#I believe I’ve finally found the words to express something that’s been simmering for ages | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

paper-n-ashes · 3 years

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sparks and embers - chapter 7

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 7 - The Transmission

Words: 5.6k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mentions of medical procedures, ANGST, description of severe anxiety/panic attack

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

Poe didn’t exit the study for a long while, finally hearing the creak of my office door as it opened for the first time in hours. Within that time I'd farewelled the last of my patients for the day and begun to prepare dinner in my quarters, feeling significantly more balanced as the evening wore on.

Mind over matter. That’s all I needed to remember.

It was BB-8 who rolled in to demand my attention first, knocking his body into my ankle as I stood chopping vegetables at the kitchen counter.

“Hello again,” I greeted, still marvelling at how sweet this droid’s disposition was. Placing my knife down, I turned to face Poe as he slinked into the space, taking a place at the dining table. He seemed tired, almost despondent, possibly even more solemn than he appeared when I saw his face last.

“How did the transmission go?” I asked, breaking the silence. From the energy drifting out of his shape, it was clear he hadn’t completely moved on from the sadness we’d shared during our last interaction.

“As well as it could have. They’re still safe, for now. Think I gave them all heart attacks when my transmission came through,” he responded, exhaling hard. “And you were right. There was a search initiated. But my last reported co-ordinates were over Hutt Space, so they never would have found me.” He looked puzzled then, and I mirrored his expression.

“What do you mean? That’s at least a day’s trip from here.”

“That’s exactly what I can’t seem to figure out.” He huffed then, exasperated. “I don’t remember getting any further than that. I hadn’t even nearly reached my destination.”

“Were you traveling Galactic North or South?” I screwed my face up immediately after asking the question, already assuming he wouldn’t give me an answer.

“Yeah, I can’t tell you that.” He looked down to his hands, wringing them restlessly. “I know I can trust you, but I just can’t risk it, for both your own sake and the Resistance. All I can say is that I wasn’t flying to anywhere near Raxus.”

I nodded, understanding. “Well, no matter which way you were headed, Hutt Space is way too far from here for a ship to be unpiloted.”

“Right. Something, or someone, must have changed my course while I was there. And whether it was the crash or some other reason, I’ve lost any memory from after I was flying over the region that might have explained the cause.”

A sparkle of thought flickered, looking down at BB-8 still stationed at my feet. Poe appeared to read my mind.

“I thought the same too,” he remarked. “But he has no data logs indicating any unauthorised navigation. I’m still concerned about how his internal circuits looked when I was repairing him - I don’t think that kind of damage was caused by the crash. If BB had something to do with this, if he’s been tampered with, I won’t be able to be sure until I can conduct some deep diagnostics back at the Resistance base.”

BB-8’s head fell in his own form of remorse, emitting a few low beeps I could only gauge as an apology. I leant down and patted him softly, feeling sorry for the droid. It felt a little unnatural for me to have any sort of emotion towards a machine. All the medical droids I’d worked alongside in the past had the personality of a decaying tree.

BB beeped back happily at me, appreciating my sympathy, when I realised abruptly what Poe had been implying. “Wait, do you think someone did this on purpose? Sabotaged your flight?”

He seemed hesitant to answer again, most likely debating internally how confidential this information was. But eventually he nodded. “It’s what Leia seems to think, and I’m tending to agree. It seems too orchestrated. But the more worrying concern is that only a select group of Resistance personnel knew about my mission, even less knew exactly where I was headed.”

Both the casual mention of Leia Organa, famed princess of an obliterated planet, daughter of one of the most powerful Sith to have lived, now Leader of the Resistance, and the notion Poe seemed to be hinting at, tilted me slightly off balance.

“You think a spy might have infiltrated the Resistance?”

“That’s the theory we’re running with for now. Whoever did this assumed a crash landing on an Outer Rim planet would have meant my certain death, and any evidence would have most likely never been found, especially with them looking in the completely wrong place,” Poe explained. He looked up from his hands, his eyes finally gentle again, the creases in his forehead relaxing. “They obviously never planned on me landing right on your doorstep.”

“The universe clearly wanted to keep you around for a little longer.”

“Lucky me,” he laughed gently. “Hopefully I don’t mess up whatever it has planned.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I said encouragingly, glad he had relaxed a little. But it was short lived.

His face became sombre again, gaze moving to his fingers once more. “Leia is keeping my reappearance quiet for now - her and our most trusted Resistance members, my friends, are the only ones who know.” I saw his jaw tighten, face tense, a controlled breath seeping past his lips. “They’ll be arriving sometime in the night to take me back to base.”

I knew it was coming. I was more prepared now, my resolve holding strong against the gloom I’d pulled into a locked box inside my mind, easily keeping it restrained.

“I bet you’re excited to see them,” I said kindly, hoping to pick up his mood.

Poe smiled softly to himself. “I’ve missed them,” he agreed, glancing up at me. “They’re pretty eager to meet you actually.”

I furrowed my brows, dubious. “Really? You told them about me?”

Poe looked at me incredulously, like that fact should have been obvious. “Of course. How else was I going to explain how I managed to survive that crash? Leia seemed particularly impressed. She's disappointed she can't give her thank you in person, being too valuable to send away from the base.”

My cheeks threatened to flush with crimson, wanting to shy away from the compliment. Relief was the more overwhelming emotion, glad I wouldn’t have to navigate my way through a conversation with Leia Organa, having no doubt I would make a fool of myself. “So, who is coming?” I wondered, interested in learning more about the people Poe considered his trusted friends.

“Well there’s Chewie-”

“As in Chewbacca the Wookie?” I interrupted. “The Chewie?”

Poe rolled his eyes playfully at my marvelling. “So I don’t need to tell you anymore about him then,” he continued, smirking. “There will be Finn, an ex-stormtrooper who defected to the Resistance, royally saved my ass when I was captured by the First Order. And then there’s Rey, who has been training as a Jedi, and technically pilots the Millennium Falcon now, although if you ask me, I’ve flown that rustbucket way more often…”

Poe kept talking, but my mind was barely able to focus on his words.

A Jedi. A Force user. Coming here.

This is bad.

I forced my face into a veil of interest about what Poe was chattering about as he remained oblivious to the panic that had erupted inside my chest. Eventually his words ran out, thankfully without ending on a cue for me to reply. It took all of my focus to keep my voice steady as I spoke. “I thought all the Jedi were gone?”

It was a question anyone would ask. Not too suspicious.

He appeared slightly confused at the point I’d decided to back track on, yet quickly seemed to realise I’d not had the same encounters with force users that he’d had. “We thought that too,” he remarked. Poe then relayed what was evidently an extremely condensed story of the re-emergence of Luke Skywalker, who had then begrudgingly taught Rey how to wield the Force.

It was an unbelievable tale, something any other being would be enthralled to hear. And honestly, I couldn’t believe Poe had made it so far as to have landed on my doorstep. But there was one thing my mind centred on amongst the rush of information.

She’d been trained by a Jedi Master.

I’d learned an essence of control over my power, whatever kind it was that I utilised, both before and after I’d run to Raxus. After realising the target it put above my head at a young age, I’d taught myself to restrain it, hide it away in the absolute pit of my consciousness, only summoning that which helped heal people in the most dire of circumstances.

When the wrong person caught me, when I’d let my power become unconstrained for only a few moments, I knew I had to deepen my command over it, in case I ever found myself in that situation again. And now, I was completely unsure if four more years’ worth of preparation was going to be enough to hide it from a trained Force user.

“Why is a Jedi coming to get you off this planet? Wouldn’t she have more important things to do?” I pointed out. Only when the words escaped my lips did I realise how rude it might have seemed to Poe.

Come on Alex. Simmer down.

He actually laughed, taking my perception with good humour. “You’re not wrong. But as I said, she pilots the Millennium Falcon now, which is the fastest ship we have available at the moment. And she insisted on coming herself. Said she owed me.” Poe appeared warmed by the sentiment, and I would have enjoyed his happier demeanour if not for my own internal fretting.

There was no avoiding it. Rey was already on her way here, and there wasn't an appropriate way I could prevent myself from meeting both her and the other crew members without arousing heavy suspicion. I was truly trapped, heart thumping along fast with anxiety, fearing I could be hours away from facing all I thought I had escaped from.

I made dinner for us both, Poe continuing to make idle conversation in our last hours together as we ignored the looming farewell.

Yet now I was more concerned with what I needed to confront before that moment. My mind was a mess of warring emotions behind the indifferent façade I held in Poe’s presence, wanting his departure to be both as quick as possible and dragged out as long as I could make it.

I knew he sensed some of the unrest behind my eyes, but he didn’t probe, probably hoping to maintain the easy-going nature of our last meal together, however fake it might have been.

It was long after we finished eating that I recalled the need to do one last assessment of Poe’s injuries, remembering something I’d promised to do before he left.

“Your cast!” I gasped, thinking out loud, startling Poe as he dried the last of our dishes. After turning around, smirking at himself for the way I’d made him jump, he rose the casted arm into his view.

“Oh yeah,” he realised, flexing the fingers. “I’d actually kind of forgot about it.”

“Well come on, one last assessment and you’re officially free of my care.”

I said the words with such pure intentions, yet it was starkly clear both of us were jarred by the reality hidden behind them - a cold, unbroken hush settling in the space. I noticed BB-8’s head movement from my periphery, once again calling into question our sudden stillness. He raced to my feet, squealing little beeps in an inflection I couldn’t understand. Poe’s expression swiftly turned aggravated at the droid, and didn’t immediately translate like I assumed he would.

“Is he okay?” I asked. “Did he say something important?”

Poe’s face forcefully relaxed in an attempt to seem unbothered by BB’s insistent beeps. “He’s just appreciative of how well you’ve treated me.”

I knew he was lying, but I could only assume it was better I didn’t discover what was really said.

Poe had perched himself back onto his hospital bed, and I could feel his gaze follow me as I placed the monitoring over his figure for the last time. The moment for conversation had obviously passed as we maintained a heavy silence during my final tests. He barely winced when I took blood, the results revealing all of his inflammatory markers had receded. The bruises had disappeared, the scars had begun to fade, even over his badly burned arm and torso.

I glanced to his face while taking some X-rays of his femur, pulling up the initial post-crash shots and scribbling down my final progress notes on the healing of the fracture. He seemed awed once again at the damage I’d managed to repair, and he turned thoughtful as he looked down at his perfectly functional leg. I could tell without words he was grateful, knowing we’d both experienced the outcome of those who might not have been so lucky as to keep their limb after such an injury.

I’d kept the casted arm until last, wishing to drag out these final moments, most likely the only thing he’d truly remember of our time together. A comforting thought simmered into my awareness, realising his deeper scars wouldn’t fade for years yet, somewhat of a memento etched onto his skin.

The X-rays were textbook. The fracture line had fused nicely, with almost no irregularity in the shape of the bone shaft. The cast had done its job, and now, there was no need for it to be connected to him anymore.

Just like me.

I pulled my thermal scissors from within my medical trolley, used specifically to melt through the hardened plastic I’d moulded closely to his forearm. It was over in seconds, slicing through the cast and peeling it from his limb, the skin underneath looking slightly clammy but otherwise acceptable. As soon as he was free from the plastic he begun to flex and twist his wrist, a small exhale of relief slipping out of his throat.

“Well that just about does it,” I stated flatly. “You’re all healed up.”

Poe looked away from his newly freed arm and locked his eyes with mine. “I know I’ve said this a million times, and it will never be enough, but thank you.”

I looked down from his gaze. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help you.”

He lifted his left hand to my chin, tilting my head back up to meet his stare again, holding it there while he spoke. “You’re really good at your job Alex, I hope you realise that. You saved my life. And I won’t be the last one you save, I’m sure of it."

His eyes were so penetrating, so impassioned, that it made me want to turn away. I didn’t like being praised like this. It made the flesh under my skin feel itchy. Somehow, through no power of my own will, I kept my stare locked to him, confined into place with his thumb softly resting on my skin.

He began to breathe slower, more cautiously. “If we…” he started, voice barely above a whisper. “If we never see each other again…” The words trailed off as he seemed to grapple with the future bearing down on us. My heart was pounding painfully in my chest, instigated merely by the sensation of his fingertips pressed to my skin.

Please. Please stop making this so hard.

“I won’t forget what you did for me… I won’t forget you.”

Without conscious thought I felt my hand begin to rise, instinct pulsing within to pull him into another fervent kiss. Before he noticed the movement, I wrenched it down, closing it into a fist. It was my own voice that echoed in my head, louder and louder.

I will not let this ruin me.

It felt cruel, the way I abruptly stepped away from his touch, but it needed to be. I glared back at him, hoping my words, particularly the meaning behind them, would suffocate the flames of yearning I kept seeing in his irises. “You’ve been a cooperative patient Poe, and I’m glad you survived. But I wouldn’t wish on seeing you in the future. It would only be because you’re in need of my medical care again.”

Poe’s head snapped back, stunned at my reply and the harsh recoil from his hand. Clearly, he'd predicted a different reaction. “You don’t know that,” he urged. “I could come ba-”

I flew my hand up, palm forward, immediately indicating him to cease talking. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He ruminated on my request for a few eerily silent moments before his stare turned fiery, irritated. “Why are you fighting this?” he shot, rattling me. “We both know there’s something here, something more than you’re willing to admit.”

His maddened tone made it harder to keep my stoic demeanour. “I told you why.”

“Wouldn’t it be more painful to leave each other like this?” he retorted, the muscles in his arms tightening. “Not acknowledging what I know you feel? Pretending it’s not eating you alive, like it’s doing to me?”

A beat of silence passed before I turned and walked away.

I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t keep my restraint if he continued interrogating me this way, revealing emotions a strangled part of me hoped he had. I wasn’t strong enough for that. I needed distance.

“Alex!” he boomed, hearing him leap off the bed behind me. “Tell me you haven’t felt it! Tell me you don’t want to give in to it!”

“I barely know you!” I shouted, swirling to face him again. “You are- were my patient! And you’re about to leave! You shouldn’t come back here, and I shouldn’t go with you!”

“You know more about me than nearly all of the galaxy! And that’s within five days!” he growled, offended. Poe took a tentative step towards me, letting some of the anger recede before speaking again. “I would come back for you. I would come back, if I survived, if you wanted me to. If you admitted what you’re keeping hidden, the feelings that made you kiss me.”

“Please stop doing this,” I begged, a hopeless attempt to keep him at bay, my resilience starting to fizzle away. “You seemed to understand yesterday. That it would be too difficult if we crossed that line.”

He shook his head in frustration. “I've already crossed it Alex." His eyes turned pleading, an intensity within them I was sure I hadn't witnessed before. "I don't want to ignore it anymore, what I feel for you. I can't keep holding back."

I pulled my hands into fists, resisting every temptation to throw away resolve and allow myself to experience the warm glow of happiness his revelation brought. There was no denying the way in which my walls started to weaken, mercilessly barraged by the raw emotion he was exposing.

Don’t give in Alexys. His life, and yours, depend on it.

The voice toughened my determination, enough to keep my willpower solid against the craving to surge into his arms. “I guess I’m just stronger than you are,” I muttered, turning again to prevent catching any type of reaction in Poe’s face. Even one glimpse would make me crumble.

I stormed down the hallway, desperate for the isolation of my quarters, closing the entry and setting the lock. Falling back into the door, my teeth felt like they were going to shatter if I clenched my jaw any tighter.

My brain focused solely on the rhythm of my breathing, centring on the quickened rate, trying to force it into a more calmed pace. Soon I began to concentrate on expanding my lungs, inhaling until the space was full of air, letting it sit there as long as I could hold, before allowing it to whistle out of my nostrils.

That’s all I permitted myself to think of, the slow inhale and exhale, imagining the oxygen particles seeping into my bloodstream, travelling to every cell in my body, keeping me functioning amongst the turmoil thrashing through my soul.

Time passed. I wasn’t really keeping track on how quickly. Imprisoned in my own mind, pacing my quarters, continuing the attention on my breathing. It was the only thing that kept me stable, that pushed away the memories of Poe’s voice ringing in my thoughts.

Eventually my legs grew fatigued from the movement, and I placed myself on the sofa, dropping my head into my hands, grasping my fingers through my hair in frustration.

He couldn’t have just left it alone. He couldn’t have just ignored it, departed this planet and forgot all that happened here.

A memory slipped through the cracks, pushing its way out into the forefront of my awareness. One that refused to be smothered.

'I would come back for you.'

I shook my head within my clenched hands, trying to physically rid myself of it. I wanted to claw my fingers into my brain, pluck the memory from my inside my head and banish it forever, never to torture me again.

Breathe. Focus on your breathing Alexys.

The voice caused a realisation to strike, how hard it had become, my ribs stuck in place, intercostal muscles rigid, refusing to let my lungs inflate. It felt as if gravity had increased its pressure over my body, making me crumple underneath its increased weight. The load was too much, my head screaming for oxygen. I knew what was happening, I knew I was in the throes of a crushing panic, helpless to stop the cascade of anxiety from taking over.

Instinct was quick to surface, telling me exactly what to do. What I’d done only once before.

I withdrew my fingers from their entanglement within my hair, placing the tips on each side of my temple, and within my depths, I set it free. The energy swiftly begun to course through my blood, bringing with it an incredible radiance that lit up my veins. It crawled its way through every capillary, every vessel, as if it was replacing my own blood with its glow.

Soon, it weaved itself through my chest cavity, relaxing the muscles clamping down on my lungs, the relief of an easier breath making me feel lighter. It's journey didn’t cease, surging through my neck to my brain, twirling in between the individual neurons, clouding me with a feeling of peace, serenity, the rest of the world blocked off from my senses.

I wanted to stay in this place forever. Every fear, every sadness, every frustration, all of it melting away into nothing. I felt whole, a brilliant euphoria shimmering from every part of my being.

