.
He tossed and turned in his bed, trying every position he could think of.
He attempted to sleep curled up, splayed out, on his belly, his side, his back. With his blanket, without his blanket (A grave mistake).
Nothing worked.
And he hated so much that he knew why.
He couldn't stop thinking of Twig.
That loathsome wretch that took his body.
He couldn't understand why he can't stop thinking of her.
He hated her.
He hated how scared and helpless he felt seeing that passage open.
He hated how he wasn't as angry as he wanted to be when she picked him up without his consent.
He can't stop thinking of how she broke the shelves in that closet to fit both of them in there, even though she could have easily just stuffed him in there alone.
He hated so much that he felt safe in there with her.
He hated the way his breath caught on itself when she pulled him closer, after hearing Grovyle step past.
He hated how he felt like he'd been torn in half when Grovyle ripped her out of there.
He hated how frozen in terror he was as he watched Grovyle beat her within an inch of her life.
He hated how he felt utterly useless, watching Celebi, Dusknoir and Kip do everything they could to keep her from dying...
...
Darkrai's eyes widened as a thought came to his mind.
She may not have been attacked if she had just left him.
She might not be unconscious in the hospital, straddling the line between life and death, if she had simply hidden herself in the shadows, and left him to confront Grovyle.
She wasn't hiding herself from Grovyle.
She was protecting him...
...
Darkrai slowly curled his fists, leaving scratch marks in the floor.
No.
That wasn't what she was doing.
She hated him as much as he hated her.
It was in her best interest to keep her own body alive.
Then why didn't she hide you in the closet alone, and try speaking with Grovyle
Because Grovyle would have attacked her regardless.
Then she would have hidden herself in the shadows and tried conversing with him.
Did you not see the murderous rampage Grovyle was on?! He wouldn't have listened to her.
What about the code word?
Darkrai's heart skipped a beat.
She would have had a chance to say it had she not tried to keep you safe.
She... She had a chance to say it during their fight. She'd forgotten she had that word in mind.
Would she have forgotten if he didn't claim that her voice was a trick? Would she have forgotten if she had a chance to talk with Grovyle? Would she have forgotten if she only dodged, and didn't try to fight back?
Grovyle wouldn't have believed her if she did say the word.
Kip didn't believe her until she said the word to him. And he had more of a reason to doubt the legitimacy.
Darkrai pressed his claws into his arms.
Stop.
If she had shown you to him, and explained what had happened, what do you think Grovyle would have done?
Darkrai winced from the pain he was inflicting on himself, attempting to hold back tears.
Stop it!
Grovyle would not have hesitated to try and kill you.
STOP!
He would blame you, as he does now, for stealing her body.
Blood was starting to pool where his claws pierced his skin.
Do you not recall her expression, when she apologized for what she said to you that morning? And the promise she made to find something for you to do during the day?
ENOUGH! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MY OWN MIND BELITTLING ME LIKE THIS!!!
She cares about you.
...
Darkrai quietly cried in his bed. Trying to remain as silent as possible so the others couldn't hear him.
Why?
...
Silence.
**********
Grovyle lay flat on his back in Kip's bed, ironically getting less sleep than he did than for the few weeks he was technically homeless. Forced to stay in that position so his ribs would heal correctly. Tears flow down his face as he thought about Twig.
The fear in her eyes, as a human, a Charmander, and in Darkrai's body haunted him.
The feeling of satisfaction he felt, watching her bleed before he knew who she was, made him consider leaving to enter Labyrinth Cave alone.
Grovyle intentionally took deep breaths. Each one sending out sharp pain from his chest.
He can never see her again. His presence would force her to relive what he'd done to her.
He tried to kill her.
He forced her through intense agony to make her suffer.
He traumatized her.
She should hate him.
She should hate him the way he hates himself, with every fiber of her being...
He hopes she does.
*********
Dusknoir couldn't take any comfort in the literature he used to. Despite Celebi's and the doctors' best efforts, the damage done to his eye is permanent. Everything looks like he'd been submerged underwater. His age already made his eyesight worse, but now he'll have to learn Braille to read again.
But he wasn't worried about that.
He was more worried about Kip.
He was of course worried about Twig. Praying at every moment that she would recover, but his fears still lay in seeing Kip neglect himself to watch Twig at all times.
The fact that the last thing he could, and probably will ever see clearly, was Kip's expression of terror, the same he'd seen several years ago, filled him with a pain that was much greater than what Kip had afflicted him with.
Dusknoir wondered if all of this would have been avoided if he was never given his undeserved mercy.
He saw the way Kip shook when he exited the passage of time.
Twig wouldn't be on the cusp of death, and Kip would be happy if he was simply never brought back.
********
Celebi couldn't understand how Darkrai isn't exhausted all the time with how he's constantly angry.
She's barely able to do anything but sit on the couch and think of just how much of a brain-dead idiot she is.
If she had just looked forward when they figured out that Kip and Twig had moved, then she could have stopped any of this from happening.
But NOOOOO!~ She just HAD to wait and see what would happen! She just HAD to be surprised by how things would turn out!
And now she hurt everyone and Twig might die.
Sure, they managed to get her to the hospital, and yeah, She's at least stable.
But what happens if her body gives out?
She dies.
And it'd be her fault if she does.
Celebi doesn't even want to think about what Kip and Grovyle would do if she passes.
She's completely trapped in a prison of her own design.
She hates that she didn't look forward then, and she hates how scared she is to look forward now.
She hates how angry she feels towards Kip for hurting Dusknoir like that. Even though she knows it was a knee-jerk reaction.
She hates how angry she is at Grovyle, for letting himself get to the point where all logic and reasoning went out the window. Even though she knows he was just tired and furious and paranoid.
But she doesn't hate how angry she is at herself.
There isn't a justification for her actions.
She is just stupid.
*********
Kip didn't care that sleeping next to her gave him nightmares. He couldn't care less that the pendant she wore with the lunar feather was lost during her fight.
The fear he feels in those nightmares pales in comparison to the fear he feels at every waking second.
Every morning he jolts awake, covered in cold sweat from the nightmare he had, and stares at Twig. Watching her to make sure she's still breathing.
He hasn't left the room since he was allowed in after the emergency surgery the Doctors had to preform on her.
He watches the doctors replace the medicine and bandages daily. Staring at her wounds to make sure they haven't gotten infected. Even if that's not his job.
Kip just-
He was so mad at himself.
He wanted to make up for abandoning Twig when she needed him most. But he can't.
And he might not ever be able to.
What a moron he is. He can't figure out why he started running in the first place.
They were his friends. They wouldn't hurt him or Twig.
But Grovyle ended up nearly killing her anyway. All because he wasn't there to defend her. To explain what had happened.
Kip stared at Twig.
First time she's slept since switching bodies, and it was because of him.
Kip stood up and heavily, slowly walked towards the door.
He turned his head to look back at her. Hoping she'd woken up.
She didn't. She lay in the same position. Her breathing, weak and short.
...
Team Skull was right about him
They were more right than Twig ever was.
All he ever did was weigh her down. He was a burden that he forced her to carry.
She had lied to him. He wasn't her friend. Friends don't abandon each other when they need them most.
Friends don't suddenly change their minds and try to go back for them for no reason.
Friends don't break down crying, unable to do anything while trying to put medicine on their wounds.
Friends don't act like him.
Kip left the room and slowly walked out of the hospital towards the travel agency. His head hung low.
He could feel the atmosphere get less heavy with each step, but he himself still felt heavy.
He's going... Somewhere. He doesn't know where. Just, any other town.
She doesn't deserve a scumbag 'friend' like him.
It's better this way...
*******
Celebi had told her everything.
She couldn't help but notice the underlying anger in her words. Everything recounted to her with an uncharacteristic flatness. Simply laying out the facts and nothing more.
She took a slight amusement as she thought about how Twig must have looked at Grovyle, when he saw her clutching that monster like some scared child holding a stuffed toy.
It was exactly what she deserved to have happen after she gave pity to that wretched, selfish thing.
At least justice was finally served.
Maybe now she'll take a step back and realize her actions and words were in no way justified.
Maybe she'll finally see just how awful he acted. And finally take the steps to right what's wrong.
Cresselia stopped her midnight flight when she suddenly realized that someone experiencing great physical and emotional pain. Barely detectable, as it was far away. All the way over on the Fire continent.
Cresselia decided to shelve the thoughts as she began making her way over to where the pain was originating.
She thinks it may be coming from a Snivy but she isn't quite sure yet.
Cresselia enjoyed the feeling of the crisp, early spring night breeze against her feathers.
Perhaps her and Kip will finally see eye-to-eye when she returns.
#Boy. I wonder if that Snivy will have any significant impact on Cresselia's mindset and behavior.#Man trying to get Cresselia to act like a chunk of hairy dust filled play-dough without crossing over into cartoonish evil is hard#I can't say her portion is my favorite part#But i love the rest of it#I didn't want to say it in each portion because i would have just been repeating myself#but i wanted to emphasize how everyone feels like it's their fault; and their fault /alone/ that what happened; happened.#even though it was such a complex thing with so much trauma and paranoia involved on every side#that picking someone to solely blame would be pointless#the closest i could get to is Grovyle#but even then#dude thought that the only family he had for years had been getting tortured by a legend for almost a full year#couple that with what little sleep he got leading up to the incident#and the growing paranoia and anger each time they went to a house and couldn't find her#i can't really say i can blame him#I would act irrationally angry and paranoid too if i was in a similar situation.#granted; It is an explanation. Not an excuse#Can't wait to explore the implications of that!#Bullying the grass boy#text post#pmd eos#fanfic of a fanfic#the present is a gift au#pmd#writing#fanfic#body swap au#pmd2#cw blood#tw blood#Dusknoir and Grovyle's sections are shorter than i'd like but their thoughts are the most straightforward so oh well.
39 notes
·
View notes
Note
Tea + "I'm listening."
bad day prompts: accepting
He should have stayed in his dorm.
The nausea had persisted from last night and it was bad. When he'd sit still it felt a little better, as if each motion was stirring the bile stored in his gut from the hefty workload. Because Suguru had come to realize that his true self has come to pass and gods forbid he becomes present in this moment and stir the cadaver awake. Nowadays, he preferred to stay dead and motionless.
It was his dear misfortune that one Shoko Ieiri was far too experienced around corpses.
She must have put Satoru up to this. He refused to believe that his resolve had grown so weak as to allow his true state to reach someone as dense and self-involved as him. There was a deep shame attached to looking so emaciated and Suguru was too aware of it. There were days when he didn't like how he looked in the mirror but the fatigue made it hard to do anything about it. He'd blamed it on the seasons, on the influx of curses or the lack of any good new movies lately — but ultimately he was still only able to hold down the bland food of the cafeteria. So when he disappeared for an hour into the izakaya bathroom after sampling the yakitori, Shoko must have slipped Satoru a note or something.
She must have assessed the extent of his problem when he asked her for more dramamine the other day. This is the last time he's making friends with a doctor.
The boiler's hiss comes to a whistle; Satoru gets up from the windowsill and Suguru only curls up into himself further — coddling the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, looking outside into the dreary sky. Knees press to his chest, coiling as animals do to preserve their warmth. When his friend returns to offer some liquid comfort, his mind momentarily reflects on the state of his room. There's a few empty ramen cups here and there, second-hand smoke lingering on the roof ( Yaga-sensei has stopped giving him notices when he smoked indoors ) his bed is not made — but overall it is in a better condition than most days. His shoulders straighten up within an exhale with that.
He accepts the mug mumbling a 'thank you' and meets a starkly blue gaze for the first time. It's so bright. Suguru's chin heaves to meet it, the mug nursed between his palms but not indulged yet. What is he supposed to tell him? That he feels disoriented? That's hardly a topic someone like him can give him direction with. Or should he ask him how he feels about the sorcerer profession; when he's been groomed to embody it? It was the only thing Satoru knew how to do. And he was the best at it; but ultimately, it had never been his choice to begin with. So how could he advise someone like Suguru on what to do?
On who to be.
Because the old him was gone. And he could not keep on moving as a bloated corpse anymore. If Shoko would be the one to pick up his ashes, Satoru could never make something of them — a sole look at his expression ( those soft features honed into a sharper edge when he smiles nowadays, always a little scatter-brained in the way religion books describe those who become maddened with divine enlightement ) would attest to it. So, Suguru decides he won't let him into any of that — because it's pointless. But the more he looks at him as though they're caught in another one of their infamous staring matches, the more his expression steels with the realization that there is also something else.
❝ You have been neglecting our friendship. ❞ His brows raised slightly, adding a pleading tone to the declaration. He pauses, expecting the other to cut in; appreciating it when he doesn't, for once. Violet eyes gleam a warmer shade under the light of a dying sun. ❝ I understand you were investing time in your training. But, Satoru — you forgot about the premiere for Pirates of the Caribbean, you've stopped picking up the phone and you left me alone for Haibara's birthday. When you know I couldn't win the karaoke without you. ❞ He had looked awfully stupid trying to sing both verses at once.
Suguru found wicked relief talking about this instead of everything else that had been weighing on him; yet at the same time, it felt awful. Because even though he could not contain it in words ( and he was not expecting to get any words back from Satoru, either ) this expression of interest from his friend had at least rekindled the warmth between them. Suguru latched onto it as if it were the last match in his matchbox. But would it suffice to reignite the fire that had died inside him? There was a softer tone as he lead on, a cant to his head releasing grown out strands atop his sweater, lips curling into a small pout.
❝ ... What do you have to say for yourself? And be pragmatic; in your opinion, am I justified to feel this way or not? ❞
1 note
·
View note
Text
It's the end of another Sunday and I must admit, I feel like ranting a little bit more. 🤓
Today was OK, starting with a pleasant morning walk with my best friend and followed by an afternoon spent watching movies. 🍿
It was nice to have some company and distractions, especially since my phone remained silent throughout the day. But I guess that's to be expected since my Prince Charming is usually quiet during the day, especially on weekends. 🙄
A few days ago, he casually mentioned that he would be taking his girlfriend🤢 to some kind of family event. It's no wonder he hasn't been texting much then. I can't help but wonder if his parents like her. I mean, I hope they see what I see - that there's definitely a one-sided feeling situation going on here. 💁🏻♀️
To mask my true feelings and not come across as desperate, I made up some lies about going on an imaginary weekend break lol I didn't want to admit that I had no plans and to be honest meeting up with my friend was a spontaneous decision. She's unaware of my crush, and to be honest, it's better that way.🤣
Another day awaits as I prepare for school tomorrow. It's funny how I already know my routine so well, or rather, his routine. 😅 Around 10 AM, he'll be in the school canteen with his "missy." They often hang out there, sipping on bottles of water but rarely eating any food. There are usually a couple of other classmates present, cracking jokes. But my Prince Charming only has eyes for his Princess. It's as if he doesn't see anyone else in the room. It's strange, though, that I've never seen him smile when he's alone. His smiles are reserved when he's desperately looking at her ONLY 🤦♀️ But, then again, I rarely see him alone. They come to school and go home together, except on Fridays when he stays to play basketball behind the school with a few other guys.
On one occasion, I purposely wandered by the basketball court, attempting to catch his gaze deliberately. But, as always, he remained oblivious to anything and anyone around him. 🤦♀️ It's kind of sweet how dedicated he is to that girl. However, it's also a bittersweet reminder that he's not available for me. 😫
It's pretty amazing how that girl managed to captivate him so quickly. I wish I had her power! 🤣She's been in the same school as me since the beginning, and my Prince Charming is relatively new. He arrived just a few months ago, and they started dating within a month of him joining our school.
I remember his first day when he walked through the school hallways. Half of the girls were swooning over him, trying to catch his attention, while the other half concealed their attraction, either because they were already committed or had given up hope too soon. 🥹
Tomorrow, I will receiving a message around 3 PM. It's usually him who initiates the conversation, but if I notice that his message was the last from our previous chat, I take the lead. Our Friday conversation revolved around him seeking advice on picking out Christmas gifts. 🤣And that’s what I meant when I said our conversations are like besties. He has never flirted with me, so I'm unsure of his intentions when he asked to meet me. Is it because he genuinely believes we can be best friends, someone to help him with his relationships and other decisions? Or is there something else at play? 🥲
It's important not to expect anything from him, especially when I'm tangled in my own web of lies. 😅 I've even kept my picture hidden, claiming that I preferred to stay without one due to shyness. Surprisingly, he hasn't mentioned it at all. Perhaps he prefers to see me in person, although it feels pointless when his eyes are solely focused on HER 🤢in addition, if he found me attractive, he would have surely noticed me on the first day.
Sometimes, I feel like pretending to be drunk so that I can ask him questions that only intoxicated people would ask.🤣 In doing so, I would have an excuse for any embarrassment or regret, as I could simply blame it on being drunk and not remembering. 💡
I've also come up with a final attempt to attract his attention tomorrow. 😅If he doesn't notice me this time, I will accept that it's time to let go. I even have a cute outfit ready, which I will change into discreetly in the restroom after my last lesson. At that time, he usually waits near the classroom next door, presumably for his biology lesson.😀 I will walk right in front of him, making it impossible for him not to notice me. I have my new faux leather dress, fishnet stockings, and my trusty Dr. Martens all ready to go. 💪🏻This should surely capture his attention, and not just his, but others around me as well lol
I lied to my friend on Friday, telling her that I have a photoshoot, to save time and give myself an excuse to change clothes at school.😅 I could have easily come to school wearing that outfit, but the weather is horrible, and I can't tolerate the cold. So, I made the decision to save myself from freezing and wait until after school to make my move.
Good luck Sabrina and YOU CAN DO IT 🥹 as long as I don’t trip!!!!!!!
Anyways , I am off to bed , and before falling asleep I will try and manifest the success of tomorrow ! 🥲🙏🏻
0 notes
Text
Everything I Wanted (Ethan x f!MC)
Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende)
Word count: 2,700 +
Warning: Adult language, adult situations
Premise: After all this time, her social media posts have a way of captivating him...until he turns the tables on her. Part 3 of Lovely and Ocean Eyes.
________________
Ethan walked down the corridor on a seemingly normal workday, far too aware that his steps were lighter and the smile he fought so hard to conceal made its appearance more often than not. For the sake of his reputation, he schooled his features into his usual unwelcoming and severe expression, though part of him worried that he was fooling exactly no one.
Perhaps his face betrayed the way his pulse picked up pleasantly at the memory of the shy smile she offered him every time they crossed paths. The simple gesture was enough to brighten his mood, no matter how stressful his day. Somewhere down the line, Ethan had surrendered to the effortless way Dr. Lilac Allende drove him to distraction.
His good mood quickly soured, however, when he walked past the locker room on the third floor. Typically, he studiously blocked out all the mindless conversations that drifted out into the hall, but a particular name caught his ear.
“Damn,” a tall, burly intern was saying as he glanced at his phone. “I knew Dr. Allende was hot but.. just wow.”
His friend closed the locker door and walked over to glance at the screen, nodding in approval. “What's her deal? She single?”
The first intern scoffed, almost derisively. “Thinking of asking her out, Reyes?”
Reyes looked unabashed, maintaining an easy grin that was almost arrogant. It made Ethan want to punch it right off his face. “Can't blame a guy for trying.”
“Is she still with Lahela? They were a thing a while back, I think?”
Ethan had the mad urge to step in and correct the false statement, but he abstained. The two morons before him had no right to Lilac's personal life.
Reyes stared at the phone screen again and gave a low whistle. “Her Pictagram is a work of art. The things I'd do–”
“The things you're going to do, Dr. Reyes, are your actual job duties,” Ethan said through girt teeth, stepping into the room.
Perhaps it was his sudden appearance or the downright murderous glare the older doctor was sending their way, but the pair of interns fumbled, the first one almost dropping the phone. By the time they straightened up to face Ethan, they looked far too rigid, uncomfortable, and downright terrified. The verbal lashing he unleashed on them was one for the books. In the end, there was no trace of arrogant smirks as both interns walked away, pale and with the extra workload Ethan assigned.
Finally alone, he exhaled a sharp, steadying breath. At least there were a few guarantees in life, even if things had changed: he could still reduce grown men to tears and these damn interns were going to drive him to an early grave.
Considerably calmer, Ethan produced his phone from his pocket and opened the too familiar Pictagram page. One glance at her latest picture and the two idiots' reactions made sense, even if they were still not justified.
Fucking hell.
Just like his moronic predecessors, Ethan almost dropped his phone, stifling a cough. Any trace of gentlemanly thoughts vanished as his eyes took in her bare shoulder, exposed so intentionally and coyly. All he could think about was running his lips along the curve of it, his fingers slowly tugging the black robe lower until it pooled on his floor.
Before his primal mind could add his teeth and the moans she'd reward him with to this fantasy, his eyes fell on the caption.
Stay?
Ethan could hardly fight back the grin the single word inspired. The previous morning, as she had stopped by his office to use his coffee machine, he pointed out how useless Pictagram was. Lilac was quick to remind him that he seemed to be enjoying it, referencing the reaction he'd had to her previous posts. Determined to save face, Ethan had blurted that he might even delete his account.
A smug smile over her shoulder had been her reply along with a sultry promise. “I bet I can make you change your mind.”
She had accomplished just that along with taking root in his every thought. The need to see her became so acute, that he sought her out in every hallway he turned into. Finally, he found her in one of the break rooms, laughing and chatting with her intern, Dr. Ortega.
“This coffee machine is the worst,” he heard Ortega complain. She rattled the cup as though the action would force it to hurry. “I can't believe I'm going to be late because of shit coffee.”
Lilac laughed. “Shit coffee is better than no coffee.”
“Spoken like someone who has a mysterious coffee source.”
With another laugh, Lilac mimed zipping her lips shut. Dr. Ortega snorted with laughter, which was a rare enough sight.
“At least rounds are not with Dr. Ramsey this morning,” Ortega continued as she sniffed disapprovingly at her cup. “I'd be dead meat for being even two minutes behind.”
“And that's considering the guy's mellowed out in the past few months,” a nurse chimed in from his place at the loveseat. “He was far grumpier before. Something or someone is putting that man in a good mood every night.”
Ethan felt his neck flare up, his eyes solely on Lilac, looking as lovely as ever and utterly unfazed.
“That poor soul,” Lilac commented so convincingly, Ethan almost believed it. “Whoever that is.”
The nurse had no reaction, invested in his newspaper as he was and Ortega threw a hesitant smile at Lilac.
“I always kind of thought you two had a thing,” she confessed.
Lilac did not even react, taking a sip of her to-go cup. “Because I'm his so-called favorite?” When Esme nodded, Lilac shrugged. “Being on his radar comes with its cons.”
At this, Ortega nodded solemnly. “Yeah, he's harder on you, for sure.”
That was his cue. With absolutely no preamble, he marched into the breakroom, startling the three occupants with his mere presence.
“Allende, if you are done with your morning gossip session, I'd appreciate you getting me those labs I asked for.”
Lilac pushed herself off the counter at once. “Yes, doctor.”
They stared at one another, neither betraying a single emotion.
“Now. It's not like lives depend on it or anything.”
Ortega shot Lilac a sympathetic look, no doubt reconsidering her previous thoughts of their involvement. Without another word, Lilac followed Ethan out of the break room. Once they were alone in a deserted hallway, Lilac raised a brow at him.
“You didn't ask for any labs,” she said at the same time Ethan blurted out, “'That poor soul'?”
Lilac laughed and he joined her with a chuckle soon after, their bodies comfortably gravitating closer to each other. His hands throbbed with the raw, poignant need to touch her and the blinding disappointment of being unable to. The way Ethan longingly looked at her then, drinking in every one of her beautiful features, he imagined he looked like some yearning nineteenth century gentleman straight out of an Austen novel.
“Mine was more believable,” she pointed out, that witty, playful challenge in her eyes. An Elizabeth Bennet to his hopeless and bewitched Darcy.
“Not remotely,” he returned without missing a beat. “No one would deem the person having sex with me every night as 'poor.'”
“They would when said person could barely walk the next day.”
That made Ethan pause, the bravado slipping as his eyes fell on her rosy lips. His breath caught audibly at his throat.
They were standing so close together now, eyes locked on each other with palpable magnetism. If anyone walked by they would be found out without a doubt. Even more so if Ethan gave into the burning urge to kiss her right there and then.
Lilac gave him a coquettish smirk. “Did you like my post?”
Ethan found his voice again. “It was…”
There was no appropriate word to describe the delicious, sinful perfection of it.
“Nice?” she teased.
“Dr. Reyes and his idiot friend definitely thought so.”
Lilac snorted. “That explains the DM that sits unopened in my inbox. Jealous?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Good. They're not the ones who have me in their bed every night.”
Ethan almost stuttered like an imbecile. He fought back all indecent thoughts and returned, “You forget I have you against multiple different surfaces, Rookie.”
She paused briefly, eyes dark as they traveled down his body and back to his eyes again.
Fuck, she had him. He knew the look too well.
“Or against no surface at all, as you proved on your birthday.”
Ethan cursed.
Everything in her expression suggested that she fancied herself the victor of their Pictagram debate. Matching her smug smirk with a dashing smile of his own, he decided then to give her a taste of her own medicine.
________________________
Ethan, ever the prophet, had predicted the board meeting they were both required to attend would be pointless.
He had been right, of course. They both sat in the boardroom forty minutes into it, listening to Dr. Cyrus drone on endlessly about something that had little to do with patient care. Listening was a generous term because Lilac remained focused on her laptop, diligently updating patient files. Ethan, sitting across from her, was doing much of the same, the glare of his screen reflecting on his glasses.
Soon, the buzzing of her phone on the table pulled her away from her concentration. Her heart leaped when she saw it was a notification alerting to his latest Pictagram post. Confused, Lilac glanced up at him but he was too invested in his work to notice.
After ensuring no one was paying her any mind, she opened the app and regretted it at once.
One quick glance at artfully sculpted muscles and Lilac was reduced to a coughing mess. Dr. Cyrus stopped mid sentence to glare at her. Everyone else in the room followed suit to stare.
“Dr. Allende, are you alright?” Naveen asked with concern.
Ethan wordlessly handed her a bottle of water, his lips quirking ever so slightly, his fingers brushing hers. After a quick sip, she mumbled, “I'm fine. Sorry.”
Convinced, they resumed the meeting.
Lilac, meanwhile, attempted to catch Ethan's eye to throw him a glare, but he remained laser focused on his screen. Having no other alternative, she returned her attention to the picture. Soon, she was texting him.
Your one follower approves.
Her phone dinged almost immediately after with his reply. Her pulse spiked with excitement, which was ridiculous because she slept with the man every day.
I am aware. We all saw.
Cheeky bastard.
That was a low blow, Ramsey. And with a picture I took too.
He almost smiled when he read that.
Pay attention, Rookie.
She bit her lip, glancing up at him. Ethan was the perfect picture of professionalism, his stoic expression betraying nothing as he worked. Her eyes returned to the picture, her cheeks flushing.
Oh, I am.
To the meeting.
Oh. Dr. Cyrus has my undivided but unwilling attention.
Liar, he returned at once. For a man who claimed to hate texting, he was a master at sending them without anyone's notice.
I can tell because you actually look interested in what you're doing.
Lilac almost laughed out loud at that. She quickly turned her head away from the front of the table to avoid suspicion.
I am studiously taking notes.
Unless you're jotting down all of Cyrus's brown-nosing remarks to Naveen, I highly doubt that.
This time, a small squeak of laughter escaped her. Luckily for her, she was able to mask it perfectly with a dainty cough. No one at the table gave her a second glance, except for Ethan. Handsome as ever, his mouth quirked ever so slightly.
I don't need to take notes on that, she replied. I already know how to get on my boss's good side.
She watched as Ethan imperceptibly read her text, having no visible reaction.
Time to go in for the kill.
And the best side to get on is under him.
This time, it was Ethan who sputtered slightly and coughed. A furious blush started to color his neck and ears in a way that was entirely too satisfying. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't finished yet.
Although he actually enjoys me on top of him too.
Those piercing blue eyes found hers instantly, so dark and smoldering that she was struck motionless for a second. A familiar, molten heat pooled in her belly as Ethan's lustful gaze remained on her, unwavering. The longer they stared at each other, magnetized, the more evident it became that he would take her right there and then if it weren't for the company surrounding them.
When the meeting was adjourned for a break twenty minutes later, Lilac was assured that her texts had the intended effect. The tall, hard body of her boyfriend pressed hers flush against the door of his office the second it closed. A second after that, his full lips hungrily kissed her neck, his powerful hands gripping handfuls of her hips.
“You're determined to kill me,” he muttered darkly against her skin.
“But what a way to go,” she said in a whisper that gave way to a moan at the last word.
He agreed in the form of a husky groan that resonated deliciously against her throat. With almost lazy effort, he turned her body to face the door, strong hands guiding her backside to press urgently against him.
“The way you tease me, Lilac,” he whispered hotly in her ear, sending a powerful shiver through her. His hips began guiding her toward the nearest table with ease, his fingers slowly skimming their way up her thighs and under her skirt.
“You like it,” she challenged breathlessly.
Ethan hummed against her shoulder, pulling her blouse down in a perfect rendition of her post.
“It's torture.” Another searing kiss. “Seeing the way you look at me and not being able to take you against the nearest wall.”
Lilac had a witty response ready, but at that exact moment, his thumbs hooked around the lacy fabric of her underwear.
“Are these for me?” His voice was nothing more than gravel. Lilac's legs quivered, every sense proudly dominated by him.
“Yes,” she moaned, eyes fluttering closed in a heady rush. He had her bent over the table, her skirt bunching to indecent heights around her thighs.
Without another word, he removed the garment skillfully, sliding it slowly down her legs and bunching it in his fist. Lilac pressed herself further against him, aching painfully for him.
“Use them to tie me up,” she suggested in a ragged whisper.
Ethan cursed.
His hips jerked against hers, sliding the thick, hard column of his body against her. Lilac was so overcome with maddening need that her arms almost gave out from balancing her on the table.
She never found out if Ethan was delirious enough to take her whispered advice because both of their pagers went off with infuriating insistence.
“The meeting from hell that never ends,” he groaned. “Break is over.”
Lilac straightened against his chest, smirking when he made no movement to let her go. “To be continued?”
Ethan leaned in to kiss her neck. “Your bed or mine?”
Lilac swiveled in his hold, facing him with a smile that made her cheeks hurt. “Doesn't matter as long as it's you next to me.”
He matched her smile with an unfairly charming one of his own.
Though they were needed at the Board meeting, they stole another minute together in each other's arms. Lilac studied his handsome face briefly, feeling her heart restart as it often did when she realized he was finally hers. Perhaps he was hers in secret for the time being but he was hers nonetheless. The thought that after all the strife and hardship, she still found herself where she belonged, in his arms, made her smile grow wider.
“What?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I love you,” she told him, not for the first time.
It was his turn to give her a smile so incandescent that it stole her breath. “That's a relief,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Given that I am madly and desperately in love with you, Rookie.”
_____________
Author’s Note: Are we okay after those two new OH chapters?
I’m not! I have some ideas for future fics but we’ll see if the writing gods are in my favor.
Thank you for reading this senselessness. I love you for it.
-Bree
_______________
Please let me know if I need to add/remove you. You might have asked me already but I can barely keep track of my life atm. Sorry!
@openheart12 | @ethandaddyramsey | @aestheticartsx | @silverlitskies | @flyawayboo | @paulfwesley | @hatescapsicum | @myusualnerdyself | @thatysn | @choicesyouplayandmore | @chasingrobbie | @trappedinfandoms | @togetherwearerapture | @nooruleman | @axwalker | @parkerattano | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker | @kaavyaethanramsey | @edith-eggs1 | @choices-lurker | @jens-diamondchoices | @tefigranger | @ethanrcmsey | @coffeebeandragon | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey | @binny1985 | @mvalentine | @sanchita012 | @drethanramslay | @ramseysno1rookie | @takeharryandgo | @aworldoffandoms | @desmaranj | @oofchoices | @ethxnrxmsey | @octobereighth | @kopenheart12 | @lilyvalentine | @honeyandsunfl0wers | @enmchoices | @colossalpainintheass | @rookie-ramsey | @humanpokemon | @apphia12 | @kiara-36 | @eramsey28 | @custaroonie | @helloblueeyedcat | @dr-ramseys-rookie | @thegreentwin | @decadentwinnerjudgedream | @jeerapp | @doilooklikeiknow | @dulceghernandez
@lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite | @angela8756
#open heart#ethan ramsey#ethan x mc#playchoices#my writing#ethan ramsey fanfiction#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart fanfiction#choices fanfiction
327 notes
·
View notes
Text
✿ “ The Colour Of Honey ” ✿
—> Bungo Stray Dogs, Dazai Osamu | reader / @i-am-a-bastard
—> Sweet | Gift
—> Description | Actions proven to be sweeter than honey. Just softness smh
✿ ( 1.7k words )
✿ Due to my dear friend taking my idea for a gift, I decided to rewrite this for her. *cough* *cough* Instead of taking place during the early morning, I’ll make mine at night. Honestly reading your gift for me was heart touching, I wish I could write as beautifully as you. Either way it comes from the heart, so here we go !!
As a member of the armed detective agency, life wasn’t the purest. You had a ‘luxury’ to see the earth at its true form, full of people who enjoy tainting its soil through means of violence. Day after day people were working hard for justice, but what is justice? What is good and what is bad? The idea of each varies from person to person and how far their level of morality goes. Often, justice will be seen as a tool for good, yet villains too, use this method to create their world.
Hands in each pocket of his trench coat, Dazai made his way home. The pace of his slow strut quickened as the sun began to set. Beautiful displays of colour painted throughout the sky became hard to resist, thankfully the bandaged little devil himself wouldn't allow this to halt his journey forward any longer. It was long past curfew for Dazai to return home.
The detective knew there was no avoiding a worried belladonna waiting for him at this point. Who could blame her? His job was dangerous, especially for him. Each day he’d come late opening the door, his beautiful girlfriend would pounce on him only to start spewing out apologies back to back full of embarrassment.
Even if he didn’t admit it, moments like those were cute.
Finally reaching his destination, Dazai let out a long exhale, preparing for a body to come crashing into his. Unlocking the door, Dazai pressed a hand against its surface, gently pushing it forward cautiously. Something felt off, however. Shutting the door behind him, Dazai looked around their small home from his current position. His belladonna was nowhere in sight.
By now, the girl would’ve tripped over her own feet in an attempt to greet him.
“I’m home!~ ” Dazai said enthusiastically, clearing his throat before stepping forward into the partial mess of a living room. “Belladonna?” he called out once more, only to be followed with silence.
Nothing in the house looked out of the ordinary, leaving Dazai to walk through the home in search of his lover. Door after door the man couldn’t help the negative thoughts invading his mind, if something happened to her all because of his late arrival he would not be capable of forgiving himself.
Dazai was stuck in an endless silence, his footsteps echo in the hall until his ears pick up on a familiar sound. The faint sound of falling water, this faint sound floods his heart in sweet relief. He was such a fool, she was just in the shower. Scratching his cheek, Dazai allowed an embarrassed chuckle to escape his lips. Speaking out loud to himself.
“ I guess it wouldn’t hurt to still check in on her “ The mischief in his tone was evident, shrugging off his coat and kicking his shoes to the side. Dazai made his way towards the faint sound coming from their washroom. At this point, he could hear the individual droplet of water splash onto the tiles. Gentle hums met his ears as he cautiously pushed open the door, just a smidge to peak in.
By the time it opened enough to reveal anything, a voice could be heard.
“ I swear if you move that door an extra inch, you’ll regret it. “ (Y/N) threatens.
That all too familiar voice echoed throughout the washroom, a heavenly sound which triggered Dazai’s heart to flutter. He knew what she said was an empty threat, but respected her privacy anyways.
Dazai smirked before it changed to a more genuine smile, chuckling lowly before shutting the door behind him. So much for getting a quick peek, he thought to himself, waiting outside for her.
It had only been around ten minutes before the door opened, revealing his Belladonna with a towel wrapped around her figure. Meeting her eyes with his own, he invites her with a welcoming smile. She only pouts in return, holding up her towel.
“ For someone who claims to be a gentleman, you aren't fazed by invading my privacy in the slightest, Osa. “
Gasping dramatically while placing a hand over his heart, Dazai acted as if he found that offensive, “ I was only checking to make sure my dear belladonna was safe! “
“ Uh-huh. “
Walking past the now moping Dazai, (Y/N) kept a hand grasping her towel in order to secure it around her curves. Smiling sheepishly, the girl made her way to the bedroom she shared with Dazai. His footsteps follow suit behind hers.
Reaching her bedroom, (Y/N) heads towards their closet. Ripping clothes off the hangers, she could still feel Dazais intense stare. Observing her every move. Feeling her towel slip, (Y/N) quickly caught it before revealing anything. It is not the first time she'd be entirely exposed to Dazai, but it still felt incredibly embarrassing. Being vulnerable wasn't easy, yet a single touch from Dazais handy work then she'd melt.
Like a candle, she would light up his world. Failing to accomplish her mission was uncommon, (Y/N) never once regretted falling for Dazai. That warm smile whenever they had been alone, made the flame in her heart flicker.
A mysterious boy wrapped up in not only bandages but himself- was always hidden behind a façade, something she broke within a mere year.
" Can you please refrain from watching me change, Osa? It's embarrassing. " (Y/N) mutters, slowly stripping the towel off while changing into a more light and comfortable fit for bed. Two arms slither their way around her waist, feeling a warm chest against her back. Dazai began to whisper in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
" I can't seem to ever take these eyes off you, Belladonna. Can you really blame me? " Dazai was dangerously close to a flame, her cheeks grow warmer as the flame within her heart fails to compute.
Dazai’s hands roam her bare body, the towel held up between her and his bodies, the slightest movement could make it fall. Subconsciously (Y/N) sinks back into his chest, sealing her eyes shut. The girl found herself to accept the warmth of his delicate touch.
" Please? I need to change Dazai. " (Y/N) comes back to her senses, carefully prying Dazai’s hands from her frame, " It won't take long, promise. "
Pouting in defeat, Dazai turns around and heads for their bed. It was difficult to convince Dazai regularly, except when it came to his Belladonna he couldn't evade complying.
Hearing the sound of her towel drop to the floor, Dazai huffed and kept his gaze to the other side of their room. Hopping out of their bed, Dazai slipped off his previous pants and wore some Pajama pants in replacement. Stripping his shirt off carefully and throwing it aside, Dazai threw himself back entirely on the bed. His bandaged up torso left exposed.
Normally there would be food waiting for him around this time, but neither of them really cared for that at the moment. He ate lunch at the Agency, which was enough to satisfy him for the day. Dazai just wanted to make up the time he missed with his (Y/N).
" You can turn around now, I'm changed. " (Y/N) announced, flicking a switch she shut off their bedroom light. Walking to their bed, (Y/N) sat herself down. There was a moment of silence, moonlight trickled through their window. Pale white light sunk into their forms, a gentle gesture both of them could appreciate.
Pulling a blanket over themselves, (Y/N) was the first to wrap her arms around Dazai. Being the big spoon was her go-to position between them, often pulling Dazai into her chest. A hand finding itself in his soft chocolate locks. Sighing in content, Dazai rested his head on (Y/N)s chest. Feeling her breasts to be some sort of pillow in his mind. Sighing in content, Dazai smiles. He was so incredibly exhausted from work.
" Big day at work? " (Y/N) whispered, inquiring how his day has been. It was apparent as too how fatigued he was. The frequent sighs, and the way he weakly threw an arm over her form.
Dazai nods his head, melting beneath the feeling of (Y/N)s fingernails against his scalp. Messing up his coffee-coloured hair.
" Port mafia doing their usual, there's been a bounty placed on Atsushis head. "
" Oh dear, that does sound rather tedious huh? I'm sure Atsushi is plenty safe with you around. Try not to stress so much, Dear. " (Y/N)s comfort reached Dazais ears like a serene melody, thanking her below his breath while leaning up to leave a gentle kiss on her neck. Finding a new home within the crook of her neck, Dazai remains right there.
The couple rested there happily within the comfort of lovers' warmth. Dazais bandaged chest had some blood stains and dirt, too lazy to change those bandages anytime soon.
Legs tangled, pairs of arms wrapped around each other. Lazily sprawled out across the bed mattress. By now their blanket was thrown off of them, dangling off the bed while the couple solely embraces one other.
Eyes closed on either party, Dazai felt (Y/N) stop combing his hair with her fingers. Pouting, Dazai opens his eyes and checks on her. The even breaths that escape her mouth already told him she fell asleep, deciding to leave her be. Dazai changes their position slowly in order to not wake his love.
Fast asleep, (Y/N) began to curl up in the boyfriend's embrace. Facing each other, now she was in his shoes. Head resting against his chest, Dazai nestles his nose into her hair. The fresh smell of shampoo gave a pleasant scent, entering his nose. Strands of hair tickle his face, forcing him to brush it behind her ear. Muttering to her, even though he was aware it had been pointless.
" I love you, Belladonna. More then you could ever understand. " His grasp around her form became more firm, afraid if he were to let go then she'd be taken away from him soon too.
"Everything I've ever cared for seems to be taken away from me, I swear I won't let anything happen to you too. Not ever again..." Dazai weakly smiles, memories of old friends of the past flash. Deciding to brush those memories to the side,
" I don't know what I'd do without you Belladonna, You've done the impossible. " Dazai kissed the girl in his arms on the top of the head. Smiling genuinely before resting his head on top of hers. Finding the lull of sleep envelope him.
#bsd#bungo stray dogs#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#Osamu dazai#Osamu dazai x reader#Dazai osamu#Dazai osamu x reader#Smoochi dazai
169 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ever in Your Favor, Chapter One (Rosnali) - Athena2
Summary: For the 75th Hunger Games, tributes will be chosen from each district's living victors.
Denali and Rosé, two women with a shared past, are the only living victors for District 12. They’ll grow a lot closer than they planned in their effort to survive.
A/N: Bringing my love of fantasy AUs to Rosnali! It's been a while since I've done a multi-chap, but I'm excited for this one! You can probably read this without knowing the books/movies, but it's helpful if you look up the basics if you're confused. There will be blood, violence, and injury throughout, but nothing more graphic than the books/movies.
Thank you so, so much to Writ for supporting this idea and helping me with it, and FaceTiming me to scream with your reaction. I love you <3
I really hope you enjoy, and please leave feedback if you like!
Read on AO3.
The blood is everywhere.
It stains the grass, trickles down Rosé’s pants, burns in her nose. It’s sticky on the side of her face. It pours from the fresh gash across her shoulder. It’s caked under her nails. It soaks the bodies on the ground.
The bodies.
One is still clinging to life, wheezing through the hole in his chest.
Rosé made that hole.
Rosé waits, not releasing her blood-soaked grip on her blood-soaked sword, until he gives one last wheeze and the cannon goes off, announcing her as winner of the 59th Hunger Games--
“Rosie, wake up. You’re having a nightmare again.”
Rosé shoots upright in bed, soaked with new sweat and old blood.
“It’s just us here. You’re safe.”
It’s her sisters in front of her, just her sisters. No bodies. No blood. No sword in her clenched fist. She sucks in a deep breath as her sisters watch in worry.
Rosé’s the only one who officially lives in the Victor’s Village house, but more often than not, Jan or Lagoona or both will come over for dinner and occasionally stay the night with her. She knows it’s mostly because they love her and want to, but it’s partly so they can make sure she eats and sleeps. She was the one who taught them to braid hair and jump rope, who used to check for monsters under their beds, and now they have to watch her eat and put her to bed and tug her out of nightmares. But Rosé doesn’t even care, because she loves her sisters more than anything and it feels so normal to have them around. She’s able to laugh and smile and forget, and she just pretends not to see the concerned looks her sisters exchange on her behalf.
They both stayed tonight, because they know what tomorrow is.
Rosé nods as she comes back to herself, holding back the apology on her lips because she knows they’ll just brush it off.
“Are you okay to go back to sleep?” Jan asks.
Rosé shrugs. If she looks at her hands too long, blood stains appear, but that’s not something she wants to worry them about. She hates still having the dreams, clear as if they happened an hour ago, not sixteen years ago. Plus it’s almost four, and she needs to be up in a few hours anyway--
“Let’s make cookies,” Lagoona says, coming to the same conclusion.
It’s what they did as kids, helping their parents with the bakery after school and on weekends. They’d line up at the counter, and Rosé would cream the butter and sugar, Lagoona would add the rest of the ingredients, and Jan would scoop the dough on the baking trays. Their mom always says there’s nothing a cookie can’t solve, and maybe that’s true of failed tests and middle school heartaches.
It’s a little harder when you had to kill people to stay alive.
Rosé tries, goes through the motions with her sisters, grateful that she has them. Wishing she could be better for them. She tries to hold herself together with sugar and butter, erase the blood on her hands by replacing it with melted chocolate. She’s calmer by the end at least, the tightness in her jaw loosened.
She notices that the lights are on in the house across the path. There’s only one other occupant in the Victor’s Village, and she’s not sleeping either.
---
Denali has long been awake when Reaping Day comes. She’s always up early to go for her morning run. She doesn’t need to run for her life anymore, but she runs from the memories just the same. It’s a normal thing to do, like when she used to wake up early every morning and hunt, and she likes convincing herself she’s normal.
Normal people don’t sleep with a knife in their hand and a bow at their feet.
Running. Always running.
She wishes she didn’t have to come back from her run today. The reaping starts in a few hours, and she’ll be paraded across the stage, one of two victors for the district. And then she’ll get assigned some poor kids she’s supposed to mentor, and no matter what tips she gives, what favors she tries to get from rich sponsors, it won’t be enough. Those kids will never come home. Not like Denali did.
Her right knee is screaming when she stumbles in the door. She’s gone too far on it today. It had been mangled in the final fight in her Games--dislocated, muscles torn, bones shattered. The doctors fixed it up enough for her to walk painlessly, but her punishing runs are sometimes too much for it.
She makes breakfast but can’t bring herself to eat it. She never ate on Reaping Days as a kid, worrying that if the impossible happened and her name got called, she would puke in front of the whole crowd, which in her teenage mind was as bad as getting called. And then she was seventeen and the impossible did happen, and instead of being free from this once she passed eighteen, the Capitol’s rules of her serving as mentor meant she’d never really be free of the Games. Not even winning them had been enough to escape.
Donut yips at the door, and Denali realizes someone’s knocking. She pets her dog--she always wanted one as a kid, and it’s another attempt at normalcy--and opens the door to see Kandy and Kahmora on the other side.
“We’re here to cheer you up before today’s shit show,” Kandy says bluntly.
Denali manages a smile. She doesn’t see her friends very often--they’re busy with work, and her house and whole life are so dull she doesn’t blame them for not wanting to spend time here--but they always make it a point to visit on Reaping Day, and Denali is so used to the loneliness that it’s both nice and strange to have friends over. They’re the sole reason Denali has extra coffee mugs, which collect dust in the cupboard 364 days of the year.
“What do you think Manila will wear this year?” Kahmora asks, her way of avoiding the unavoidable.
Denali wouldn’t mind if she brought up the Games outright. She’s become something of an expert in them, rewatching old footage over and over, looking to lessen the Games’ power on her, or give her something that would help a tribute. If you know every second of every Games, if you’re prepared for anything, then you can’t get hurt.
“It can’t be worse than that pink coat from last year,” Kandy says.
“At least you’re not dressing her,” Denali says. It’s the first joke she’s made in months, and her laugh sounds hollow. Fake.
But they both laugh, continuing to talk about what Manila will wear to pick tribute names, and Denali can pretend she’s normal, even if normal people don’t have their back to the wall and eye on the door, ready to run if needed.
It’s fine.
She’s fine.
The reaping will be over soon, and in a few weeks, the Games should be over. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be lucky enough to succeed and bring a kid home this year.
---
The doorbell rings minutes after Jan and Lagoona leave, and Rosé knows the time is officially here.
Denali gets her every year and they walk to the reaping together. It’s nice, not having to do it alone. Almost like having a friend, though Rosé doesn’t actually know what to call their relationship.
Denali was best friends with Jan, and Rosé remembers her climbing trees and making jokes, practically another sister to Jan. Hell, Denali was practically another little sister to Rosé. She could remember helping Jan and Denali with their math homework and teaching them to weave friendship bracelets. Rosé didn’t see her much after she got back from her Victory Tour--but then again, she didn’t see anyone much after that, didn’t really leave her room. And then five years passed and suddenly she had to mentor a seventeen-year-old Denali who was so much stronger and fiercer than the kid Rosé remembered, determined to be the best and win the Games. Rosé knew Denali could win, and did what she could to make it happen, giving tips and begging sponsors, and Denali came home. Their district hasn’t had a winner since.
“At least the weather’s nice,” Denali says as they head into town.
“Yeah.”
The weather. Rosé had helped Denali learn fractions so she didn’t tear her notebook out of frustration, had helped her perfect her grip on a knife, had included notes of encouragement with Denali’s parachutes in the Games, and they’re talking about the weather. It’s like this every year, every time they have to mentor, the bare minimum of small talk and work talk. It’s like their past is so fragile they’re afraid to bring it up, that even the slightest mention of what they share will shatter the glass, and the images of them inside it.
The Games are the biggest thing that unite them, an experience and horror they share. But the topic is an ocean between them, one they hesitate to stick their toe in with each other, one they have their own ways of dealing with. Denali thrashes through the ocean; Rosé sees her go for a run every morning, and then walk her dog later, and then do yoga after that, careful activities that let her stay above the tide, fighting the forces that want to pull her under. Rosé just lets herself drift in the waves while trying to avoid that she’s in the water at all, and hopes she has enough air not to drown when the water swells.
“Your--your hair looks nice,” Rosé says. Whatever pointless things they talk about, she’s always nice to Denali, still has it in her to do that much. And her hair really does look nice, twisting down her back in a long braid.
“Thanks.” Denali’s cheeks flush pink. “Yours does too.”
“Jan did it for me.” She touches her waves self-consciously. It’s been a while since her hair’s been this nice, and she kind of likes it. She’d do it more often, but what’s the point when she sits at home all day?
“She was always good at hair stuff. She used to do all these braids for me at school when we were bored.” Denali stops suddenly, biting her lip like she knows she’s upset the balance, bringing up anything besides the safety of the weather.
“Yeah, well, I taught her how to do them in the first place,” Rosé says lightly, not wanting Denali to worry she’s done something wrong. She hasn’t, really; she hasn’t directly brought up the Games, at least. And it’s not like Rosé has ownership of mentioning Jan, not when she and Denali were so close and still see each other from time to time.
Denali smiles, and they talk about weather for the rest of the walk.
---
The stage is set, the dry grass ready to be trod on by the anxious steps of teenagers. Manila is poised at the microphone, warming up her throat. Her feathery yellow dress is blinding, as is the smile she flashes when Denali and Rosé reach the stage.
“That dress should come with a warning,” Rosé mutters, and Denali snorts. Rosé’s been a little more talkative this morning, even if everything comes out through clenched teeth, and Denali welcomes it.
“Our two lovely victors!” Manila says cheerfully, shaking both their hands.
“The only victors,” Denali says dryly, but Manila still laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard.
“Yes, well, lovely victors just the same. Take a seat. The crowd will arrive soon.” She ushers them into the plain black chairs they sit in year after year, watching terrified kids trickle in.
The twelve-year-olds come first, and they look so young. Denali thinks they look younger every year. They struggle to stay in a straight line, tripping over uneven grass and bumping into each other, the fear radiating off them.
She risks a peek at Rosé. Her fists are clenched so tight her knuckles are white, and she keeps her eyes on the stage floor, like she can’t bear to look at the kids.
Denali remembers being in their shoes, standing on the same grass. Sometimes she remembers her first reaping clearer than the one when she got picked. Everything was a blur after her name got called, and watching the footage of that day is like watching a movie of someone else, because she doesn’t remember walking up to the stage. Doesn’t remember any of it.
But her first reaping exists in perfect clarity.
Denali holds her breath as Manila reads the slip of paper clutched in her neon orange nails. She’s only feet away from the stage, and it feels like Manila can see through her, like she knows she’s reading Denali’s name and knows exactly where to find her.
But Manila doesn’t read Denali’s name.
She reads her best friend’s name instead.
The whole row of kids gasps, like they can’t believe the reaping came so close to them--came to their very row--but is leaving them untouched. Kids are already giving Jan a wide berth, like they don’t want her bad luck to pass to them. In the back of her mind, Denali wonders if she should worry about that too. But she won’t leave her friend.
Jan is frozen in place at Denali’s side, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Denali doesn’t even think she’s breathing. The purple bow in her hair is crooked, which she would never allow, and Denali knows things are bad.
Denali wants to tell her it’s okay, wants to help her, but how can she? Everyone knows a twelve-year-old tribute is as good as dead, and Denali doesn’t know if she can pretend otherwise.
“Jan…“ Denali tries.
Jan cuts her off with a sudden breath, nodding to herself and preparing to move. But before Jan can take a step, someone sprints to the stage in a blur of red hair.
“I volunteer,” the redhead says breathlessly. “I volunteer as tribute.”
The crowd erupts into whispers, but all Denali hears is Jan scream as she recognizes the volunteer.
Rosé McCorkell. Jan’s older sister.
Jan lurches toward her sister, trembling so hard that Rosé grabs her waist to keep her upright.
“No, no, Rosie, please!” Jan is sobbing, her face a mess of tears, fighting to break her sister’s grip.
“Jan, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Rosé says softly, though Denali can see her legs quiver for a second. “I’ll come home, I promise. I love you.” Rosé rubs Jan’s back, soothing her as she cries, and though it almost feels too personal for Denali to witness this, she can’t look away from the firm set of Rosé’s jaw, the determination on her face.
Rosé fixes the bow in Jan’s hair, kisses the top of her head, and walks up to the stage.
Manila’s voice, unchanged even after all these years, pulls her into the present.
“Now since this is the Quarter Quell,” Manila begins, “things will be a little different this year.”
Something tugs in Denali’s stomach, her heart picking up speed, all her senses on high alert. The Quarter Quell is always something different; maybe double the tributes, or half of them. But the uncertainty is bad enough, straying from the careful routine Denali expected. Something’s not right; her body senses danger. But her body is always sensing danger. Maybe she’s just being paranoid.
“To honor the Games’ history and glory, this year’s tributes will be chosen from each district’s living victors.”
Rosé’s sharp intake of breath tells Denali she’s figured it out. When Denali realizes, she doesn’t breathe. She doesn’t move. She’s seventeen again, hearing her name at the reaping, the words repeating over and over as she walked numbly to the stage.
Two tributes for each district.
Two tributes from each district’s living victors.
Their district only has two living victors.
For all the rewatching Denali’s done, all the times tracing every twist and turn of the Games, she never prepared for this. Already, her legs are burning with the urge to run like she did in the arena, running from the enemy with a constant look over her shoulder. She can’t run from this. She couldn’t as a teenager and she can’t now, when the Capitol could kill her for it.
Though she might not survive anyway.
It’s too much for her mind to process. The world becomes a formless blob and all she can hear is her heart pounding in her ears. Pounding not only in fear, but anger, anger for her and all the victors. Anger at a system that praised them for winning and said they’d have peace afterward, but never really let them be free from the Games. They did their time. They survived the Games, emerging covered in blood and sweat and tears, scars on their bodies and in their minds. Reliving the Games through mentorship each year is bad enough. How could anyone make them do this again?
Manila is handed the huge glass bowl she always uses, but instead of a mountain of slips, only two pieces of paper lie at the bottom. There’s no escape.
“Our first tribute--”
“What’s the damn point?” Rosé asks, rising from her chair, and honestly, Denali doesn’t know how she’s standing. Rosé’s face is pure white, and she quickly hides her shaking hands behind her back. She has the same look in her eyes as when she volunteered for Jan: the look of an animal who sees the hunter and knows the arrow is coming, but stands their ground anyway, brave and defiant to the end. “It can only be us.”
Manila takes a flustered breath, cheeks flushed even through her thick makeup. “Well, tradition and all--”
Denali rises too, locking her wobbly knees. “Fuck that. Rosé’s right. No sense drawing this out.” Her mom always made her drink cough syrup in one bitter swallow as a kid, and Denali would rather get the misery over with.