Let go. You cannott linger here for too long.

My fingernails were suddenly pierced into the pillows of the sofa, panting, grateful I had something to remind me not to surrender myself to the dangerous void any longer. The energy recoiled instantly, my own invisible hands pushing it within the confinement I'd kept it behind for much of my life. I took a moment to push it even deeper down my consciousness, praying it would be too far for Rey to sense when she arrived.

The panic was gone, my chest moving in even time, an aura of composure enduring even with the healing energy locked away. But it also left me exhausted, my brain feeling slightly fuzzy with fatigue. Although for this, I was glad. Even a short time in the peace of sleep would stop me from thinking about Poe.

I had just risen from my seat, about to walk to the comfort of my bed for however long time would allow, when there was a solid bang at my door. I tilted my head in confusion at the noise, knowing Poe would have simply knocked if he wanted entry. Although right now, that seemed extremely unlikely.

When I heard an artificial squealing piercing the air behind the wood, it was obvious what had made the sound.

BB-8 was still beeping urgently when I allowed him entry into my quarters, whizzing past my legs before I even had time to greet him. I noticed the sound of the ‘fresher running as he rolled quickly to the space before my sofa, his head movements darting from me to the pillow where I had just been seated. He wanted me to sit down, that was clear, but I couldn’t determine why.

I did what was requested, settling back down, BB-8 at my feet, his eye appearing to whir and focus in on my face. He was quiet for a moment, doing what I could only imagine was a droid’s version of thinking, before his head darted away. Suddenly a burst of blue light flickered into the air, floating the outline of an image on top of the metal table that sat in front of us.

He was showing me a hologram.

It was fuzzy at first, slowly becoming clearer, displaying a scene I hadn’t been privy to this afternoon. The simulated image of Poe was sitting at my office desk, his own hologram transmission only just visible in the blue beam.

It appeared BB was showing me a long way into their discussion, Poe’s face stressed as he listened to the multiple figures in the holo, their lips forming words that only came out muffled.

“I don’t think you should be showing me this BB-8,” I fretted quietly, acknowledging how private Poe had been with Resistance information.

BB-8 beeped insistently, sounding like he disagreed, and continued playing the holo. The voices became more defined, eventually loud enough for me to make them out.

“We’ll have another X-wing ready for you as soon as you make planet fall,” an older woman’s voice explained. I could only assume it was Leia’s, holding a gentle yet authoritative tone. "Do you think you’ll be ready to attempt the mission again as soon as you return?”

Poe didn’t immediately answer, and I could almost make out the pain in his holo image.

“What is it?” another woman, a lot younger sounding, questioned. Her voice was more on edge than Leia’s, speech displaying an accent I wasn’t familiar with. This was most likely Rey. “Are you still too injured?”

“I’m fine,” Poe reassured. “Better than fine really. Alex… uh, Dr. Jago had me walking within the first few days. And everything else has healed well enough.”

Yet another voice, this time a man's, piped in. "You broke your leg and she got you walking that quickly? There’s no way.”

Poe rolled his eyes, the small movement still obvious in the flickering image. “Finn, you nearly died and you can still doubt the effect of bacta? That stuff fixed your shattered spine for maker's sake.”

“Still took more than a few days though,” Finn mumbled.

“It’s irrelevant,” Leia interjected, seemingly annoyed for a moment, before softening. “Is something wrong Poe?”

His eyes looked down from the hologram in front of him, hesitant to answer. “Is there…” he started, breathing in as if to gain courage. “Is there anyone else who could make that flight?”

All three of the figures recoiled in disbelief at the question.

“You’re the best pilot we have,” Leia said definitively. “There’s no one else who could navigate that route except you.”

“What about Rey?” he retorted, looking to her figure insistently. “She’s got the Force to help her.”

Rey sighed, troubled. “I... already tried. I thought maybe your navigation system may have malfunctioned, preventing any tracking, but that you’d still made it to-” BB-8’s hologram suddenly became engulfed in static for a few moments, leaving me unable to hear the destination of Poe’s mission. Eventually the picture cleared into the same scene, only a few seconds later. "-but I couldn’t make it through. It was too dangerous to traverse, even with the Force to guide me.”

“Why are you even asking us to find someone else?” Finn challenged. “You were more than ready to do it yourself a week ago.”

Poe gritted his teeth, looking somewhat ashamed. “I know.”

There was silence in the holo, and for a moment I thought this was all BB-8 wanted to show me. But Leia’s voice struck up again. "Finn, Rey, could you let me talk to Poe privately?”

From their small faces I could still see them look quizzically at each other, Finn appearing more puzzled by the request. But they left under the General’s orders, slinking past the frame of the holo.

“Poe… Tell me. Tell me what’s changed,” Leia urged softly. “You and I both know you’re the only one who can do this. And if there’s something worrying you, or making you doubt yourself, you need to tell me.”

He looked despairingly at her, uncomfortable with the prospect of hiding anything from his General. “I don’t want to admit it.”

Leia breathed out heavily. She began to pace inside the holo, arms folded in thought, before turning back to speak to Poe again, her face gentle. “It’s the doctor, isn’t it?”

It took an excruciatingly long time before Poe responded, finally nodding his head.

I felt every muscle in my body tense at his reply, heart thrumming to a faster beat.

“I thought so,” Leia whispered. “I... wasn’t expecting this.”

“Neither was I, General. I’m sorry.” The expression he wore, filled with such unyielding turmoil, shot a pang of cold ice through me.

Leia looked kindly to him, her face melting into understanding. “Oh Poe, you don’t have to apologise. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last, to question everything for the sake of their emotions.”

“I want to do what we planned. I do. I’m ready,” he asserted, voice rising into confidence, only for his face to fall again. “But every time I think of leaving her…” His face became buried in his hands, frustrated, unable to finish his sentence.

“Does she feel the same way?”

“I don’t know,” Poe muffled under his palms. “I... think so. She’s holding back. Her loyalty to this clinic is annoyingly similar to mine with the Resistance.”

“So she wouldn’t consider coming with you, joining us? We desperately need doctors of her calibre.”

He pulled his face back up. “I asked. And she refused. She would never want to leave, fearing for the health of her patients without her here. Not to mention she’s staunchly against the war we’re fighting in.”

“She sounds like someone I would like to meet,” Leia smiled to herself. “So... That’s why you don’t want to return yet. Why you need someone else to complete the mission. You want more time with her.”

Poe nodded slowly. “I know we don’t have much time to get-” Another fuzz intercepted Poe’s speech, an additional piece of information too confidential for my ears. “-but I just… I just don’t want to go yet. If someone was able to go in my stead, then I wouldn’t be completely dooming us. I know it’s selfish… Irrational… But the thought of leaving her behind right now, on a mission I might not make it back from… It’s too much.”

“Oh,” Leia mouthed, her voice muted. “Do you… Do you think that you…”

She didn’t have to finish her question. Poe knew what she was implying.

“I… think I could. If I had more time, a chance to figure it out.”

His revelation made me stop breathing, a tear wriggling from the duct, crawling down my face.

Leia sighed loudly, her stress evident. “I wish I could Poe. I would want nothing more than to give you this, after all you’ve given for the Resistance. But you’re the only one who has a chance of completing this mission, and we are desperately running out of time and options.”

Poe clenched his eyes shut as she finished, his jaw tightening, lips fighting back a frown. He took a few moments held in this position before relaxing himself back into composure, his face serious and professional. “I understand,” he replied flatly. “I’ll get this mission accomplished General. See you back at the base.”

“I’m truly sorry Poe-” Leia began to apologise, only to be interrupted by his sharp tone.

“It’s fine. Tell the engineers to make sure the new X-wing is prepped before my return. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

Leia nodded, her expression remorseful.

Suddenly the blue, illuminated image was ripped from my view, the rest of my quarters coming back into focus around me.

My body was stuck, motionless in the now painful silence filling the air. Inside my mind there was chaos, memories of the hologram darting around randomly. I tried to capture at least one rational thought, to analyse the emotions bubbling up from within my chest.

He wanted to stay. For me. Everything he wanted to accomplish, for the Resistance, for his friends, for his parents, for the galaxy. He wanted to put it all on hold.

Just for me.

He’d been right. I was holding it back, the same thing he felt, and it was clawing at my insides, desperately wanting to be set free.

Purely out of my selfishness, my own excuses, the voice in my head threatening our lives. All of it keeping me from what I really wanted.

Him. I wanted him. To be close to him. Even if it was just for a little while.

You’re giving in? So easily?

Damn right I am.

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it-stheaulifeforme · 4 years

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There was a loud ferocious barking, angry voices and scuffling outside the cabin door, and Tintin’s head snapped around against the bars of the cage, eyes wide with panic. It could have only been one dog making that noise, causing that kind of chaos for the crewmates that had only recently left the cabin where he was being kept. He felt a sick feeling of anger and fear rise in the pit of his stomach, dreading what could be happening to him right outside that door.

He cursed, wrists chafing against the rope around them, overcome by more fear than anything else that burned especially across his face and through his stomach. He felt a numbness creep up his legs, his shoes scuffing against the floorboards in his attempt to free himself or at the very least, be able to stand on two feet.

He stopped, sensing the noises outside and trying to listen closer. The voices were muffled and though he couldn’t hear, there was definitely a level of threat involved. Tintin was normally level-headed even in situations like this, but this was involving his dog. His throat was dry and he swallowed, feeling the unmistakeable racing of his own heart. No, no, no, don’t, please don’t, he’d never let anything happen to him—

The voices got quieter, Snowy’s barking fading into the distance along with a few footsteps. Normally his instinct was to do something, but the racing panic and now anger simmering underneath the surface seemed to put him in freeze mode. He did manage to have some strength to pull himself up though onto his feet with one of the bars though, his body shaking with adrenaline.

He heard the door open and shut behind him as he managed to stand. He felt a mix of emotions - fear, panic, anger, disgust, distress - at anything happening to his trusty little white dog. Would they kill him? Maybe. Would they hurt him? Almost certainly. But it was also certain they were doing this so they could force his hand to help them, he guessed. His hands felt dirty and he felt terror and nausea simultaneously just thinking about it. He couldn’t, wouldn’t think about him doing anything to help them or what could be happening to Snowy.

That kind of stroll on the floorboards with a lighter shoe was pretty much recognisable. Of course. Who else would it be? He only ever talked to somebody when he wanted something. He didn’t have any friends. It was nothing but what he wanted and what he could get from anyone. What a sad life.

“If this is about my dog—” he bitterly remarked, trying to get his voice to remain cold, before he heard the familiar interruption of that faux affable, almost mocking, laugh.

“I believe you heard the commotion outside,” Sakharine replied behind him, a sick politeness in his tone, “I assure you, nothing bad will come to him—”

Tintin finally spun around, making direct eye contact with the man in red in front of him. The audacity in his voice and the clear coldness of his eyes demonstrated nothing but pretentious bullshit, to be frank, in his own mind. He stepped forward as close as he was able to, unable to help the fire burning in him to come straight out of his own mouth.

“—unless I don’t help you, of course,” he spat, refusing to stop looking this man in the eye, “You could not frankly be more obvious about what you want and why you have him, so stop acting so damn nice about it.” He laughed, a laugh laced tremendously with venom.

Sakharine’s smile faded slightly, threat underlining his expression. He was perturbed by the boy’s reaction. Nonetheless, he was confident that this could be a breaking point. Let him be angry; not like there was much he could do. He could only be like this for so long.

He stepped forward so he was barely a foot away from him, the boy’s spiteful expression not budging. Though it was an obstacle to what he wanted, he was fascinated by the fire in his blood. He could see it in his eyes. I mean, he’d ended up here, hadn’t he? Such an eagerness for adventure and mystery at a young age that he forgot not to involve himself in business that clearly had nothing to do with him.

“You know,” he remarked, “I do wonder why such a young boy is involving himself in something like this. It seems considerably reckless of you to interfere with what the…adults are doing.” He grinned at that last part, his voice taking on a more patronising tone by the end. The boy’s expression took on more of a disgusted appearance, demonstrating that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

“I don’t exist to be patronised, Mr Sakharine,” Tintin stated, addressing him in that familiar way, “My age is not important when the adults are busy committing to illicit business affairs.” He repeated it back similarly, malice heavy on that word in particular. He didn’t know if he had forgotten his fear or just ignored it, but he wasn’t in the place to debate that.

Sakharine was about to say something, but the boy clearly had the attitude to interrupt him. He’d pay for it dearly, evidently.

“And before you spin some sort of story right now, yes, I haven’t forgotten about my dear dog,” he said, practically snapping at the man, “I doubt harm will not come to whilst he’s with you.” His eyes appeared to burn both hot and cold at the other man, refusing to budge. He had not been one to shy away from these circumstances of intimidation.

Sakharine was not one for sentiment (maybe apart from his falcon, but that felt different), but the persistence of this boy about his dog demonstrated enough how easy it was to use others’ for his own gain. He didn’t care what happened to that white little mutt that meant so much to the ginger brat just so long as he got what he wanted from him.

Though frankly, with the way the boy was going with this, he might just have his men break a leg or two or even half drown the damn thing to get him to stop.

He laughed in his usual faux affable tone. “Perhaps,” he said, stressing very specifically on that word, “You’re far too attached to that thing to be involved with these affairs, so you should be…very glad I haven’t thrown it over board to die.” He similarly did so with the last sentence, displaying a sick grin as he studied the boy’s reaction to this response.

Tintin’s eyes flashed in anger, mouth twisted in scorn and teeth bared. “It’s very obvious life has no value for you unless it gives you what you want,” he viciously remarked, face pressed against the bars, “I’ve seen it all before. You’d step on anything to get what you want because the only person that matters in your life is you. That ‘thing’ is my dog, and if anyone’s blood here is going to be spilt, it’s mine.”

He appeared so serious, Sakharine almost wanted to laugh. “How noble of someone so young to throw yourself in front of your dear dog.” He displayed a contemptuous grin. “I’d say brave, but that doesn’t suit you. This isn’t a decision for you to make.”

The boy’s clear eyes appeared to shine more in the dim light, despite still maintaining the direct eye contact with him. Was that just him? The boy might be beginning to break. It was amazing that this attachment to this dog was enough to start such a ball rolling. For the boy’s spirits and capabilities, this seemed far too easy.

He took a step back and went to turn away, but the teenager couldn’t help but let out a particular desperation in his voice. “You have no right to make that decision! You have no right to take what isn’t yours!” He turned back around, relishing this moment. Those eyes were burning with emotion, that fire across his features. As endeared as he felt to that, this brat had no idea what he was dealing with.

He turned back, making a long, menacing step back towards him, faces now only inches apart. The boy’s brows furrowed, trying to maintain his anger despite the air of distress in his eyes. If no one else was going to put this child in his place, then he would.

“Listen here, you actual child, I think I’ve made it very clear that I am not one to preach to about fairness!” he exclaimed contemptuously, a sneer across his face, “You’re on my ship interfering with my business, I don’t care if it was rather you you’d want me to hurt instead of your dear mutt! Maybe if your parents taught you better, I wouldn’t have to be dealing with a brat and his dog like you!”

He stopped, taking in his reaction. Normally he’d come back with a quick response, but he was speechless. His clear eyes glistened more in the light, mouth shaking as if he was trying to say something. His brow remained furrowed, now full of a new emotion that perhaps he hadn’t felt in a while. The boy was probably used to this somehow, but maybe this time Sakharine had hit a nerve.

Tintin’s mouth was shaped in a scowl, disgust, anger and distress roiling especially underneath the surface. He couldn’t speak for a few moments, cursing this fresh vulnerability at the older man’s exclamation. He’d heard similar stuff before, his reputation with enemies beginning to precede him. But this villainous type seemed to hit him out of nowhere, and it was probably all the more painful when they had his dog besides.

“I don’t think anyone has been able to show you exactly what you’re dealing with,” Sakharine continued, voice softer and all the more sinister, “you’re a child, Tintin, if that is your real name, and I have no idea how someone your age is getting involved in business that is no concern of him.”

“You’re hurting others just to get what you want! Besides, you stole my ship!”

“You broke into MY house with a clear idea of what you were doing! You seemed it think it was fine and dandy to snoop around a place you didn’t belong!”

“I doubt it had ever crossed your mind that I had simply found a nice ship at the market before you got involved. Who else was I supposed to suspect but you when I had bought it, clearly trying a bit too hard to convince me to sell it to you?”

Their voices had risen not so much in volume, but emotion. This boy had been too much of a smart ass from the beginning, and finding out he was a reporter was enough of a breaking point. If he was getting this conversation more in his control, he’d turn it back around. He wasn’t about to be outdone by a literal child. It was beginning to go absolutely nowhere as a result.

“I was trying to be reasonable,” Sakharine responded, a faux affable tone returning to his voice, “but since you have continued to not understand who you’re dealing with, I think I’ll go ahead and have your precious mutt’s legs broken. Call it a small comfort that I won’t make you watch.”

Tintin’s face appeared to drain of colour as Sakharine’s face split open at a sick grin at what he just said.

“You touch my dog and I’ll–” Tintin said, voice now cracking before he was interrupted.

“Or you’ll do what?” Sakharine asked mockingly, malicious amusement clear in his voice, “What could you possibly do in your situation if I touch that poor little white dog of yours?”

Anger and distress was now boiling on the surface, and Tintin could feel tears collect in his eyes. He was not one to do this, this was not him. Even for someone his age, he was usually strong-willed. But, perhaps, not enough for Snowy.

The older man was relishing in this new sight of this pesky ginger brat finally be compromised this emotionally. He was in the authoritative position here and seeing that release of tears, though pathetic, be somewhat enjoyable. It had taken threatening to hurt his trusty little animal to break him so easily.