Rosé gives a nod of approval, and Denali blushes. Part of her still sees Rosé as Jan’s older sister, as her mentor, someone Denali desperately wanted approval from. But approval or not, she agrees with what Rosé’s doing--taking some power from the Capitol, defying the rules and going into this with their anger known, instead of sitting by and letting a piece of paper and fanfare dictate it for them. If they have to do this again, they’re doing it their way.
Manila clears her throat and takes the microphone again, instantly silencing the crowd. “Well, then. I present your District 12 tributes for the 75th Hunger Games--Rosé McCorkell and Denali Foxx. May the odds be ever in your favor.”
The words wash over her as they did eleven years ago.
Denali’s going back into the arena, and Rosé--her old mentor, her old friend--is coming with her.
#rpdr fanfiction#denali foxx#rosé#jan sport#lagoona bloo#kahmora hall#kandy muse#manila luzon#rosnali#lesbian au#hunger games au#angst#ever in your favor#athena2#tw blood#tw violence#tw ptsd#tw injury#concrit welcome#submission
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Never Alone
Connor Walsh & Michaela Pratt (How To Get Away With Murder) ft. The Keating 5
Warnings: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Swearing, Trauma, Description of Injury
Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationship
Summary: While working on a particularly tough case in the ungodly hours of the night, whether it’s due to the lack of sleep or the sudden need to confide in another human being, Michaela admits some truths to the person no one would think she’d ever do so to - her rival Connor Walsh.
Requested by Anon and requested as a birthday present by another Anon. Happy birthday darling Anon! Thank you so much for giving me the honor of writing you a birthday present though I hope the short notice doesn’t affect the fic’s quality. I accept the most brutal of feedback, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it! Enjoy your special day! Lots of love, Vy ❤
“You know, just because you’re still awake and staring at a document doesn’t mean you have an upper hand here. Whether you’re actually reading that file is what will determine who gets the trophy, Miss Shooting Star.“ Connor Walsh waltzes into the living room turned office of the Keating home, looking and sounding a little too refreshed for someone who has had the same amount of sleep as everyone else of the K5 - minimal. Yet, unlike his teammates, he’s still perfectly functioning, talkative and looking forward to being productive without accidentally falling off a chair after being consumed by the slumber his body is probably dying for. It probably has something to do with that cup of coffee in his hand - his tenth one today, if Michaela’s counted correctly.
“Call me that again and I’ll shoot the damn trophy at your forehead.“ Michaela hisses back at him, tired, stinging and bloodshot eyes never leaving the piece of paper she’s been holding, reading and re-reading for the past twenty minutes, never really managing to grasp the words written on it.
“Good luck taking it from Asher. The Douche has fallen asleep with it in his arms.“ Connor sinks down in one of the armchairs, leisurely picking up one of the files laid out on the coffee table, looking at it with little interest.
This time Michaela’s gaze does indeed leave the paper so it can land on her rival, as she raises an eyebrow that somewhere between shocked and offended, “That asshole’s asleep?”
“He’s not the only one.“ It’s Connor’s turn to not spare her a look while answering, “Him and Wes are as good as dead on the kitchen island. Laurel and Frank are most likely awake, but also most likely not working on the case. Well, not this case, that’s for sure.“ He chuckles at his own joke, seeing as how his correspondent found no humor in it, “So, it’s down to you and me and Bonnie if she throws us a bone, which I doubt she will.“
Annalise was very clear with what she had said. Speaking the whole truth here, the five college students weren’t really paying attention until they heard that very strictly spoken phrase: “No one leaves here until someone finds something. Anything” aka the last phrase their professor had graced them with before walking out to go meet someone important for the night. She had every right to be strict and maybe even a bit cruel to them after they all had been exhibiting typical brat behavior throughout the day. To make matters worse and the job even tougher, Annalise had instructed Frank and Bonnie to go home so the kids would really be left to their own devices. Bonnie had had enough so no amount of begging her was gonna get her to stay - it’s also been proven that no amount of voicemails are gonna get her to come back either - but Frank, solely because of Laurel, stuck around and has so far not proved to be any kind of extra help - the polar opposite, in fact, he’s been distracting them all with jokes and snide comments at how incompetent they all are. Now if that wasn’t the most hypocritical thing.
“If the pressure wasn’t on already, I’d like to remind you we have...“ Connor turns his hand over, checking his wristwatch, “less than four hours until we have to show our not-showered, sleep deprived asses in court.“
Michaela groans, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Not that she’d ever admit it, but she was actually glad to have an overnight task, something that wouldn’t allow her to go home, but this is beginning to be too much.
What others would call ‘home’ Michaela refers to as or ‘hell’. It was place she called ‘home’ at one point too, but it wasn’t long before things started going south. And by ‘south’ I mean horribly wrong and toxic. The man she thought she’d one day call fiancée and then husband has now become a monster from her worst nightmares. Having grown up in an abusive household, Michaela had always dreamed of finding a place for herself, a place she’d feel safe in. With a person who’d love her unconditionally and provide her the security she lacked growing up. And that’s what she thought she saw in Miles. She wasn’t wrong for the first few months, the fucker was good at putting up a front, putting on a show for everyone to build a positive opinion of such a disgusting human being.
The mask started falling apart shortly after Michaela moved in with him. She didn’t accept his offer without any thought, quite the contrary actually - she pondered it for a week and a half, her heart taking the win in the end. Well, her heart may have won that time but it is now in pieces. Her eyes have never cried so many tears and her skin has never bled nor been bruised so badly before. She feels broken, alone, betrayed, hurt. She feels all she felt every time she got hit as a kid. She feels like the whole world has equipped knives and guns, each with her name on them, ready to put her through torture.
And she’s got no one to tell, because no one will know what to say back. For some reason, when people are speechless they tend to say the dumbest, most hurtful crap without realizing. Hearing that on numerous occasions before, she knows what effect it’ll have on her, so she strays away from speaking up about it. She’d rather be alone and battle her demons than present those demons to someone else who will introduce new ones into her head and life.
She prefers solitude and isolation over additional torment. It’s always been an easy pick for her.
“If you don’t wanna fight this battle on your own, go fetch me a cup of coffee.“ She instructs, half-expecting the turn-down she receives immediately afterwards.
“You really think I’m gonna help you when you are the closest thing to competition I have in this group of dimwits? Go get it yourself.“
Michaela rolls her eyes, wondering why she even asked such an abomination of a question in the first place.
Finding her legs too dead to take her anywhere, she remains in her spot with a heavy sigh, returning to her attempt at reading the file she and the rest of the Keating 5 five have read through a dozen times today just to find nothing off about it.
“Hey, this one’s marked twenty-three, that one on the table’s twenty-five, where’s the twenty-fourth one?“ Connor suddenly perks up suddenly, cutting the short silence that had fallen upon them. With the least amount of energy she’s managed to save up, Michaela waves the file she’s holding, blinking away the blurriness of that clouds her eyes. “Give it to me, I need to make some comparisons.”
“Come get it yourself.“ She barks back with the same amount of spite he used barely a minute ago.
Unlike her though, Connor complies, finding that file necessary for some reason despite knowing it’s useless. It’s all pointless and they’re all gonna hear it from Annalise tomorrow morning regardless. But the most they can do is keep trying - trying to prove themselves worthy of that trophy.
Getting up with the most exaggerated distaste in his movements, Connor crosses the distance between the armchair he’s been sitting in and the couch Michaela has not moved from for hours, surrounded by piles of paperwork, folders and files. Much to his surprise, she doesn’t even put up a fight, clearly having been fed up with staring at the same words and not grasping anything for half an hour at this point.
“Thank y-“ Connor is a syllable away from finishing his sarcastic statement of gratitude when his eyes land on something peculiar, he’d even call is quite worrisome - a large scar going from Michaela’s elbow to about midway down her forearm. It looks to be recent, given that there are still some dried specs of blood around it, “Holy shit....“ He mutters, carefully taking hold Michaela’s wrist as to gently turn her arm a bit more to the side in order to examine the cut, “What the hell happened to you?“
Not having realized what he was examining before, Michaela’s eyes widen when they follow his gaze and land on the very cut she spent an hour taking care of last night. That cut is the aftermath of a drunk boyfriend who wanted nothing more than a reason to start an argument with her when she got home. A reason to hurt her. Coming into work this morning, despite the high temperatures, she was stubbornly keeping a long sleeved jacket atop her shirt to keep the ugly remainder of yet another failure hidden. The relationship in and of itself is a toxic failure, but it’s built of other failures Mihaela blames herself for - she believes she fails every time he hurts her. She thinks she’s the one to blame for the failure because she couldn’t protect herself. So she feels ashamed, disgusted and is attacked by that sense of betrayal all over again.
Feeling these three emotions flooding in at the sound of Connor’s concern, she snatches her arm out of his grip, keeping the scar out of his viewpoint while her eyes scan the room, looking for the jacket she doesn’t remember discarding. “Piss off, Connor. It’s non of your business.”
If she had said something along the lines of it being an accidental injury, Connor might’ve even believed her and let the whole thing go. However, seeing hw distressed his question has made her become, he feels there’s a lot more to it than she’s letting on. So, fully aware it’s non of his business, he keeps prodding on for a reason even he himself doesn’t understand, “Maybe not, but that’s a concerning scar, you might wanna get it checked. In fact, it already looks like it’s infected with something.”
Michaela’s brows furrow, her distress growing into genuine fear as she removes the hand that’s partially covering the scar to check on it and try and see what Connor saw to lead him to make such an observation. Connor takes this opportunity to also get a better look at the cut and it doesn’t take him a while to realize what tool was used in causing it - a shard of glass.
“Michaela, it may not be my business...“
She cuts him off with hostility, “It’s not”, but her words are choked up and wavering. Her voice is shaking like she’s seconds away from bursting into tears. And Lord knows crying in front of Connor Walsh is the last thing she wants to do.
“Right, but you can’t tell me that’s an accidental cut. That looks very intentional, very straight, and very much like someone inflicted it on you.“ Seeing her barriers slowly starting to sink despite her best attempts at keeping them up, he keeps his pursuit of his secret, for the first time genuinely curious to get to the bottom of what’s troubling Michaela and not a single ulterior motive in his mind. “You can’t tell me that I’m wrong. I’ve had my fair share of glass shard injuries in my life too.“ The girl’s gaze remains glued to the floor but Connor doesn’t miss the tear that escapes her left eye, sliding down her cheek. This only strengthens his will to getting the truth out of Michaela. “I know I’m not among your favorite people, but I’m not a piece of scum, damn it. You can tell me, Michaela. Believe it or not, you can tell me.“
Silence takes over, loud silence, the one on her end filled with the inaudible sound of her walls coming down quickly. She’s left bare and exposed. surrounded by their rubble and unable to look her rival in the eye. Though, is he much of a rival at this moment? He appears dangerously close to a friend. Hell, Michaela would even make a snide remark about it if her insides weren’t so broken - her heart, her soul, her mind, they’ve all been shattered, bruised and bloodied way worse than her skin.
“Turn around.“ She says out of the blue, the order sounding more like a plea especially when accompanied by another tear freeing itself from the confinement of her pride. When Connor doesn’t move, she finally looks up at him to meet his baffled gaze, “Turn around so I don’t have to see the pity in your eyes when I tell you I’m a pathetic victim of an abusive relationship. The punching bag of an asshole with a short fuse and a drinking problem. A failure to myself and my family. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you think you have the upper hand now?“ Behind the tears that are spilling freely now is the mix of rage, devastation, dread and sorrow. It’s a dangerous combination that could cause her to pounce at him any second, push him away, take her anger out on him.
But that’s what he wants her to do.
He wants her to let it all out, free herself from all that’s been sitting on her chest. He wants to free her from whoever’s responsible for that scar on her arm and those thousands of little cuts on her soul, all still openly bleeding and unable to heal. He wants to save her. And it’s scaring him. He wants to write it off as basic human decency but deep down he know there’s something more.
As much as the both of them would like to deny it, if one of them left the Keating 5 tomorrow, the other would miss them greatly. Threats, accusations, arguments and bickering aside, they are aware how great of a team they are. What a good pair of friends they could be if they just let their pride slip aside. But they don’t, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe that’s why they work so well.
However, even with that theory in mind, they’ve both let their pride go in this very moment. Walls and barriers have come down, lines have been crossed and they see each other differently now - More as fellow hurting humans rather than rivaling lawyers-to-be. Closer than ever, that’s for sure.
“Listen, Michaela...“
She once again cuts him off, “I don’t want your pity, sympathy or your advice. I don’t need you telling me to leave him! You think I haven’t thought of that?! You know nothing about it, you don’t get to judge me on my actions and choices!” She’s sobbing at this point with no hopes or ways of stopping the strangled noises from leaving her throat or the tears from escaping her red eyes.
Connor quickly crouches down in front of the couch so he’s at eye-level with her, his hands taking gentle but firm hold of her shoulders, “Michaela, no! That’s not what I wanna say! Listen to me, damn it.“ To his surprise, this actually gets her to calm down and stop thrashing to get his hands off. Slightly relieved, he pursues what he started, “I know, I know exactly how it is. Every time he does something nice it outweighs the bad. It’s those good moments that make you stay, I know. But those moments are the rare rainbow after a ton of rain. They are not worth this pain and suffering you’re enduring. He’s not worth it. You deserve so much more, so much better and you are aware of that!“
“But no one else is!“ She snaps, her hands coming up to hide her face, “No one else sees my worth beyond the job I do or the person that’s willing to put a ring on my finger. No one sees me for me, Connor! My value is determined by what kind of men find me decent enough for their beds or family contracts! What kind of response do you think I’ll have if I leave yet another relationship?“
Her words break his heart but he doesn’t let it show in his eyes, he’d rather close them than let her see that pity she fears and despises. He doesn’t pity her, far from it, but a simple misunderstanding on her end could break this already fragile bond they’ve built so he keeps his feelings at bay.
“Fuck them! Michaela, you are an adult woman, they can’t control your life anymore! No one can! That’s why you need to cut ties with those whose opinions you fear most. I don’t know what kind of stick they have up their asses, but without them you won’t be alone. You’ll be free!“
“And you’ll still have us.“ The sudden and new female voice comes from behind them, right by the doorway.
Both of them turn to look in that direction to find the four missing members of this late case-digging session: the sleepy Asher and Wes with Frank and Laurel beside them.
“I have no idea what you guys are talking about, but Michaela, you will not be alone, no matter what the context is. We might not be the best friends one can ever have, but we sure as hell aren’t monsters.“ Laurel continues, being the only one to actually take a step in the room while the three men stay put, uncertain of how to approach the situation. “I think we all care about each other to some degree. So, I want you to know, we care about you and we’re here for you. No matter how many times you leave us in the dust with your eyes on the prize.“
That remark manages to get a smile out Michaela even with the tears that are still not done rolling down her cheeks.
Asher is also quick to pipe in, “I second that! Anything you need, we’ll be here. Need us to bust someone’s skulls - we’re your people.”
Scoffing, Connor shoots Michaela a look, “Now that’s an idea. Give us the address of that shithead and consider it done.”
She rolls her eyes, “Let me get my stuff out of there first. I don’t want you getting blood on any of it.”
Connor stands up from his crouched position and turns to the rest of the team with a determined look and a hint of a smile on his face, “You heard her folks! The lady wants to collect her stuff, and I’ll be damned if I let her do it alone.” He turns back to his temporarily-not-rival, “Come on, you can crash at my place until this friendly phase of ours fades. Then I’m dumping you at Laurel’s.”
She narrows his eyes at him, “Hilarious.” Suddenly her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up, “Wait, what about the case?”
“Laurel and I found something, already turned it in. We were coming here to send you guys home.“ Frank replies in his usual reassuring manner.
“Ooooh, so you were working on the case after all!“ Asher comments, wiggling his eyebrows at them.
“Yeah, we were. Unlike some who were asleep in the kitchen cuddling a trophy.“ Laurel retorts, sending him the most sarcastic of smiles.
This whole interaction between her...well, her friends has lifted Michela’s spirits enough to get her up on her feet, “In that case, better get prepared to help me pack three large suitcases.”
And with that the Keating 5 (plus Frank) disembark, heading to their new mission.
Walking out of the Keating household with four people, all unconditionally supporting her without even knowing what’s going on and one person with his arm tightly wrapped around her in a protective manner, Michaela has never felt more safe and secure. She might not love these people and they might not love her either, but they are all fond of each other. And if their fondness has reached the degree where they’re willing to accompany her and aid her escape from the hell she’s been trapped in this past month and a half, she’s willing to call them friends.
Some closer than others, but she cannot admit that knowing that in a week’s time her and Connor will probably be at each other’s throats again. And she’s fine with that. Rivalry’s a type of friendship too, ain’t it?
#how to get away with murder#htgawm#michaela pratt#connor walsh#asher millstone#laurel castillo#wes gibbins#annalise keating#bonnie winterbottom#frank delfino#flaurel#connor & michaela#sam keating#rebecca sutter#htgawm season 1#htgawam#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#palatonic#platonic relationship#enemies to allies#rivals to friends#htgawm s1
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Salt Bridges (pt. 1) || Nicole & Evelyn
TIMING: A couple weeks before Christmas
LOCATION: Al’s Diner
PARTIES: @nicsalazar and @thronesofshadows
SUMMARY: Nicole and Evelyn go out for dinner and find out they might have a little more in common than they previously realized.
Seated in the most secluded spot she could find, Nicole’s fingers picked at the extra hair tie on her wrist, looking up every time the door opened and the wrong person walked inside the diner. She was never early to any kind of appointments. Being early meant second guessing everything she thought she knew. Questioning whether she had made it to the right place, on the right day or at the right time. Worrying about plans getting cancelled and not getting the corresponding text. Going back to recheck the information multiple times, though she had done it a hundred times before. She was always five minutes late to everything, perfectly calculated, to avoid that. She had to be early for this one, however. Against her better judgement she had invited Evelyn to a diner. A very loud one, it seemed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that food had been a bad idea. The worst kind of activity to do with someone she had only met once. The pauses, awkward silences, the sounds, the mess. Terrible, just terrible. She breathed out, forcing herself to not go there. Pointless to dwell on it when she was already sitting there, fifteen minutes earlier than they had agreed on, going over the menu for the tenth time. Besides, Evelyn had to be the nicest person she had met so far, she probably wouldn’t care. She wanted to spend time with her, right? No? She had never been to Al’s diner before, but she quickly understood the popularity. The smell was driving her insane. When Evelyn walked through the door, her frown finally relaxed. She sighed and offered a shy smile, keeping her gaze on the woman until she spotted her. She averted her eyes down to the menu as she approached.
Nicole was unlike anyone Evelyn had ever met. She didn’t usually eat, and Al’s was certainly not her usual sort of place, but if that was where Nicole felt most at home, she would agree. Though it seemed a bit contrary to what she knew about Nicole. She hardly minded. She could easily get a salad here and pick at it, let Nicole talk about whatever she needed to - or wanted to. She’d arrived a couple minutes early. The buzzing of the diner would have been overwhelming if she concentrated too much on it, and she was more than a bit puzzled about why Nicole had chosen such a place. Perhaps she had a certain craving for a burger. Regardless, Evelyn adjusted the skirt of her dress and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her head before she pushed the door open. Nicole was already there, she realized, gaze focusing in on the other woman. She made her way over to the booth, one in a far back corner that wasn’t right in the middle of everything. Okay, that made more sense given what she knew about Nicole. “Apologies for keeping you waiting.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow, nodding at the menu. “What looks good?”
She shook her head dismissively, eyes darting to the clock behind the register when Evelyn apologized. “Hey...uh, think you��re right on time, I just— ” she trailed off, unsure where she was going with that sentence. She just needed some extra preparation. Her fingers drummed on the menu, waiting for Evelyn to get comfortable in her seat. Fortunately for Nicole, the table provided enough space between them. She would’ve hated having to worry over the woman stepping into her personal space for the entire evening. Her biggest concern was the eye contact, almost impossible to avoid when Evelyn was sitting in front of her. Out in a diner, really? Bad idea. Terrible idea. Should’ve asked her for a walk instead. She cleared her throat to keep those thoughts at bay, giving the other woman a strained smile. “What looks...good?”, the repetition only served to buy herself more time to think. She lifted her eyebrows, seemingly forgetting everything she had read a minute ago. “I’ve...never been here before—first time” she couldn't recall who had recommended the diner to her, but they had clearly made a lasting impression for her to come up with it on the spot. By the smell of it, the burgers definitely won. And the fries. The chicken too. She couldn’t hate the waffles either, despite the milk. “Gonna take a wild guess here...but I think the burgers are kinda their thing” she let out a chuckle and pointed at a particular picture hanging on the wall, displaying a monstrous looking burger. “Would you eat that one?”
“I am often early, but it pleases me to see that you are, too.” Evelyn couldn’t help but smile again. There was something about being around Nicole that made her feel calm and at peace with herself. Evelyn often considered herself a fairly calm person, but there were people, whether she wished to admit it or not, who brought about a feeling of even greater calm, and Nicole already seemed to be one of those people. Even if she was human, she was a delightful partner in conversation, even if Evelyn could tell that this didn’t always come so easily for her. Furthermore, despite the fact that it had taken a good amount of persuasion, she was willing to let Evelyn dote on her and purchase things for her, which was always a plus in Evelyn’s book. “I cannot say that I am an expert on any of this,” she flipped through the menu, glossy painted nails tapping against the plastic. “Well, it is a popular place in town, or so the rumors say - it is often filled up from what I can tell.” She crossed her legs. “Well, I do think that is how diners go. I - well, no, not unless it is vegetarian, but I fully endorse you trying it. After all, is there not the cliché of when in Rome - and I am well-aware that we are not in Rome, and that I explain my jokes too much but I say go for it. I think I may get a salad.”
“About that…” her laugh was strained and nervous, but felt the need to explain. “I just— had to make sure I got a booth I wouldn’t...” pick up too many things. “Get overwhelmed by— Sorry to disappoint but, I’m not— I’m not usually...this punctual” it felt strange being honest about it, and though her eyes darted everywhere in the room to avoid looking at Evelyn, she preferred it. Nicole was sure the other woman didn’t need the explanation, but seemed to be the way things were meant to flow between them. She glanced down at the menu again, but her brain was fixed on Evelyn’s tapping, distracting her. Most of the time she was capable of tuning out things like that, anxious thoughts occupying her brain enough to ignore sensory stimuli. Being so out of her comfort zone appeared to be affecting her in different ways. She tried her best not to pay close attention to Evelyn. Felt like intruding. The words pulled her back to focus. She assumed vegetarian options existed, but Al’s wouldn’t be the place to get them. “No, it’s...salad might be the better option”. Could she eat that burger? Yes, she was certainly capable of finishing that. Wouldn’t be pretty at all, however. She had a healthy appetite, and blamed it on being part-animal. “The…” she glanced at her with narrowed eyes, repeating some words under her breath. Cliché of Rome? What was she talking about? Sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall what the saying meant. “I— I don’t…” Her smile was sheepish, but she was saved by the waiter approaching to take their order. She nodded to Evelyn. “I think she’s...her mind’s made up.”
“Of course. Do not worry, even if you are only punctual this time, that is still more than enough.” Evelyn grinned. “Remember, this is all about whatever works best as a distraction for you, and if this is working, then I shall certainly not fault you for that.” Had she been a more tactile person, and had she assumed Nicole was, too, Evelyn might have reached out to offer a hand to the other woman, but things being what they were, she instead held back. Not yet, and maybe not ever, but she enjoyed Nicole’s company regardless of anything else, and for now, that was what mattered most of all. “Salads are usually nice, and even if it is not of the highest quality, I did not come here for the food, solely.” Especially because I do not actually need human food in order to survive, though it was not as though she could tell that to Nicole. Not now, at least - perhaps, if they continued to get along as well as they had thus far, she would be able to be more open, but not yet. “Sorry, it is a cliché. When you are somewhere, you might as well do what is customary. Or something to that degree.” She shrugged, glancing up at the waiter. “I have. I would love a Greek salad and just water to drink.” She flipped her menu shut and let Nicole order, watching as the waiter walked away before focusing back on the other woman. “So, how is this for a distraction so far?”
“Right, yeah—“ Nicole let out a nervous breath, a thankful half-smile reached her lips. It was slightly overwhelming that Evelyn always knew the right thing to say. Almost too understanding. She wondered if that had come with all the training she experienced as a kid. A fleeting, less logical thought followed. Could she—? Maybe she was capable of reading minds. Crazy, sure. She had seen weirder things in her life, though. Shaking her head, she frowned at the absurdity. People just happened to be good sometimes, she reminded herself. “Yeah—- wouldn’t pay for a restaurant salad, really…” Maybe being an ex model had something to do with her concern for healthy eating, but if Evelyn wanted salad, then she’d pay for it. “Good thing you aren’t though… cause this one’s on me, okay?” quirking an eyebrow, she raised a finger at her. She had to remind her, just in case. Yes, she had invited Evelyn for more than food. It was strange. When they talked online, she knew exactly why she had needed her company. But now, everything seemed incredibly hazy. Something about...bones and pens? Why would she need to talk to Evelyn about that? She watched in silence as the woman placed her order, her pulse racing at the thought of going next. She asked for a beer first. That would put her into a chattier mood. Then she tripped over her words to order a chicken sandwich, after she was assured it came with a portion of fries. Would she eat that? She wasn’t sure, but at least the hard part was done. “I— uh...never been more distracted in my life” it was the truth, at least. Whether it was a good thing or not it remained to be seen. How long could the food take to be ready, 15-20 minutes? That was a lot of time to fill with conversation. She could get through it. “Thank you, by the way—for coming,” she lifted her eyebrows as she met the other woman’s gaze, surprised by her own voice. “Gonna owe you...a couple guitar shows.”
Everything with Nicole felt strange and new, even if the overall pattern of their conversation was hardly anything abnormal. Evelyn shrugged. “Some are good, maybe this will be one of those cases.” Not that she entirely minded either way. Human food was human food in the end, and though she certainly preferred that which tasted better, it never served to nourish her in the way that nightmares did. “Okay. Only because you did permit me to purchase that guitar for you and because I find myself rather fond of your company.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. She enjoyed the time she had spent with Nicole so far as well as the conversations that they had, and so she saw no reason to do anything other than agree to spend more time with the other woman. “It is okay. Sometimes we find ourselves more keen to be distracted than others, and this is no fault of yours. There was a time a bit ago when I found myself unable to sleep for a long while and I know my focus was less than ideal.” She offered a shrug at the other woman’s remark. “Of course. I find your company enjoyable, and I have been looking forward to spending more time with you ever since we have met.”
Nicole nodded, despite being suspicious of the diner’s ability to deliver a decent salad. Though if Evelyn wanted to order something else after, she wouldn’t have a problem with that. “Good” her hand tapped the table with finality, as if her words settled their agreement. Her eyes stayed fixed on the table, struggling to shake the awkwardness off. She didn’t understand why Evelyn liked her company. A woman like her was likely to know people far more interesting than her. Better conversationalists too. But she was trying not to second guess herself too much. Unable to find the right words, she moved onto the next topic. “Was that— were you under stress or…?” She understood the connection between lack of sleep and lack of focus, but it was often triggered by something. “Never been too good at sleeping” her gaze lifted slightly at the admission, focusing on Evelyn’s shoulder. Her leg bounced under the table. For the longest time, she was haunted by the thought of going to bed and not waking up again, her body transforming in her sleep. “Guess... I was bound to end up with issues” it would’ve been easier to see a specialist, she reminded herself, though that would imply she was willing to get better. Her nerves caused her to laugh again, as Evelyn repeated she was good company. She was genuinely puzzled as to why. What had she offered that one time that seemed to go over well with Evelyn? Maybe she could keep doing that, with other people. Did people give each other feedback like that? Deep down she knew there was no magic formula. Maybe Evelyn was just trying to be nice. Embarrassed, heat rose to her cheek. “That’s...yeah— I think I...I do good with...bossy people. Not that— you’re...” she noticed the waiter approach, and she breathed out in relief “it’s not...not a bad thing”.
Evelyn sighed for a small moment, though it was evident that it was not out of frustration but merely out of relief in the comfort and ease that Nicole’s company provided. “Of course.” She watched Nicole’s fingers drumming against the table. “In a manner of speaking.” She didn’t wish to go into it with too much detail; didn’t want to risk explaining seeing giant eyes - Nicole didn’t deserve having to deal with that. “Luckily I was able to work through it, and that is all behind me.” Other things weren’t, other odd sleep behaviors weighed heavily on her mind - because she wasn’t supposed to have faults with her sleep, if anything she was supposed to be the one in control, particularly the negative ones that had seemingly overrun the town. “Oh? That is the case with a number of people. Even when you were a child?” She looked over to Nicole, though there was not a speck of judgement present on her face. “Well, I do not think this guarantees issues. Sleep is incredibly complex, you should not fault yourself for anything.” She bit her lip to hold back a laugh at Nicole’s next comment. “You can call my bossy. I am well-aware I can be, though I think that the tutors I had as a child preferred strong-willed.” She fought away the urge to roll her eyes. Evelyn watched the waiter come back over, dropping off their drinks and a few tabletop condiments - including salt. Evelyn grabbed her drink quickly. Salt wasn’t even a proper condiment, though she supposed many people liked to have it on top of their dishes. “Well, so far so good, I think.” She nodded. “How are you finding it?”
“I’m glad it’s in the past,” she nodded. The fact that Evelyn had managed to work through her sleeping issues gave Nicole some sort of comfort. Maybe it would pass, maybe she just had to be patient. “Light sleeper” she raised her hand, as if she was taking the blame on something. “Noises and...I’m—sensitive to it,” she shrugged, debating whether to continue or not. “It got worse after…” no, she should’ve stopped. Being a light sleeper was one thing, nightmares were something entirely different. “Bad stuff happened” the tight smile she gave after her words felt odd, but she didn’t Evelyn to feel uncomfortable. She was used to bad sleep anyway. Wasn’t so bad. “Strong-willed, huh?” she repeated, her eyebrows rising as she broke into a smile. “Yeah, you terrorized those tutors, I bet” she pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her grin. Although she felt for the adults in charge, she found the thought of a spoiled little girl bossing tutors around very entertaining. Why did a kid need so much tutoring anyway? She should’ve been playing free outside. Regardless, bossy was good in her mind. She needed bossy in her life. She was never inclined to take the lead on anything. Someone willing to push a little was a change she welcomed. She leaned back in her seat, letting the waiter place the condiments and the drinks. She shook her head when he offered to pour it in a glass. The bottle was fine. Without even realizing, her hand ghosted over the table before reaching for the salt shaker. Instinctively, she slid it to the end of the table, towards Evelyn. Then she rearranged the rest of the containers. She often had salt in her meals, she even favored that type of food, but she didn’t want to risk the chance of an accident in public. Her distraction meant she had lost track of their conversation. She looked up at the question, eyes widening. “How am I— finding what? oh...” she glanced down at the beer in her hand. She lifted it, sending Evelyn a questioning look.
“I am as well, as the case may be.” Evelyn looked over at Nicole with a kind expression. She didn’t wish to lie to someone who may well have been human, but explaining that her sleep expertise went beyond just being a childhood (and still) bookworm with too much time on her hands. Anything beyond that was too much, she knew that - even though she also knew that keeping the truth of what she was hidden away could only serve to cause trouble. She chose not to focus on that right now, and instead focused onto the woman across from her. She found that Nicole was someone incredibly grounding to be around, and she didn’t know why. Instead of getting all done up about it, she’d decided to ignore that and focus on how pleasant it felt. Even though the idea of having friends was still a relatively foreign and odd concept to Evelyn, she didn’t think to question it with a select few people - not Nicole, and certainly not Miriam - to a degree. Others too - Deirdre for one, even Lydia, before everything (and she chose to not think about all the what ifs) - things she never would have expected years ago when she’d been shut into her home, accompanied only by her nannies, tutors, and housekeepers. “You are permitted to be sensitive to noises - not that, well, obviously I am unable to control that - not that I would, if I could, I think people controlling whatever it is someone is dealing with is unjust, but I am sorry that you have that. It is no bad thing, we are all different.” Her gaze softened again. “Bad things? You do not have to expand, but should you wish to, I am able to listen. I am even quite alright at it, most times.” She sucked on her lip for a moment. “I think they used that in lieu of any number of other words they might have preferred to use were my father not their main source of income.” She scrunched up her face. She watched Nicole play with - rearrange - the salt and felt her shoulders tense up just slightly as she pushed it over towards her. Evelyn took it, careful not to touch any of it too much, and pushed it with the tip of one nail away from them, back to where the waiter had first placed it down. “Yes, that.” She nodded. “Though it may not be the quality that you could have if you came to my bar, I hope it suffices.”
Nicole’s eyebrows rose again, surprised to see the woman string a sentence with less eloquence than usual. Rambling didn’t seem to be her thing, but she had definitely over explained something that seemed obvious. Her eyes narrowed, finally looking at her face. “I know,” she said simply with a subtle smile, her voice small but calm. Had she been braver, she would’ve asked if she had issues with control. But she didn’t want to risk upsetting her if that was the case. Her eyes darted outside, a break she needed from the current conversation. When Evelyn offered an ear, she almost smiled. Her kindness wasn’t surprising. Or the way Nicole’s eyes began to tear up. She got rid of them, blinking quickly. God that was embarrassing. For once, the idea of sharing part of her story wasn’t terrifying. Time. It was the one thing she needed. The one thing stopping her from speaking to her. It seemed unquestionable that with time, Evelyn would be able to coax the truth out of her.
“I know” even smaller the second time. Nicole shook her head. “We all got baggage, no?” she said instead. She doubted anyone living in a town like White Crest was completely normal. The way she spoke about her tutoring sounded a lot less amusing than what she had pictured first. She frowned. “Was that… did you rebel against them? Or just— you being a kid”. With an apprehensive look, she noticed the way Evelyn moved the salt again. Maybe she was very particular about condiment placement? It was a little too close to the edge for her liking, though. If anyone were to run and— No. She was too paranoid, what were the chances of that even happening? She let the saltshaker where it was. They would be fine. Moving it again would look odd. “I’ve had a lot worse, trust me” the taste had never mattered much to her. Not when it used to be about getting drunk above everything. Tilting the bottle, she took a gulp. Yes, not great, she confirmed with a grimace. “I think I’d like some of that quality alcohol, though” She’d have to save for that. “How’s your...water? Sure it’s fancier at your place too”.
Nicole’s response remained simple - which was to be expected, it was how she was, Evelyn had learned. Though not for any sort of negative reason, nor any lessening respect. She did respect and care for Nicole a great deal, regardless of whether or not that was something typical of her. “I know - and yes, I suppose that we do. Though it is all different, and I sometimes do not see any point in focusing on such things.” She figured that she could leave things be for now, but if they talked again, she might poke a bit more - as she was rather curious but she knew that Nicole was someone who seemed to be a bit shy, at least when compared to Evelyn. She liked her too, and so she didn’t want to stress her out, at least not more than she already did. It was one thing to persuade Nicole to permit her to purchase a guitar, but this was something else entirely. “No, not especially, I simply did my own thing sometimes and so I think mostly being a child, but I also do not know quite what is typical for children, given that I grew up mostly on my own.” She took another sip of her water. She watched Nicole eye the salt and for a moment she wanted to ask her if she, too, was a mara. She didn’t, because maybe she wasn’t and was just curious about Evelyn’s constant movements. “Well that is good. You should come by sometime, and perhaps I will find nice beer and we can enjoy that.” She grinned. “I can make exceptions for those whose company I enjoy. Especially if it is at my place and not my bar, though I do not feel bad about giving you a more reasonable price than I do for most of my clients.” She grinned. “It is fancier, but I have always loved the fancier things in life.”
A half grin reached Nicole’s lips. She had to admire Evelyn’s uncomplicated mindset. She would’ve achieved a lot more had she moved on from all her traumas, she mused. “Not much of a dweller?” She wanted to make sure she was understanding her words right. She took another swig of her beer. “What’s your secret? Cause I’ve...I’ve tried telling myself— shit’s in the past and all that...” she frowned, unsure whether she wanted to go down that road or not. “Can’t get it through my skull, though” she shook her head, her fingers tracing the bottle before drinking again. She probably should’ve waited until the food had arrived, but the anxiety wanted her to keep her hands busy. Her expression turned serious as Evelyn expanded more on her childhood. “Typical children stuff, like...just— not behaving the way adults want cause...cause— they’re not wired that way yet. That’s pretty typical, I think” there was a lot of wrong in the way kids were treated, but she wasn’t sure how to put her thought into words. “As an older sister— I’m allowed to say, kids are really annoying, though” she quipped to lighten the mood, but didn’t feel right. Joking rarely did. “Don’t think there was anything wrong with you, trust me” she added calmly, offering a sympathetic smile. She entertained herself holding the beer by its neck and swinging it idly, an inch over the table. “Now that I’m...officially invited, yes. Booze is one way to lure me in” tasting actual decent alcohol did sound like something she’d enjoy. “Uh, isn’t— the bar your place?” She let out a chuckle, eyebrows furrowed. “C’mon, all water’s the same!” she knew it wasn’t true, but she was curious about what counted as fancy water. Looking past Evelyn’s shoulder, the waiter came into view. She wondered if the plates he was carrying belonged to them.
“Not if it is something I wish to not dwell upon, yes.” Evelyn paused for a moment. “I mean - yes, you are correct. If something is unsavory, I do not wish to put my focus into it. I see little reason to.” Which she knew made her seem overly detached sometimes, but that was better than letting emotions overwhelm her completely. “Years of practice?” She shrugged. “I do not know, I think being alone much of my childhood allowed me to be alone with my thoughts, and I have never thought that getting too done up does anyone any good.” She took another sip of her water - she didn’t know why she kept telling Nicole so many things, but she also found that she didn’t always mind. “I guess so. It may be typical, but I have no proper experience with children outside of reading about them - I can imagine you might find them annoying.” She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “I do trust you, though I do not know. That remains to be seen, for some.” She gave an off-handed shrug. “Yes, please come, and I have found that alcohol is the way to get many people interested. I can promise my selection is some of the best you’ll find here.” She giggled, the sound causing her to blink a few times extra. Perhaps there was something particularly special about Nicole. “You may say that, but there is a difference, sometimes.” She turned to see what Nicole was looking at, the waiter making their way over with the plates of food, and Evelyn watched as they placed them on the table, though as they turned to go, their elbow knocked against the salt, causing it to fall onto the ground and break, salt spreading out in front of their booth. Shoot. The waiter hadn’t noticed and before Evelyn could call out they’d disappeared back into the kitchen. Evelyn eyed the salt warily, scooting further away from it. “What a mess, right?” She bit her lip. “I - I have - I am unsure if I am able to clean this up.”
Nicole managed to conceal her disappointment when Evelyn mentioned the years of practice. If it were up to her, she’d want to be done dwelling right in that moment. It was up to her, she reminded herself. Getting out of her head seemed to be a theme in her life lately. Like Evelyn, she had been alone with her own thoughts for too long, but it had the opposite effect. She let out a tired sigh at that, but didn’t say anything. From the first time they had met, it was obvious there was more to Evelyn than what she presented. The things she said always left her more curious. Confused too. She was about to ask what remained to be seen according to her, but it was all interrupted by the waiter bringing their plates. She was surprised at how quick the food had come. The conversation hadn’t been torture at all. At her alcohol comment, she raised an eyebrow. “Alright, I’m sure that’s not biased at all”. She smiled, eyeing her salad with amusement.Before she could say a word, things went awry.
She tried to reach for the saltshaker, fingertips barely missing the container. Despite her quick reflexes, it slipped from her fingers all the same, shattering on the floor. Nicole winced at the sound, her heart rate jumping immediately. She could sense the heads turning in their direction. “Fu—Shit!” shit, shit, shit. That’s why she had moved it in the first place. Shifting slightly, she checked under the table if the salt had extended to their shoes. Despite the initial scare, there was a minor relief when she saw her boots were clean. Had it fallen differently, she would’ve had to give Evelyn an extremely awkward explanation as to why she couldn’t move or get up. If only her chest could get the message that there was no imminent danger, though. “It’s— it’s fine. I’m...I’m sure we can get the—” she trailed off, eyes fixed on the salt. She tried to think for a moment, but everything around her was distracting her. Was it her own scared heart racing in her ears, or— she glanced at Evelyn then, noticing her shying away. She frowned. Was she worried about the mess? It was bad sure, but they’d get someone to clean, no? Her own worries slipped to the back of her mind, concerned eyes focusing on the woman. Maybe, like her, noises freaked Evelyn out too. “What’s… are you— did the sound freak you out?” It’s okay, it’s just—” she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. It wasn’t just salt. Not to her, at least. But why would Evelyn share the same worries? “You’re unsure if...what?”
Evelyn couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at Nicole’s comment, finding herself glad that Nicole was smiling - whether or not it was entirely due to her remark or something else she wasn’t entirely sure, but she did know that she liked when Nicole was happy - which was odd, given that they hardly knew one another but it was also an unavoidable fact. Before they could say anything more, the salt had broken and she looked curiously at Nicole, regarding her reaction with a certain level of confusion. Maybe she was just very into things being clean and orderly, which this was distinctly… not. Nicole was panicking though - although Evelyn couldn’t directly sense it, she knew enough about how people behaved when they panicked that she could understand what was going on. “A bit?” Evelyn pursed her lips. “I mean, I like music for ballet to be loud sometimes, but suddenly…” her voice trailed off. “A bit startling. I suppose.” Nicole was still asking her things and she knew that she needed to come up with a further explanation, and soon. “If I can clean this up.” She repeated. “I mean, I am plenty able to clean just … not this. I have sensitive skin and it sometimes acts up.” Even she knew that that sounded ridiculous. “Could you walk over and get the waiter, maybe?”
Nicole was hardly an expert on human emotions, but for a second their eyes met she believed her own fear was mirrored in Evelyn’s eyes. It made everything much more confusing. What were the odds of— no, she put that thought to rest when the woman confirmed she had been scared by the sound, that made sense. Glass breaking was never nice to hear. “It’s fine...it’s okay” she repeated, shaking her head. Evelyn didn’t look like something who did extreme emotions. Even startled, she seemed to try and keep it together. On the edge of the table, her hand opened and closed a few times while she hesitated over reaching out to comfort her or not. “Yeah, yes— it was kinda loud but…” her fingers dug into her palm as her hand clenched into a fist. The moment had passed. Her eyes landed on the food they had both clearly forgotten about. Didn’t matter, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “What, you’re allergic to... salt?” eyes narrowed, tilting her head. Her chest stirred again. There was a sensation inside her, heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach. And when her eyes met Evelyn's again, something in her told her she couldn’t trust her. She leaned back, attempting to put some distance between them. She clenched her jaw. Whatever she was feeling, it didn’t belong to her. She liked Evelyn, she was nice. She had to forget about that cold distrust building within her because she heard a question. “Can I— ” she licked her lips nervously, eyes back on the salt. She could, technically. But Evelyn would find it incredibly odd if she circled around the pile instead of just skipping through it like any normal person unaffected by salt would. “But you— you’re closer to the… you’re closer to the kitchen” she reasoned.
She’d never run into this sort of problem in public before. Of course, there had been the time - when she was little - when one of her cooks (sillyannoyingridiculousawful she remembered thinking, after the fact) had spilled some while making some sort of dish for a party. Evelyn had been sat up on a stool, eyes wide, hair spilling over her shoulders when it had happened and she’d hopped off, eager to find a way to help the cook clean up, finding herself unable to move. She hadn’t truly understood what was going on, except that she’d started screaming at such a high pitch that one of her nannies had come running - and her father too, eventually. He’d brushed away the salt and all of a sudden she’d been able to move again. She’d grown up a great deal since then, a great deal that meant she didn’t react in such an extreme way any more but it didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel her body tense up, at least slightly - at least as much as she’d found herself able to. “I - yes.” She blinked rapidly -- too much for what was normal, but all of this was a reminder of how very much not normal she was and she took in a breath, because Nicole was good and there was no way she was a hunter (though she’d been so very wrong about that before, hadn’t she?). She looked over to Nicole for a moment, watching the other woman push herself away. She didn’t know what she was planning and she could feel her own throat growing dry. “I - no. I cannot. It - you spend time outdoors,” she began, knowing that that excuse was certainly unimpressive. “I -” she began again, pulling her lower lip in. “I cannot go past it.” She finally settled on, not daring to look at Nicole. “I will not be able to move.” If she was out to hurt her, then she would already have figured it out. “It - I have been this way for as long as I can remember.” If Nicole was completely normal, then she might think Evelyn was losing her mind, but some small part of her hoped that Nicole would just understand it all without any undesirable consequences. If not - well, the small amount of time that they had known one another had been lovely.
“What?” Nicole had to laugh at the excuse Evelyn gave. It was nervous and out of place, but in any other moment she would’ve found the humor in it. Her laugh died in her throat only a moment later. The woman’s next words didn’t sound real. Her expression morphed from nervous to puzzled in a beat, before registering the meaning. She had never been too bright, but there was no other way to interpret what Evelyn was saying, right? Ghost, spirits, they couldn’t move through salt, she recalled an exorcist’s words a few months back. But Evelyn didn’t look like a ghost. Her heart was drumming so loudly in her ears it was hard to form coherent thoughts. There was so much she didn’t know. There was another explanation, right? Something she was missing. Instead, she was jumping to conclusions. Because— It couldn’t be. Was that the reason they had connected so quickly? Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowed so tightly, she believed the lines would stay there forever. Just briefly, she allowed herself to consider— After years by herself, had she finally found someone like her? No. She was grasping at straws. There was nothing else to draw that conclusion from, except for the salt. That could mean anything. It seemed a waiter had walked past the table and spotted the mess, muttering something about cleaning it in a second, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the woman. The salt was forgotten. She didn’t care about it anymore. It was nothing. Just a catalyst for something much bigger. She leaned forward, eyes studying her intensely. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, a clue, a tell, anything from the woman to would give away that they were more alike than she had initially thought.
“Evelyn,” Nicole called gently, despite how uncomfortable she felt using people’s names. Too personal. There was so much she wanted to ask, so many thoughts jumbled together. She was on the brink of possibly finding someone like her. The first one since— really? Was she gonna cry already? She let out a shaky breath. “I’m— what do you mean you can’t cross salt. Look— look at me,” she kept her voice as even as possible, but the words rushed out of her mouth, pushing and demanding. She didn’t want to sound angry — far from it, she only needed confirmation— but she doubted she had the nuance in her tone to not startle Evelyn. “You’re not...are you— are... are you—” she clenched her fist, frustrated. And when she thought she wouldn’t let it out, it came a whisper. Hopeful, curious, charged. “Are you not... human?”
Nicole was laughing and it didn’t seem to be right at Evelyn, at least not as far as she could tell. Except she wasn’t reacting to what Evelyn had said - at least not entirely, and she took a sip of water -- too much, filling up her mouth so much so that she could just focus on that and not whatever was going on with Nicole. Don’tbeahunterdon’tbea - she forced those thoughts out of her mind, because if she were one, Evelyn would have to find a way to deal with that but she didn’t believe that Nicole was. Her disposition was far too gentle, too nervous, too kind to be one. “What?” Evelyn’s eyes grew wide, jolted entirely out of her thoughts, though she found that she didn’t mind Nicole actually using her name - was this was it was like to have would-be friends? - she shook her head. “I - I -” Look at me. She did. Looked over to Nicole, avoiding direct eye contact but taking in her kind eyes, the way that her hair flowed over her shoulders. “I - no. Not human.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to process everything. Her tone had changed and Evelyn could feel her own expression shift to one that was far more calm than it had been just moments ago -- the waiter not returning the furthest thing from her mind right now. “Are - are you not, either?” Was she a mara? That could have explained while Evelyn found herself drawn to her - she knew that Nicole wasn’t a ghost - Evelyn knew that she couldn't see ghosts, no matter how much she might have wished to (but then again, with what Nadia and Deirdre had told her she wasn’t quite as sold on those any longer). That didn’t mean there wasn’t another species out there that had some of the same difficulties as Evelyn did. “I - can - I - I am a mara.” She bit her lip, sighed gently. “I hope that is okay.” Her voice got quieter then, nails tapping on the side of her water glass.
Silence hung over them as Nicole took everything in. For once, she couldn’t tell whether it was uncomfortable or not. It was just silence, she had too much to process to care about social cues. She had rehearsed for the evening dozens of times in her mind. Prepared as much as one could. Went over every scenario she could create, from decent, to bad, to terrible to disaster. Evelyn revealing she was not human due to a broken salt shaker hadn’t been in the cards. It was a struggle to figure out how to take the revelation. They should’ve learned about one another with time, when they had trusted each other enough to say the words without fear. Not in a loud dinner because of a preventable accident. She wasn’t human, Evelyn’s words confirmed. Her heart skipped a beat. Excitement? Was she like her, then? She didn't get the chance to ask. “I— am I? Uh...I—” she held her breath at the question. That was new, had she been too obvious? It had always been easy to conceal her otherness from the world, pass for human, stifle the animal so it was nothing but a dull ache in her chest. She had never told anyone before. Then again, no one had asked so plainly either. She didn’t fancy her chances lying, not when she never had a good poker face. It all showed in her eyes, she had been told. And Evelyn didn't deserve lies anyway, not after her unprompted honesty. Maybe she’d read her mind, somehow. Maybe she wouldn’t have to say it.
The woman continued talking, and the pressure in Nicole’s chest was too heavy to ignore. Was it disappointment? A Mara. She didn’t know that word. They weren't the same, then. She was something else entirely. A different creature? She had new questions. “I don’t—I’m not sure what...what’s that”. Evelyn’s last words made her throat tighten. She swallowed hard against the knot, blinking away the tears she knew had to be gathering in her eyes already. Was it okay? How many times had the woman asked that and gotten a negative response? How many times would Nicole have to do that if she ever felt brave enough to be honest? Unsure on what to say, she settled for what she would’ve liked to hear instead. “That’s— that’s okay. Of course, why wouldn’t—” she mumbled, lingering on the hand tapping against the glass before her eyes flicked back up, bright and understanding. She wanted to reach out and offer some comfort, but her limbs didn’t receive the message. “You’re good, please don’t think— I’m not scared, or anything”.
She let the moment hang between them, quiet and though Evelyn liked to consider herself someone who knew how to use her words well, she felt at a loss for them - for just now, she hoped, though she was not entirely sure. She certainly knew that she hadn’t gone into this evening expecting for her friend - for whatever Nicole was - to find out that she wasn’t human. This was supposed to have just been a nice outing. Something normal for Nicole, something that made her feel comfortable. She couldn’t help but feel her mind flash back to the night with Alain, when something else entirely normal and supposedly benign had outed her as not-human. Thankfully, Nicole hadn’t left her yet and Evelyn breathed a small sigh of relief.
She was stammering though and Evelyn pressed her hands against her thighs for a moment, willing any calm energy to concentrate then and now - to focus and not freak out about whatever Nicole’s eventual response would be once she was able form complete sentences. She’d give her time though - that much she more than deserved, having something like this just suddenly dropped on her. “I - it is okay. I do not expect you to know.” She pressed her thighs against one another, taking in another deep breath. “I - I feed on fear.” Her voice was so quiet now, she wondered if Nicole could hear. “I - I promise I do not feed on fr - those I - people I like. Trust. You. I have not and shall not ever do that. I am a living nightmare, I suppose. That is likely the best manner of phrasing.” She shook her head. “You do not have to be scared of me. I - I am not bad.” She didn’t know why she felt such a desperate need to insist upon this, rather than to just leave things as they were - to state it more assuredly. “Thank you. Not everyone responds well, is all.”
If Nicole thought further explanation would clear things out, she was wrong. Evelyn’s words didn't make sense. “What is—” What exactly did she mean by feeding? How could anyone feed on fear? Impossible. She eyed the untouched salad then, swallowing all the questions she wanted to ask. “What...” referring to herself as a living nightmare didn’t help either. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to understand, she focused instead on how the woman acted. Someone who was trying her best to stay calm, whose words weren’t exactly the most coherent. Too familiar. Despite learning she was a creature who fed on fear —whatever that meant—, Evelyn had never looked more human to her. Her breath grew shallow as her throat tightened. How could she judge her for something she didn’t ask for? It wasn’t right. They lived in a cruel world, scared, persecuted, ashamed —in her case— of what they were. None of it was right. It hurt to hear Evelyn defend her nature to her. She looked down to hide her face, tears were threatening to spill. Great, had she upgraded to crying for others too? Worst of all, she didn’t know the right thing to say. Evelyn was baring secrets and she didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with it. There were more barriers between them than just the table.
“I’m not scared of you” Nicole repeated, voice low but firm. “I don’t understand…I don’t get anything of what you’re saying, but listen—” she licked her lips as her mind went blank. Where was she going with that? She was about to find out. “You’re—” she looked at Evelyn again, heat rising to her cheeks as it often did when she was ashamed of being honest. “For some reason, the first person I thought of when I needed to talk... was you,” the reason they were at the diner, the catalyst for all the events that led Evelyn to reveal she wasn't human. New information could change opinions, sure, but she was talking to the woman who bought a guitar for her the first hour they met. There was hardly anything that could change her mind about the kind of person she was. “And you came. You said yes! To meet a— You don’t think I already know you’re not bad?”. She swallowed, getting her thoughts together. She had a lot of questions. Some that could wait until Evelyn felt safe enough with her, but there was one she couldn’t keep inside. “What did you mean by...how can anyone feed on fear? that’s not—it’s...it’s not— you can’t eat that”.
Nicole was doing a number of false starts and reformulations and Evelyn wished, if for only just a moment, to take back everything that she’d said. It was too much, maybe. Even if Nicole wasn’t getting up and leaving it could just as easily be all too much to expect her to understand. As much as it frustrated Evelyn when people didn’t seem to understand, she also couldn’t expect them to - though she figured that was more her father’s words getting to her - they often stayed away but seemed to have a tendency to reappear in moments of doubt - they had, shortly after she’d broken up with Alain and she found that they were reappearing now, much to what would have been her dismay if she’d let it.
Instead, she refocused on Nicole, who seemed to have found her own voice again and Evelyn let out her breath. “Good.” She replied. “You needn’t be scared.” Since when am I supposed to sound like my tutors from when I was a child? She mused for a moment. Nicole’s next words made her bite her lip softly, gaze growing soft, and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the stirring of emotions that ran through her body, then. She imagined for a moment that this must have been what it would have been like to have had a friend (that word was alright to use, she figured, because that was the only way she could describe Nicole) as a child, having someone who wanted to come and talk to her and not because of her money. At least, she figured as much, given how much Nicole seemed to actively push away her offers of aid for any number of things. “I know, but I just - some see those who are not human - and they push away, they think that this changes things, even though it was not. I know of plenty of proper humans who have done more harm than anyone who is not human has ever done.” Her hands found her glass of water again and she took in another sip, Nicole’s next question not a surprise. “It - well, it is the way my body processes things. Truly, there are times when I do not understand it myself, but I just know that I - well, I can touch someone and create nightmares and that provides sustenance. Perhaps it is like how plants can take in sunlight and change it to nutrients?” She shrugged. “I am able to eat normal food too, I just need to feed on nightmares in order to survive.” Another sip of water - “I can explain further, best as I can, if you would like.”
Nicole considered the woman’s words for a second. She didn’t agree with it, but it made sense. She understood Evelyn because she wasn’t human either. She could relate. But had she been human, with no knowledge of the strange creatures that walked among them, she would have reacted differently to the revelation. She would’ve thought the woman was crazy. “That’s pretty dumb of them” to push away someone because they were different. Though, if she was being understanding with Evelyn, who could be dangerous to others, why couldn’t ignorant humans receive the same treatment? Maybe with more knowledge, their minds could be changed. The moral dilemma gave her a headache. “But I guess— guess we can’t be too hard on—on...people ” she shot a quick glance at the woman, catching herself before she could say humans.
Nicole’s eyes narrowed at the way Evelyn explained feeding, the plant analogy helping to better visualize it. It sounded terrifying and fascinating at the same time. To have the ability to unleash that sort of terror at her fingertips. It brought on more questions, but it was hard to articulate any. More than anything, it helped her understand why Evelyn had tried to reassure her she wasn’t bad. How scary were those nightmares? Could people die because of the distress? After what felt like eternity for Nicole, the waiter rushed to their side, endless apologies spilling out of his mouth. She didn’t care, she understood. The diner was full and busy, the staff not big enough to cover it. She eyed him briefly as he swept the remains of glass and salt. Only then, the pressure in her chest eased, her heart slowing down. It had to be a relief for Evelyn as well. “Yes, please—” a shy smile pulled at the side of her face. She glanced down to Evelyn’s hands, following every unintentional move. “So just… you touch someone and— does it depend on…” she paused, grabbing her beer again. She toyed with it instead of drinking.“The worse the nightmare is, the— your meal is it….meatier? or—” she cringed at her wording. She had to sound stupid.