“Don’t you dare,” Tintin said, voice shaking with a quiet anger, “he doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Sakharine stepped back and turned, sighing. “If you’re going to remain this stubborn and refuse to cooperate, I’m afraid he’ll be even more involved. You two have given me enough grief already.”

The tears were carving even more of a wet path down Tintin’s face now, watching Sakharine as he turned and began to walk away. He pressed his face as much as he could against the metal bars. “Fine! Do whatever you want, but don’t you dare touch my dog!” Tintin snapped, voice bitter and angry despite how broken it felt. The older man refused to stop but merely smiled self-satisfactorily away from him as he strolled back towards the door.

Let him rant, he thought. They could wait. It was enough to get him to even attempt to cooperate, but even better that he found it easier to break the boy’s spirits. Maybe leaving him on his own in there would put him in his place whilst he was none the wiser about his dog, and shouting would get him nowhere.

“Listen to me! Don’t you even think about it!” Tintin began to shout as Sakharine opened the door and stepped through, not even thinking to look back as it finally shut. He heard the footsteps as he felt a sob rising in his throat. He wouldn’t, no he wouldn’t. This wouldn’t happen to him, despite everything that others had thrown at him.

Now that he was alone, he began to feel the fresh release of tears as they burnt across his skin. He was angry, of course he was angry. There was too much he was angry about. But he was scared, he was upset, he had no idea what was happening outside of his current prison, things he’d refuse to admit to himself. He opened his mouth to shout something again, but stopped, coming to the realisation that it was hopeless.

He stepped back, sliding against the bars on the opposite side until he was sitting again. His wrists felt raw from the rope biting his skin and he leant his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. The sob that had settled at the back of his throat finally escaped from his mouth, and he shut his eyes as hot tears fell faster down his face. His dog brought at least solace and affection in dire situations like this, but now he had no idea what was happening to him.

“Snowy…” he finally spoke into the silence, voice quieter than ever, “I’m sorry.”

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rainbowserenity · 4 years

Note

1. “Do you want me to leave?” - Hopurai

royal!AU tag

my intention with this AU was for it to be a bunch of oneshots that could be read separately….but this is the installment that makes me wish I’d had the foresight to just make it into a multichapter fic 8D;if you don’t want to go in blindly, I would HIGHLY recommend (re?)reading at least the previous installment before the this one. all the fics are in the above linked tag, or they’re in a collection on AO3 here

sorry for being so ridiculous lmao

*****

Therewas such a strange disconnect from staring outside the windows of thepalace as opposed to when she’d had to stare out of a hole in theceiling back when she’d been living in the slums. Back then, she’d belooking up into the smog-covered sky, trying against all odds to seethe stars that the fal'cie would bring at night.

Now,sitting in her office, she could literally look down on so much ofEden since the palace towered over pretty much everything except thefal'cie Phoenix itself. It was weird, to say the least.

Well,she supposed it was no stranger than Lightning Farron, former soldierand resident of the slums, being discovered as Eden’s long-lostprincess.

Lightningfrowned slightly as she watched people go about their daily business.From up here, they looked like ants. It was hard to believe that somecould be struggling or confused or going through heartbreak…

Notthat she’d know anything about heartbreak. At all. Nope.

“Hey,you finished yet?”

Witha sigh, Lightning pulled her gaze away from the window and stared atSazh, who was officially her adviser, but really played the role of ababysitter. It was insulting if she thought about it too much. “Doesit look like I’ve finished?”

“True.”Sazh waltzed up to her desk and pointedly stared at the pile ofpapers. “'Cause if you had finishedthis incredibly easy task, I bet you would’ve found me already andclaimed that poor ol’ Sazh was overworked and needed a vacation - ”

“Itried to give you a vacation after the ball,” Lightning pointedout, raising an eyebrow. “You told me I’d probably set the palaceon fire if you left for a day.”

“AndI’m probably right!”

“Doubtful.”Lightning rolled her eyes and tapped her pen against the papers infront of her a few times. “I’m fairly sure that I, a grown adultwho’s been taking care of herself since she was a teenager, couldeasily manage without you for a few days.”

“Keeptellin’ yourself that.” Sazh picked up one of the papers. “Whichone are you working on?”

“Theletter to Vanille.” DiaVanille had been an important guest at Lightning’s introduction balla few days ago. It was a gathering that had officially presented heras Eden’s princess, which, in turn, would hopefully open up newrelations. Now she was supposed to be writing letters of intent toget people on her side with whatever she planned to do as regent.

Despitefinding the whole practice completely ridiculous, Lightning actuallyhad gotten along fairly well with the Duchess of Luxerion, Vanille.She had to wonder if this was partially because her bodyguard wasfriends with the Duchess and that made it easier to like her.

Or…formerbodyguard, she supposed.

“Keepit short and sweet,” Sazh advised. “Vanille’s not much for longletters.”

“Andyou think I am?”

“Justlet me dream a little, geez. Kids these days.”

Lightningrolled her eyes again, her mind wandering to the ball. Chatting withVanille and her girlfriend Fang, the Princess of Oerba…dancing in adress that glittered with an obnoxious amount of diamonds…steppingonto the balcony with -

Ugh,okay, definitely not goingthere.

Aftera pause where she wrote a few words, Lightning glanced up. Sazh wasscribbling something in a book – probably grading her on heretiquette, hmph. “Was there something else you needed?”

“Yes,as a matter of fact.” Sazh stopped writing and plopped into a chairwithout any grace. If she’d done the same, he would’ve recoiled inhorror. “We didn’t really get a chance to talk after the ball.Gotta say, I’m impressed with how you handled things.”

“Itwas a glorified dance. Not too difficult.”

Thatwas a lie and they both knew it. Lightning had grown up in a suburbof Eden and then spent her teenage years in the slums – she’d neverbeen to any sort of dance, never mind a ball of the caliber that’dbeen held in her honor. Beingparaded around like a doll had been one of the most difficult thingsshe’d ever done. Luckily, she’d met Vanille and Fang very early onduring the night and their new-foundfriendship had made goingthrough the motions much easier.

Therewas someone else who’d helped out, but she preferred not to think toohard about that.

“Yeah,yeah.” Sazh waved a hand. “Keep tellin’ yourself that. And tellme your thoughts –anybody there you think we could strengthen an alliance with? Or formone? Technically, Eden’s always been on good terms with the otherkingdoms since Phoenix is the most important fal'cie, but there’salways room for improvement. See any of that? Or…” He raised aneyebrow. “Any potential suitors?”

Lightningducked her head, hoping against everything that the heat she feltsimmering under her skin was from a…hot flash or something. Yeah,that totally made sense. She wasn’t about to blush atthe thought of a certain personal bodyguard taking her to see astar-filled sky and light-studded city. There was definitely nothought of his hands on her, his lips caressing hers…

“Nosuitors,” she finally said, clearing her throat and daring to lookup. At least her face felt normal. “Serah seemed to like the Patronof Yusnaan, though.” She frowned.

“What,you got a problem with him?” Sazh looked faintly amused. “I knowhe’s just a kid, but then again, so are you.”

“Hejust seemed…” Lightning shook her head. There were only a fewwords she could think of to describe Snow Villiers, and none of themwere all that flattering. “But we’ve been on particularly goodterms with Yusnaan, so it doesn’t really matter. Fang seemed to likeme, so maybe we can strengthen ties with Oerba.”

“Thatgirl’s an odd one.” Sazh leaned back in his chair, looking lost inthought. “I’m pretty sure all she really gives a damn about isVanille. For awhile, it was lookin’ like Oerba and Luxerion wouldofficially join forces, possibly to try and topple Eden and take overPhoenix.”

Lightningraised her eyebrows. “Could they do that?”

“Probably.Ain’t like the fal'cie care that much.”

Shehad no idea if that was true. Lightning had yet to see Phoenix inperson since being found as the princess of Eden. “Do you thinkFang was trying to get on my good side, then? And then betray me whenleast expected?”

“Nahhh.If Vanille liked you, then Fang’s sure as hell not gonna mess withyou or anybody in Eden. And trust me, Vanille is as genuine as theycome. Kinda hard to believe she’s royalty sometimes.” Sazh sighedin exasperation. “I’ve worked with so many of you kids over theyears that I wonder if you all share the same stick up your ass.”

Insteadof biting back with a retort, Sazh’s comment made Lightning asksomething she’d been wondering for awhile. “That’s right – bothFang and Vanille said that they knew you. You were an adviser forsome members of the old family, too.”

“Gladto see you pay attention when I talk.”

“Thatdoesn’t make much sense, though,” Lightning continued, ignoringSazh’s comment. “You’re not even twice my age. You said you’ve beenserving the old family for years, but if you served Fang and Vanilletoo…”

“Inever told you?” Now Sazh looked confused, but also a littleconcerned. It was very strange to see him with an expression towardsher that wasn’t exasperation. “Huh, guess I wouldn’t have at thebeginning. And things have been so crazy with the ball andeverything…”

“Toldme what?”

Sazhundid the top two buttons of his shirt and tugged it down a bit. Itwas still hidden under some fabric, but there were a bunch oftelltale lines and intersecting arrows that made Lightning sit ramrodstraight in her chair, eyes widening a bit. She knew what it meantbefore Sazh even said the words.

“I’ma l'cie.”

Thestories had spread among the slums – scary children’s tales thatwould send Serah crying into her arms in fear. L'cie were warriorschosen by fal'cie and sent to fight their battles, using magic farmore powerful and horrifying than the average person was capable of.They would live forever until the fal'cie grew tired of them andended their misery with agony, only to gather new warriors and repeatthe cycle anew.

Sincethere hadn’t been a real war in centuries, l'cie were just terriblestories. Even though Lightning knew they were likely just that –stories – nobody she knew had ever met or been one, so itwas hard to say what was the truth or not.

Itwas true, however – recorded in history books and all –that l'cie were branded when they were made. The lines intersectingon Sazh’s skin perfectly matched what Lightning knew.

“You’re– how - ”

“Ohc'mon, you know damn well I’m not some war machine. I hear thosestories. Most of ‘em are totally untrue. Probably made up by somefanatic or anti-war group back in the day.” Sazh shrugged andbuttoned his shirt, hiding the brand from sight.

“Thenwhat is true?”

“One,we don’t live forever. But it does stretch things out a bit.” Hechuckled. “You pretty much stop physically aging once you’rebranded. Good thing, or I’d have half a century’s worth of gray hairfrom all you kids stressin’ me out.”

Lightningdid not laugh. She still felt something akin to horror, though Sazh’snonchalant attitude and her own logic were calming her down a bit.“But why were you branded? I’ve always heard that l'cie werejust tools for war.”

“LikeI said, stories.” Sazh waved a hand. “Yeah, sure, some were madefor war, but most l'cie are branded to carry out a certain purpose,whether for war or whatever else.”

“Andlet me guess,” Lightning said, her head starting to clear, “yourpurpose is to annoy me?”

“Close.”He chuckled again. “Nah, the old queen’s mother put in a good wordfor me with Phoenix. I kinda fell into the adviser role and the royalfamily was damn impressed. They asked if I wanted to do it forlonger, and well…” He shrugged. “Here I am. ‘Course, I’d go outto ally kingdoms or whatnot. In Duchess Vanille’s case, her parentsdied when she was barely a kid, so I kept an eye on her. I only knowPrincess Fang through her, though.”

“Isee.” And she did, actually. The initial shock had finally wornoff. Honestly, she couldn’t see why someone would want to live foryears and years doing the sort of thing Sazh did, but now she knewhow he was so good at his job…literal years of practice. “And I’mguessing this is common knowledge among the other royals?”

“Well,yeah. I’m everywhere, you know.” He tapped the side of his head.“Can’t do much to hide that.”

“Isuppose not.” Of course she was the last to know…but then again,she always seemed to be the last to know things lately, sowhat did one more thing matter?

“Onthat note, I’ve got some other things I need to do.” The tone inSazh’s voice had gone so serious that it made Lightning glance upfrom her letter and frown in confusion.

“Whatthings?”

“Geez,so nosy.” He shook his head. “Don’t you worry about it. Finishyour letters and I’ll have one of the assistants come in andproofread them.”

Sherolled her eyes. “Sure.”

Hewas already halfway out the door, but still called out as thought heactually had eyes in the back of his head. “I saw that!”

Lightningshook her head and stared back down at her letter to Vanille, tappingher pen against the paper a few times. Even though it’d been quitesome time since she’d been found as Eden’s princess, the formalityand unspoken rules still baffled her. Ever since meeting a bunch ofthem at her introduction ball, however, she’d seen that many of themfound some of the rules and etiquette archaic as well.

Sowhy did they have to do it?

Shesighed heavily and slumped in her chair – a posture that Sazh wouldfrown upon, but for once, she was blessedly alone. Not even a maidwas to be seen, although she could hear people puttering in thehallways outside her office. It was so rare these days she couldactually be by herself. Usually she at least had her personalbodyguard with her…

“No,”she muttered, chiding herself. She would not think about him.She would not wonder where he’d gone after running from her atthe ball, and she would certainly not replay the images oftheir kiss in her mind.

Nope.Not her.

Lightningheaved another sigh and shoved the papers aside, going back tostaring out the window. Concentration was clearly useless, at leastfor now. She may as well take advantage of Sazh not being around todemand her to do stuff.

–

Itwas only a few days later when she got the news.

Shewas in the sitting area of her suite, talking to Serah on the phone –an encrypted, ridiculously secure line, of course. Actually beingable to see her sister would’ve been better, but Serah wascompletely swamped with work at the university and couldn’t get away.

Therewas always, however, time for a phone call.

“Ijust don’t get what you see in him,” Lightning muttered, scribblingin the margins of her scrap paper. She was still working on thoseletters and had been trying to think of good things to say SnowVilliers, Patron of Yusnaan. It was exceedingly difficult.

Forher, anyway.

“He’sso sweet!” Serah basically swooned over the phone. “And don’t youthink he’s handsome? I wonder if he’ll wear the same outfit at myintroduction ball.”

Lightningfrowned. “He’s a big lug that kept stepping on my feet.”

“Notto mention that you can tell he really cares about his people.”Serah kept going on like her sister had said nothing. “Maybe it’sbecause he was elected? I mean, I know you care about everyone in thekingdom, but some of the other royals who have lived it since theywere born….it’s different for them. Don’t you think so?”

Unconsciously,Lightning’s grip on her phone tightened. He’d said that to her morethan once.

Youknow what it’s like on the other side. You’ll be able to bring realchange.

Herstomach fluttered and she willed the door to knock – something,anything to let her know that her personal bodyguard wascoming back.

Knock-knock.

Shestared at the door. Could it be…?

“YourHighness?”

Hershoulders drooped so quickly that she nearly dropped the phone. Sherecognized the quiet voice of Yeul, one of her maids. With a heavysigh, she called out, “Just a moment!”

“Sis?Do you want me to leave?”

“Sorry,Serah.” Lightning heaved another sigh. “I have to go. I’ll callyou back tonight, okay?”

“Okay!I should probably get back to all this homework.” Her tone grewteasing. “You think they’d let a princess catch a break.”

“Ifyou’d wanted to catch any breaks, you wouldn’t have applied to themost prestigious university in the world,” Lightning teased back.“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.Love you!”

“Youtoo.”

Anotherquiet knock sounded at the door. This time, Lightning stood, herposture automatically straight as she smoothed down her clothes. Asthere hadn’t been anything urgent on her schedule for the day, she’dopted for comfortable slacks and a thin cashmere sweater – clothingshe’d take over diamond-studded ball gowns any day.

“Comein.”

Yeulentered the room, dropping into a curtsy. All of the servantscontinued to be ridiculously formal around her, despite herinsistence otherwise. It was sort of why she appreciated Sazh naggingher all the time, though hell would freeze over before she’d admitit.

Andspeak of the devil…

“Mr.Katzroy requests that you join him in the conference room, YourHighness.”

Lightningfrowned, the request immediately striking her as odd. Usually Sazhsought her out himself when he needed something, or at least wouldbring her to whatever room he needed. Especially since this palacewas ridiculously huge and she still didn’t always know her wayaround.

“Conferenceroom?”

“Yes.”Yeul bowed her head. “Allow me to escort you.”

“Sure.”Lightning was all too happy to leave her papers and thoughts ofwriting to Snow behind…although surely whatever Sazh had plannedfor her would be just as annoying.

Itturned out she wasn’t too far off.

Yeulmurmured something into a speaker that was attached to the earpieceshe was wearing, presumably telling her coworkers where she was. Therest of the walk was fairly quiet, which was fine with her. Lightningwas more than okay with staring at the paintings and pricelessartifacts that adorned the walls. A lot of them were portraits of herextremely distant ancestors. Apparently she and Serah would have tosit for portraits at some point and then they’d be on the wallsforever. It was a very weird thought.

Whenthe finally reached the conference room, Yeul curtsied again beforeopening one of the wide doors. “Her Highness, Princess Lightning,has arrived,” she called, her soft voice echoing into the emptyroom.

“Thanks,”Lightning said, nodding at Yeul before she stepped inside. There wasa weird flash of gold that struck Yeul’s eyes, but it was probablyjust glare from all the artifacts around them. Weird.

Theconference room was huge, with tons of folded seats and what lookedlike a stage and podium. It reminded her a bit of a theater withoutthe screen. “Sazh?”

“Overhere.” He was off to the side, where there was a table and somechairs covered with papers. She hurried over to him. “Always makin’an old man wait, huh?”

“Yeah,yeah.” It felt weird to comment on that since now she had a roughidea of just how old Sazh really was. “How come you calledme here?”

“Nobodyever uses this room and I wanted to inform you of something inprivate.”

Instantly,Lightning’s heart began to pound. For whatever reason, her firstthought was of the night of the ball. Had someone seen them out onthe balcony? Was there some protocol about a princess and herbodyguard sharing a kiss?

“It’sabout your coronation.”