“It may be dumb, but it also cannot be helped, sometimes.” She knew that was why, despite everything, she still felt some level of sympathy toward her father. He should have acted better with everything, but in the end he was just scared. Evelyn knew his position and title meant nearly everything to him. So much so that he stayed married to her mother even when he knew what she was. So much so that he kept aspects of his life - so many aspects - secret. Made Evelyn play human - because being anything other than perfectly normal was frowned upon. Nicole’s words were a breath of fresh air and it made things feel at least a little bit okay. She shrugged. “I guess not.” Try living with this for years, try finding out what you are and having answers and being shut down. Try being so alone in the middle of a party thrown just for you. Though she knew that there was no way that Nicole meant any of what she’d say in any sort of negative way, Evelyn couldn’t help the desperate and uncomfortable feelings that rolled throughout her whole body.
The waiter arrived finally and had Evelyn been younger, more prone to her snobbery (though she knew that she certainly held a good bit of that now, still), she would have scoffed, asked why they had taken so long. She didn’t, now. She offered them a small smile, as if to say It does not matter. As if to entirely avoid that something so simple could so easily render her helpless. Turn her into a child again, too-long hair and bright eyes, melting down in the house’s kitchen. At least this hadn’t turned into that. At least she was safe. “I have to concentrate.” She murmured, fingers brushing along the tabletop. “I - well, they are fulfilling on different levels. I am unsure entirely, but I do find a certain satisfaction in ones that are worse, I suppose. It creates more fear which is - well, that is the essence of what I need.” Thankfully nobody else was paying them any attention. “How about we get out of here? My bar is open whenever I please, and I can tell you more there.”
“That is…” Nicole should’ve been scared, right? A person was telling her she was capable of causing people nightmares at will in order to survive. That was unlike anything she had seen in town. She should’ve been scared, because she generally had common sense. But each new bit of information she learned, only made her more curious. Only made her wonder what else was out there, hiding in plain sight. “That’s kinda cool. Shit— I mean I wouldn’t like to be the...but—” she had believed Evelyn when she said she wasn’t bad, but that sort of power in different hands—it had to be dangerous. “Oh” she was surprised by Evelyn’s suggestion to leave. Neither of them had even touched the food yet, but she couldn’t blame the woman for wanting to get as far away as possible from the diner. She looked down at her plate as she pondered. They weren’t exactly in the right place to have that sort of personal conversation, she figured. As loud as the diner was, she had to assume there were others like her among them, with keen ears. Who might not take Evelyn’s revelation as well as she had. For their safety, it was probably the best idea to follow the woman’s suggestion.
Nicole found that she didn’t mind going either. She was drained already from being surrounded by so many people. Trying to tune out noises and smells was a struggle. She still couldn’t figure out why she had chosen Al’s to meet in the first place. Bad idea from beginning to end. She glanced at the now clean floor. They were allowed to leave now, so why not? She tried to push down the guilt over the disastrous evening. She couldn’t have known. It wasn’t her fault. “Uh— sure. Yeah, that sounds— why not?” it took everything in her to fight the urge to call it a day, and just go home, avoiding more social interaction. Deep down is what she wanted, but what she wanted wasn’t always what she needed. “Let me just...” she bit the inside of her cheek, awkwardly waiting to be noticed by the waiter to ask for the check. “I could really use a drink— a real one, after all...this. So, let’s— let’s go”.
#wickedswriting#c nicole#chatzy#salt bridges#// mary is a gem#part 2 coming in a few minutes because we wrote too much#but i love this and i love nicole so much
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 19
Title: Control
Warnings: profanity
Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007
“What the fuck is she doing here?”
They converse in harsh whispers as they seek refuge in the pantry. Using the excuse of wanting to prepare food and drink for their unwanted and unwelcome guests and then leaving them in the living room. They’ve been bickering back and forth for half an hour; arguing about the Sarge’s appreciation and approval of chosen furniture and decor and Michelle’s distaste of the ‘mix mash’ of colours and themes on the Christmas tree. Her voice is enough to drive Tyler over the edge. The way it picks up in both pitch and volume when she’s vehemently defending even the most pointless or ridiculous of things, the Midwestern twang that becomes stronger and more noticeable the more annoyed she becomes, the constant tinge of self righteousness and condescension. She’s the classic narcissistic; infamous for her staggering gift of gaslighting and her ability to make herself seem like the victim despite being the quintessential bully and walking definition of ‘mommy dearest’. Through the five years they’d spent in Colorado, he’d tried his best to ‘mend fences’; extending the olive branch a handful of times in hopes of helping to both repair the relationship between mother and daughter, and create a bond between Michelle and her grandchildren.
They HAD reached a somewhat peaceful agreement; she’d attempt to tone down her hatred towards him and at least try and treat her daughter like a fully functioning adult instead of a hopeless, hapless child. But it had lasted all of three weeks; his involvement with Michael McMann and the subsequent threats against his family only caused the woman’s spite and hatred for him to grow. After that, she’d vowed to never forgive him for putting her daughter and grandkids in danger, and double downed on her belief that he ‘stole’ Esme away and somehow bullied and intimidated her into not only marrying him and giving him children, but returning to Australia. She refused to accept any responsibility for either her daughter’s struggles with mental illness or her horrible self esteem, and placed the blame solely on Esme’s shoulders; calling her weak and pathetic and insisting that she had married a horrifically abusive man and was simply too scared to leave him. He WAS a mercenary after all; he brutalized and killed people for a living. He was an alcoholic and drug addict; his brain unstable and volatile. His involvement in the job immediately made him a threat; he was strong and big and capable of tremendous and painful bloodshed. What would stop him from inflicting damage -or even death- on her?
“How the hell would I know? I’m just as shocked as you are. Not to mention totally embarrassed. My mother and step father know what we were up to; before you answered the door. I didn’t have any pants on! Just your shirt! They heard me talking about how you destroyed my underwear! Not to mention you’re not wearing a shirt and your back and ribs are clawed to shit and you’ve got the whole ‘just got fucked’ messy hair going on. Do you know humiliating this is?”
“I’m pretty sure they know we have sex. We have seven kids. I don’t think they’re going to be surprised that we fuck. For fun. Not just for procreating.”
“It’s one thing for them to know we have it, but it’s another thing for them to know we JUST had it. How the hell am I supposed to keep a straight face around them? When they know I just got done getting railed?”
“Imagine if they knew you got railed TWICE. And besides, us fucking? Them knowing it? That’s the least of our problems. Your mother...who I fucking hate more than I have ever hated anyone OTHER than my old man...just showed up on our goddamn doorstep. And she’s planning on staying.”
“Well, Sarge did say they’re staying at a hotel.”
Tyler’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it. But you know what? They’re damn lucky they DID get one. Because there was no way in hell I’d let them stay here. I’d pay for the hotel myself. What the hell, Esme? Why are they here? Did you know they were going to do this?”
“I never would have invited them here. And even if they HAD mentioned they were coming, I would have told you. I don’t want them here anymore than you do. I’m not the one blame for this.”
“I told you to call her back. Or text her. When it became clear that she wasn’t satisfied with your ‘thank you’ email and started messaging you and calling you, THAT was your chance. You should have got some fucking balls about you and talked to her. Did I not tell you? To get in contact with her? To avoid her escalating? Did I NOT say that?”
“You did,” she admits. “You DID say that. And I should have listened to you. I WAS going to call her.”
“After Christmas. When we got home. You should have done it days ago; when she started calling at all hours of the goddamn day. Did you really think she’d stop? That she WOULDN’T escalate? You know her. You know how fucked up she is. What did you think was going to happen when you kept avoiding her?”
“Not this!” She wildly gestures with both arms in the direction of the living room. “I didn’t know she’d just show up! There’s no way I could have known that. She always has a big thing at Christmas. It’s her chance to look perfect and come across as the most amazing mother and hostess ever. I didn’t think she’d ever give up the opportunity to do THAT. And why are you mad at me? This isn’t my fault!”
“You know what? It is. Because I told you to call her. So she’d stop her shit and leave us alone. And now look! She’s sitting in our fucking living room. On Christmas Eve. And how the hell did she even know our address? How did she know where we live? You can’t look it up on the internet; I made sure of that. So some asshole wanting a piece of me wouldn’t come after my family.”
“I don’t know how she found out. Someone must have given it to her.”
“Who would know? Riley? Riley would tell her to go fuck herself.”
“Maybe Riley told her dad and he let it slip somehow. I don’t know, Tyler. I don’t know HOW she found out. And yeah, maybe I should have grown a set and talked to her. My bad. But you being pissed at me is NOT helping. We need to be in this together. Not fighting and tearing each other apart.”
“I’m about five minutes away from totally losing my shit. You know what the last two days have been like. How I’ve been struggling. And now she’s here? If she ever wanted to give me a psychotic break, this would be her perfect chance. Just watch the son in law completely snap; prove to everyone just how big of a fuck up he really is.”
“You are NOT a fuck up. You never have been! And I know you’re struggling. I’m the one going through it WITH you. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I want her here? That is the last thing I want! But she IS here. And there’s nothing we can do about it other than suck it up and get through this together! And you snapping on me is NOT helping! I’m not the enemy, Tyler!”
“I never said you were. I’m just saying that…”
His words trail off as his attempts at damage control are ignored. Her petite frame intentionally bumping into him as she steps away; frowning when he tries to grab hold of her wrist and she aggressively yanks her hand away. He chooses 'peace keeping' in favour of escalation; giving them both of a chance to cool down. And he leans against the back of the pantry door, arms crossed over his chest as he watches her furtive search for something to feed their surprise visitors. The shelves are packed; extremely well stocked and organized. And while they bear a wide assortment of goods, she hastily rummages through things as if there’s nothing suitable; tears welling in her eyes and her entire body tense and her hands shaking. And suddenly he no longer sees a grown woman in front of him; the love of his life, his spouse, the mother of his children. She’s been replaced by a desperate and broken little girl so hell bent on trying to impress her mother; driving herself to the brink of panic and anxiety trying to prove herself worthy to a woman that would rather she’d never been born. And it’s far more painful than any of his own issues; an ache that claws at his heart and forms a deep, empty pit in his stomach.
“I’m sorry." Stepping behind her, he lays his hands on her shoulders and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I KNOW you’re not the enemy. And I sure as hell don’t ever want you to feel like I see you that way.”
“I know you’re going through a hard time and I know her being here is going to put you even more on edge. But I also know what will happen if we even attempt to kick them out.”
“I mean, I wouldn’t kick them out. It’s not like I’d say ‘get the fuck out and never come back’. I’d be a little more...tactful.”
“You think THIS is her escalating? Do you know what will happen if we even try to explain our way through things? Why it’s not a good time for her to be here? Do you really want to get into that with her? Considering all the things she’s already said about you? How she feels about you?”
“I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. Or how she feels about me. I don’t…”
“But I do!” She slams a jar down with even force to shake the other items on the metal shelf. Both her body and her voice tremble, and her chin and her lower lip quiver as she tries to hold back a threatening flood of tears. “I care what she says about you! I’ve always cared! Because it hurts! You’re my husband and the father of my children and you deserve so much better than that. And it fucking hurts when she says that shit about you!”
“Alright...easy now." Running his palms along her upper arms, he leans down to press a kiss to her temple; lips against the side of her head as both forearms come to rest along her collarbone. “Just breathe, Esme..." he draws her against him, squeezing as tight as her little body will allow. “...it’s okay…”
“I care what she says because I love you. Because I know what kind of man you are. Because I know what kind of heart you have and how much you love me and our kids. Because you’ve almost died for me. TWICE. Because she doesn’t know you like I do and she won't even give you a chance. And THAT hurts. To hear those kinds of things about the person you love more than you love yourself. Who SAVED you.”
“I never saved…”
“You did!” she interjects. “You saved me in every way a person can be saved. And you’ve been willing to die for me. Right from the start. And all she can do is hate you and talk shit about you and you have no idea what it does to me. What it does to my heart.”
“I’m sorry…” his lips brush her cheek, then settle against her ear. “...I never thought of it that way. I never thought about it hurting you like that.”
“I hate that she won’t even give you a chance. I hate that she looks at you like you’re some kind of horrible, evil person. That she treats our kids like garbage. I don’t care what she says about me. Or how she treats me. But when she does that to you? Or our kids? That shit kills me inside.”
“You’ve got to let it just roll off you, Me. Stop letting her have this power over you. Stop giving her that kind of control. It’s what she wants. It’s probably why she’s here. See how far she can push you. Try to break you. And I know you usually tell me not to react and keep the peace, but I don’t think I can. I won’t let her disrespect you. I don’t let ANYONE do that. So I can’t promise you that I won’t snap on her. I wish I could, but I can’t.”
She closes her eyes as she leans her head back against his chest; tips of her fingertips repeatedly gliding along his forearms. “I’m at the point where I honestly wish you would. I mean, maybe not go BATSHIT on her. I don’t want her calling the cops or child protective services. But I would seriously enjoy you going off on her within reason.”
“Baby, I will protect you from anyone or anything. I will stand up for you no matter what. You want me to flip my shit on her? I’ll do it. Want me to toss her ass out into the street? I’ll do that too. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. And I AM sorry,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, followed by her cheek and then her temple. “I didn’t mean to snap on you. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an asshole.”
“You can be,” she admits, and he loosens his hold on her when she turns around to face him. Hands falling to her hips and then sliding around to the small of her back, fingers laced together. “But it’s rare. That you’re like that with me. And I know you’re on edge. I know you’re going through some real bullshit. And believe me, I would give anything to take that away. To make everything better for you.”
“I know you would,” he presses his lips to her forehead. “And I’m serious; I’d do anything to protect you. Against anyone or anything.”
“I know. I’ve always known you would. Right from day one. Even then you were pretty intense. When it came to the whole watching over me thing.”
“Well technically it WAS my job.”
“You were getting some good benefits on that job.”
“They were pretty damn stellar, I gotta admit. Who needs dental or prescriptions covered? I’ll take the five days of hot sex.”
“You were very well compensated for your hard work. Actually, I think you were pretty spoiled. I think you STILL are.”
“I am not going to deny that.”
“I’m sorry too. I SHOULD have got a hold of her. I shouldn’t have waited. This is just a huge mess. But I honestly didn’t think she’d do something like this. I know she’s crazy, but THIS crazy? What are we going to do? We have our things that we do. With the kids. We have our own traditions for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We can’t just forget about it all. It’s what they’re used to. It makes them happy. And to be honest? It makes ME happy.”
“And we’ll keep everything the same. I’m letting her fuck things up. For the kids or you. We’ll just go on with it. Do what we’re used to. If she doesn’t like it, fuck her.”
“You just know the kids aren’t going to be happy. The boys and Millie are old enough to remember how awful she was to them. Millie still talks about the time grandma said she was a mistake because mommy and daddy weren’t married when she was made. And Tanner? Tanner had nightmares for three years about you going to hell because you got me pregnant out of wedlock.”
“Well in all honesty, I was probably already going there because of other things.”
She stares up at him pointedly.
“I’m kidding. That was a joke. Not a very well timed one, but…”
“And what if she gets on Nugget about being antisocial? About needing sensory breaks? About needing his safe place and his safe person? I can guarantee she doesn’t give a shit about Autism and won’t bother learning about it. I bet she’s even in denial about. That she’ll say something like ‘there’s nothing wrong with him other than your parenting.’.”
“She says something like that? I WILL toss her ass out onto the street. Literally. Talk shit about my kid AND my wife? That’s not happening in my house.”
“Then we have Declan. A bull in a china shop. You know she’ll get on his ass about being too loud and too hyper and too active.”
“He’s a kid. He’s eight. And he’s got red hair. Of course he’s wild.”
“What about Brooklyn? She looks cute, but she is all daddy and she’s a savage. She will pick up on my mother’s bad vibes and she’ll open her mouth and all hell will break loose.”
“Babe…” he unlocks his fingers and moves his hands to her hips; squeezing tightly and softly massaging. “...you are working yourself up even more and that’s the last thing either of us need right now. Take a breath. It’s going to be okay.”
“And then there’s Takota. Who is crazy shy and super sensitive and I already know he’ll hate her.”
“He’s in good company then. We ALL hate her.”
“You get her and all seven of them together? It’s a recipe for disaster. Especially the Tanner thing. Because TJ will go the fuck off if she even steps out of line with Tanner.”
“So what do you want me to do? Sneak the kids out of the house and replace them with imposters? Get the real ones back once your mom leaves?”
She sighs in exasperation. “You are NOT helping.”
“I think you need to calm down and just let shit take its course. Whatever happens, happens. We can’t predict what’s going to go down and stop it before it does. And you know what else we can’t do? Stay in here for the rest of the day. We went to look for food to make. We’ve been in here for half an hour. She probably thinks we’re in here having sex.”
“We SHOULD have sex. Really piss her off.”
“While I’d normally be right into it, I don’t think even I can get it up under these kinds of conditions. Your mother is kind of a mood killer. Remember how we barely had sex when we lived at her place? And then totally made up for it when we moved into the farmhouse?”
“I always thought you were saying no for other reasons. You always told me you were worried about ‘hurting the baby’.”
“You actually believed that?”
“You were very convincing. I thought maybe you were just super paranoid that something would happen to Millie. And that you suddenly got over it. You should have just told me.”
“The whole ‘honey, your mother’s voice makes me impotent’ wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. So while I love you and I’d love to be able to bang the shit out of you right now and have you making the kinds of noises I know you’re capable of, it’s not going to happen. We need to get our shit together and deal with this.”
“You know what I was thinking? Never mind getting the kids out of the house. WE can sneak out.”
“And leave the kids with your mother? I know I hate her, but I love my kids and I would not do that to them. Now…” placing his hands on her cheeks, he gently turns his face up towards him. . “...we need to get out there before she comes and breaks the door down. You gonna be alright?”
“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”
“I got you, Me. I always do. We’ll get through this like we do with everything else,” he presses a kiss to her brow, then to her lips. “Together.”
*****
They make awkward small talk; brief snippets of conversation in between sips coffee and tea and nibbles of the assortment of finger foods Esme had prepared and laid out on the coffee table. There’s a lot that SHOULD be said; grievances waiting to be aired, hurt feelings dying to be brought to the surface, demands for both forgiveness and apology. But for the time being it’s nothing more than comments on the weather; the differences between the dry Colorado chill and the dampness that plagues the Eastern Seaboard. Five years have passed and no attempts have been made to heal both old and fresh wounds; Esme’s mother either in denial of her shortcomings and her responsibility in pushing her daughter out of her life, or simply refusing to accept blame or apologize for all the damage she’d caused over the years. For the most part she stays silent. Leaving it up to her husband to ask about the kids and life in Australia while she ignores the conversation entirely; spending her time glancing around at their belongings with a look of pure disdain. He even sees the way her entire body stiffens whenever he so as much shows Esme even the slightest bit of attention or affection; eyes narrowing and lips tightly pursing together if he gives her a reassuring smile or wraps an arm around her shoulders or presses a kiss to the side of her head. He knows the mother in law can’t stand it; any form of physical interaction between them or the way they’re so in tune with each other’s body language and facial expressions. Able to easily and effortlessly read each other’s awkwardness or nervousness and then doing their best to provide comfort and support.
He’s been hated since the very beginning. Viewed as the enemy who’d ‘stolen’ Esme from her family and somehow convinced her to give up her old life in favour of a new one with him; keeping her trapped by repeatedly getting her pregnant and intimidating and terrorizing her into staying with him. And while they HAVE had their issues and stumbling blocks, he’s never been THAT bad; refusing to follow in his father’s legacy as a domestic abuser and all around asshole. Even at his worst he’s always adored her; respecting her as the love of his life and the mother of his children. Any logical and rational parent would want that for their kid; someone who worships them and busts their ass to provide for them, who has proven time and time again that they’d willingly sacrifice their own life for theirs. But it’s never been enough. All the good going ignored yet all the bad being thrown in his face and used against him. And while he’s the first to admit he’s not perfect, he also knows that he’s not the monster even his own brain often makes him out to be.
“Do you still do what you do?” The mother in law addresses him, refusing to make even the smallest amount of eye contact.
“Not as much anymore. Now I have employees I send to kill people.”
Beside him, Esme clears her throat noisily and then reaches for a mug of tea that sits on edge of the coffee table. She’s been on edge since the moment she’d finally sat down beside him; nervously bouncing her leg up and down or swinging it from side, or chewing on her bottom lip or thumbnail. He’s done his best to step up and be her rock; tucking her into his side or taking her hand or running a palm over her hair. Little things that let her know that she’s safe. That he’s more than ready, willing, and able to protect her. And it gives him something else to concentrate on other than his own issues; caring for her forcing the dark and dire thoughts plaguing his brain to take a back seat.
Michelle tucks her chin into her chest and stares at him pointedly. “YOU have employees?”
“I own my own business,” he says, then wraps an arm around Esme’s shoulders and gives her arm a squeeze. “WE own our own business. We have for almost six years now.”
“A mercenary business?”
He nods. “A successful one too. Very successful, actually.”
“Tyler’s good at what he does,” Esme says, as she lays a hand on his knee and lightly squeezes; the smile she gives him one of love and pride. “VERY good at what he does. He already had quite the reputation before starting his own company. Now that he has? He’s extremely well known and extremely well respected and sought after. His guys are the best of the best. Second to no one. You won’t find people like that anywhere else.”
Her mother stares at her; a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “And you’re perfectly fine with that? Him having THAT kind of business? Making money by killing people? Or having others do it for him?”
“There’s more to it than that, Michelle,” he husband grumbles. “Way more to it.”
“That’s not all it entails,” Esme informs her. “It’s not just about killing. It’s about helping people. It’s about protecting them and defending them. It’s about doing what’s right. Just because you don’t understand it…”
“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it now and I didn’t understand it twelve and a half years ago when you willingly ran off with a man that kills people for a living. That has so much blood and God knows what else on his hands.”
“That’s not all he did, mom. He didn’t just kill people. He’s saved a lot more than he’s hurt, believe me. But you can’t seem to grasp that because you’re too busy hating him for stupid reasons. I didn’t care that he was a mercenary. I was just as much as involved as he was. So stop making him out to be some kind of monster because you have some bullshit vendetta against him. Stop…”
“Let’s just try and calm down, okay?” Tyler suggests, his hand on the top of her arm as he pulls her into him; lips pressing against her temple, then her ear. “Just breathe, babe. No need to get worked up.”
“It’s typical of her, isn’t it,” Michelle snorts. “She’s always been over dramatic. Always blowing things way out proportion. How you’ve managed to put up with her for this long, I’ll never know. I’ll give you credit for THAT; being strong enough to hang in there. Mark sure wasn’t.”
“Don’t,” Esme warns. “Don’t you dare bring him up. Don’t you come into my house and sit here across from my husband and bring that piece of shit up.”
“He was a good man, Esme. You just couldn’t see that. You were too busy finding faults. It’s what you do. You get bored of people easily. Which is why it's extra shocking that you’ve made it this far. Twelve and a half years, seven children. Normally you would have pushed him away by now. I don’t understand the appeal, but you seem to. I guess whatever works for you…”
“You know what, it DOES work. WE work. And I know you hate that. I know you hate that I’m happy. That I got away. That I found someone that loves me. Someone that won’t let you control me and manipulate me and abuse me. That’s what it is, isn’t it. That’s why you don’t like Tyler. He doesn’t let you get away with your shit.”
Laying a hand on the side of her head, Tyler draws her even tighter into him, lips against her hair as he speaks. “I think you need to calm down, Me. Just try and relax, okay?”
“You really ARE brainwashed,” Michelle says. “You will defend him no matter what he does. No matter how much he drinks or how many pills he pops or how many times he puts you and those children on the back burner. You will always defend him.”
“I will. And you know why? Because he’s a good man, mom. He’s a good man and he’s a great husband and he’s an even better father. Only you don’t see that side of him. You’ve never been able to. You REFUSE to see it. You refuse to see how much he loves me and his kids. How he’d do anything to protect us. How he’s so willing to lay down his life for mine. You don’t see any of that. Because you don’t want to.”
“Why don’t you get some air?” Tyler suggests. “You’re getting a little worked up, babe. Just go and take a few minutes and…”
“I WILL defend him,” Esme continues. “I will ALWAYS defend him. I will defend him until my last breath. And you know why? Because he would do the same for me. He HAS done the same for me. No questions asked. So don’t you care come into my house and disrespect my husband like this. I spent years letting you walk all over me. And I refuse to let you try that shit now.”
Wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, Tyler gets to his feet; pushing into the soft flesh as a silent request for her to follow. “We’re going to go and step outside for a bit. Neither of us do very well when people just show up on the doorstep. And she’s a little on edge; Christmas always stresses her out.”
“It’s not Christmas,” his wife argues. “It’s her! It’s always her! And she just keeps pushing me and pushing me…”
His hand moves to the back of her neck, effectively steering her towards the front hallway. “Let’s go and get some air. You’ll feel better if you do.”
“Only thing that’s going to make me feel better is that bitch out of my house,” Esme mutters, as she shoves her feet into her beloved -and hated, by him and the kids- Crocs as he opens the front door and gently pushes her outside. Smirking when he hears The Sarge laying into the mother in law; accusing her of being insensitive and intentionally ‘stirring the pot’ and to stop acting like the victim when she’s the one that’s ‘doling out the bullshit’.
Stepping out onto the porch, he allows the door to shut behind him, then lays his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “You need to calm down.”
“I can’t do this.” She shivers in the cold; arms folded across her body and her hands aggressively rubbing her biceps. “I thought I could. I thought I could keep my shit together; get through the next couple of days. I can’t even last two hours! Here I was worried that you’d be the one to lose it! Yet I’m ready to throw her out the front window!”
“I need you to take a breath and calm down. Don’t let her do this. This is what she wants. She wants to get under your skin and she wants to ruin things for you. Don’t give her that satisfaction, Me. You just give her power when you do that.”
“I can’t help it. She just gets under my skin and she keeps digging away and digging away. Until I can’t take it anymore. And she knows exactly what buttons to push! She knows the more she shit talks you, the angrier and more defensive I get. She knows that’s my weakness. In the same way that shitty people know yours is me and the kids. It’s why she does it; to see me squirm and get worked up and eventually snap.”
“Which is why you need to settle the fuck down.” He runs his palms along her arms, vigorously rubbing against the chilled skin. “Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her screw things up for you. For US. That's what she wants. She spent five years trying to tear us apart. She tried ruining what we had every chance she got when we were in Colorado. And if you let her get under your skin like that? You let her do that? You give her all the power. That’s what she wants. That control. Don’t fucking let her win.”
“I can’t stand when she talks about you like that. I know you have thick skin. I know you can take it. You don’t let it bother you. But think about what it feels like when someone talks shit about me. Or disrespects me. Think about how that makes YOU feel.”
“I hate it. It hurts. Makes me want to hurt them right back. Physically, usually.”
“You know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on. Well that’s what it's like for me, too. When she starts in on you. It hurts. Because I know who you are and I know much you love me and our kids and the lengths you’ll go to take care of us. To protect us. I’ve seen you on death’s door. TWICE. Because of me. Because you’ve always been so willing to sacrifice yourself for me. So when she starts on her bullshit…”
“She’s never going to see me the way you do. Hell, I don’t even see myself the way you do. But she’s another story altogether. You KNOW what she’s like. You know the hate she has for me and why she has it. So why do you let it bother you THAT bad? Just let it go in one ear and out the other, Me. Take it from the source.”
“I’m not like you, Tyler. I can’t just turn my feelings off like that. I’ve never been able to.”
“I don’t turn my feelings off. If I could, do you really think I would have busted my ass twelve and half years to get you out of Dhaka? If I was able to turn them off, I would have left you and Ovi behind and I would have saved myself. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone through what I did FIVE years ago. I don’t turn my feelings off and you know that. I take it from the source, babe. And her? She’s not worth my time. I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. She’s doing it to be petty. She wants power. She wants control. I won’t give it to her. And you shouldn’t either.”
“I don’t think I can do this. Just let her walk all over me. Say shit about my husband. About my kids! I can’t just sit back and listen to that shit. I just can’t.”
“So stay your distance from her. As much as you can. Avoid being alone with her. Try not to get cornered into that kind of conversation with her. I will have your back no matter what. You know that. Tell me you know that.”
“I do. I DO know that. In the same way I have YOURS.”
“I don’t need you to defend me. Or protect me. Not against her. I've gone up against bigger and better and I’ve lived to tell about it. But fuck with family? Disrespect my wife? That’s not going to happen. And you need to trust me to be the one to handle things IF they get out of control. Can you do that? Trust me?”
“I always trust you. I always HAVE. With my life. With our kids’ lives.”
“It’s going to be alright.” He rubs his hands against her upper arms, then tucks her hair behind her ears and cradles her face in his palms. “I need to get your shit together, okay? I need you. To be my wingman. Or woman. I can NOT deal with your mother and eight kids all my own. There is no way I can survive that. So you think it can keep it together? For my sake?”
A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think so.”
“Because those kids are going to be home soon and your mom being here is going to throw them off and who knows what kind of shit show is going to go down. Don’t bail on me, Esme. I need you. In more ways than one. In EVERY way, actually.”
“Finally admitting it, huh?” She chides. “Only took you twelve and a half years.”
“I know you’re going to try and argue with me, but I need you a lot more than you need me.”
“I don’t think…”
“Nope." He pecks her lips to silence her. "Not gonna listen. Not even going to give you the chance to finish that sentence. Because you know I’m right. You always talk about how brave and strong I am? Me, you’re the bravest and strongest person I know. That I’ve EVER known. The things I’ve seen you go through? Willingly? The things I've seen you deal with in the past twelve and a half years? The things you've done? Especially for me? There is no one on this earth that’s stronger than you, believe me. And you have no idea how much I really do love you. How much I actually do worship you and respect you."
“It’s only Christmas Eve and you’re already going to make me cry. Don’t you usually hold off until Christmas Day? When you do something so incredibly sweet and romantic and amazing?”
“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he grins, then tangles his fingers in her hair and gently tugs her head back; lips softly pressing against his forehead. “Just stick with me, kiddo. You’ll be alright.”
“I remember you saying those exact words to me. At Gaspar’s house. In the guest room. After we…”
“It wasn’t RIGHT after. And I was being an asshole. Because you made fun of me because you said I had gray hair in my beard.”
“I didn’t make fun of you. I said it was sexy. That it would look distinguished if the whole thing went gray.”
“Old. You said I’d look old.”
“Well I MEANT distinguished.”
“Sure you did.”
“And look, twelve and a half years later, and you still have the same amount of gray in your beard. A little more in your hair, mind you.”
“All those gray hairs? They all have your name on them.”
“You can complain all you want. You can bitch and moan that I’m stubborn and I’m difficult and that I’m a huge pain in your ass. But you’d miss me if I was gone.”
He hates the feeling of dread that creeps in at those last three words; so simple and said in a light and playful way, but sending a chill that seems to borrow through his bones and travel right to his very soul. It’s his worst nightmare; facing a future without her and struggling to stay on the straight and narrow for the benefit of his kids. His old vices would return with a vengeance; the booze and the pain meds and suicidal tendencies. And then he’d lose any and all remaining links to her; his children torn from him because his demons and weaknesses would somehow overpower his love for them. But he manages a smile for her sake; never wanting her to realize just how much losing her WOULD actually destroy him.
“I don’t even like thinking about that.” His hands slip from her hair; sliding down her spine and resting at the small of her back . “Never mind talking about it.”
The smile broadens, and she perches her on tiptoes in order to wrap her arms around his neck. “I knew it,” she says, eyes sparkling playfully up as her body leans into his. “I AM your favourite. You do love me, Tyler Rake.”
“I do,” he confirms, and he lightly slaps his palms against the cheeks of her ass; lightly squeezing before drawing her into him and pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “And you have no idea how much.”
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
a guide to the secondary characters of 1917
inspired by @a-beautiful-struggle-of-life because saying “i wanna fall in love with all these characters too omg” is just such an open invitation and i couldn’t resist ♡♡♡
sergeant sanders: “yes, well, sorry to disrupt your crowded schedule, blake, but the brass hats didn’t fancy it in the snow.” the sergeant of blake and scho’s platoon. the one to first introduce us to our boys so we have to love him for it
lieutenant gordon: “a couple of little treats.” he’s soft. i love him. he’s just the hype man of erinmore, like does he want to agree with another one of his proverbs? another one of his quotes? another one of his shakespearean monologues that he learned off by heart at eton? no. he’s so tired. he doesn’t want to hear another fancy sentence in his life. “wouldn’t you say, lieutenant?” he wants to say i could not possibly give a smaller fuck, sir, but can he? no. let him sleep
sergeant: “YOU’RE GOING UP A DOWN TRENCH YOU BLOODY IDIOTS” he doesn’t have a name but MAN did he have a cultural impact. like he changed my world with that line. the delivery? the poise? the hint of a snarl? no one else could ever and i’m afraid that’s just the facts. he was probably mad because he just had a tiff with leslie and he got the day of the week wrong. he thought he had it this time. he didn’t. he never does
private kilgour: a bloody waste of space. THE softest boy. somehow managed a perfect :o in real life. how did he do it? no one knows. dermatologists HATE him. owns a cute scarf that he's managed to actually keep clean. probably has a blanket stashed somewhere. he’s just so, so gentle, he deserves nothing but good
lieutenant leslie: “for any sins thou hast committed.” you already know. you already KNOW. every time i saw this film there was someone who whispered “moriarty!” the first time it was me. he’s just so tired. a lieutenant shouldn’t be in command of a company. everyone is dead. his only friends are the orderlies he forces to hang out with him in his smelly dugout because all the other officers are in bits and pieces. the orderlies are trapped. they can’t escape him. gallows humour. he just needs a rest. we love him. was absolutely checking schofield out for the majority of their scene together. i've written about how they absolutely seem to have history and i'll say it again: they do. gay
the idiot who thought it was tuesday: one of the orderlies that leslie is holding prisoner solely to bully. when no one else is around they probably cuddle while leslie has a cry and the idiot who thought it was tuesday (TIWTIWT) comforts him and tells him he can do it
private atkins: “hey, it’s alright, it’s okay.” one of the two to find scho trying to haul blake’s body along. the gentlest giant. parry’s back-up, like he looks like he’d be in charge because he’s all big and tough-looking but then weedy, hot-headed little parry is the one doing the talking and atkins is just hovering behind him being soft. loves and supports his friends. they remind me so much of an iconic cartoon duo but i just can’t put my finger on it, but you just know they’d get into mischief because of parry and atkins is just “i don’t know about this” but of course he goes along with it
private parry: “you alright, mate?” he single-handedly made everyone in the cinema jump when some random english guy suddenly spoke when no one else was supposed to be around. he’s tiny but in charge and we truly do love to see it. lowkey feral vibes. you just know he’s a little bit chaotic and snarky and he’d challenge anyone twice his size to a fight, but he’s also gentle and worries about schofield so much when he doesn’t know him at all and i Love him the very most
captain smith: “it doesn’t do to dwell on it.” the dad. the warmest, most calming dad. gives great hugs. he’s tired because he has to spend all his time trying to keep parry and cooke apart because if they ever met and conspired all hell would quite literally break out, like they’d be too powerful together and he knows it. has a cane for the aesthetic. he’s completely traumatised but he has to keep it together for personal pride and for his boys
colonel collins: “they at least could have retreated with a bit of grace, BASTARDS.” i quote him daily. he truly is just the stuff of legends. we love to see it
colonel collins’ driver: “no, sir.” if he and lieutenant gordon ever met they wouldn’t even speak, they’d just fall asleep on each other. they’re both so exhausted by their superiors. when will they be free
private rossi: “welcome aboard the night bus to fuck knows where.” we love him!!!!!! we really do love him!!!!!!! scottish. soft. he and jondalar are best friends and jondalar teases him constantly. genuinely lovely, observant, empathetic. he talks about the pointlessness and bleakness of what they’re doing when no one else dares think on it too much in case they break down and i love him for it. probably goes home to become a war poet
private cooke: “HERE, DRIVER, HOW ABOUT YOU TRY TO KEEP IT ON THE BLOODY ROAD FOR A CHANGE” ABSOLUTE feral vibes. he’s just a public menace and we love him
private butler: “alright, alright, keep your ‘air on.” i really do just love him. he’s the one who tells the story about scott and beaufoy and eventually rallies everyone together to help scho push the truck, but to me he’s better known for being the scrawny little icon with the especially prominent red x on his sleeve and the moustache who’s just so GRUMPY all the time. like why is he so GRUMPY? i love him
sepoy jondalar: “i hope you get there.” it’s recognised in the script that he did the best impersonation of beaufoy, we love to see him excelling. gentle. loves schofield with his entire heart and he’s only just met him. there are a few iconic duos in this film - scho and blake, parry and atkins, bäumer and deserving more - and jondalar and rossi are one of them
private malky: “you could do with a new set.” my FAVOURITE!!!! the script says rossi says that line but i am CONVINCED it’s malky and i will stand by that. sounds like george harrison from the beatles. a soft lad who quietly teases cooke TWICE in one and a half pages with the most bashful kinda voice. he and cooke are another iconic duo. i love him so, so much. gay. they all are but malky especially. all the gays ride in that truck, that’s why smith, The Gay Dad, chose to put scho in with them
driver: “oh, piss off.” he and cooke have an iconic dynamic and it’s only one line long. you just know cooke is always giving him shit, it’s a running gag that’s famous throughout the whole company
lauri: “chil-dren? you?” the queen of deserving more. she’s only something like 17 and she’s probably an orphan raising another orphan. if you’ve seen 1917 and don’t love her with your whole entire soul then you get shot on sight, like i literally do not make the rules. the softest, strongest girl. a lesbian
private bäumer: “ENGLÄNDER!” the king of not keeping his goddamn mouth shut. at least two people in this fandom ship him with kilgour and i am one of them. a soft twink. i love him. if he weren’t dying he would have loved being straddled by scho and i can’t blame him for that
private müller: “bäumer? BÄUMER!” the one who was throwing up. he’s like kat from all quiet on the western front, the older veteran who takes the fresh recruits under his wing. he did not deserve to lose bäumer like that and honestly the grief in his voice when he realises what’s happened HAUNTS me. i really do love him so much. he felt guilty about deserting. he had so much depth like every other character who was barely on screen for half a scene and i hope he made it out of the war and did okay
private seymour: “well he’s not one of ours.” i just love his accent, i’m sorry this one is purely selfish. but i do love him so much, he was instantly ready to LITERALLY pick scho up and just take him with them and that’s pretty iconic. like he was just going to adopt this random, half-drowned soldier who showed up out of nowhere with no rifle or helmet or pack. his now
lieutenant richards: “what the HELL are you doing, lance corporal?” my FAVOURITE secondary character. like i say that about all of them, but i love him, lauri, malky, rossi, and parry THE most. honestly has some of the most iconic moments in the whole film. that squint he does at scho after “what?”? the stuff of oscars. he loved scho so much. the fact that he so desperately wanted to believe that what he was saying was true breaks my heart. genuinely such a good person. i love him. he and captain smith are husbands and dads with a bunch of idiot children
major hepburn: “well done, lad.” he’s like, an actual disney character. like his face, his voice, they just scream disney side character. like a good version of the guy from the princess and the frog. i love him so much. he’s so kind
medical officer: “i have NO idea. move along, lance corporal” I JUST LOVE HIM!!!!! he’s so cranky!!!!! get him some scissors!!!!
263 notes
·
View notes
Text
Logan Anker: Duties
Logan Chapter 1: an end and a beginning
Logan settles into his new house, his new neighborhood and comes to terms with his new responsibilities.
The house was probably far nicer than someone who’d caused as much damage as he had deserved. But Logan was not about to argue with Thomas on any of those things.
Thomas was Manifestor. He still had to get used to that revelation. Thomas has sworn that he only found out when he looked up the address he was supposed to meet him at to escort him to his new home. And Logan believed him.
“If you want, I can come shopping with you for some new things for him,” his old friend and new boss offered as he put down one of the boxes they had packed from Helena’s place.
“Thank you. I will first unpack and then make a list of necessities,” Logan assured him as he gently lowered the child to the couch. “Thanks again for finalizing the adoption so fast…”
“Well it wasn’t all me and it wasn't that hard. You are his blood. And you are actually her sole benefactor other than the little guy and she willed you to be his guardian unless you’d refuse so she made it really easy.”
Logan nodded, feeling guilty as he thought of how much trust she’d had in him.
“Call me if you need help unpacking. Or do you need me to watch him for a bit while you get everything ready?”
Logan shook his head. He was not ready to let the boy too far from his sight yet.
“That won’t be necessary. I will be in touch,” he stated as he took in a deep breath to force his emotions in line. He would manage.
Thomas sighed and handed him a card. “He’s a friend of mine and a good doctor. If you need to talk,” was all he said before leaving.
Logan looked at the card and then put it in his wallet. He’d call once he was properly settled in. It was only logical to make an inventory of his current mental state considering that the physical side of his power… It was in everyone’s best interest if he had his mental and emotional state under control.
He started to sort through Helena’s things. The house was already mostly furnished for him, considering he’d only had the barest necessities while hiding from the law the past few years. And most of Helena’s furniture was due for replacement. The nicest things she owned belonged to the child. And even those weren't new.
Thomas was too kind. He might have a generous reformation budget, but all this was still much more effort than Logan deserved.
He picked up a framed photograph of Helena and her late husband. The boy’s father.
They would’ve been amazing parents. Logan had fond memories of Caleb…
The boy on the couch stirred and sat up rubbing tiredly at his eyes.
“Momma?” he muttered confused and disoriented. That was the hardest. How to make it clear to a 2 year old that his mother was gone and that this was his home now?
Logan walked over to the couch and sat down next to the boy who looked up to him with a confused frown.
“It’s okay. You are safe. Do you want something to eat?” Logan asked. He didn’t have the strength to try to explain what happened again.
The boy nodded. “Yes please,” he said softly, a little sad. Maybe he did remember being told that his mother was never going to come back. It was possible that he simply had been dreaming and was disoriented by reality. It happened sometimes. Logan would most likely forget she was gone on occasion too. Grief played cruel tricks on your mind like that.
“Very well.”
After their meal Logan sat the child down with a Disney movie and continued unpacking.
Then the doorbell rang. Was Thomas checking up on him already?
Logan looked over at the boy to make sure he was okay before leaving the room. He opened the door to find a young couple with a toddler greeting him.
“Hi!” The woman smiled with a wave. “My name is Celine, this is my husband David and our son Janus,” she introduced herself and her family. Janus was hiding half his face in his mother’s skirt.
“We are your next door neighbors and we thought we’d come and say hi and welcome to the neighborhood.”
Logan nodded. “I see. Thank you very much. I am doctor Logan Anker. I will be teaching biochemistry at the university starting this fall,” he explained as he shook the adults’ hands. He knelt down and addressed Janus. “It is a pleasure to meet you too Janus,” he informed the small boy who just hid away more. He rose again to address the adults, accepting that Janus simply was not comfortable around a stranger and then he felt a figure behind him. He stepped to the side and looked down to find the boy. He was looking at the strangers with curious but wary eyes.
“Oh, and what is your name?” Celine asked kindly bowing down a little.
“Vigi Aner, ma” he mumbled.
“Oh, your son is so polite,” she complemented.
“Nephew actually,” Logan corrected.
“Oh… oh,” Celine looked to her husband, unsure what to do.
“Our apologies, we didn’t mean to assume,” he offered calmly.
“It is quite alright. Your assumption was not without reason. We recently lost his mother.”
Murderer… No those thoughts were not helpful or correct. Yes I am to blame, but there was no ill intent.
“I am his legal guardian.”
The couple nodded. “Well if you ever need a babysit. I design websites and work from home mostly, so I’m always available,” David explained.
“And of course he is always welcome for a playdate,” Celine added. “Right Janus?” she asked as she looked down.
The child didn’t move for a moment but then stepped forward revealing his face. Logan didn’t miss the tensing of the parents shoulders. He could understand why. The left half of the boy’s face and neck were covered in birthmarks. He could imagine this got him a lot of stares in public.
His nephew stepped forward too and when Logan looked down he saw him smile and point at the freckles underneath his eyes. “Sun kisses,” he said and the parents relaxed. Janus smiled too and then was pulled inside. “Stitch,” was the only explanation.
Logan could only assume that he wanted to continue his movie and had decided that the other boy might as well join.
The Bullards turned out to be extremely helpful. They made sure he knew to find his way around the neighborhood and Janus and Virgil kept each other entertained.
So after a month, he trusted them enough to leave him with them for a few hours.
“I will be back soon. I promise,” he told the child who nodded and held onto his blankie and stitch plushie. Gifts from Logan in hopes that they would help soothe the stress of all these unexpected changes. The boy had nightmares and seemed easily spooked. Logan did his best to make him feel safe and cared for. He felt terribly unqualified for the job, but he tried to understand and provide in his needs.
Then the door opened and the nervous boy was pulled inside by an excited Janus. Their youngest neighbor had certainly opened up more during the month they’d been here.
His nephew looked back and waved him goodbye. Logan tried to smile encouragingly and waved back before handing the bag with necessities over to David. “Once more, my gratitude,” he offered.
“I should thank you actually. Janus… It’s terrible but he already knows he is different from other kids. Your boy has come as a blessing, truly.”
Logan felt something tug inside him in a way that felt both pleasant and painful. A bittersweet feeling. He’s Helena’s son alright. “Well, in that case, call us even,” he offered before bidding his goodbyes, ensuring David had his number down and leaving. He had an appointment with the therapist Thomas recommended.
“Why do you think you don’t use his name?”
Logan’s head snapped up. What?
The end of his first session was nearing and he’d had half a mind to call Thomas and ask him what made him think this would be a funny joke.
Picani was eccentric to say the least. All cartoon references and terrible jokes.
And now…
“Virgil. You haven’t called him by his name, though we’ve talked about him more than anything else. Even when talking about your sister, your stated reason to come here, you talk about him. Yet somehow you avoid saying his name. If not for your paper work I would have no clue. Why?”
Logan was about to object, but then he realized that he was right. Ever since first meeting him he hadn’t referred to him by name once, not even in his head. Even now the name…
“I… Don’t know,” he muttered astonished.
“I wouldn’t want to draw conclusions based on this one conversation of course, but is it alright if I suggest some possible explanations?” Logan nodded intrigued. Maybe Thomas hadn’t been playing a prank after all…
“It could be out of fear to grow attached to him. Or maybe you don’t think you deserve to be close to him. Does that sound like I’m in the right direction?”
Logan went over that in his head. It… wasn’t rational. But the feeling of guilt he felt every time he found himself enjoying the boy’s presence in his life even a little… That wasn’t rational either.
Just the night before he’d given him a bath and when he splashed at the water squealing with laughter he had found himself chuckling as well only to have the wind knocked out of him when he realized that Helena would never get to see this again.
“I guess… It’s just… Helena should be doing these things with him. Not me. I’m not fit…”
“Now I hate to interrupt you, but I have to disagree. You have everything you need to be a good father. You are responsible, attentive and have even indicated yourself that Virgil’s needs take priority. That is an excellent foundation to build from.”
Logan nodded. Rationally the doctor made sense.
“That is our time I’m afraid. But I think we can work with this. I’d like you to reflect on your relationship and interactions with Virgil over the coming week, even if you don’t plan on coming back. You’ll be starting at the university tomorrow, right?”
Logan nodded. “First as the new professor, and in the evening I’ll meet the team I’ll be working alongside with as Brainstorm.” It had seemed pointless to hide that part of his situation. And as it turned out, Picani knew of Thomas' secret too. Which was probably why Thomas recommended him. And Logan had to admit, despite his odd behavior the ,man was clever and observant.
“And… I’ll let you know how things go next week,” he assured the doctor who smiled relieved.
“They wore themselves out in the garden,” Celine explained with a fond whisper as she led Logan to the living room where David was sitting on the couch next to the boys who were holding onto each other in their sleep. Logan felt his heart swell with emotion and this time, as an experiment, he didn’t try to push it down. He let himself feel how the little boy on that couch had quickly claimed a place in his heart and was making it his home.
“Hi…” David greeted before gently nudging his nephew awake.
“Look who’s here buddy?” he asked.
The boy… Virgil, blinked blearily before focusing on Logan who’d accepted the supply bag from Celine. Virgil reached for him, grabbing with his arms, clearly asking to be picked up.
Logan chuckled and lifted him up in his arms, allowing himself to feel how glad he was to have him there, safe and sound.
“Hi papa.” That made Logan freeze. Virgil never called him… He called him Lo… Not…
“He heard Janus call me daddy and papa and today he asked what it was. I said it was like a mom but a boy. I guess he decided that means you for him,” David explains as he lifted his own son up in his arms.
“Ah…”
Logan didn’t say anything more after that. He went home and put Virgil in his bed so he could finish his nap there. He watched over him and stroked at his hair.
Funny, what seemed like a monumental task only minutes ago, was now accomplished for him it seemed. Virgil had decided that Logan was a parental figure. He had compared him to Helena and decided he measured up. Logan could not argue with that.
Logan sighed and went downstairs to dig through the last box that was still not unpacked.
It was filled with pictures and memento’s of Helena and Caleb. He looked at a picture of the last birthday Logan had spent with both of them. “I’ll look after him Helena. I’ll be the best father I possibly can be.”
“Papa?” Logan put the picture away and walked up the stairs to see to his son.
@moonlightshow00 @naturallyunstablegamer @alias290 @meowthefluffy @frida0043
3)Allies
Masterlist
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
128. Eager Secrets
read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3
index | from the beginning | < previous | next >
Rei dug her nails into her palms as she raced toward headquarters. Her head was spinning and she felt dizzy and sick but that meant nothing to what she had to do. She was an ANBU captain. The chaos and responsibility of her role was merely an occupational hazard. She checked the position of the sun overhead to discern the time and prayed she would not be late to the morning briefing. Unlike most mornings, however, today her own laziness was not to blame.
Lady Tsunade had called her into the hokage office bright and early that morning and, like every time such a thing has happened, Rei panicked. Her stomach churned as she got dressed and she braced herself for the worst. She should’ve known sooner or later the hokage would see the error of her ways and rescind Rei’s promotion. It was only a matter of time.
Or perhaps deep down, only a part of Rei had hoped that was the case. Instead, Tsunade presented a proposition: a high-profile assignment for Rei and her team, the likes of which could turn the tides of her reputation in the black ops—for better or for worse.
Rei wasn’t quite sure if she and her team were ready. Stakeouts required precision, unwavering attention, and even worse a certain closeness with your teammates. Their durations were indefinite and within that, there was room for fear. Fear that cramped them into tiny hotel rooms, taking up more space than they could allot. Fear so heavy that not even opening a window could alleviate the weight. The thought of spending days trapped with her team terrified her and for a moment, Rei considered refusing the assignment. But her reputation was on the line…did she really want to convince Tsunade more than she feared she may have that she was not cut out for this position? Sucking in a sharp, definitive breath, Rei agreed to the assignment anyway. They would have a week of regular patrol duty beforehand anyway. It would give Rei ample time to brace herself for what was to come.
As she weaved through the morning crowds through headquarters, Rei repeated Tsunade’s words over and over in her head, mentally bullet-pointing them in hopes that she would not forget the particulars. She may have had a week before they were to set off on this significant mission, but that did not mean she had a week to procrastinate telling the others. Their success relied solely on Rei’s ability to relay this information adequately and succinctly. Rei was the foundation upon which their progress relied. She could not afford to miscommunicate or mess up.
The locker room bustled with women preparing for the day, strapping gauntlets to forearms and stomping their feet into their boots. The white noise of their gossip buzzed in Rei’s ears. She ducked and dodged their unruly bodies as she approached her own locker, pursing her lips as she concentrated on the combination. It was always on mornings such as this that her lock seemed to taunt her, proving more finicky than usual. She turned the dial this way and that, ensuring that the arrow landed precisely on the number she needed, then tugged hard only to find that she had somehow failed.
“R-Rei…?” a voice suddenly stammered from behind.
“What?!” Rei instinctively snapped, whipping around to face her comrade. The shy panic on Mikazuki’s face forced Rei to soften. Sighing, Rei raked her fingers through her bangs and muttered, “Sorry. What do you need?”
“I-I was just wondering if I could talk to you about something? Maybe?” she asked. Unfortunately, Rei knew exactly what was coming. That afternoon in the dango shop had prepared her all too well. While Rei didn’t really have the capacity to deal with this right now, she knew she had no other choice. Somehow she was always the one to mop up Sekkachi’s messes, anyway. Rei motioned for Mikazuki to continue speaking as she turned back to the lock. “S-So about the other night, at the bar…and Sekkachi…I just…”
“Mikazuki, if you want me to be honest” Rei started, voice blunt and exasperated, “I wouldn’t kill myself over it.” She twisted the lock one more time then tugged, but yet again the lock did not open. Rei gritted her teeth, restrained a curse, tried again. “Sekkachi is the kind of person you can’t really trust a hundred percent of the time” Rei continued, “so take anything she says with a giant bucket of salt.”
Mikazuki lingered, knowing that there was likely nothing else to be said on the matter but still feeling unresolved. She didn’t even know why she was confronting Rei about this anyway. She had made her decision, hadn’t she? She told herself she wasn’t going to dwell on Sekkachi any longer. After all, why waste her energy on someone who clearly didn’t care about her? Mikazuki had Tenzo and that ought to have been enough. No, that was enough. And yet something still nagged at the back of her mind. The whole night had passed in a blur, dreamlike and hazy. Mikazuki was in no way drunk—she wasn’t the type—and yet somehow she could not manage to recall the details. Now she was stuck in a mess of feelings she had no idea how to navigate. She merely wanted to know the how and the why, she wanted to dissect Sekkachi’s motives in order to discern how to best move forward.
Unfortunately, Rei didn’t seem to keen on giving solid answers. If only Rei had answers to begin with—she wasn’t even aware Mikazuki was at the bar that night until Sekkachi told her about the voicemail. Her rabid hangover the next morning was testament enough of that. If Mikazuki wanted the whole story, she would have to confront Sekkachi herself—something Rei knew she would never do, for answers she also knew Sekkachi would never give. It was all pointless. Mikazuki was better off just giving up.
Just as Mikazuki opened her mouth to finally counter, however, Arai bounded around the corner and slapped the wall of lockers in greeting. At the same exact moment, Rei twisted and tugged the lock one last time and the impact of Arai’s slam sent the locker door flying open. The lock itself spun out of Rei’s grasp and pinged against the other wall with a metallic clang. “Yo, Rei!” Arai greeted, smug as ever. “I’ve got a question for you.”
Rei grimaced, steadying herself before rummaging through her locker. “Doesn’t everyone?” she muttered sourly under her breath. She afforded a quick glance to the wall clock overhead. She was running out of time. “What is it, Arai? If it’s about our next mission, you’ll learn all about it after the briefing.”
“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that” Arai assured, shaking her head. “I was just wondering…do your parents by any chance happen to work at the bookshop down the street?”
Rei froze, taken aback by the question. “Why do you ask…?” she asked slowly, cautiously. She didn’t think she wanted to know, nor did she want to give Arai answers. The thought of her subordinates having such personal information about her made her feel slimy and vulnerable.
“Well” Arai started, leaning against the lockers. She toed the groutlines in the floor as she spoke. “I was there the other day picking up some stuff for my sister and I overheard one of the regulars, I guess, asking about you.” Rei hated that her first instinct was to ponder which regular it may have been—Mr. Tomoya always seemed to take an interest in her, but so did any other number of repeat customers. “The woman behind the counter looked kind of sick when they brought up your name, so I figured it had to be your mom or something” Arai continued. “Only moms ever look like they’re gonna hurl when people ask about their kids.”
“Yeah, and I think I’m about to hurl, too” Rei muttered disdainfully, shaking her head. She tore her tunic off over her head, tossed it into the back of her locker, held her breath as she shimmied into her undershirt. Her clothes still felt tight and she cursed herself for clearly not taking her diet seriously. “Well, I guess you’ve got your answer, then” Rei replied, her head popping up out of the high neck of her shirt. Her hair frizzed and tangled from the fabric’s static.