Shelet out a huge breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding,slumping in her seat a bit. She ignored the evil eye Sazh gave her.“What about it?”

“Asyou know, the old family kept their power tightly reigned.” Themore he spoke, the more serious Sazh became. It was weirdlyoff-putting. “All of the descendants have been, more or less,direct from the first king. Kinda a cut and dry family tree, evenwith all the marriages and what have you.”

“Right.”Lightning vaguely recalled this when she’d been forced to study theold family. The crown almost always went to the firstborn son ordaughter, which wasn’t so unusual for royalty, she supposed, but thefamily tree was streamlined to the point where many of thefirstborn’s siblings rarely got married or had children of their own.It was why she and Serah being a part of all of this was basicallyunprecedented.

Veryweird.

“LikeI told you, I’ve had some dealings with the old family. And I’m notthat old to remember the first king, but there’s a reason theykept the family as it was.”

“Sazh,please.” Lightning was rapidly running out of patience. She wasn’treally sure why, but something in her just wanted to hear thenews already. “Get to the point.”

“Soimpatient,” he muttered. “Okay, fine – long story short – thecoronation and ruling status are only valid with approval fromPhoenix.”

Itfelt like a block of ice had suddenly dropped in her stomach,although it took her a moment to rationalize why. “Approval?”“Yes.”The serious tone in Sazh’s voice grew. “You meet with the fal'ciein a special one-on-one ceremony. Phoenix will brand you as the nextruler of Eden. Not like a l'cie,” he added hastily, whenLightning’s gaze focused on the spot where his brand was hidden.“There’s no permanent mark, although it lasts 'til you’reofficially crowned. Then you’re free to rule as you please.”

Theice turned to lead in her gut. “Okay, so I meet with Phoenix andit…approves of me.” She frowned. “Why tell me this in secrecy?This is probably common knowledge among the royals, right?”

“Yeah.Some of the others brand their rulers like this too, but Phoenix isthe most important because, well…obvious reasons and all.”

“Isee.” The perfect placeholder reply, because this whole thing madeher feel…uneasy. Phoenix was arguably the most importantfal'cie in the world. Without the sun and life it provided, therewould be no world. The fal'cie from other kingdoms couldeasily be replaced with hard work and effort from humanity.

Butthe sun? There was no replacement for that.

Theenormity of her role in the world suddenly hit her like a train. Itdidn’t matter if her sister or the other royals or certain personalbodyguards believed in her. She’d never been very good at followingrules and had always thought of herself as very independent. The factthat she was to be in charge of everything under somethingelse’s power made her want to take a sword to Phoenix just to rid theworld of it, so humanity could try to thrive on its own.

Notthat she would – or could – ever admit this out loud.

“There’sone other thing,” Sazh added when she said nothing more.

Lightningrolled her eyes a little, mostly out of habit. “What?”

Hedidn’t comment on her rudeness. “I know for a fact thatyou’re part of the royal bloodline. Ol’ Sazh did his research. Youdon’t even want to know what dusty old books and old familyrecords I had to look up to find you and your sister.”

“You’vementioned this.” She raised an eyebrow. “Many times, in fact.”

“'Causeit’s true.” There was a pause before his voice went grave.“However, if Phoenix doesn’t approve of you for whatever reason ordecides you’re not worthy of the power to rule…”

Lightningwaited a moment for him to finish, but she knew what he meant when hetrailed off. This, maybe, was the source of her instant uneasinesswhen he’d started talking. It was everything she hadn’t known she wasdreading since coming into the conference room.

“…Phoenixwill kill me.” She met his eyes. “Won’t it?”

“There’snot much of a chance it’ll disapprove of you,” Sazh repliedquickly. She wondered who he was trying to convince. “Like I said,I did my research and you’re a part of the bloodline. I’ve heardthat’s all it really cares about. It’s not like the fal'cie reallygive a damn about human affairs, y'know?”

“Right.”She ignored the unsaid words – there was still that chance Phoenixwould cast her aside and everything would be for nothing.

Betterme than Serah.

Thatwas what it always came down to, the first thought her instinct wentto. Serah was the one who deserved a comfortable life withresponsibilities chosen by her and not some rule or bloodline. It wasbecause of her sister that Lightning had worked her ass off when theywere still in the slums, doing everything she could to give Serahever opportunity possible.

Shenever thought there was the possibility it could lead to her death.

Butwhat about her role now? Though she hadn’t asked for any of this, shewas slowly finding herself eager to make changes around the kingdomof Eden and make things better for people who weren’t long-lostmembers of the royal family.

“You’veseen both sides. I think that’ll eventually come to be your biggeststrength.”

Eventhough she kept trying not to think about a certain personalbodyguard, his words from the ball popped into her head. She’d alwaystaken his reassurance to heart, but now it had a thousand times moremeaning.

Thoughshe would never deny that Serah had also suffered in the past,Lightning had always watched out for her and sacrificed somuch to ensure that her needs were met. Their experiences weredifferent because of that.

Nobodyhad ever looked out for Lightning until now.

Andbecause of that, she was the only one who could truly changethings.

Shewas quiet for another moment as though contemplating, but short ofrunning away, there was really only one answer. There had only everbeen one answer.

Lightningsucked in a breath and met Sazh’s eyes, trying to steel herself withdetermination.

“Whatdo I need to do before meeting with Phoenix?”

–

Aswith practically everything related to this princess business, thepre-ceremony rituals were completely over the top and ridiculous.Someday she’d realize that nobody around here ever did things simply.

Overthe next couple of days, she rehearsed the ancient words that wouldsummon Phoenix to an audience with her. A handful of older maids –ones that had been tasked with all of the ritual business with theold family – helped her with cleansing baths and created theceremonial outfit. They were all sworn to secrecy.

Shefigured that made sense. If she was killed by Phoenix, it’d beeasier in the long run to play it off as some kind of accident ratherthan the most important fal'cie in the world rejecting her.

Butshe tried not to think about that. Besides the maids – and Sazh, ofcourse – the only other person who knew about the upcoming ceremonywas Serah, and that was simply because there was no way shewas keeping this a secret from her sister.

Lightningdidn’t mention the risks, though. Some things were better kept quiet.

“Snowtalks to Pandaemonium sometimes,” Serah mused over the phone. Itwas the night before Lightning’s meeting with Phoenix and she decidedshe’d needed the distraction. “Maybe he could give you advice!”

“Idon’t want any advice from that big lug.” She rolled her eyes, notwanting to admit she was curious, but… “…Talks to it how?”

Serah’svoice was a little knowing, but she didn’t tease. “He told me it’snot so much words. It’s not like conversing with a person – thefal'cie send images and they get clearer the more you have a mutualunderstanding.” She hummed a little. “Maybe it’s easy for himbecause he was elected the Patron.”

“Ormaybe his head’s so empty that the images come easier because there’snothing in the way.”

“Sis.”Serah huffed in exasperation. “Be nice.”

“I’dbe nicer if you were less interested in him.”

“Buthe’s so sweet!”

“Hmph.”This was what she wanted to worry about – who was goodenough for her sister and ridiculous things like that…not if thefal'cie who basically sustained the world was going to kill her.

Shecouldn’t let herself think about it.

Luckily,Serah was eager to keep chatting – mostly about Snow, toLightning’s disgust – and her nerves settled somewhat. Her sisterwas the one person who could distract her from this whole princessthing.

Well,her and another person, but she didn’t want to think about him,either.

Thenight passed quickly and soon Lightning was too tired to even hold upthe phone. She fell asleep quickly without having time to dwell onthe ceremony the next day. Just as planned.

Ironically,the sun woke her gently the following morning, which was a nicechange from her alarm going off or someone knocking on her door. Infact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d woken up so calmly.

Ifonly it was enough to make up for what was about to happen.

Thecalm was unfortunately short-lived, because about thirty secondsafter she’d stood up and stretched, someone knocked at her door.

“YourHighness?”

Lightningsighed heavily, immediately recognizing the voice of the oldest ofthese in-the-know maids. “Come in.”

Therewere three of them and they filed in slowly, their hands clasped infront as they walked. She realized this was an incredibly serious andformal situation, but the realness of it smacked her in the face atthe sight of the maids looking so grave. That lead block that’dformed in her gut when Sazh initially told her about all of hisreturned in full force.

“Thisway.” One of the maids gestured to her ensuite bathroom, whereanother maid was already running the water. Lightning could see heradding special oils and herbs to the tub, apparently part of thewhole cleansing ritual.

Shewas already long used to shedding her modesty in front of otherpeople since this whole princess thing had become a part of her life,but she’d never hated it more than she had at this second. Undressingand slipping into the tub in front of the others just made this wholething feel weird and awkward and way more serious than she wanted itto be. It didn’t help that she knew arguing was useless; the oldestmaid had a glare that could probably take down Sazh – a trait she’dlove to learn, to be honest. Maybe she’d ask for lessons later.

Providedshe survived Phoenix’s judgment, of course.

Withthat thrilling thought in mind, Lightning allowed herself to be driedafter the bath and wrapped in a robe. She had to admit that whateverhad been added to the bath made her skin feel like new. There’d neverbeen any time or money to bother with girly lotions and potionsbefore Sazh had found them, but maybe there was some merit in it.

Onceshe was sufficiently dry, she was led into her enormous walk-inwardrobe, where the ceremonial gown was waiting for her. It wasactually quite a beautiful dress – a flowing garment in shades ofgold, white, and blue. There was a cape with a long train attached tothe back, maybe just to add to the ridiculousness. Phoenix’s brandwas embroidered along the edges in gold.

Themaids helped her into the gown and simple gold shoes. One of themclasped a gold bracelet with multicolored stones around her wrist.

“What’sthis?” Lightning asked, lifting her arm to inspect the bracelet. Anumber of jewels were kept in her wardrobe and a lot were in storage,but she was fairly sure she’d never seen this one before. It wasweirdly flashy and simple at once.

“Agift from Phoenix, Your Highness,” the youngest of the maidsanswered (although 'young’ in this case was about eighty years old).“It’s said that that fal'cie itself put it on the wrist of thefirst king. Ever since then, it’s been a tradition to wear it to theMeeting.”

Lightningsuddenly lost all interest in the bracelet and dropped her arm. “Oh.”

Thefinal part of her outfit was a headpiece that fit snugly in her hair.Long lines of gold extended from the band in varying lengths, thelongest about a foot. It formed a semicircle around her head – madeto resemble rays of the sun, she realized as she looked in a mirror.

“Whenyou’re ready, we’ll escort you,” the oldest maid said after apause.

“…Right.”Lightning let out a breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ifany of them found her comment weird, they made no mention. Instead,they simply ushered her out of her suite. The hallway – whichusually had people milling about cleaning and whatnot – was emptyexcept for them. Two of the maids stood on either side and one was infront to lead the way.

Theywalked like that the whole time in silence, the only sound being thewhoosh of her cape flowing over the floor. Usually Lightning reveledin quiet, but this silence felt way too heavy. It carried foreboding.

Doom.

Still,all she did was recite her summoning words in her mind, hoping shewouldn’t forget them. She’d never been one to crack under pressure,but this was a whole different level.

Itseemed like they’d walked for miles before they finally stopped infront of an enormous door. Lightning realized she’d actually passedthis area a handful of times, but the door was nondescript and tuckedaway, so she’d never given thought to what could be behind it.

Themaid in front slowly pulled the door open. Sunlight poured in and shetried not to squint at the glare.

“Wecan go no further,” the maid said. “Please head forward for yourceremony.”

“Thanks.”

Theyall curtsied in unison as she stepped into the light, not risinguntil the door slowly creaked shut behind her. Forget the lead in hergut; her stomach was doing cartwheels by now.

“Thatyou?”

Lightningnever thought she’d be so damn grateful to hear Sazh’s voice. She letout a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding and hurried over –as much as she could in this outfit, anyway – and even though hestill looked grave and serious, it was still a relief to be aroundsomeone normal.

Well,normal to her, anyway.

“Ididn’t think you’d be here,” she said, trying to sound composed. “Ithought it might be against the rules or whatever.”

Despitethe serious expression on his face, Sazh smirked a little. “Whathave I been tellin’ you? There’s no getting rid of me. Besides, youhave any idea what you’re doing right now?”

Lightninglooked around the room for the first time. It was weirdly bright andwhite, though she could vaguely make out ornate designs on the wallsin gold. Ahead of her was more brightness and – was that fog?

Yeah,she was totally lost.

“Thoughtso,” was all Sazh replied at the look on her face. “All right,lemme lead you through it. Ask your questions or forever hold yourpeace.”

“Justtell me how to get to Phoenix,” she replied. “I want to get thisover with.”

“Fairenough.” He shook his head in exasperation and then gestured to theweirdly bright, foggy area in front of them. “Head forward untilyou see a crystal. It’ll be floating in midair, so try not to freak.”

“I’veseen freakier things.”

“Yeah,yeah.” He rolled his eyes, which was oddly comforting. “Once youget to the crystal, hold cup your hands around it.” Sazh held uphis own hands to demonstrate. “Then recite the summons you’veundoubtedly memorized. That should take you right to Phoenix.”

Lightningheld up her hands in the same way Sazh had. “Crystal, hands,recite. I think I’ve got it.”

“Youdo.” He stared at her a moment and then sighed, bowing his head abit before nodding. “You really do. You’ve got this.”

Ifthat was his way of saying he was sure she’d survive…the confidenceactually worked somewhat. Much to her annoyance, Sazh really did knowa lot and she trusted him. It was not guarantee, but at leastit was something.

“Right,”she murmured, squaring her shoulders. “I’ll be back.”

“We’llbe waiting.”

Asshe headed into the fog, Lightning could’ve sworn she heard somefootsteps echoing behind her, but she did not dare to look over hershoulder. Eyes front. If she lost her nerve now, she’d never be ableto do this again.

Timelost all meaning as she walked through the light and fog. There wasno comfort in it, but oddly enough, she had no fear, either. MaybeSazh’s confidence in her had actually worked. Maybe it was becauseshe had to survive for Serah.

Maybeit was because, according to a certain personal bodyguard, she couldbring about real change.

Shehad no idea how long she’d walked before the crystal appeared infront of her. It was shaped a bit like a diamond and reflectedrainbows into the whiteness around her. Just as she was supposed to,she hovered her hands around it and closed her eyes, bowing her headas she spoke.

“OMighty fal'cie Phoenix, I seek you so that I may govern in yourblessed name. Guide me to your knowing light so that I may humblygaze upon you.”

Shefelt stupid chanting the words, especially since she wasn’t quitesure how much she believed in them. Apparently belief didn’t matter,though, because the crystal suddenly blinded her – even though hereyes were still closed – and she had the sensation of movement. Itfelt like falling, but she was still upright. Lightning didn’t dareopen her eyes in case it broke some kind of spell. Sazh hadn’tmentioned any of this! She was definitely going to rant at himwhen she got back.

Ifshe got back.

Whenthings finally stilled, Lightning took a moment to breathe, her eyesstill closed. It was extremely unusual for her to just stand aroundand put herself in any sort of vulnerable position, but what wasn’tunusual about all of this?Surely a breather wasn’t out of line.

Therewas about ten second of silence before an unfamiliar rumbling noiseand a flash of head made her finally open her eyes. She could notcontain the gasp that ripped through her at what was before her.

“Phoenix.”

Thefal'cie was long and skinny on both ends, with smaller pieces of itsbody – was that a body? - extending from it. Whether theseparts were something otherworldly, nature, machine – she had noidea. In the middle it was round, filled with a light so bright thatshe couldn’t stare for long.

Itwas nothing like she had ever seen or imagined.

Ofcourse she had seen fal'cie before. Most everyone had. There weresmaller ones that worked in separate jurisdictions in Eden, doingvarious tasks like providing electricity or things for export. Notall of them in other kingdoms made themselves hidden, either. Theywere just a part of the landscape and a part of life thatnobody really took notice of them.

Nowshe understood why Phoenix was hidden away.

Itwas impossible not to take notice.

Lightningstepped forward unconsciously, not sure if she wanted to run towardsit or away. She felt dazed, which was not a sensation she wasa fan of, but what else could she do?

Therewas noise coming from the fal'cie, but she wasn’t sure if it wastrying to speak or if that was just how it sounded naturally. Surelysomething so massive and powerful couldn’t be completely silent.

Thesounds were like screams and whispers all at once, having thestrength to ruffle her gown and cape, but somehow not loud enough tohear. Something about it made her want to take a sword to the massivebeing in front of her, but who was she to deny the world of this?

Andthen it happened.

Phoenixcried out and a beam of light shot right towards her, too quickly toavoid. It scorched her chest, painful yet not. She could feel theswirls and intricacies of Phoenix’s brand, letting it become a partof her and she now was of it.

Blurry,hurried images flooded into her mind. Lightning vaguely recalledSerah mentioning Snow’s experience with his fal'cie, that the imagesbecame clearer with mutual understanding.

Butshe and Phoenix had no understanding. She still couldn’t tellwhether she hated it or wanted to give thanks. There was anunderlying buzz of Phoenix not knowing what to make of her, either –just that she was of the bloodline and she could ruleunscathed.

Theimages she saw were most of people she only vaguely recognized fromthe portraits in the palace – memories of her extremely distantancestors. Some were of the stars and moon, extensions of the fal'ciefrom even farther away than this. One image would come, only to beimmediately replaced by another, and she could make no real sense ofthem.

Untilthat moment.

“Hope?!”

Everythingwas still so fast, but now Lightning willed her mind to slow,anything so that she could sort out why Phoenix was showingher images of her personal bodyguard.

Shesaw Hope, handsome as ever, talking to a group of people in a glassbuilding that gleamed with perfection.

Anotherof him in a white and yellow outfit that seemed strangely familiar –but it wasn’t the garb he wore as her bodyguard.