Arai watched as Rei turned to step into her pants, but reached out for her forearm to halt her. “Wait a sec, not so fast” she said. “I’ve got one more question.” Rei shot her a sharp glare, sharper than she had intended, but Arai didn’t even seem phased. “Do your parents know you’re an ANBU captain?” the blonde then asked. By the way she arched her brow and smirked, it was clear that Arai thought this was a ridiculous question. She was compelled to ask, anyway.
The question paralyzed Rei. She froze, opened her mouth, then closed it again. It had been a month since her promotion and she still had yet to tell her family. She didn’t know how. Rei knew they deserved to know yet she couldn’t muster the strength. Finally, Rei stammered a hoarse, “W-why do you ask?”
Arai shrugged, turning on her heel and flopping down on the nearest bench. “I don’t know, just the way your mom seemed to talk about you made me suspicious I guess” she explained. “Like they were downplaying your achievements or something. Wasn’t sure if she was totally clueless or if she was just that much of a bitch.”
The idea of someone considering her mother a bitch stung the back of Rei’s throat. Not that Hana Natsuki was perfect—not in the slightest. Her meekness and lack of support over the years certainly contributed to her and Rei’s weak relationship. Hearing someone else refer to her as a bitch, however, felt inappropriate. Only Rei was allowed to say such things about her mother.
“She really ought to have more respect for you if you ask me” Arai continued. She was apparently completely oblivious to the effect her words had on Rei. Mikazuki glanced at the blonde—uncertain, paranoid, scared. A silent plea to quit while she was ahead.
Rei sucked her teeth, strapped on her vest. “Yeah, as if you do” she muttered under her breath. While Arai’s behavior had improved since Rei was first promoted, she was still on thin ice. Rei tightened her ponytail, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is any of your business anyway” Rei snapped. Her voice was sharp, unyielding. She whipped around to face Arai and there was a fierceness in her eyes that startled both her and Mikazuki. “Besides, it’s not good to eavesdrop on the conversations of private citizens” Rei seethed.
Arai blinked, having not expected Rei to grow so agitated. She wondered if she had said anything wrong, but quickly dismissed the idea. She was just curious. Just looking out for her boss. Just wanted to make sure she was earning the respect that she deserved. Arai chuckled under her breath then and muttered “As if we havne’t made our entire careers out of eavesdropping.”
Rei shot her one last warning glare, her fist clenched at her side, before the dull ring of the briefing call crackled on the overhead speakers. The air felt heavy and Rei’s throat was growing tighter by the second. She slapped her mask onto her face and stormed out of the locker room, digging her nails into her palms in an effort to steady her trembling hands.
She settled at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, and sucked in a sharp breath. She was done for. She couldn’t remember anything that Tsunade had relayed to her that morning. All she could think about now was how she had been set up for failure, how her mind could only focus on one thing and one thing only: her parents. She chewed her lower lip, slammed her fist lightly against the wall. Fuck.
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part X
Word count: 2.8k+
Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.
Warnings: BLOOD, angst as per usual, nakedness, bad grammar
A/N: thank you for 660+followers go follow @kal-of-house-of-el for future moddboards and aesthetic pictures of this story.
part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue
Axelia felt weak. Every single part of her body ached. Like her limbs had been filled with lead, heavy and unmovable. She was hot, probably an after effect of fever. Before letting her eyes flutter open, she let out a deep breath through her nose. She heard shuffling around her. Fabric dragging along the floor-boards and high heels clacking against them. Someone was in there with her, someone with a dress, most likely. Then she smelled dozens of herbs and scents she wasn’t entirely familiar with. Candles lit around the room. She could smell them, hear them and feel the heat radiating from them. There was still a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. From Black Blood potion.
Axelia slowly opened her eyes and scanned the room. Her witcher senses felt dull at the moment and she really couldn’t understand where she was in. It was a room, she could make out all four walls, doors on the left side corner and that was it. She couldn’t tell anything else about the room. And that made her slightly panic. Also the chattering voices coming from somewhere below her didn’t ease the nerves.
“Where am I?” Axelia asked, immediately regretting it, because it felt like sandpaper was being dragged somewhere in her throat.
“You’re awake.” Voice stated. Axelia’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound. She tilted her head slightly, listening to all the little noises and fine-tuning her senses.
Lilac and gooseberries. Handful of them.
“Yennefer.” Axelia whispered and tried to sit up.
“I would advise against it.” Yennefer stated upon hearing hiss from she-witcher. Axelia listened and didn’t move any longer.
“Why am I alive?” Axelia asked, her voice still croaky. Yennefer picked up a cup of water and holding it in her outstretched hand waited for Axelia to take it. Sorceress knew she could see, in her own way of course, but she was sure Axelia could perceive things pretty clearly.
Axelia rose her eyebrow at her, suspicious of her kindness.
“It’s just water.” Yennefer assured flatly. Axelia slowly reached for the cup, her hand trembling a little, still stiff from all the beating she had endured.
“You’re his soulmate.” Yennefer took her in. All the details about her.
Her white long hair, that was still half dirty. Her high-arched dark eyebrows that framed her milky eyes that shone like two marbles, outlined by long and dark lashes that fluttered against her high cheekbones whenever she blinked. Her pointy nose and the cupids bow that graced her upper lip in a company of plump lower lip. Her slim, yet fit and trained body that was hidden under her fabric bralette that was soaked with dried blood and her dark pants that were ripped in several places. Axelia’s long, sharp, claw-like nails that were tainted in fleshy tone to make them seamlessly blend with her fingers, making them look even longer. And couple of rings adorned those digits. Yennefer noticed the wolf medallion around her neck signifying her affiliation with Kaer Morhen. Her skin was pale, similar to Geralt’s, but at the moment covered in cleaned cuts and stiches, some dried dirt and blood covering other patches. Momentarily Yennefer wondered how she would look if she wasn’t a witcher. What was her hair like? What eyes did she have? Any freckles and/or birth marks?
“You’re the love of his life.” Axelia said, letting the hand with cup in it, rest on her lower stomach.
“I suppose you are the one who stitched me up.” Axelia glanced down at herself.
“That I did.” Yennefer stood by the end of Axelia’s bed.
“Thank you.” Axelia hummed, her nail tapping against the cup, her ears catching the sound of metal because of it.
“How does it feel to run into him all the time?” Yennefer asked. Axelia could feel that this was the only subject that sorceress wanted to talk about.
“How does it feel that he loves you and does not love me?” Axelia bit back, not wanting to really dwell on the subject. Her chin raised towards the sorceress, her try of making herself look indifferent of her own statement.
“Loves me?” Yennefer barked out a laugh, her eyes sliding around the room as her hands dug in her hips.
“He anything but run to you.” Yennefer said, her purple eyes burning at Axelia.
Putting the cup on the small table that Axelia had felt besides the bed, she sat higher up in the bed, letting her back rest against the high bed frame. Letting out a grunt of pain and flinching at her own moves. Her hand rested on her bandaged side as she sighed and tilted her head to the side. Allowing her porcelain eyes flicker up at Yennefer.
“You made him choose, didn’t you?” Axelia stated, her eyes running along the expensive dress with it’s intricate design.
“What else should have I done?” Yennefer asked, slightly irritated.
That’s why the old lady said: you choose the love of your life.
“And what did he tell you, pry tell.” Axelia hummed twirling her thumb around her fourth finger and then running in along the underside of her rings. Something she had picked up from Jaskier.
“He went after you, didn’t he?” Yennefer said with distaste again.
“It’s a soulmates thing, I do too run after him. Without knowing it.” Axelia explained.
“Oh, no. He specifically asked where you were. That was intentional.” Yennefer continued. Axelia’s eyebrows shot up. He came after her? Why?
There was a soft knock on the door and Ciri’s head appeared in the doors.
“You’re awake.” She beamed, happy to see Axelia alive and breathing.
“Indeed.” Axelia nodded, sending a small smile towards girl.
“I’ll be right back.” Ciri mumbled, her eyes sliding to Yennefer, feeling tension in the room.
“Do you love him?” Yennefer turned back to Axelia when the door closed.
“I would think so, yes.” Axelia said in a whisper, her tone soft as if she was remembering better times, fingers of her right hand resting against her lips. She couldn’t lie to herself. It was pointless. Exhausting even. She would always choose him. In million different worlds, in thousands of lifetimes, in hundreds of realities, she would always choose him, no matter what. Her stupid broken heart still waited and hoped for him to come back and mend her soul.
“Tragic.” Yennefer looked down, picking invisible dust off of her dress. After a moment, Ciri walked back in, this time Jaskier hot on her heels.
“Oh, thank the Lords, you’re alive!” Jaskier clapped his hands together.
Axelia smiled at him fondly, her right hand absentmindedly stretching to her side, Ciri’s eyes following her movement towards a dark shirt that was draped across the back of the chair. Ciri scurried to it and handed to Axelia, who only putted it across her front, shielding her bruised skin and bralette, and tucking it under her chin. Familiar scent hit her nose. With a discreet glance at it, she realized it was not hers but Geralt’s shirt.
“Jaskier, hello.” Axelia answered him, extending her left hand towards and wiggling her fingers at him. He smiled at her and reached for her hand, planting a soft kiss on her knuckles as he sank on the bed, besides her legs.
“How are you feeling?” Jaskier asked, his eyes flicking across her face, catching on every single bruise and cut that littered her features. With roll of her eyes, Yennefer sat on one of the chairs.
“I killed the monsters, didn’t I?” Axelia hummed, revealing a row of teeth as she grinned at the bard.
“You mean when Geralt brought your seemingly lifeless body here?” Jaskier leaned forward.
“Was it that bad?” Axelia chuckled, she didn’t remember a thing. She let out a small hum, her mind drifting to Geralt. What was he up to?
“He’s brooding somewhere.” Jaskier answered as if he read her mind.
“He’s kind of angry.” Ciri chirped in.
“Oh, yeah. Went with all that how could she be so stupid thing, you know, the usual.” Jaskier grinned at she-witcher.
“I don’t blame him.” Axelia whispered, her eyes sliding across the room as she heard the local girls from inn bringing up the hot water for a bath.
“You need a bath, missy.” Jaskier explained, turning her arm in his hand and rubbing at the dried dirt on her forearm.
“Bath sounds nice.” Axelia smiled up at him, feeling that whole hot bath thing was his doing.
“Thank you.” She said quietly to him, squeezing his hand in her palm in appreciative gesture.
“Of course. We’ll leave you to it.” Jaskier let go of her hand and raised one eyebrow at her, as she sat up straight and let out a huff.
“Need someone to accompany you?” he said, breaking into a grin in the end. She looked at him, her eyes big.
“Jaskier!” she hissed at him and playfully swatted his arm. He and his dumb innuendos. He laughed and helped her to stand.
“What?” He laughed making sure she won’t fall.
“Nothing, you absolute idiot.” Axelia chuckled fondly and let go of him, keeping one hand on the bed, to keep herself upright and the other still holding shirt in front of her chest.
“Glad that you’re alright.” Jaskier mumbled at her and with look at Ciri and Yennefer, left the room.
“I’ll see you later? I have so many questions.” Ciri seemed ecstatic. Axelia smiled at her, knowing that the girl wanted to know and learn more about her being a female witcher.
“Of course. I’ll send someone to fetch for you later.” Axelia patted her shoulder, her long fingers skimming down girl’s arm, because she was drawn in by a familiar fabric, that was tied around Ciri’s upper arm now.
“I told you to-” Axelia started with the furrow of her brows.
“I know. He didn’t take it. You said that he hated it.” Ciri was quick to explain. Axelia let out a soft hum at that and let her gaze drop to the floor as Ciri left the room.
“Well, then…” Yennefer stood up with a sigh. Axelia continued to stare at the floor boards, for a moment only hearing Yennefer grabbing something from the top of the dresser. Something made out of metal. Axelia’s eyes shoot up and looked at sorceress. Yennefer walked closer to Axelia, her eyes still cold and red-painted lips pulled up in dissatisfaction. She grabbed Axelia’s hand that was keeping her straight against the bed and putted the metal object in she-witcher’s palm.
“For bandages.” Yennefer leaned in to whisper in her ear. Axelia’s long fingers wrapped around the cold scissors. With one jealous and scrutinizing look at Axelia, Yennefer left the room, leaving Axelia all alone. Finally.
With a exhale she putted the shirt on the bed. Her eyes drifting to the scissors in her hand. With furrowed brows she turned them around in her hand and then with stumbles made her way to the bath that was hidden behind thick woollen drapes somewhere in the back of the room. She followed her nose and looked at all the vials and bowls that contained dozens of different scents, herbs, salts and oils. She held scissors close to her chests as her other hand slid across the soft towel. She put it closer to the bath. Then with nimble wingers she tried to get off her pants, but since it was impossible without ripping her stitches, she literally cut her pants off of herself. The she reached and untied her bralette, letting it join the cut-up pants on the ground. Axelia run her fingers along the bandages around her stomach. Her nails gently scraping against it, trying to find where Yennefer had tucked the loose end of it. Not being able to find it, she took the scissors and cut it open on the untouched side. Then peeling off it with small hiss, she threw the metal clippers and old bandages somewhere on the table, landing them near the end closer to the tub. Now standing all naked as the day she was born, except for the wolf medallion sitting snuggly in a necklace between the valley of her breasts, she glanced at the vials again. Letting her nose guide her, she picked her favourites: sandalwood oil. Generously adding it to the water. Then picking up handful of rose petals, she added them to water too. Finally, her hand grabbed soap: velvet rose scented soap. Putting the ingot on the little stool that was adorned with her towel near the bath, she looked at her hands. Carefully taking off every single ring, not wanting them to tangle in her hair, she putted them all in a perfect line on the edge of the table. Before she stepped in the bath, she looked around at the flickering candle lights. With decadent steps, she stepped closer to the body of water and raised her aching bones to let herself sit in the middle of the bath. Holding herself up by the sides of the tub, she sank in the water with a hiss.
Her knuckled turned white from the force she was using to hold herself up. Tub was big enough, so that when she was sitting in the middle of it, she could still let her legs be half-outstretched in front of her. The tub was oval shaped, long yet not wide. Taking a deep lungful, she leaned back until she was submerged under the water. And she stayed fully under the water. For a moment. Her eyes flickered open, and glanced at the rose petals that slid across the surface of the water.
Her hands slid from underneath the water and her fingers wrapped around the edges of the tub, getting ready to pull herself out from underneath the liquid.
With a gasp, she quickly sat up, her hands flying to her face to push her hair back, letting it cascade entirely behind her back. Her nails slid down her neck and stopped at her collarbone.
Then she took her time to detangle and wash her hair, using rose oil to make it softer and get rid of the smell of blood and dirt in it. Then she scrubbed her skin, carefully around the bruises and stitches. Her eyes drifting along her scars that littered her whole body. Her nails picking at older scabs and ripping them away to reveal new skin beneath. When she was almost done, she heard someone enter the room. And she froze for a second. Axelia slid to the other end of the tub as her hand shot out from the water, and snatched the scissors. Pulling them under water she sank deeper in now milk white water. Only half of her head out of the water. Her white eyes that at the moment resembled the water within the bath, shone bright as she peeked across the edge of the tub. The hand that was not holding scissors, crept out of the water and gripped the edge of the bath. Just to be ready if she needed to hoist herself out. Water dripped from her nails on the ground, as she stared at the form that was backlit behind the thick drapes. Her nose couldn’t sense a lot, since it was empowered by all the smells around the tub. But when all too familiar face peeked between curtains, Axelia rolled her eyes and sighed.
“It’s you.” She mumbled, hoisting herself higher, letting her forearm rest on the side of the tub, as the other one with the scissors was pulled out, and now dangling over the edge.
Geralt rose eyebrow at her antics. With half amused hum, he walked closer, making sure that the curtain was still neatly closed. His eyes catching on all the rings that were placed in impeccably straight line, along the edge of the table. Afterwards he walked closer and took the scissors out of Axelia’s hand and putted them somewhere on the table. Then he sat at the stool, putting the towel to the side.
Axelia didn’t move for a second, but then her nose scrunched up and she pushed herself across the tub, further away from Geralt.
“I’ll ask you to leave, good sir, if you insist of smelling that ghastly.” Axelia mumbled, pointer finger raising to slide under her nose.
“Didn’t have time to bathe exactly, when I needed to make sure you were alive.” Geralt answered her jest.
“I am now. So, you can go and have your own bath.” Axelia crossed her arms over her breasts under the water. Geralt glanced at the water, that was still sending off steam in the cooler room. And then his hand rose to undo the buttons of his shirt and pull it over his head.
“I said your own bath, Geralt.” Axelia’s hands fell to her sides. She really hoped that he was joking.
“That is my bath.” Geralt smirked at her.
part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue
~~~~~
tags: @boiled-onionrings @fandomwithnolifesblog
@901seconds
@kingniazx
@shesakillerkween
@your-dreams-are-strong @stitchattacks
@ayamenimthiriel @stormfire6
@mr-illegal-king
@stretchkingblog97
@mikariell95 @geralt-of-motherfucking-rivia
@martian-m
@republicansithlord
@notso-fetch
@lizliz3107
@godlydolans @arsaky-lou
@eternallyvenus
@le-reina-asesina
@alwayshave-faith @writingmi @secretsthathauntus
@staringmoony
@kenai731
@holychic @dramaticturnaway
@ihopeyousteponarosepetal @mommableaubear
@seouldesire
@runs-with-sciss0rs
@yes-captainstark @fandomhell97 @newtdisneywho @ekaymnslvs @deansbbysblog @hoppelessdreamer @dejewskoo @sleepy-bunnie @strangerliaa @puffedchoco
NB: SORRY IF I CANT TAG YOU, TUMBLR DOESNT LET ME
#deadly series#the witcher#thewitcheredit#roach the horse#the witcher x reader#the witcher x y/n#the witcher x you#the witcher x#the wticher#the whitcher#the white wolf#Witcher#witcher eskel#witcher geralt#witcher 3#witcher x reader#witcher x#witcher x you#witcher x oc#witcher x yn#Geralt#geralt of rivia#geralt z rivii#geralt von riva#geralt of rivia x reader#geralt x reader
176 notes
·
View notes
Link
chapters: 1/1
title: between the lines of fear and blame
fandom: none (original work)
This short story was originally written for a class assignment, but it's whump-y enough to pass as a work for Whumptober. Technically, it's still a draft, but the other stories I wrote for Whumptober weren't revised or edited, either.
@whumptober2020
~
It was all dark. I couldn’t see a thing. My lungs were burning, and my muscles weren’t doing any better. Tears were falling out of my eyes, streaming down my cheeks. I’d run into at least five branches from five different trees, and I could feel blood seeping out of the cuts on my face.
I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t fall behind. I couldn’t trip, I couldn’t falter. If I slowed down, got any slower than the speed I was running at, he’d catch me. And he wasn’t too far behind.
I could hear him advancing on me. I tried to run faster, but there’s only so much a nonathletic, clumsy teenager could do to avoid an infuriated, football-playing teenager with a vengeance. Especially if that nonathletic, clumsy teenager happened to be running through a forest that she wasn’t familiar with. At all. Oh, look: the nonathletic, clumsy teenager that got herself into a huge mess was me. What a surprise.
And then the forest wasn’t a forest any longer. It was a clearing. No, it was a cliff. A dead end. And I was currently falling off of that cliff. Thankfully, there was a fairly large body of water under the cliff that I conveniently landed in. I had successfully survived jumping off of a cliff. The only other problem was that I didn’t know how to swim.
I opened my mouth, searching for air, and I could feel the water invading my aching lungs as I struggled to fight my way back up to the surface. I pulled myself up eventually, gasping and sputtering while coughing out the water in my lungs.
I turned to look at the cliff I had jumped off of. Logan came to a stop at the edge of the rock, scanning the water. I risked a glance at the shore. The gravel beach to my right was too far away for me to attempt to swim toward without drawing attention to myself, not to mention almost drowning. So instead I opted for moving as little as possible in the freezing water and hoping he couldn’t see me.
Luckily for me, it was too dark for Logan to see anything, and my dark hair blended in with the dark water. He gave up after scanning the water two more times, but before he turned and stormed back into the trees, he called out to me in a dark, threatening voice that made chills run down my spine.
“I’m going to kill you for what you did to my little sister!”
I bolted upright with a gasp. My hand found its way to my chest, rising and falling at uneven paces, and I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Still alive, I thought, blinking away tears. You’re okay.
It was just over a week ago that I was running through a forest being chased by a girl’s protective older brother, but I remembered it so vividly. Every night since then, I had relived the same experience over and over, each time startling myself awake in my sweat-soaked bed. I could still hear his voice, cutting loud and clear through the windy night, shouting a threat so gravely, I was beginning to think maybe he meant it.
“I’m going to kill you for what you did to my little sister!”
I shivered, though I was anything but cold. I pushed the covers off my body and laid back against the pillows, trying to calm my breathing. As I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, I could only think one thing.
What did I do to his little sister?
I slept dreamlessly for two hours more after my nightmare, but when I woke up, the question was still etched into my mind. I couldn’t remember doing anything to Lexi Ackerman. I didn’t even know the girl! The last time I interacted with her was when I partnered up with her for a science project in the sixth grade, and I doubted she would remember it, much less Logan; that was four years ago, and the project wasn’t anything special.
So why did Logan blame me for something that happened to a girl I didn’t even know?
I shook my head, clearing it. It was Friday, and I had to go to school.
I tried to keep myself busy during school, but I caught myself wondering if I should confront Lexi or Logan. No, I told myself, that would only make it worse.
I managed to keep my mind mostly on school for the rest of the day, but there was nothing to keep my mind on when I returned home to my empty house, and my thoughts began to wander.
My father left before I was born, as my mother told me, and my mother was always distant. It was almost like she was always hiding something, but I knew that was unrealistic. She was always working, which must’ve been why she was so remote. I didn’t mind much -- I liked being alone -- but sometimes I wished I knew my mother a little better.
The Ackermans probably knew their parents well. As far as I knew, Logan and Lexi’s parents were still married, living a happy life together with their two excelling kids. And they were probably spoiled, too. Logan thought he could just accuse anyone of doing anything and make death threats without consequences, but he was wrong. I would not let him kill me, and I would prove to him that I didn’t do anything wrong.
But as I was planning my detailed, step-by-step process on how to prove my innocence, the lights shut off, breaking my train of thought. Where I lived, it got dark fairly early, so I was relying solely on the lights on the ceiling for brightness, but with the lights off, I couldn’t see anything.
“Power must’ve gone out,” I noted aloud. Normally, when the power goes out, it didn’t take too long to come back, but it was cold, and the heater had stopped working during the outage, so I was shivering and I couldn’t see.
I paced my room to try and warm-up, my arms folded tightly across my chest, but I was having trouble avoiding all the obstacles laid haphazardly across the floor that I never got around to picking up.
“And this, people, is why you clean your room,” I muttered to myself, and then I stepped on another shirt. I wasn’t getting any warmer. I was about to sit down again when I heard a knock on the door. I thought I was just hearing things, because why would someone be at my door, but when I heard another knock, louder the second time, I knew it was real.
I maneuvered my way to the door and looked through the peephole, but I couldn’t see anything. I flicked the light switch on to try to see who was on the other side before remembering that the power was out and trying to turn on the lights was pointless.
I didn’t want to open the door if I didn’t know who was outside because, contrary to popular belief, I was not stupid, but the person on the other side must’ve gotten impatient and started banging on the door rapidly.
“Alright, alright,” I said, frustrated, as I unlocked and opened the door. “What?” I said impatiently. The person, who I assumed was a man, was taller than me, and he was wearing a varsity jacket over a grey hoodie. When I readjusted my gaze to look at his face, I gasped as the man’s cold blue eyes met my dark brown ones.
“L- Logan,” I breathed out. The man, the myth, the legend. “Wh- uh, what are you doing here? It’s late, isn’t…” I faltered when I caught his harsh glare.
“I warned you,” he said in a low voice. “I told you what would happen. And now… now, I’m going to kill you.”
I chuckled nervously. “Uh, there’s been a, um, misunderstanding. Why don’t you… come… in…” I weakly stepped aside and opened the door a little wider, and Logan trudged in, keeping his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
“Look, I just want to make sure you know that I didn’t do anything to Lexi,” I said as I shut the door.
“Lexi?” he roared. “This isn’t about her! This is about what you did to Liz.”
I shrunk back, and before I could stop myself from saying it, I blurted out, “Who the heck is Liz?” I slapped my hand over my mouth right after it came out, but the damage was already done.
“My sister. The one you killed.” His face held no emotion as he drew out a silver knife that gleamed in the dim light.
“Woah, woah, woah, hey!” I stuttered quickly, throwing my hands into the air in surrender. “I- heh, there’s, ah, there’s gotta be a mistake! I didn’t kill anyone, I promise!”
“Then explain to me,” he said as he tightened his grip around the handle of the knife, “why my little sister is dead, and why I saw you kill her.”
“I- what? No, listen, I didn’t even know your sister existed!” I protested, which was admittedly the wrong thing to say. I cringed in fear when I heard the low growl at the back of his throat. “You must’ve, I don’t know, saw it wrong or something! Because I swear, I have never killed anyone in my life. Really!”
All he did was step forward. If looks could kill, I would’ve already been dead, but that wouldn’t’ve made much of a difference now, would it?
“Please,” I whispered pleadingly, but if he could hear it, he didn’t react. He stepped closer and closer, and I retreated farther and farther back until I hit the wall, and I had no place else to go. He was slow, menacingly slow, and I knew I was trapped. Tears began to slide silently down my face, retracing tracks that had formed over the past week. “Please,” I begged again, this time silently.
“This is what you get. What you deserve. If anything, I’m doing you a kindness, putting you out of your miserable life,” he spat.
And he lunged forward, knife in hand, aiming for my neck.
I dodged. His knife had caught a few strands of my hair, pinning them to the wall, but I couldn’t care less as I dashed to the side, effectively ripping out those strands of hair, and ran to my room, locking it.
“Calliope, I know you’re in there!” he shouted aggressively. I winced as he said my name so harshly. He jiggled the doorknob, and he yelled angrily when he realized it was locked. I thought he would call out to me again, telling me to open the door, or maybe, and it was a stretch, but maybe he would leave. But he didn’t say another word. And I relaxed for a second, thinking I was saved, but I jumped when I heard him slam into the door. That wasn’t supposed to happen. And then another time, and another.
And with the next, he came barreling through the door with his quarterback muscles that I really should’ve accounted for. And he did not look happy. He had pried his knife out of the wall, and his fist clenched around the handle so tightly, his knuckles had paled.
I shrieked, and in my panic, I threw whatever was closest to me at him, which happened to be an old sweatshirt. And then I regretted it the moment after because all he got was even more pissed.
If he wasn’t enraged before, he sure was now. He grabbed onto the sweatshirt and threw it angrily at the floor.
“What. The. F-” he began, but I cut him off by throwing the next thing, an empty plastic water bottle. He sputtered, most likely shocked at my stupidity, but I just took it as a chance to continue to chuck all my miscellaneous belongings at the homicidal maniac with a knife.
With my bad aim, I didn’t expect any of the objects to hit him -- I was trying to stall him, keep him distracted while I came up with a probably stupid escape plan -- but he was dodging all my blows, and somehow, as he sidestepped, my school binder from last year filled with all the extensive paperwork my teachers handed out nailed him straight in the middle of the forehead.
He fell onto the pile of clothes on my floor, probably knocked out. I approached him slowly, sticking two fingers of my right hand out, and knelt beside him, trying to find a pulse on his left wrist, the closest one to me.
I guess I should’ve expected it when he opened his eyes.
His right hand, still holding the knife, swung toward me so quickly, I didn’t have time to move, and the sharp blade of his knife embedded itself deep into the side of my neck for all of five seconds, before Logan ripped it out roughly, watching as the thick, crimson liquid spilled out of the wound.
I fell heavily to the ground. I gasped, but I got no air. I screamed, but I made no noise.
“Please,” I choked out softly, clutching my neck, but the rippling current of blood flowing out of my carotid was too strong for me to stop.