Himtalking to a shorter woman who, again, seemed oddly familiar.

Hiseyes sliding to look at Phoenix.

Hishands working on something that could have been otherworldly, nature,or machine.

Hisgaze on her for a thousand different reasons, most worthy of asecret.

Hisshame as he ran off from her at ball.

Inthat instant, something clicked in Lightning’s mind, though her heartwas pounding and her breath was coming too fast to really sort itout. The images abruptly stopped and the brand on her chest cooled.

“Howdo you expect me to - ”

Shedidn’t get to finish her sentence before there was that sensation offalling again. Phoenix had dismissed her?! She’d survived itsjudgment, but for what?

Therewas no making sense of it. Time had no meaning.

Whenshe stopped falling, Lightning opened her eyes in a daze and emergedfrom the light, a bit surprised to see Sazh, but also -

“Hope,”she whispered, her heart pounding again. It was too much for her bodyand mind. Her knees shook and she pitched forward.

Butlike any good personal bodyguard, Hope raced to her, his eyes widewith panic as he caught her. She settled into his arms so easily –too easily.

“Light,”he said, her name hardly a gasp. His eyes darted to Phoenix’s brand,which was on the left side of her chest, impossible to miss againsther pale skin. “Light, why? Whydid you do it?”

She stared up at him, a thousandimages replaying in her mind in an instant. How could she possiblyput them together in a way that made sense?

But maybe shealready had.

Her hand reached up to shakily brushsome of his bangs from his worried face. Worried for who, shewondered?

“You’re not a bodyguard,” shemurmured.

Theneverything went black.

55 notes · View notes

ts-unsolved · 5 years

Text

The night we met

((i got carried away imagining this scenario, so here’s the conversation that lead to dee joining aboard the Investigation Station))

Summary: On principle, Dee tries to not let his major life choices be ruled by what happens over highly-priced drinks in crummy bars, but flying too close to the sun that was his old college rival had never been part of the equation before.

Aka: Roman tries one last time to convince Dee to hunt ghosts with him, and he finally says yes. (Aka^2: can you believe Dee has been pining for two whole years? lmao get it together boi).

Content Warnings: Drinking, mentions of smoking, allusions to drug-dealing and generally shady/unsafe atmospheres, mild swearing, references to fights/stabbing/being killed, food descriptions/eating.

Word count: 2.4k – I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met –

[February, 2015. Los Angeles, CA.]

With a languid roll of his wrist, Dee swirled the peach-colored liquid around his glass for what felt like the hundredth time since he had sat down at the round rickety table. Blame it on his keen intuition for arduous conversations, but he had not managed to settle his nerves since he and his companion had entered the dim and dusty bar, and something about the location they had found themselves in was only lending itself to his growing headache.

It wasn’t a secret that Roman’s family was loaded; Dee knew this for a fact, and yet out of all of the establishments in the city they could have gone to, the man had chosen such a lowkey place for them to meet. Perhaps in his mind the discrete look of the place was appropriate for a supposedly momentous conversation, although whatever grand idea Roman had of a ‘private business discussion’ definitely didn’t match the reality of what was going on in the shady establishment, all of which spoke of illegal activities with the subtlety of a glowing neon sign. From what he had already managed to discern from a quick glance, there were hands dealing under the tables, side-glances from couples locked in suspiciously hushed exchanges, not to mention the laundering scheme this place seemed to operate as a front for, barely even camouflaged under the displeasingly unkempt storefront with furniture that looked like it dated back to the 60′s and the pervasive smell of cigarette smoke to match.

Dee suppressed a grimace as he forced his attention away from surveying the landscape of the bar and back to the man sitting opposite him. By all means, this was the exact kind of place he would choose to hang out in if he were to catch up with some of his old high school friends, and yet being here with Roman Kingsley of all people somehow made him want to reevaluate the decisions that lead him to being in this clearly cursed timeline, because there had to have been a horribly wrong turn made somewhere.

As if sensing himself being at the center of Dee’s thoughts, Roman looked up from where he had been prodding at his unusually soggy plate of nachos (“…I was hungry, though I’m not so sure I am anymore.”), and shot Dee an unguarded twist of a smile. It was the kind of expression Roman clearly wasn’t used to wearing; which was to say that it was less of his usual brand of over-compensated arrogance and more hopeful uncertainty. Dee stared blankly back, being struck with a realization as he took in the figure that was bathed under the terrible lighting of the bar:

‘Ah. One way or another, this guy is going to be the death of me.’

Surprisingly, the thought didn’t perturb him as much as it should have. Sure, being mugged and/or stabbed in the alley out back because he had willingly accompanied this walking hotspot of disaster to one of the more dangerous parts of the city wasn’t exactly ideal, but in all honestly it didn’t feel like it would be much of a surprise for him to meet his end in such a dumb and grisly way. Of course, with his baby snake waiting for him back home he was hardly looking for trouble, and especially not at the expense of somebody he didn’t even send Christmas cards to. Even so, his gut told him that dead or alive, he wouldn’t be walking out of this bar without a semblance of trouble following him; a prospect he wasn’t sure if he found exhilarating or exhausting.

And so there the situation currently was, in an uneasy limbo. With a sigh, he pushed his nagging thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment and took a sip of his drink, finding brief refuge in the sugary film that coated his mouth and the back of his throat.

Roman tracked the glass with his eyes as it was set against the table and quirked his lips in that infuriatingly smug expression only the two of them could truly pull off. “I didn’t take you for a mocktail kind of guy. Lost your edge over the years?”

Dee simply raised an eyebrow in response. It wasn’t a surprise that Roman remembered his delinquent past, what was a surprise was how this was apparently not a determining factor in eliminating Dee as a potential co-worker given the goody-two-shoes friends the other loved to hang around. “What can I say? In my wise age, I’ve learned to value substance over a cheap high. I’d have assumed you’d have shared that viewpoint given our similar tastes for the unconventional, and yet...” He gestured to the very stereotypically masculine pint that sat in front of Roman, not untouched and yet not being attended to either. Roman scowled in response, more at the menu than at him.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but despite what you think, I don’t actually have the money to drop on overcharged garbage like some kind of idiot. I mean, look: the Merlot is $50 here, Dee. $50. For Merlot. That is borderline criminal!”

For a moment, the air in the bar stilled. Dee soon realized that Roman’s voice had gotten a tad too loud and wow he really did not want to get beaten up because this pipsqueak couldn’t figure out what the exchange of dirty money looked like even when it was staring him in the face. Time to move the subject along to something less contentious, because he really did not like the way the dead-eyed look the bartender was giving them.

“Please, you only have yourself to blame for your poor judgement calls. We’re not here to have a lovely evening out though, are we? Let’s just cut to the chase already.”

Roman simmered down with a click of his tongue, pausing to pick up a tortilla chip and eat it, only to look disappointed by the lack of crunch. Nevertheless, as asked, he dropped all pretenses of small talk.

“You read my text, then? Have you thought your decision though any more?”

There it was, the million dollar question. While he had been acting nonchalant about the matter ever since Roman had first approached him with his offer, the truth was that he had been weighing the pros and cons of this decision for days now, to no end. Remus, that absolute bastard that he was, was probably having a real laugh at his expense right now, knowing fully well the position he had put his old pal in by pointing Roman's attention his way. Perhaps a little payback on Remus’ end was warranted for their less-than-stellar parting conversation, although Dee couldn’t help his ire at his friend (ex-friend? frenemy?) for setting him up for this infuriating no-win scenario. Years ago he, young and foolish, had hoped that Roman would have dropped his inane obsession with the paranormal by college graduation, but given his current predicament it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of Remus’ brother. Time to test the waters of that commitment, he supposed.

“About the wacky little ghost show you’ve been raving about since the dawn of time? Can’t say you’ve really sold me on it. I am a rather busy guy, you know; I can’t just drop everything for a show pitch I’m not even convinced on.”

This was a slight twist of the truth. He had been between jobs for months, a lack of inspiration and not being able to stand his bosses and coworkers being the reason he just can’t seem to stick to one place. He had long-since given up on his dream of going into show business, so for a long time he had settled on just doing what he could to maintain a living. It wasn’t a fulfilling way to live, but he was surviving, and that was all that mattered.

Nevertheless, Roman was not thrown by the negative response and instead puffed out his chest in a show of indignation. Clearly he would not be taking no for an answer without a fair fight, which likely spelled bad news for how this evening was going to go. “It’s not ‘wacky’, it’s a serious show for serious investigations! I’m really trying to prove the existence of ghosts here.”

“Right…” Dee squinted his eyes skeptically. “And you are aware that I don’t believe in ghosts, yes?”

“Obviously. Did you think I missed the three years of you being a dick about it?”

Ah, memories. Dee didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Roman’s grumbling. “My my, you’re still holding a grudge about that? Here I thought my depiction of Hamlet’s father was enough to wipe the slate clean. Didn’t it please you to see your greatest enemy play one of the spooky creatures you like so much?”

Rather delightfully, frustration gave way and the corners Roman’s eyes crinkled with the beginnings of mirth before he quickly hid the expression away by shoving another chip into his mouth. It was the kind of reaction Dee was still growing used to seeing from their back-and-forths, not quite being sure when their exchanges of teasing remarks had crossed the line into something more friendly. That said, it was certainly not an unpleasant development; in some senses, it felt rather rewarding to catch a glimpse of something less refined behind a curtain of perfectionism, much like seeing the behind-the-scenes of a broadway production.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, you really did give an excellent performance. I can still remember act one scene five like it was yesterday. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death’!” Roman dramatically reenacted the performance, hand pressed to his heart, and Dee preened under the praise.

“Why thank you. The dull lead was quite a letdown, though we certainly outdid ourselves in spite of the poor casting, didn’t we? Still, I can’t say that flattery will convince me to hunt ghosts with you or... whatever it is you were hoping for. The point still stands that it’s not exactly the sort of thing I’ve ever pictured putting on my resume.”

Roman’s smile faltered and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Without the comfort of dancing around their thoughts with friendly banter, things got uncomfortably serious a tad too quickly, it seemed.

“I get that it’s... not ideal to you, considering how you always had high aspirations for your career, and a webshow is probably too low on the radar for your pompous-self. Heh... To be honest, I’m not sure why Remus thought you’d be a good candidate for the job,” Wow, rude. “But he did, and I’m kind of out of options here.”

Roman paused, the buzz of bar filling the silence between them as he clearly struggled to speak what was on his mind.

“Actually, the more I think about it, I can’t come up with anyone else I’d like to join more than you. You’d be a great host! You’re good at talking to crowds when you want to, you know how to improv, you’re one of the funniest people from our class, and as much as I hate to admit it, I always enjoyed acting with you on stage-”

At some point during Roman’s rant, Dee’s brain short-circuited with the words, and even as he tried to process they just kept on coming, to his absolute befuddlement.

“-And I guess I feel like you’d co- ...Hey, phantom of the opera, are you even listening to me?! I’m pretty much singing your praises here, which let me tell you, is rare for me, and you’re staring off into space! If you’re that disinterested, you should just say so.”

“Sorry. I was paying attention, I just...”

Dee scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to work through what Roman had said. Maybe it shouldn’t be such a shock to hear the compliments coming from someone he regarded as being an equal in terms of talent, yet part of him still screamed at him that it was only empty flattery to sway his decision. Sure enough, while it may be true that his cynicism had never failed him in the past, he still yearned to ignore the knee-jerk judgment and choose the better option, the one which meant that he was considered the first choice for something and his presence was wanted. Unbelievably, even to himself, he found himself tempted, if only by the warmth that came from such a thought. Perhaps if he was without the greater knowledge that he had, he would have jumped at the opportunity in a heartbeat, however the fact still remained that he was tired and worn from years of strife. At this point in his life, self-preservation was the only thing keeping him going, and so the idea of leaving the peaceful bubble he had built up itched like nothing else. But then, his thoughts drifted back to what could happen, of letting down Remus who had obviously entrusted him in this, despite everything they had gone through.

He truly must be growing soft, if he was willingly jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

(And was that so bad, to try to feel some warmth again?)

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes to Roman’s concerned face.

“...Alright. Perhaps flattery does get you some places. With such a compelling argument, how could I possibly say no?” He drawled, as nonchalantly as he could possibly muster.

Already flustered by his decision to agree so readily, he picked up his overly-sugary drink as a means to avoid eye-contact, though when seconds passed with no audible response, his focus still ended up being drawn to the other man for his reaction. Roman’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates and simultaneously filled with joy; despite the muddy brown of the lighting that had washed out his features into a pool of shadows, they looked as if they were sparkling.

Dee felt the wind knocked out of him at having that expression pointed towards him. It seemed like it had been so long since somebody had been brought that much happiness because of something he did. This...wasn’t a terrible feeling, he decided in that moment.

“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it? You really want to join?!” Roman just about yelled, drawing back the eyes of a few of the other patrons. Dee chuckled nervously, wondering how he could get them out of the building as swiftly as possible without causing further ruckus. If they would be working together, the last thing they needed was to get into a fist-fight, after all.

“I do. Please don’t make me regret my decision.”

In return, he was given a beaming smile, one that equally eased his uncertainties and spoke of future trouble.

“You won’t, I promise.”

#answered #Chapter 1: Settling #written responses #janus sanders #roman sanders #roceit #((or at least you have dee being Soft and Gay))#((can you tell i haven't written in many moons? ghjdhfjs))

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fizzyxcustard · 5 years

Text

The Strike of Midnight.

Fandom: Real Person Fiction (Richard Armitage)

Part 1

Summary: This is an amalgamation of an imagine and Christmas special idea rolled into one. My original imagine was “Imagine Richard admitting he loves you but you are adamant he’s joking and he winds up blowing up at you through your stubbornness and accusing him of being a liar.” This was then requested by an anonymous reader for it to be turned into fic. You’ve accused Richard of lying and he has stormed out of your flat. It is now New Year’s Eve and can you finally believe Richard’s words?

Pairings: Richard Armitage x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, fluff

Word count: 1650

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be added to my tag lists for a particular fandom, character, or even everything, please send me an ask or a private message and I will add you. HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE! ;) My apologies for this not coming out to you on New Year’s Eve when it was meant to. I wasn’t very well, so I’m posting it today on 1st January 2020.

Music listened to while writing this piece: My personal Two Steps From Hell iTunes playlist.

Masterlist of fan fiction here

After Richard had stormed out of your flat, you had been both angry and sad. Angry at the fact that part of you always echoed the same words, ‘no one will ever like you.’ Sad at the fact that you had obviously offended him. Lashing out had always been your defence mechanism against your high wall of insecurity and self doubt. By pushing others away first, you did not have to experience crippling rejection. Instead, you were in control, and making sure no one could hurt you. It had only been a matter of time before you decided to push Richard away, even if he had not admitted any kind of romantic feelings, it would have probably happened further down the line of your close friendship.

At your parents’ house where you ate Christmas dinner and opened gifts, you faked every smile that came to your face. None of it lifted your spirits; the cheesy Christmas songs you normally loved couldn’t even raise a smile. On the night of Christmas Day, your mum sat you down at the kitchen table where you could both speak privately. Your dad was asleep in the living room, having drifted off whilst watching the holiday classic of Die Hard.

“There’s something wrong,” your mum said softly. “You haven’t been right all day, sweetheart.”

The floodgates opened and you broke down in front of your mother, your breath hitching and your shoulders shaking. Between sobs you tried as best you could to explain everything to your mum about the previous encounter with Richard.

As she always did, and most mothers would, she reassured you were a wonderful person and deserved love in your life. Richard at least needed to have a chance to prove himself.

For the next week you barely slept, tossing and turning in bed. In the darkest hours of the night you would check your phone constantly, hoping that Richard had text you. Nothing. Was this to be the last you would ever hear from him? Having been his friend for a while now, you understood what made Richard tick and how to handle times when he was angry. It was best to leave him to simmer down. But how long could you remain silent? Perhaps he was waiting for you to message him.

Not far from your flat, Richard slept in a hotel room. He had spent Christmas with his family, then decided to take time alone before heading off for his normal skiing holiday abroad for the New Year. Everything had become a frustration. Cutting himself whilst shaving had resulted in a smashed glass and torn shower curtain. The television remote batteries had died, making Richard throw the remote across the room. And to make everything so much worse, you hadn’t even contacted him since your last meeting, followed by an abrupt departure for him. He still had your Christmas gift, boxed and sitting in a silver bag.

He needed a drink, and something stronger than the usual wine he drank. Richard had begun to feel cooped up inside the hotel room and decided to go and sit in the bar, and maybe get some food while down there.

The bar was relatively quiet, with only one or two people dotted around the room. He looked upon a middle aged couple eating a meal with a bottle of wine between them. Across from them was a heavily tattooed man drinking a pint of lager, and then further towards the back of the room was an older gentleman, in a flat cap, reading the newspaper.

A short while later, Richard sat in the corner with a pint of lager and skimmed through the menu, but his appetite had deserted him. Not even a piece of chocolate cake with ice cream could tempt him. Flavour seemed to have gone from all food.

A light caught Richard’s eye, and as he looked down, he saw that his phone had lit up with a text alert. It was from you. Finally!He read the message, half smiling as both elation and a trickle of dread settled in his stomach.

Can we talk?

Richard dialled out to you, listening to only one ring before you answered.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” you said softly.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad to hear from you. I’ve missed you,” Richard said, unable to stop himself speaking the absolute truth about his feelings. “If you don’t feel the same way, you know…I understand…” he began, swallowing over a lump in his throat. “But please…”

“I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Are you free tomorrow? I know it’s New Year’s Eve and you might…”

“Yeah, I am,” Richard replied, his eagerness coming through in his tone. “What time shall I come?”

“Whenever you want. I’m free all day,” you said.

“How about eleven? It gives us both time to have breakfast and for me to get over to you.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Bye…” you trailed off, as if waiting.