Everything was blurry and spinning, and I could hardly make out the abstract shape of a boy standing over me. My eyes searched the hazy field of vision wildly, trying to focus, before my heavy eyelids closed over them and I felt my grip become weaker.
Please.
--
Logan watched Calliope stumble and fall onto the ground. He watched her claw at her neck and plead for him to save her. And he stood helplessly above her, apathetic to the dying girl in front of him. After all, she did kill his sister. She deserved it.
“Wow,” a voice called from behind Logan. He whipped around and saw a woman in the doorway. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
“Who- I- wh- who are you?” he stuttered. The ceiling light in Calliope’s room lit up, exposing all of Calliope’s possessions she had thrown at Logan. The girl’s limp body lay in the center of the room, the still wet blood seeping into the carpet.
“My name’s Pandora,” the woman said, “and I’ve been wanting to get rid of Calliope for years.”
She stepped into the light, and Logan gasped.
The woman, Pandora, was wearing studded black biker boots that went up past her ankles. Her skinny jeans were black and ripped at various places along her thighs, knees, and shins. The white shirt she had on was tight, and the front of her shirt was tucked into her jeans loosely. Over her shirt was an unzipped motorcycle jacket made of black leather. Her right hand was tucked into the front pocket of her jeans, and her left brushed a strand of her long, wavy, dark brown hair behind her ear, and her face was the exact same as Calliope’s.
“Y-You’re- What?” Logan stammered. “How…”
“It’s a long story.” She brushed Logan’s implicit question off nonchalantly, checking her black acrylic nails.
“I’ve got a whole lot of time,” Logan replied in the same cool tone, seemingly pulling himself together.
“Don’t you have a funeral to get ready for? For… What was her name, Alyssa? Eliana? Oh, that’s right -- it was Elizabeth.”
Logan clenched his fists. “It was you,” he growled. “It wasn’t Callie who killed Liz, it was you!” He drew his knife again, not caring that it was still dripping with blood, and lunged at Pandora, but she sidestepped his attack and used his momentum to push him against the wall. Her left hand bent Logan’s wrist into an awkward position until he dropped his knife, and she swiftly caught the weapon as it fell, keeping her right arm pressed forcibly against the back of Logan’s neck the whole time. She brought the knife up under his chin and pressed slightly -- not enough to cut his skin, but enough to make him feel the pressure of the bloodied knife against his trembling chin.
“Yeah, and what’re you gonna do about it?” Logan’s eyes widened as he stared at the knife used so expertly in Pandora’s grasp. “I killed your sister, and I have no regrets about making you kill mine. She was always the lucky twin, the one who didn’t have to grow up with the alcoholic flake of a father, and she took it for granted. Didn’t even know what she was missing out on. Well, karma’s a real pain, isn’t it?” she hissed bitterly into Logan’s ear.
“So, what, you killed her? No, you made me kill her because you were too much of a coward to kill her yourself,” Logan retaliated. He barked out a sharp laugh, void of any emotion other than annoyance. Pandora tensed beside him, pressing the knife further into his skin. Logan was well aware of the stainless steel up against the artery in his neck, but he continued to provoke the girl anyway. “Coward,” he snarled again.
Pandora’s face scrunched up. “I am not a cowa-”
Logan knocked his head back, successfully hitting Pandora in the forehead and avoiding the blade of the knife in her hand. Pandora stumbled back, raising her right hand to touch her bruised forehead, and Logan took her distraction as an opportunity to tackle her to the ground, wrestling the weapon out of her grip.
Pandora let out a guttural cry in anguish and determination through her clenched teeth as she fought back against Logan, hitting the back of her head against the wall in the process. The two struggled for dominance, pushing each other into the ground and grappling for the single knife. It was a blur -- one second, Logan was punching Pandora repeatedly in the jaw, and the next, Pandora had her hands wrapped tightly around Logan’s neck.
Logan and Pandora battled viciously for what seemed like hours, matching each other’s strengths and weaknesses to make for a fair match. They let out grunts and screams, glaring at each other with the intent to kill. Punches, kicks, and whatever other blows they could land were exchanged, and the only thing on the fighters’ minds was victory, fueled by their tenacity.
And then came the knock at the door. It was loud and singular, but the noise resonated throughout the house. Logan froze from his position hovering over Pandora, but Pandora just smirked. She took his hesitation and flipped him, swiftly grabbing the knife and stabbing it into his chest, and then she pulled it out and inserted it into his abdomen.
As she stood up, she tore the blade out of Logan’s body, shrugging before wiping the blood off on his mangled varsity jacket. She flipped the injured boy onto his back as his breathing became more and more labored, and she promptly dug her boot heel into his neck, satisfied as she heard the brilliant snap of his neck.
She dug her pointer and middle fingers into Logan’s neck, feeling his pulse slow until it stopped altogether.
“And then there was one,” she said, a smirk stretched across her face as she admired her new knife. She stood up, and spun around as she heard a gasp behind her.
“Calliope?” the woman who had walked through the door uttered.
“Mom!” Pandora hastily replied, pleasantly surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Calliope’s mother peered behind her daughter and spotted the disfigured corpse of Logan Ackerman. She sighed.
“I have much to teach you, Pandora.”
#whumptober2020#no.3#no.4#no.5#no.6#no.16#no.17#no.30#alt.7#alt.10#my way or the highway#running out of time#where do you think you're going#please...#a terrible horrible no good very bad day#i did not see that coming#held at gunpoint#(technically it's knifepoint)#caged#failed escape#blood loss#defiance#wrongfully accused#forced mutism#blurred vision#power outage#found family#nightmares#OC#fic
1 note
·
View note
Text
Worse than death
Content warnings: Blood and Injury; Non-Consensual Body Modification; Panic Attacks; Mind Manipulation; Memory Alteration; Alternate Universe - Dystopia; Cyberpunk
On AO3 - prompt Death for Zevraholics Anonymous October Challenge 2019
"You shouldn't do that," Vergil rasps, pushing the blade a millimeter further, watching the black fabric at Zevran's throat work under it, as he tries not to squirm. Golden eyes are alert and sharp, staring straight into Vergil’s. Still, it doesn't stop Zevran from throwing Vergil a cheeky smile.
"Wouldn't be fun otherwise."
Vergil looks at him for a moment longer, amber gaze darkening, and he's stepping away with a huff.
"Your part is done, yes?" Vergil asks curtly, sheathing his blade back at his hip in one smooth move, scanning their surroundings briefly, before he looks back at Zevran. A freelancer, he calls himself, often hired for shady missions like this one. Grey Wardens aren't picky with allies, as long as the money do the talking.
Zevran sighs dramatically with mumbled "work, work, work" as he procures few cores, relatively clean from fluids. Androids don't bleed after all, but the mess around them would beg to differ. Broken parts are scattered across the room, some cut clean by Vergil's blade, some scorched by the blaster he used. He scrunches up his nose at the crunch from under his boot, the smaller pieces of the artificial arm. Damaged synthetic skin smells like the rubber of burnt cables. There are some sparks here and there, lightning up the shadows and reflecting in spilled fluids. There's only one human among the carnage, now lying in unmoving heap among her charges. Vergil was quick with this one, giving her a clean death. He doesn't like pointless violence, going after his targets in orderly fashion. But the droids here didn't make it easy on him, slowing him down when he went after the woman, fighting him as they were protecting her, fighting to harm and stop him.
Abnormal behaviour.
They shouldn't attack him. Shouldn't, if they weren't programmed this way on purpose, so the woman's blame was evident in her creations. Learning AI's are forbidden for a reason.
Nevermind. They were targets and GW wanted them gone along with any data they could obtain.
"The other room?"
"It's clean. Now what about a drink or two?"
Zevran's careful with voicing what he'd like to do with him beside the drinks, as they're on monitored comms, and his words don't sound as suggestive as the impish grin on his full lips.
"Don't push your luck," Vergil drawls, though he lets his eyes to roam Zevran's form in far less innocent way. Zevran's grin widens.
"Oh, but I wouldn't mind a little push from you, Commander," he purrs, preposterously batting his eyelashes and Vergil blinks, fighting a bizzare urge to smile.
And after they wrap the things there, and Vergi's sure to drop the data and brief report, they spend the rest of the night drinking and fucking, like they usually do after a mission together. Using the restless energy in the competition full of mutual pleasure, sharing moments of breathless bliss and leaving temporary marks.
It's a pattern, but it's fleeting and Vergil indulges himself in the now. Immensely and without regret.
/////
Months, and few more shared missions later, they find the time for a meeting without being on a job earlier. Both are out of uniforms, wearing something casual and suitable for the place. Vergil finds himself enjoying the banter over shared meal, unhurried and oddly intimate, like they have all time in the world. He gets to know Zevran from different side and is pleasantly surprised to find that they seem to be compatibile outside their usual settings, joined targets and quick trysts to celebrate the success.
It's dangerous and foolish to seek this out. To chase more of what they have.
But.
Zevran's company helps him unwind a little, and he doesn't mind to let his guard down a bit more. Sharing few drinks, talking about everything, sometimes related to their jobs, but not overly detailed, as it's not so wise to do so in public – it's intriguing. Something in him stirrs, when he looks at clever and warm golden eyes, listening to some high tale full of lies and hidden truths, and picks them apart with well pointed questions, and Vergil sees how amused smirk stretches Zevran's lips and how much he seems to enjoy their little battle of wits. He's content.
And he'd like to do it again.
/////
Blood.
On his hands.
He looks at them, breath short, painful. Choked.
Knees buckle under him, he goes down hard, arms barely protecting the fall.
His chest explodes in agony, his head cracks on the concrete and he sees white and black for a moment and his eyes water, everything blurs when he tries to take a breath, but his own lungs suffocate him, blood filling his thorat in mouthfuls of thick liquid. And he thinks he hears someone shouting and there's flurry of movement, flashes of light and he tries to see, blinking out the fog.
It doesn't stop the pain, he's drowning and can't breathe and wants to bring his hands to his wound to stop it, do something, grasp the life leaking out of the hole in his chest-
But, his hands, he doesn't feel them. He fights for air, struggles for it as panic ultimately overwhelms him and urges him to breathe when he can't and it sends the spikes of heavy, burn-like cramps and more blood, but no air. There is someone talking golden eyes peering into his and an urgent voice and he wants to say something-
help me
But what comes out is a gurgle and another choke, and the black is seeping into his vision. A roar in his head and all he sees is-
Nothing at all.
/////
First time they boot him up, there's a moment of confused recognition, then Vergil proceeds to demolish half of the lab and severly injures two people from the staff. It takes way too long before they are able to shut him down, and it only takes one four-people squad and using the emergency turn off switch. The failure is written off as a "most likely a shock of organic mind adapting to new body parameters."
Second time they are much more careful, as Vergil's cautiously strapped to the lab table and left alone, avidly monitored by cameras and lab staff, standing behind thick, bulletproof windows. But this time, he lies there without life, distant eyes gazing into nothing.
Unmoving and still like a corpse.
And after two days of him not reacting to any stimuli, they decide to cut the power off – they learnt from the first time not to equip the body with independent battery and kept him on external power supply. The summary of the report says "catatonia caused by possible damage to consciousness during data transfer, further work is recommended to solve the process of unlocking awareness successfully."
Third time is similar to the second one, with Vergil being silent and unresponsive, until he starts to wail, the inhuman sound of his cries resonating with such deep grief and so disturbing in it's intensity, that most of the staff is horrified by it. The mumbled, broken words of "I can't feel it" repeated in between the heavy, dry sobs. This, and the failure to communicate were the final arguments to scrap down the experiment and shut it down.
The transfer visibly failed and the subject spiralled into madness. Some thought it a disappointment, some a mercy. After all, they tried to prevent a great mind from vanishing along with it's organic body, and now they had to block it completely.
GW has no use of insane Commander.
But there's always a use for an operational android.
/////
The operation parameters are clear. Find and collect the data about the source of black market's cybernetics parts.
V3R61L is an infiltrator, GW's elite android and the mission goes smoothly until it doesn't.
He pulls out the mission status, storing the obtained information for later, to send it to his handler. He's detected and has to act fast. As he was sent alone, he can only send a part of his mission report. Someone would find the distress signal. He's monitored constantly. GW will send an operative to secure his unit, if he'd have to hide for longer and wouldn't be able to be back on his own.
System malfunctions
Left arm unresponsive
Multiple error messages
V3R61L runs.
Runs away from the warehouse, from the trap he fell into. His parameters urge him to protect the data he collected at all cost. Destroy any, who stands in his way if needed, but keep the data protected. Retreat, if it is the best strategy.
He's heavily damaged and is slowing down, his vision giving him much more information, than unmodded human sight would. His pursuers are mostly organic, human, with few lesser cyber-enchantments. V3R61L plans on using that, but still they could outrun him, as they are better acquaintanced with the terrain. It has V3R61L in deep disatvantage.
The scattered lights from neons on buildings reflect in the rain puddles. Some of the night dwellers are standing near bar entrances, talking loudly, busy in their own affairs, puffing away the smoke along with the clouds of breaths visible in the chill, damp air. V3R61L avoids staying in the light, quickly calculating the best route allowing him to disappear, preferring to use the darkness of dirty alleys. He stumbles when one of the servos in his left knee malfunctions and he loses his balance, crashing into the wall. Still, after he goes down he uses his right arm to push himself up, and when the alarms of errors almost make his system shut down, his vision swimming in pulsing red lines of the code, broken in places-
Abnormal behaviour detected
Immediately contact the nearest GW station
Temporary shut down recommended
V3R61L blinks and closes down some of the overlapping messages, switching into sole mode, testing left leg, as he starts crawling forward through the dirt and puddles. It's too close to people, and to allow himself to be detected if he shuts down is out of the question. He has to hide and wait for the distress signal to reach the headquarters. There's a distant noise in his head, one he can't find the source of and a faint taste of copper in the back of his throat.
And that makes him pause, as he can't exactly feel a taste he is now, as V3R61L's body isn't adjusted to such parameters. V3R61L doesn't need to mimic all human factors to function properly.
The broken line of code appears again. He's disoriented by it and falters mid-crawl, stops moving for a moment. There's a shout near the entrance of the alley and he opens his eyes,
(when did he close them?)
turns on his side to glue himself into the wall beside him, freezes to make himself an insignificant object. One more yell and there are hurried steps, going from the alleymouth and fading into other noises, muffled. V3R61L analyzes the situation and almost resumes the crawling, when the broken line vanishes and appears again, immobilizing him and he opens his mouth with a human like gasp, when the taste of copper intensifies. The system goes erratic and there are some flashes of what he was running from, warehouse full of humans and androids, all of them working together carrying crates from one place to the other, as he was waiting in the shadows, for an opportune moment to strike at the so-called leader, when all went wrong.
How it went so horribly wrong?
Someone, something saw him,
(and they simply shouldn't, his cloaking is the best of the best GW equipped V3R61L with)
he had to move and undetect himself, and there was so much chaos, his cameras probably didn't catch everything, his body caught in fight with both humans and androids, some heavy machines working in warehouse, he slashed and fired and injured some humans,
(not kill, he wasn't ordered to kill)
at some point he was tossed and got his arm crushed by falling crates, then he decided to run with what he had. Only to be stopped by a man with golden hair and golden eyes who freezed when he looked at him with ashen face and faint whisper of "Vergil?" falling from his lips, and something in V3R61L's system went override as the line in his code just broke, the urge to follow "flight" protocols overwhelming any other orders.
It, the broken code made him-
V3R61L's arm falters and he lurches into the puddle, side of his mouth and nose full of dirt water and he has a mouthful of it before the copper taste intensifies, the broken red line imprinting into his artificial retinas and his system finally shuts down.
/////
Green eyes appear in its,
(his)
vision. There's a wrinkle in between blond brows, eyes squinted deep in concentration, strands of fair hair falling into them and the man huffs an irritated breath and they flutter away only to be back stubbornly. The man holds the piece of thin wire, connecting it somewhere lower, where V3R61L can't see without moving his head for a better angle.
He stays quiet, assesing the situation, taking in the surroundings. The place's cluttered with all kind of equipment and parts, lowly lit but with enough workspace. There's a soft curse and a silent shot of burnt circuit and V3R61L's body twitches few times, but not hard enough to topple him forward, because he's propped standing on some kind of custom low workbench. But his eyes flutter to open fully and as soon as the spasms are over there's a hand on V3R61L's chest.
V3R61L can feel the pressure of it, and the warmth of a regular human being, his system seeming to work as it should.
"I'm sorry about this," is whispered with a sigh and the blond head's back in his sight and green eyes widen a bit when they see V3R61L's own eyes staring back.
"Can you hear me?"
He doesn't answer, gaze unwavering and after few moments the hopeful glint in the green eyes starts to dim. "It's okay, I'll fix this." There's a small, sad smile on a face full of freckles, a hint of determination in his soft voice and V3R61L closes his eyes. The lines of code are full of red, but V3R61L's focus stays on the man's work.
V3R61L will let himself be repaired before he acts.
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chapter One
Nesta couldn't believe it.
Well. Yes she could.
Of course they wouldn't want her around. Of course even her sisters would go along with the plan to send her away. Even Elain hadn't bothered to protest the banishment of Nesta a single time.
Honestly, Nesta supposed she shouldn't care. None of them did. Unless they cared in a way that meant they were furious with her. Like Rhysand— who clearly was not able to deal with anyone he couldn't order around or bend to his will so easily.
Well, no matter how he tried to bully her, Nesta swore to herself that she wouldn't be just another one of his cronies, following his will like he was the one that hung the sun and moon.
Except... wasn't that exactly what she would be doing if she followed orders and traveled to the Illyrian Steppes?
White hot fury burned through her. The only feeling she seemed able to access anymore.
Despite the burning anger she felt, Nesta knew her face was rigidly set and stone cold.
Her eyes narrowed. There wasn't much time to plan. She hadn't been given much time to start with and had wasted a good amount of what she had on "packing". Which actually consisted of sitting on her bed and cursing those ridiculous, self centered, obnoxiously happy fools that insisted she leave the city and go to that dirty camp full of dirty Illyrians.
And to top it all off, she was being "escorted" by... Cassian. The brute.
The more she thought about it, the angrier Nesta became. So when she met Cassian to leave she simply stalked right past him, not saying a thing or caring in the slightest that his mouth had opened upon seeing her and he obviously had something to say.
Nesta walked out onto the front steps of the house— mansion really.
"Well?" She called without looking back.
"Well what," Cassian snapped back peevishly.
She rolled her eyes and sighed so he could hear. "In case you have forgotten, which I could believe you did with that... you know. I can't fly on my own. You carry me."
Cassian walked up to stand next to her, his footsteps slightly louder than usual with irritation.
"First," he began tersely. "What do you mean about me? With that. Second you don't order me around like that."
Nesta sighed again internally. Of course he would ask. She knew he would. What she didn't know was why she wanted to bait him; what reaction her subconscious hoped to receive from the male.
"Why shouldn't I? You let so many others give you orders. Like a good dog." She deliberately didn't tell him what she had meant by "that...." that caused her to believe her would forget her flightless state.
A small growl escaped Cassian but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he scooped Nesta into his arms so fast she barely registered it before he was pushing off the ground.
The pair flew in silence, both unwilling to be the one to speak first. They still hadn't said a single word to each other when, hours later, Cassian finally stopped at the inn they were to stay at for the night.
Nesta pushed at his chest and hopped out of his arms nearly before the Illyrian had even landed.
She stalked away towards the front of the inn without a single glance back at Cassian. He let out a weary, frustrated huff and followed after a few minutes.
Nesta had already procured a room- unsurprising as there weren't many boarders staying for the night besides them anyway.
They got ready to sleep facing away from each other and laid down in their own beds silently.
Nesta waited for nearly two hours for the Illyrian to fall asleep. When she heard him snoring, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. Of course he would snore.
She slipped out of her bed and crept over to her prepacked bag which she slung over her shoulder. And winnowed away.
That was something no one else knew about. She wasn't ready to accept it. Barely admitted to the ability even in her own head. Even while using it.
Nesta stood stone still in her new place. She had no idea how far away she had winnowed, honestly. She was still in the forest, though. Or a forest at any rate. She didn't really care.
Now that she was away, Nesta had absolutely no idea what she was doing. Her sole objective had been to get away from Cassian- to be vindictive towards Rhysand and disobey his clear order. She had no... no... just nothing. Just had nothing here.
Having nothing included having no idea where she was in this case.
Nesta wandered vaguely through the forest for a few minutes. Or maybe a few hours. Who really knew.
Eventually, she just stopped. It wasn't truly a conscious thought; she made no particular decision to stop there. Nesta just... stopped. Just stopped. Stopped walking, stopped caring, stopped.
The female sat right there on the ground, her hands burying in the earth and her dress becoming coated in a layer of dirt and forest debris.
She sat there and stared off into the distance. Nesta watched her memories like they were playing out before her listless eyes in real time.
Scuffing boots interrupted her replay of a memory on which she watched Elain plan their week- dinners and parties, various social events, parades and feasts and dances.
Nesta didn't bother looking up at the Illyrian she knew was towering over her.
"Nesta," he murmured softly. Sadly.
She refused to acknowledge him.
"Nes. Nesta. Nessie."
Her eye twitched in irritation.
"Why?" Cassian asked. His voice was so startling, Nesta couldn't help glancing at him. He sounded furious.
"Why what," she replied. Toneless. Icy. Uncaring.
"Why are you like this? What is going on with you?"
Nesta whipped her head towards the stupid brute. He was the only one who could elicit emotion from her. It was nearly always anger.
"What is going on with me?!"
Cassian sighed. "That's not what I meant."
"Oh, really?" Nesta snarled back, her eyes narrowed. She lurched unsteadily to her feet.
He simply shook his head. "I'm not doing this right now."
"Like hell you aren't doing this right now," Nesta told him. "You started this now, you can finish it now."
The Illyrian opened his mouth to interrupt but Nesta cut him off before he could issue a single word.
"What is going on with me right now is I lost my home! I lost my sister. I lost myself. I am stuck in this idiotic, pointless world where Fae live that are more powerful than anyone else in the world! And what do they do with that? Nothing. They- you do nothing. You don't help anyone in the other continents, you don't help the humans who are still starving and alone and now also vulnerable to these useless races here! You barely do anything to help the people here! Including those stuck in your beloved war camps. There are still a million prejudices here! There are still females whose wings are clipped and children are still sent to freeze in these camps you insist on caring for! You have had 500 years to fix things. And you've done nothing."
Cassian looked halfway between hopelessly lost and utterly furious, mouth open and poised to interrupt.
Nesta didn't let him speak, though.
"You all in you fancy mansion with your little jokes think everything is perfect now. Happy ending! Story over. But just because your stories are over doesn't mean everyone's are! You don't seem to understand that just because you can go to a home with a family and plenty of food that there are kids who can't. You sit in that house and stick your tongues out at each other and buy exorbitantly expensive gifts no one even cares about and drink all the alcohol you possibly can and you forget about everyone else!"
The Illyrian was dumbfounded. He looked gutted.
Nesta simply shook her head at him and stalked off without even a last icy glare.
She walked for a long time. Eventually, she fell into a sort of daze where she just wandered listlessly, lost in memories. Both good and bad. The best and worst of her life, swirling around in her head like gauzy curtains billowing in the wind.
The next time Nesta let herself slip to the forest floor, Cassian was by her side almost instantly. That pushed at the haze she'd allowed to surround herself. He must have been following the whole time, not forcing her to return with him but being sure she was safe.
Cassian picked her up with a slightly uneasy sigh before launching them both into the air.
He carried Nesta in the direction of the camps, muttering about how he wouldn't sleep now anyway so they may as well continue on. It wasn't long before the female in his arms had drifted into an uneasy slumber.
˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙°˙
Nesta woke when Cassian landed. In the forest. Or.... a forest? Who could even tell the difference between these forests with all their identical trees and undergrowth?
Nesta stubbornly pushed at Cassian until he set her down on the layer of pine needles carpeting the forest floor.
"Where is the camp," she asked in a flat voice, as devoid of emotion as she could manage.
The Illyrian gestured vaguely somewhere to the side. "It's a few minutes by foot that way."
"Take me there, then. If I must go i will go now instead of lingered about just outside like we are in the midst of some illicit meeting. Or like I am afraid of those buffoons."
Cassian raised an eyebrow at the same time Nesta crossed her arms.
"I wonder, which do you find a more unappealing prospect: that someone would dare consider the idea of you lowering yourself for me or that they would dare believe you could possibly be afraid of them?"
Nesta sighed disinterestedly, allowing her mind to drift back into a fugue state where her memories swirled around in faded sensations.
"I have a proposal for you," Cassian continued, blushing and stuttering a little over the word 'proposal.'
Nesta had absolutely no desire to feel positively about Cassian in any way at the moment, but damn it all, her heart softened just the tiniest bit at the male's unexpected awkwardness. Just enough that she willingly stayed to hear the rest of what he had to say.
"I know you don't want to go to the camps. I don't blame you." He swallowed hard. "And I won't force you. In fact, if it is what you wish, I will help you get away and find a place to go. I'll make sure nobody bothers you—"
"Wonderful," Nesta interrupted in a voice that suggested she felt much less magnanimously about the situation than 'wonderful' implied. "I choose that option. Take me some place else. I will tell you when we have reached an acceptable place to stop."
Cassian raked a vicious hand through his own hair. A bird shrieked distractingly.
"Or you can walk into the camp of your own volition. You want things to change, so help me change them. We can fix things. I know we can. If you really care as much as you seemed to earlier, you'll help me."
Oh, now Nesta understood. He was making it seem like she had a choice, when really she had none. He would guilt her into staying at the camps while pretending a different outcome could have been possible. The— no Cassian's High Lord would be obeyed like always and Cassian would get to feel good about himself because Nesta wouldn't hate him when he gave her choices.
"Hear me out," Cassian said quickly. He must have seen the change in her eyes. Nesta didn't want to think about how he could have noticed. The change in her expression had been miniscule. He must know her tells very well— better than she had thought. Nesta was unsure how to feel about this new kknowledge.
"You can terrify all the Illyrians. They're already pretty afraid of you. Fear is an excellent motivator. You can use that to reform parts of the camp— of all the camps."
Nesta tuned Cassian out as he barreled on. She observed him silently. How utterly obnoxious that he managed to look much the same as always despite the long hours of flight. And traipsing through the forest after her. His mouth moved in interesting ways when he spoke, too. It was oddly fascinating. As long as one didn't listen to what actually came out of that mouth. Then the only fascinating thing about it was the pure idiocy.
At least, that's what Nesta told herself. What she had chosen to believe.
She knew what she would choose, already. She supposed that meant Rhysand would win this but.... maybe not. He couldn't possibly expect the changes Nesta hoped to bring about, therefore they couldn't be in his plans. Therefore, Nesta wasn't obeying said plans and he wasn't the victor.
That satisfied some small part of the strange creature that was Nesta Archeron enough that she deemed it a worthy time to put the Illyrian before her out of his misery and accept his 'proposal.'
"I'll do it," she said simply.
Cassian beamed at her. He almost looked... proud.
"As long as it is a standing condition that you will help me leave anytime I wish."
"Standing condition, yes."
"And you do not intervene between me and the other Illyrians."
Amazingly, his grin got larger. Nesta wasn't sure if she wanted to smack him for it or grin back.
"Agreed," Cassian said with an odd, sweeping motion of his arms that seemed, for some reason, to indicate something about the surrounding trees.
"Except, I will intervene if things go too far."
Nesta bristled. He thought he would have to rescue her like some hero coming to the aid of the pathetic damsel?
"The Illyrians here are my responsibility. If you start dismembering too many, I won't have much of an army to work with."
Finally, Nesta did smile at the Illyrian before her. He practically exploded with excitement at the expression and Nesta almost felt guilty realizing she had been capable of causing this happiness in him all along. The she realized she felt guilty and discarded the emotion as easily as though it were a soiled dress.
Cassian bounced and chattered all the way to the camp. Nesta ignored him in favor of the various forest-y objects littering the ground and her ever present memories.
When the pair reached the camp, Cassian mercifully shut up. Then they walked into the very center of the camp, side by side the whole way.
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
conticentimp
Lio
itsthevioletqueen
Queen's Hell
tenutadeimori-blog
TENUTA DEI MORI
sacredglitch
here for the silly little men