“Bye…I…”

“You, what?” you asked.

“Nothing, angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Richard terminated the call and closed his eyes, knowing he had come so close to letting his feelings slip out again. The sound of your voice made it so easy to get caught up in the callings of his heart, which wanted you more every day. Self-expression had become something that Richard found harder home now that he was getting older and had become more skilled in his acting abilities on stage and behind the camera. By pushing away his own personality for his job, and taking on the role of someone else, he had repressed himself which was now pushing back hard. His true self was trying to break free, and it was when he was with you that it could finally be free. You had never expected him to be anything less than himself.

It was ten at night and you were driving to the local supermarket which was, thankfully, a twenty-four-hour service. Quickly, you scoured the aisles, looking for wine, ice cream and plenty of sweet snacks. Everything that you knew Richard enjoyed. Two bottles of rather expensive red wine, cartons of chocolate Ben and Jerry’s, and lots of cake later, you paid for the items and dashed back to your car.

For a few seconds you sat in the car and smiled to yourself as the engine hummed. What had flipped in your head? Maybe it wasn’t the fact that you fully believed him, but you couldn’t have negativity hanging in the atmosphere between you. The truth was you loved him as well. Since falling for him many months ago, you often fantasised about all the wonderful things he would do to pleasure you, or the warm cuddles you would give each other on a cold winter’s morning. Your imagination was a never-ending world of fantasies that played out about you and Richard. Now you were staring those fantasies right in the face.

You gripped the steering wheel tight and told yourself you were going for it. If you missed this chance, then it would never arise again.

You got up early, beginning your preparations for Richard coming. The negative moods you had been consumed by the last week had meant that little housework had been done, so that morning was going to be catching up on everything you had put aside.

Despite the fact that you had so many jobs to complete, time seemed to have stood still. Every time you looked at the clock and the hands barely moved. You had been sure that vacuuming through all rooms had taken much longer than just fifteen minutes. It had felt more like an hour.

At eleven sharp, Richard stood outside your flat. He had contemplated going earlier, then maybe turning up a few minutes late to not make himself seem to eager. But instead, he had waited in the café just at the top of your street for forty-five minutes.

Your door knocked. And there he stood, looking as handsome as ever.

He looked down, smiling as you greeted him. Then you let him inside, exhaling hard and closing your eyes as his scent wafted past you.

“I never got chance to give if you before, but here’s your Christmas gift,” he said, offering you a silver gift bag.

“Oh, I have yours as well. Hang on,” you walked quickly into your bedroom, and got the package from your desk.

You both opened your presents at the same time. In the silver bag of yours was a blue box and as you opened the box you were presented with a beautiful golden necklace, and on it was an owl pendent with diamond eyes. Owls were your favourite animal.

Richard opened his neatly wrapped present to find a hardback copy of a book he had mentioned wanting. It was something he had wanted to read for quite some time but never got around to buying a copy.

Both of your gazes met and you said ‘thank you’ in the exact same moment. Then you leaned up and embraced Richard tight. “I’m sorry,” you whispered at his ear. And then you pulled away slightly so you could look him in the eyes. Tears were welling in his blue depths.

You kissed him, lightly at first, and then you both sank deeper into it. Your one hand laced in his short hair as the other still gripped your necklace box. His stubble tickled against your lips, making you smile beneath the kiss.

“What?” he asked, hearing your faint giggle. Then he pecked your lips quickly as you moved your head away.

“I think we should have waited until the strike of midnight for this, you know?” you said, grinning.

“There’s no way I was waiting that long,” Richard replied, and grabbed you playfully, kissing you again.

***

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#fanfic #part 2 #Richard armitage #Richard Armitage x reader #Richard Armitage x you #Richard Armitage x fem!reader #real person fiction #new year #new year fic

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joonsrack · 5 years

Text

+PAIRING: Min Yoongi x Jung Hoseok

+GENRE: Mafia au, light angst, little bit of fluff, Oneshot

+WORD COUNT: ~2.5k

+SUMMARY:

“The bag comes off his head abruptly, the harsh lights startling him. He's disoriented for a few seconds, and when he finally finds his bearings again, he opens his eyes to a room full of strangers.”

+RATING: pg13

+WARNINGS: SFW, cursing, mention of firearm, mention of kidnapping, temporary implied character death, this is not for recovering ex-smokers guys.

+A/N: Happy valentine’s day @yoongified 💖💖!! Nina, I’m so happy I got to be your secret admirer for Bouquet days project! I’m looking forward to getting to know you from now on, I have a feeling we’ll get along amazingly uwu 💖. I hope you enjoy this oneshot I wrote for you, I’ve always wanted to try my hand at Mafia aus, and you gave me the perfect opportunity to do just that!! Thank you to the amazing @kimlinebiased for betaing this on super short notice 🥰💖

From the start, something about this task rubbed him the wrong way.

Yoongi is far from dumb; in the current climate, he knows that being sent alone out of the Blood Hounds' territory is just asking for trouble. The tensions surrounding the unclaimed east of Seoul have been rapidly growing these last few weeks, the Young Guns being more and more bold with their intimidation techniques. So knowing all that, being sent alone on a task in the middle of the east territory is basically putting a target on his back and saying "kick me".

But Yoongi simply cannot bring himself to care; hasn't cared about anything in months. He goes through the motions, his body on autopilot, his steps dragging. He's never been the most enthusiastic person, but this is different.

He's numb. Living in a constant fog. Existing aimlessly.

He goes where he's sent, does what is asked of him, rinse and repeat. Everyday is the same, food has lost its taste and sleep has lost its calm.

Ever since he disappeared.

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. He can’t be thinking of radiant smiles, soft touches and mischievous laughter. The pain is still too fresh, stinging. He takes a deep breath before giving one last look to his surroundings and stepping out of the car.

The closer he gets to the abandoned building, the more he senses that something is wrong. By the time he realizes he’s not alone, there’s already a gun being cocked against the back of his head, the cold barrel pressing into his skull. Months ago, no one would have been able to sneak up on him. But the fog is ever present, blinding, deafening.

The bag comes off his head abruptly, the harsh lights startling him. He's disoriented for a few seconds, and when he finally finds his bearings again, he opens his eyes to a room full of strangers. None of the people present look familiar to him, meaning these people are not from the Young Guns.

By the look of it, he's in a basement. The air carries the unmistakable scent of humidity and staleness, the quality of it tickling Yoongi's nose and sticking in the back of his throat. He can feel someone standing behind him, probably the person that pulled the bag off his head.

They're five in his immediate vision, standing relaxed in different corners of the small room, all observing him silently. They look around his age, dressed for the everyday life of Seoul street world. They're not laughing, or taunting him, or doing any kind of effort to look intimidating. They're just looking at him, expression neutral and calculating.

He's got his hands tied to the armrest of a chair, same for his legs. Surprisingly enough, except for the bag over his head and some push and pull during the "kidnapping" portion, he's been treated well. Which is probably the most worrisome part about this.

Rival gangs don't treat each other nicely, they don't make sure that the ropes aren't too tight. Unless they have some really, really fucked up intentions.

He feels pressure on his shoulders, startling him a fraction. He's hoping the person behind him didn't notice, but the chances are thin, what with their hands resting there. His shoulders get a few squeezes, something akin to a massage that leaves him more tense than before despite the expert hands. He hears a chuckle, voice light, mischievous; familiar.

Yoongi can feel his heart skip a beat at what is most definitely an auditory illusion. His head is messing with him, the pressure finally making him crack. He swallows down a wave of emotions, things he hasn't felt in so long. Now is not the time. Now he needs to focus, to find a way out of there.

The man shifts, shoes crunching on the cement floor. He walks around Yoongi, until his bottom half comes into Yoongi's field of vision.

He's not scared, even though he probably should be. The chance that they'll try to extract info out of him are high, and he won’t give it up. None of the good treatment he got so far will matter once they realize he won't speak. Unless there’s a miracle, he’s doomed.

He looks up.

There's this moment of incomprehension, of utter confusion. A violent denial.

What he's seeing right now, It just doesn’t make sense.

"One day these streets will be ours."

The words echo in the complete silence of his mind.

Yoongi stares wordlessly at the man, all train of thoughts having come to an abrupt stop at the familiar features. But that's impossible. He looked all over Seoul for him, went through every scenario possible, searched every street, questioned everyone that could be questioned.

Hoseok looks down at him, his own expression unreadable.

He raises his hand to Yoongi's face, using his thumb to delicately swipe away a tear that escaped his eyes.

When did he start crying?

Then, there's a soft grin playing at his long lost friend's mouth.

He's alive.

“I looked all over Seoul for you,” is the first thing Yoongi says, breaking the heavy silence. His voice is small, but it’s startling, reverberating against the gray walls.

“I know you did.”

No one says anything again, Yoongi busy tracing all the details of Hoseok's face, committing them to his memory just in case this is a dream. He’s trying to make sense of this, of the vision in front of him.

“Leave us.” Hoseok says, and the people standing in the back disappear in the blink of an eye, the sound of their steps following after them.

Yoongi waits until he can hear the door closing behind the last person before speaking up again.

“Did you betray the Blood Hounds?” He asks, voice devoid of anything. He has a feeling that even if Hoseok did, Yoongi wouldn’t mind.

Hoseok looks bitter for a fraction of second, before schooling his expression back into one of serenity. “They’re the one that betrayed me. Us.”

Yoongi frowns, more confused than ever before.

“The boss sent you to die today, offered a few grand to whichever gang was willing to take you out. Just like he did with me.”

“...He what? That doesn’t make any sense… Why would he? We’ve been working under him for years.”

One of Hoseok’s eyebrows arch, finding amusement in Yoongi’s confusion.

“I guess he sensed I wasn’t planning on staying an underling forever. You and me, we were gaining the member’s respect and loyalty. He didn’t like that.”

Yoongi can understand the words but none of it makes sense.

“So he…”

“He tricked me into going alone on a task. Told me it was the utmost importance that I deal with this without anyone knowing, that he thought we had a mole amongst the Blood Hounds ranks. I believed him. I didn’t have any reason not to.”

Yoongi has been told the exact same words just yesterday, the boss looking him straight in the eyes as he was apparently sending him off to his death.

“But I made it out, dumb luck really. The idiot that checked my pulse didn’t know where to put his fingers, couldn’t feel my pulse so he declared me dead. I really thought I would die then, as they left me to bleed to death in an abandoned building. But The Kids found me.”

“The Kids?”

“It’s what they used to call themselves. The one that helped me bring you here today.”

The one that was standing in the back, Yoongi thinks. They’re the ones that saved Hoseok.

“What...what about today? How...” He asks hesitantly, slowly understanding the full picture.

“He tried to do the same thing, sent out an offer; a few grand to take you out. I thought with me gone you would be safe, until I was ready to come and get you at least. But then we got wind of the offer. We took the job, told him we had some personal matters to settle with you and he bought it. And here we are.”

Here they are.

Yoongi should probably feel something about all of this. About his boss’ betrayal. He’s been working for the man for most of his adult life and part of his teen one. But if he could put a price on Hoseok’s and Yoongi’s life after everything, for mere paranoia, then he’s not worth Yoongi losing sweat over him.

All he can think about right now, is the man standing in front of him. Safe and sound, breathing, living. Not a dream.

Yoongi forgets himself for a second, trying to reach for his friend, but the restraints keep him in place.

“Untie me.” He asks, voice desperate. Desperate to touch, to feel, to make sure this is real.

“Will you behave?” Hoseok asks, hint of mirth in his eyes.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

“I can’t promise anything.”

“Noted.”

Hoseok seems to think it’s funny, but Yoongi is being honest. After months of nothing, of numbness, there’s a strum of energy coursing through him. He wants to do so many things at once; there’s a violent need to lash out, to scream his lungs out, to let Hoseok know how his absence messed him up. There’s a violence that’s been simmering for the last few months, waiting to explode, hidden in the ugliest part of Yoongi’s mind.

But theres also the need to grab his face and kiss him stupid, to bury himself in Hoseok’s arms, to melt there and never separate. Losing him was like losing a part of himself, never to be found. But Hoseok is alive, and Yoongi can feel whole again.

They were never a thing, not officially.

They didn’t need to make it an official thing. Touches had been lingering since as long as Yoongi could remember. Their eyes always finding their way to each other, no matter how crowded the room or how dangerous the situation.

But this building climax had been interrupted by Hoseok’s disappearance, leaving Yoongi with enough questions, confusion and regrets to last a lifetime.

“Would a smoke help calm you down?”

Yoongi frowns down at his tied hands, then back up at Hoseok, making a silent point. Hoseok’s only answer is to smile down at him while reaching for his packet of cigarettes. He pulls one out and lights it up, maneuvering his Zippo with expert precision.

It’s the one Yoongi gave him all these years ago, the small rose engraving making it a one-of-a-kind. It had been a joke then, Hoseok telling him he was as beautiful and dangerous as a rose with thorns, in a moment of borderline cringey sentimentality. The next week Yoongi had thrown him a small box containing the present, before walking away like he hadn’t spent a small fortune on it. “I’ll always have you in my pocket” Hoseok had said, following in his wake, making Yoongi break out in a secret smile.

Hoseok snaps the lid closed, pocketing the lighter. He plops himself down in Yoongi's lap, twisting his body so they can be face to face. Every last functioning grey cells in his brain short circuit at the proximity, leaving Yoongi with his own version of a surprised expression; bare of any trace of emotion.

Face intimately close, Hoseok takes a drag, not breaking eye contact. The tip of the cigarette creates a soft hue on his face, the light reflecting in his eyes. He keeps the smoke in, thumbing at Yoongi’s pout and pressing his lips there, barely a touch.

He blows the smoke into Yoongi’s mouth, and Yoongi gets the message, letting the smoke mixed with Hoseok’s breath fill his lungs.

He keeps it in for a moment, eyes fluttering closed and enjoying the slightest graze of Hoseok’s lips on his own. When he feels like he can’t hold it in anymore, he lets the smoke escape his mouth, Hoseok barely moving away. It thins and disappears around them, giving this moment a sort of otherworldliness. There’s a buzzing sensation starting in his legs.

Hoseok repeats the same process, this time however he doesn't stop himself at only a soft touch. He initiates a kiss, first nothing more than a peck, then starting a slow pace until Yoongi whimpers; from then on it's not a matter of exchanging breath anymore.

The kiss turns passionate, their breath accelerating. There’s a hand pulling at the short hair of his nape, another pressing delicately into his jaw. The cigarette is probably lying forgotten on the cement floor, somewhere. Yoongi is holding on to the arm rest, cursing Hoseok for not untying him.

They exchange the smoke back and forth without coming up for air, until it's a perfect mix of the two of them. They kiss until they can't anymore, dizziness hitting Yoongi and making him light headed.

He breaks the kiss, panting, and Hoseok lays his forehead on Yoongi's.

"I’ll untie you now, but you need to behave. I trust you, but the others don’t know you yet. Ok?" He asks, barely over a whisper. Yoongi nods his head, bordering on desperate.

Hoseok jumps into action, reaching for a pocket knife and making quick work of Yoongi’s wrist and ankles. He only has a fraction of second to take a step back before Yoongi has him in a full body embrace.

They don't topple over, but it's a close call.

He's holding on for dear life to Hoseok's torso, face tucked into his neck, breathing in his new yet familiar scent. He’s biting back on the sobs that want to escape him, everything finally hitting him. This is all real. Hoseok is alive, he’s here. He’s in his arms. They’re together.

Hoseok shushes him, arms anchoring Yoongi to him.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I promised you these streets would be ours, I’m not backing down on that promise.” He mutters into Yoongi’s hair, and Yoongi finds himself thrown back into his memories.

Two forgotten boys sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, night view of the city spreading at their feet, hands anchored together. The plans they had, the dream they shared, the words Hoseok muttered then. The warmth they set off, that coursed through his not yet grown body, warding off the unforgiving fall wind.

“These streets will be ours one day.” Hoseok had whispered into the night.

“What do you mean?”

He had turned to face Yoongi then, eyes full of resolve. “I’ll give them to you.”

Looking into Hoseok’s eyes, Yoongi knows he still means everything he said back then. He knows Hoseok will stop at nothing to hold onto that promise. And Yoongi will do anything to hold onto Hoseok. That’s just the way they are.

#magicshopnet #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #armysource #btswriterscollective #bangtanscenery #bangtanhq #msnbqd2020

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captainderyn · 5 years

Text

5 Writer Questions

Thank you for the tag @elveny <3 I’ve been particularly bad about fandom participation lately with all that’s going on, but I want to get back into it~

I’ll leave the tag open on this one!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

Obviously I love writing my own characters--that’s a given. I think out of my fandom characters Wulfwryn or Raenor are my favorites to write, something about the two of them either separate or alone just hits different.

Original character wise, The Queen is probably my favorite, just because she’s so damn regal while still having a bit of wit about her.

And canon character wise I am such a sucker for writing Alistair. Let me write my soft, humorous boy any day please.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I love writing angsty tropes lol, more specifically highly emotionally charged moments that end up working out. There’s just something about writing angst that I just live for.

I also love writing really soft romances. On the entire flipside.

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

“Set the basket down if you’d like.” her queen’s voice broke through her skittering thoughts. Her voice was like a melody, a siren’s song to lay her duties and all the lessons of her teachers’ aside. “The water feels divine.”

“I–” Sparrow’s breath hitched, her thoughts scattering entirely as her Queen brushed long strands of hair from her neck, working at the encircling clasp of her dress. The fabric fell, catching around her waist. Ancients around, grant her strength. “My queen?”

With careful fingers the breeze stirred across the water, lifting the gauzy veil just enough so that Sparrow saw the corner of a forbidden smile. The Queen turned to look at her, hair shifting over her shoulders in a shining curtain. “I’m not going to ruin my dress for a swim.”

Her queen had always been so bold, so unabashed. Sparrow knew that she should look away as her queen shimmied the fabric from her waist, letting it pool in shimmering pale blues and purples. The cuffs shaped like soft petals slid from her arms and wrists.

This description of the Queen is one of my favorites, as well as the scene setting that comes just before it tbqh.

All around the forest hummed with life. Though night had fallen, turning the shadows to inky black and the sky a dark blue with the bright pinpricks of stars, the forest had not died with the setting sun.

Water whispered across stone, singing a sweet song. Above, branches hung with moss tangled together and draped low across the pond. Fireflies flickered over the water.

The water was beautiful, running crystalline and blue enough to see the depths beneath like it was under glass. Moonlight created a silver path like a stripe across the simmering surface.

No matter how beautiful the water was, Sparrow’s eyes couldn’t help but stray to her queen, who walked in front of her to the water’s edge. Her bare toes touched the water, sending ripples skirting across the surface. It dampened the hem of her gown, darkening the sheer fabric.

The Moon, cruel was She in her meddling, left little to the imagination as Her light drifted down to snake around her queen’s silhouette. Sparrow could feel heat creeping up her face, burning like stoked flame when her queen turned to look at her.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

“No, you won’t.” Her voice dripped with misery and truly, what did she believe that made her sound that way? She was shaking her head at him when he found himself unable to keep from looking back, her brows drawn tight together, expression bitter. “You won’t come back from her. I know you won’t, the grief will take you, easy as any sword.”

“Enough,” Emotion was starting to build in him, he could feel the pressure behind his eyes. “Please, you have to trust me.”

But she was merciless, unrelenting as the ocean waves on stone. “You’ve already almost lost her once! What keeps it from happening again? From truly happening? What will you do then? Hm? Look at me and tell me you’ll come back.”

“I came back!” he snapped. He hadn’t wanted to, but he did. He had ridden back down the banks of the Ford, crossed into the protection of Rivendell at Wulfwryn’s insistence.

“Fine,” Nárissë snapped in return, “What about when she grows old while you don’t?”

“Stop.” A warning note took up in his voice. He’d already thought about this, he’d already lived through enough contingencies in the shelter of his own mind.

“When she starts to wither away and you can do nothing but watch?”

“Nárissë enough.”

Nárissë refused to give, her voice almost pleading with him now to understand something. “When old age takes her mind first, erasing you, and then finally her body? When you’re left alone here?”

“Enough!” his shout rang loud enough to spook the horse next to him and he forced his voice to soften, though there was still a growling edge until finally it tripped and shattered on his last word. “I’ve heard enough.”

This scene from chapter 28 of Moments In Time...I’m very attached to this particular set of dialogue lol.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

This fricken sex scene between Wulf and Raenor of all things xD It revolves entirely around how they first met and the initial spark felt between them and I’d really like to share it. If I could just stop getting so embarrassed while writing it lmao.

#captainderyn memes #writers questions

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quinnyisms · 5 years

Text

Who? - Quinn Fabray & Sam Evans @evansam

When? - Regionals

Where? - Outside of The Finn Hudson Auditorium

What? - Sam starts freaking out about regionals and little ole Quinny attempts to give him advice.

Word Count? - 2,116 words

SAM: Today was the big day, the day sam had been dreading for weeks now. though the blonde was excited, for the kids and himself, to begin their competition season and compete in regionals, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of nervousness take over. this was the one year that sam truly believed they could easily make it to the end, and possibly even win. but after so many times of sam himself getting his hopes up with his own time in glee, he didn’t want to make that mistake again only for him to be crushed doubly, once for his own and again for the excitement he had built up for the kids he believed in so much. these racing thoughts were what had sam spacing out many times that day in the dressing room, giving the best pep talk he could without stuttering, leaving them to get ready as soon as he could.

rushing out of the backroom, sam wasn’t necessarily looking where he was going until he found himself in the lobby outside of the auditorium. the man paused in a corner of the large area, placing his hands on top of his head as she started pacing back and forth to exert his nerves. he just wanted success for these kids so much, he was nervous to even think about what could happen once the doors next to him were open for the show.

QUINN: had been attempting all distance away from Sam. She did a shitty thing to him and she understood that now and that's why she was somehow offering herself to concession duty. It wouldn't be the first choice for the blonde, she'd rather be backstage with her own students giving them advice or helping them with their costumes or facial expressions but instead she was stuck in a tiny shoebox with an overwhelming aroma of nacho cheese. Minding her own business, she had been handing out nachos, hot dogs, chips, drinks, whatever someone had come by for when she saw Sam rushing out into the lobby.

She tried to mind her own business but she was nosy, especially when it came to Sam. Letting out a sigh, she asked Santana to cover for her as she made her way out of the concession stand and over to Sam. You have time to walk back in she said to herself as she inched closer to the man, but she didn't go back inside. "Hey... everything okay?"

SAM: glanced at the watch wrapped around his wrist, not sure if he felt relief about seeing that there was still quite a bit of time before his own students would be making their way across the stage. it’s not that sam didn’t believe in them, he probably believed in them more than anyone ever could, but just the idea of something going wrong for the group that deserved so much drove him to shaky hands and uneven breath. hearing the female voice snap him out of his thoughts, sam jumped as he spun to face the oh so familiar blonde. “oh uh...,” he paused letting out a strained sigh and stuffing his hands in his pockets. “honestly, no. I'm a nervous wreck and I don’t even really know why but I can’t be back there radiating nervous vibes into that room so I started walking and just ended up here and now I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said as it all tumbled out of his mouth, taking a long breath afterward.

QUINN: had crossed her arms, biting on the bottom of her lip, rocking her feet back and forth as she waited to hear from Sam. She was terrified he would just look at her and tell her to go away, which she'd gratefully do but she couldn't just ignore how nervous he looked and she'd probably feel more awful if she didn't at least check on him somewhat.

"Sam, calm down." The blonde scoffed, placing her hands on his shoulders. It may have been too touchy-feely for the circumstance they were in together, but in her mind she just wanted him to calm down for the sake of everyone involved. "You are amazing at what you do and Mr. Schue wouldn't have trusted you if he didn't think you could carry this legacy on. You've already made it to regionals and if the kids don't make it to nationals then it's okay because you've already made it so far." She told him, offering a soft smile in response. "Just breathe and have it in your kids that they'll win."

SAM: of course upon seeing Quinn, sams first thought was oh no, but a bigger part of him couldn’t find it in him to turn her away, especially when she would not have come up to him with ill intentions in mind. so sam swallowed the hurt that had been simmering over the past few days and let her put her hands on his shoulders as he listened, hoping this would help him even if just a little bit.

“it’s not as easy as it sounds,” the blonde huffed, closing his eyes and he bounced on the heels of his feet. “I’ve heard a lot about how that’s very not true and normally it wouldn’t get to me but now it’s all come barreling back and making me question myself. and I feel like if I can’t get them to nationals then it’ll be on my shoulders, that I didn’t do enough or that I was good enough at preparing them as I could’ve been or something,” he said with a shake of his head, his shoulders slumping. “they just deserve this, every single one of them,”

QUINN: let out a soft sigh as she listened to Sam speak about his nerves. She was never the best at pep talks, normally she was the one needing a pep talk or would rather be off yelling at someone to do better than trying to uplift someone, but here she was trying to put on her best Schuester impression for him.

"Don't listen to what some dumb kids say, we were their age talking about how Mr. Schue wasn't a great teacher and yet here we all are; he's a principal over a performing arts school, we're all teaching here, and we've all seemingly made it here in once piece," she chuckled, meeting her hazel eyes with his. "You deserve this too, Sam. You've worked so hard with them and if anyone deserves to go to nationals, it's your team."

SAM: though sam still felt on edge, Quinn's talk was enough of a distraction to calm his shaky hands and racing thoughts. all he could do was nod along to what she was saying, taking it in and trying to convince himself of it. convince himself that even with all the chaos and ‘nothing going right’ state of life he was in, that this would go right, that this was going to work out like he knew it could.

“I pretty much thought Mr. Schue was cool, in his own ‘old white dude that tries to be cool’ type of way. but he did care about us, more than we could’ve ever asked for someone to, and that’s the part of him I want to carry over, you know without the whole creepy putting kids in gold shorts that cover way too little type of way,” he said, letting himself laugh a little at the memory. “can I ask you something? why’d you decide to come over here? I mean you could’ve just pretended to be busy with popcorn duty and ignored my existence entirely, so what made you do it? after everything that’s gone down recently?”

QUINN: was confident in Sam. Was it something she ever saw him doing as a career? No, but she would have to admit she was proud to see how he had grown into coaching his students, and as much as she wanted to be front and center in seeing him thrive, she knew she had to be in the back always after what she caused.

"Cool is a bit of an understatement. I think we all have to admit he was a little weird about things, such as the Rocky situation," the softly spoken blonde said, looking down at her feet and then back to Sam. "I've been pretty shit to you and that's pretty obvious so I just felt like I should come check on you. I promise after this conversation though, I'll go back to popcorn duty, I know I'm not exactly your favorite person on the planet right now."

SAM: took a moment to take some deep breaths, rotating his shoulders as he let out the rest of his nerves. as much as he hated to admit it, this talk, whatever it was, helped him more than Quinn would ever know. and he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

finally returning his gaze to the blonde in front of him, his eyes softened as they met her own, nodding along to what she was saying. “I saw a new side of the dude that day and I will never forget those fateful times.” he said with a small chuckle as he watched her. the glimmer in her hazel eyes made his heart skip a beat, a small smile resting on his features before he remembered he was supposed to be upset with her. “ah, well you didn’t have to do that, so thank you. sorry that I disrupted your fun night of popcorn and coke sales.” he glanced over to the stand where Santana was still hanging out sodas to the few people still filing into the auditorium. “if you get a calm moment, and you want to sneak past, I know the kids would love to see you out there supporting them.” I would too, remained unspoken as he kept his eyes trained on the doors that were still slightly propped open before the show began in mere moments.

QUINN: Reminiscing somewhat on their high school years was nice, it felt normal which is all Quinn wanted but they weren't normal anymore, there was a wedge between them and you could feel that wedge if you paid close enough attention. "They were the worst. Just be happy you weren't there to hear ice ice baby." She added, a small laugh exiting her mouth. She caught her own eyes meeting up to his blue ones and felt that at that moment, they shared a moment as if to give the illusion that everything was more than okay between them but Quinn knew that wasn't true. "No, it's fine. I didn't mind being pulled away from it for a bit," she replied smiling at him. "I'll try to sneak in for a bit if that's okay with you?" She was trying her hardest to not step on his toes while they were in purgatory with each other.

SAM: didn’t like having tension between him and his friends, especially with Quinn and especially about this. I knew he had a right to be mad, part of him just wished it was much simpler so he could move past it. but the other part was hurt, a constant reminder of what happened. however, he pushed the thoughts aside, clearing his mind to prepare for the night ahead. “I’ve heard stories, like some freaky horror story read to kids to keep them out of glee,” shaking his head before the lights flickered and the bell sounded, indicating showtime was soon. “I don’t mind. they’re your students too, you don’t have to worry about making me upset for supporting them,” he assured her with a smile, taking a step towards the door he had come from. with only a few moments left, he knew his presence would be needed to encourage them one last time. “so I guess I’ll see you out there?”

QUINN: smoothed down her babydoll dress, a classic look for the adult as she seemingly never grew out of wearing them. She knew things between them weren't the same and she'd come to accept that, somewhat in her mind but she had wished they could go back to their friendship before. "No wonder why no one ever joined." Noticing the lights beginning to flicker she decided now would be the best time to let him be and leave their conversation on hold. Making her way back slowly to the concession stand, she turned back around to face him. "You got this, Ken." She teased, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned back around on her heels and entered the concession stand.

#vi. 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 / paragraphs.#evansam

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winterhawkkisses · 7 years

Note

(AU) Clint goes from one foster family to another, until he ends up at Barnes' house.

(I suspect this wasn’t quite what you meant, but this is what I immediately thought)

(please excuse my faulty knowledge of... everything... I don’t so much research ficlets)

311.

Barney was long gone by the time the circus left Coney Island, him and Trickshot and a whole bundle of the circus’s payroll. Clint assumed that it was a final fuck you that had Barney calling CPS on him, ‘cos he was 16 years old and he’d been able to look after himself since he was just gone 7; they showed up when Clint was still in hospital, still not sure he’d ever be able to use his bow.

Clint tried arguing, tried lying, tried - a pretty pathetic attempt - to run away, but he ended up being released from hospital into the custody of a woman called Annalise who drove him to the first one.

He thought of them like that. The first one, the second one, ‘cos what kinda good’d there be in learning any names? He never stuck around long enough for them to matter. Willful, disobedient, a little too gay; the reasons were pretty unimportant, when they all led to the same damn thing. A string of foster homes where he didn’t want to be, where they didn’t want him to be, where he didn’t end up being for much longer than a week. Mostly he remembered moments, images: the lock on seven’s fridge, with the string on a key round her neck; the smile that kept on creeping up on three when they told him they were sorry, but they were focusing on the kid they were gonna adopt; ten’s dog.

He’d liked ten’s dog.

He honestly hadn’t expected it to be twelve that stuck. Not when he arrived slumped in the back seat of Annalise’s car that smelled of cheetos and teen angst, still simmering, quietly furious, ready to explode.

The house was small and narrow, gray clapperboard and a stack of little windows climbin’ their way up the front door. Woman on the porch looked a bunch like all the other women on porches had looked: faded dress, folded arms, narrowed eyes. Clint hauled himself outta the back seat, pulling his duffel out after him and wrapping it up in his arms, and gave her the suspicious stare right back.

“This is Clint,” Annalise said, all smiles that were edged around with strain, “and Clint, this is Ms Barnes.”

Ms Barnes nodded her head a little, acknowledgement, and Clint didn’t move, staring her in the face before all the venom that’d been winding its slick route around the inside of him spat out of his mouth.

“Something you should know,” Clint said, and Annalise turned, saw his expression, held out her hand.

“Clint -”

“I’m a carny and a thief,” he told her, using the words like weapons, “I don’t believe in any sorta god and I wanna fuck boys. Got a problem with any of that, you got a problem with me -” a prayed over, shouted down problem; a locked in, boxed ears problem; a 9-1-1, he’s got a knife fuckin’ problem - “and I’ll just see myself out right now.”

“Call me Nancy,” she said, and there was something that looked like approval in her eyes. “Fetch yourself some juice from the kitchen, Clint, and me and Annalise will have a talk.”

There was a jumble of shoes just inside the door, but Clint didn’t bother kicking off his sneakers - he wouldn’t be staying. The kitchen was straight through to the back of the house, all the doors between propped open, and the last sunlight was laying in stripes across the floor. The refrigerator didn’t have a lock, at least.

There was juice, a couple flavors, in the refrigerator door, and a pitcher of home-made lemonade on the shelf. It had a little bit of lace sitting on top, weighed down around the edges with blue and green beads, like Nancy was a whole bunch older than she looked.

(Fuck names. Twelve. If she was even that.)

He found a glass on the drainer and poured himself a drink, fishing out a couple mint leaves that floated on top. He pushed his way out through the screen door, setting his duffel down on the step next to him, and rested his head against the white-painted railing.

He was tired, mostly. Mostly, he was tired, and counting down the days until 18. What he was gonna do then he had no clue, hadn’t thought that far ahead, but he had his bow at least. Maybe he’d find another circus; maybe he’d try to find out where Carson’s had been. The number of beds between here and there meant less than nothing, and the stinging in his eyes was just from the inconvenient fucking sunset. That was all.

When they called him into the living room he rinsed his glass out on the way through and put it back on the drainer, ‘cos he was used to not leaving a sign behind that he’d ever been there. Annalise was perched on an overstuffed couch and Nancy - Ms Barnes - fuckin’ twelve - was in an ugly-ass armchair. Clint stood in the doorway, arms folded across his chest.

“Ms Barnes would like to offer you a place to stay,” Annalise told him, and Clint’s head snapped around to look at twelve, twelve now, at her scraped back white hair and her generous mouth and the odd little smile at the corner of it. “Would that be okay with you, Clint?”

“I - er.” Uncomfortable, a little embarrassed, a little - unexpectedly - sorry, Clint rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”

“So what was it?” he asked, as he followed her up the narrow stairway, his bag still clutched tight to his chest. “The looks? The charm? The fact I’m a fag?”

She turned around in the hallway and glared.

“I don’t call myself ‘Ms’ ‘cos I’ve been divorced, Clint,” she said, pissed, and it took him a second for that to sink in.

“Wait, and CPS still let you -”

“Why, you gonna tell them?” She rolled her eyes at his gaping, but he could tell she was a little amused. “This one’s you.”

The window looked out over the little scrap of land that could generously be called a garden, filled as it was mostly with trash cans and weeds. There wasn’t much - a narrow bed, a dresser with more of that lace stuff on top, a framed photo of a guy in a uniform. Clint picked it up to take a closer look at it, noting the resemblance, noticing the mischievous curl to his mouth, noticing the line of his jaw.

“Wow,” he said, involuntary, and then cleared his throat when she laughed at him, his cheeks flushing blotchy red.

“Little out of your age range,” she said. “That’s my older brother Jimmy, MIA in the war.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, a little surprised to find that he meant it.

“So were we,” she said, “but it was a long time ago. I can take it if you -”

“Nah,” Clint said, “leave it. Not like I’ve got any to replace it with.”

“Plus he was hot,” she said, one eyebrow raised, and Clint found himself startled into a laugh.

“Plus he was hot,” he agreed.

#obviously the Soldier eventually turns up...#winterhawk #yet another gosh darn AU #Anonymous

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dotshiiki · 7 years

Text

CoL, chpt 17

XVII: THALIA

Thalia hated flying.

Fortunately, the weird amphibious contraption Leo Valdez had cooked up wasn't flying so much as it was skimming the surface of the Pacific Ocean. It didn't feel all that different from sailing a ship, though Leo insisted they were airborne. He had tried to explain how it worked, but only Annabeth seemed able to make any sense of his spiel about Festus, a New Rome limo, and hydrofoils. Or care about it, for that matter. Everyone else was more interested in trading stories about their respective journeys.

Piper related the rescue team's story: how she and Jason had rushed to Camp Jupiter, just as Frank, Hazel, and Reyna finally convinced the senate to support the quest. ('It was really Reyna's doing,' Frank admitted. 'You should have seen her—lost her temper spectacularly and chewed them all out. They gave us everything we requested for after that.') How they'd driven the senate limousine to Indiana to find Leo, who'd hacked location services on Thanatos's iPad to track him down. How Tyson and Grover had found them in Cleveland and insisted on helping. ('Tyson sat on Death!' Leo marvelled. 'It was totally awesome!') Between Piper's Charmspeak and Frank calling in an old favour ('We did free him from captivity once,' Frank reminded Percy), Thanatos hadn't needed all that much coercion to help them out. After that, it had been a matter of deciding where to set up their rescue base. Leo and Tyson had gone straight to work fixing up the 'Festusmobile' so that they could race to Hawaii.

'And this little beauty was born,' Leo said proudly.

Thalia looked appreciatively around the lower deck room they'd gathered in. The décor definitely had a strong Roman theme. The leather seats were a deep, Camp Jupiter purple, and the mahogany bar running along the wall had SPQR carved into it.

'Talk about travelling in style,' Thalia murmured.

Reyna shrugged, glancing at Frank and Hazel. 'Perks of the praetorship. You get access to the best limos. Though I think this is the first time anyone's ever converted it into an amphibious vehicle.'

'And here leading the Hunt only gets me a solo tent and maybe a ride in the moon chariot once a decade.'

Reyna looked away and Thalia bit her lip, cursing herself inwardly for bringing up the subject of the Hunters.

She remembered the shadow that had flickered across Reyna's face when they'd arrived at the Festusmobile and Thalia had to tell Leo to chart a course for Seattle so that she could pick up her Hunters from Amazon headquarters. It was like shutters going down, erasing any trace of the emotions simmering beneath Reyna's usual stoic façade.

Thalia felt like an idiot.

Her brain wouldn't stop replaying the moment she'd first opened her eyes in the Kazumura Cave to find Reyna's face filling her vision, more expressive than Thalia had ever seen it. In all the time Thalia had known her, Reyna had always been controlled and guarded, approaching the world with a cool logic that belied her young age.

Seeing a crack in that careful composure had sparked something deep in Thalia's heart—something she couldn't quite define. Reyna hadn't cried in exuberant relief at their return, the way Piper or Tyson had, but the emotions written plainly across her usually reserved face seemed to shout even louder to Thalia: You're here. That's all that matters.

It dragged her thoughts back to certain fantasies the spirits of Night had gleefully splashed over their cave walls. Fantasies in which Thalia had very deliberately made Reyna come undone. In a very different way, of course.

It was hard to hide from it now, after she'd seen her own feelings plainly in Tartarus. They were no longer secrets, those brief forbidden fantasies she'd always pushed away as quickly as they'd crept into her mind. Her own actions over the past few years stared accusingly at her. Visits to Camp Jupiter—always justified as scouting missions or drop-ins on Annabeth and Percy—that were more frequent than should have been warranted. Excuses to team up with the Amazons, lately always timed so conveniently to when Queen Hylla had her sister visiting. Coffee dates with Reyna to 'gather intelligence', even after Reyna ceased to be praetor—and even though little of what they shared over a good strong espresso ever made it back to Artemis.

The whole time they'd made their way out of the lava tube, Reyna hadn't let go of Thalia. Maybe it was completely innocent—after coming out of Tartarus, all five of them had needed support to stumble along—but Thalia couldn't shake the idea that the gentle pressure of Reyna's arm around her, the soft press of fingers into her elbow, and the scalding brush of skin against skin meant a little more than supportive friendship.

Thalia cursed herself again for letting things get this far. All this time she'd been playing with fire—fanning a spark that once kindled, she had no choice but to stamp out.

After all, she wasn't free to love.

Across the table, the others were now recounting the journey through Tartarus. Will was just explaining their fight against the arai. Thalia grimaced as she remembered the feel of every arrow she'd ever shot at a monster piercing through her body.

'Annabeth was hurt?' Tyson said as Will described their injuries. The Cyclops's eye filled with tears.

Annabeth patted his hand. 'I'm okay, Tyson. Will healed me—healed all of us.'

'How?' asked Hazel, her eyes wide. 'It sounds like it was almost impossible.'

Will turned his palms face-up, staring at them as though he still couldn't believe what they had managed in Tartarus. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I mean, I've done small things before, but this was kinda insane.'

Nico reached over the table and took Will's hand. 'Tartarus brought out your true strength,' he said. 'You're a healer, Will. And you were right all along—facing ourselves down there made us stronger.'

The room fell silent as they all took in the enormous weight of Nico's words.

'Well,' Percy said at last, 'I can tell you how he managed it.'

Everyone turned to look at him.

'You can?' Will said in surprise.

Percy nodded, a sly grin on his face. 'It was just a little…wait for it…' He paused for effect.

Annabeth elbowed him in the ribs. 'Just tell us,' she complained.

'Will power!'

Leo let out a bark of laughter and high-fived Percy, while everyone else groaned at the bad pun. Piper pelted both boys with a handful of peanuts.

Thalia rolled her eyes. Her gaze landed back on Reyna, taking in the small smile on her face. For no reason at all, it made her breath catch in her throat. Thalia's face flushed with embarrassment. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice, though if this kept up, she thought she might spontaneously combust soon.

'Excuse me,' she muttered, getting up and squeezing past Annabeth and Nico to leave the table. 'Just gonna go up on deck for a bit.'

The moon was just beginning its slow climb over the ocean when Thalia emerged onto the breezy upper deck. It was shaped like the back of a dragon—it might even be part of Leo's bronze dragon itself, with those wings on either side powering them forward. Thalia leaned over the side. Her new reflection stared back at her, glowing in the moonlight.

She hadn't really had the chance to take in the changes adding six years of age had wrought to her physical appearance. There was some softening of her features—her face seemed less angular, her body's curves more developed. When she squinted, she saw the slightest hint of a wrinkle forming over her forehead, like a line that had been traced by repeating a facial expression over time. Her eyes retained their shape, but they seemed to be set deeper in her face, thrown into sharper focus.

Subtle changes, but after years of seeing the same unchanging features in the mirror, this new face was an unfamiliar stranger. Not an unwelcome one, though. This girl—this woman—looked settled, comfortable, like someone who had grown into her own skin. She looked like the kind of girl who could grow old alongside someone like Reyna, laughing over their deepening wrinkles and white hairs as the years passed.

Her mind flashed to a long conversation she'd once had about life and love with a greying couple in the Midwest, caretakers of Artemis's Waystation. A pair of former Hunters who had renounced immortality for love.

When Thalia had renounced love for immortality (well, the actual contract involved a renunciation of men, but love was kind of embedded in the fine print), the thought that she'd ever want to reverse it hadn't crossed her mind. She'd embraced the Hunters after Luke's betrayal, and she could still remember the sense of peace that had washed over her once she'd committed herself to the Hunt, knowing that no man would ever hurt her again. Leading the Hunters seemed like her destiny, one that she'd resisted initially, but eventually come to accept.

Was it possible that you could have more than one destiny in your lifetime? That destiny might not be a final destination, but a journey?

Hemithea and Josephine might have chosen to leave the Hunters to find their answer to that question, but was it a question Thalia had the right to ask?

Thalia wasn't just any Hunter; she was their leader. Leaving had greater consequences for her. Never mind that she would essentially be breaking a contract with Artemis (and while her Lady was pretty reasonable as far as deities went, she was still a goddess, and you offended the Olympians at your own peril). Zoë Nightshade had led the Hunters for nearly three thousand years; how could Thalia abandon them after a paltry six?

Thalia let out a growl of frustration. Why did all her choices have to involve leaving people behind?

Soft footsteps announced Reyna's arrival seconds before her reflection appeared in the water next to Thalia's.

'Nico was just telling us about Geras,' Reyna said, waving a hand at their reflections. 'Sounds like he was a real creep.'

'Yeah, well. Men.'

Reyna pursed her lips. 'I think it's just people in general, when they want to have power over you.'

'Isn't it your sister who believes in having power over men?'

'Well, there's a reason she's the Amazon, not me.' Reyna crossed her arms. 'I think Hylla sees it as payback, in a way. Turning the tables so that women are on top. But what I really wanted—what I really want—is to be on equal footing with anyone I work with, male or female. When I was praetor, I wanted to lead alongside someone who valued me as an equal, and whom I valued as well.' Her arms fell back to her sides. 'Frank's a decent guy. So's Percy. And Jason—well, he was the first guy to show me equal partnership could be possible.' Her lips twisted in a wry smile, as though recalling her previous crush, which Thalia had heard about, but never really discussed.

Thalia felt a sudden, irrational urge to cuff her brother around the head.

On the heels of it was an old memory of being held at knife-point in an Amazon stronghold in San Juan: a kidnapping attempt flipped upside down when the girl she'd knocked out and abducted (all for a good cause, of course) had turned the tables on her. Reyna had pressed Thalia's own knife to her throat and demanded to speak to Artemis's lieutenant, and Thalia's first thought had been, I've met my match!

She wondered now, if the Hunters had found Reyna early enough, would Reyna have ended up like her?

Would it have made a difference to their friendship—or whatever this was—now?

'Are you going to be in trouble for this?'

It took her a moment to realise that Reyna was asking about her new appearance.

'I dunno. I didn't exactly ask permission to go, so I'll probably have to answer to that first. Though Artemis likes Percy well enough, so she might let me off the hook for helping him. But this—' she gestured to her face, 'I don't know. None of us are older than sixteen. Maybe she'll just age me back down. Or turn me into a deer. Or kick me out. I could go join Hylla.'

There was a few seconds' pause before Reyna asked, 'Would you?' Her voice had a faint edge to it, as though she was trying to hide how much Thalia's answer mattered to her.

Thalia met her gaze steadily. 'No.'

'You guys could work,' Nico had said in the Caves of Night. Thalia's heart did a series of somersaults as she allowed herself to consider the possibility.

'Will she be waiting for you in Seattle?'

Thalia shrugged. 'I guess she'll summon me when she wants to talk about it.'

It was as if Artemis had simply been waiting for her to reach this conclusion. The words had barely left Thalia's lips when a shadow cut through the reflection of the moon and their wavering images on the sea surface. The silver carriage appeared out of nowhere and descended in a graceful arc to land on the surface of the ocean without a single splash. Hitched to the front of it, beating their hooves against the empty air, were four golden-horned deer.

'I think that's my ride,' Thalia said, trying to hide the nervousness creeping up her throat. 'Sorry.' She wasn't sure what she was apologising for—leaving in the middle of their conversation? Everything that she was leaving unspoken? A relationship that could never happen?

Reyna shook her head. She watched wistfully as Thalia leapt the rails of the Festusmobile and landed in Artemis's moon chariot.

'Story of my life,' she said lightly. 'I find someone, but they're never mine to keep.'

Thalia blinked, and the next thing she knew, the moon chariot was gliding smoothly across the sky. Thalia gulped and forced herself not to look down, focusing instead on the auburn-haired girl who sat facing her with her arms crossed like a petulant twelve-year-old.

She hoped Artemis wasn't in an irritable mood. Thalia had only been summoned into the moon chariot once before, and that was when Artemis had needed to deliver a dire (and garbled) warning about giants, a dangerous gamble, and a vague instruction to find the Amazons. She'd been on the verge of that split personality disorder the Greek-and-Roman schism had created then.

'My lady.' Thalia couldn't exactly kneel in the narrow chariot, so she settled for bowing her head respectfully.

'Thalia.' Artemis stroked the fur of something on the seat next to her. Thalia's eyes widened when she recognised it: the fuzzy body of a hare with a long, fluffy squirrel's tail. Its head, half-boar, half-rodent, rested on the seat, weaselly ears drooping on either side.

The muscaliet lay completely still, without the slightest rise and fall of its chest.

'I saw in Tartarus—' Thalia began.

'Yes,' said Artemis sadly. 'This was the last one.'

Thalia clenched her fists.

'Lycaon killed it two days ago. Unfortunately, they've been fading from human consciousness since the Middle Ages. It doesn't even have a decent Wikipedia page left. Now that the last one is gone…' Artemis turned sorrowful eyes on Thalia. Guilt rippled through her as she remembered the muscaliets leaping into the rivers of Tartarus.

'I'm sorry,' Thalia said. 'We were supposed to protect it.'

'Yes.' Artemis raised her eyes to the stars. 'And it is too late now to give them a place among the constellations.' The muscaliet's fur shimmered, and then its body vanished. 'It will be as if they never existed.'

'If I hadn't—if I'd been hunting Lycaon's wolf pack—' Thalia swallowed hard. Was this her fault, for leaving her duties behind?

'You are sorry about the muscaliets,' Artemis observed, 'but not regretful of your decision.'

'Percy—' Had she traded Percy's life for the existence of a species? Thalia realised guiltily that even if she had to choose again now, she would still have done the same thing. Add one more black mark on her performance review. 'Is this where you punish me for breaking my oath?'

Artemis regarded her sternly. 'If I thought you had indeed leapt into Tartarus in direct betrayal of your oath, we would not be having a chat about it.'

'I guess you could always turn me into a muscaliet. Give them a new lease of life.'

'Don't tempt me, Thalia.'

'Sorry.'

'Percy Jackson,' Artemis mused. 'A fine man, indeed. I find I cannot fault your loyalty to him. I myself have honoured men in the past who have proven themselves worthy—Hippolytos, Orion…well, perhaps that one was a mistake.' Her mouth twisted wryly. The former male Hunter had been responsible for the deaths of a dozen Hunters and Amazons, and Thalia knew Artemis greatly regretted being incapacitated when he'd attacked.

'Reyna took him out,' Thalia recalled.

'So she did.' The edges of Artemis's mouth quirked. 'I must admit, even though I don't approve of your distraction, I can't fault your taste.'

Thalia's face grew hot. 'I didn't mean to—'

'But it didn't start there, did it?' Artemis sighed. 'Do you know why I recruit my maidens before they reach their teens, Thalia?'

'Before we get distracted by boys. Or love, I guess.'

'That's one reason, yes. But besides that, the young don't realise that living forever has its costs. They are like us immortals—they haven't been among mortals long enough to grow attached. The Hunt gives them a family and companionship in a safe haven where their happiness is not defined by men. In exchange…well, I think you have recognised there is a sacrifice to be made, and the older you are when you make it, the costlier it is.'

Artemis was right. When Thalia had joined the Hunters, it had been like escaping a world that had taken everything from her: her brother, her first love, her confidence. Those first few years leading the Hunt had been idyllic—daring adventures, female solidarity, great triumphs against men and monsters.

Then she'd found Jason again—no longer the two-year-old she'd lost, but all grown up—her age!—and growing older each year. It had truly hit her then what immortality meant. Maybe she'd given up the love of men, but that didn't mean she didn't still have something precious to leave behind.

Meeting Reyna only escalated her dilemma. The Roman praetor kept ambushing Thalia's thoughts, like a recurring dream she couldn't quite shake. She'd see Reyna's sharp eyes in the stare of her sister Hylla's; she'd encounter a formidable opponent and Reyna would spring to mind; she'd voice an opinion and realise that Reyna's beliefs had snuck surreptitiously into her own.

When Emmie and Jo had shared their story—ending in them living together, maintaining Artemis's Waystation in Indianapolis—she'd briefly entertained a tantalising image, quickly quashed, of herself and Reyna in their place. She'd started to wonder if her fateful decision to take Artemis's pledge had simply been another impulsive choice in the spectacular series of impulsive choices that made up the life of Thalia Grace: running away, following Luke into a dragon's cave, fighting solo on Half-Blood Hill…

'I just have to learn to deal with it, right? I mean, I'm—' Thalia bit her lip before the word stuck could slip out. She corrected herself instead with, 'sworn to lead the Hunt forever. That's my destiny.' She hoped she didn't sound too bitter. Artemis wouldn't appreciate her lack of gratitude.

'Is that what you want?'

'You're not going to turn me into a bear if I answer that wrong, are you?'

Artemis laughed. 'I think we've come a long way since those days. Times change. We have alliances with the Amazons now—we don't even present the Hunt as the only alternative for girls. I don't think we'll be able to compete so well for recruits if I don't relax the exit clauses a little. I mean, "eternal maidenhood or death"—I guess that's not as attractive compared to "rule all men and take over the world."'

'Exit clauses,' Thalia repeated. Did Artemis mean…?

'You would, of course, renounce immortality. That wouldn't change. And it would be final. If you choose to leave, you would never be a Hunter again.'

'Are you—are you offering me an out?' She'd spoken of it to Reyna in a blasé manner, but she hadn't really believed it would happen. And certainly not like this, as though the decision was in her hands. As though she had a choice in the matter.

Artemis cocked her head to one side and regarded Thalia steadily.

'But—I'm the leader. You can't—I can't just—'

The choice felt as impossible as the first time she'd received the offer to join, when she hadn't been able to fathom leaving Luke behind. That had been a mistake. Would choosing to leave her Hunters be one, too? It wasn't like she and Reyna already had something concrete, the way Emmie and Jo did. What awaited her if she chose to leave?

Possibility, her mind whispered. A chance at a future shared in a partnership of equals.

A future. It was something Thalia hardly ever spared a thought for in the past six years. When you had forever to live, the future ceased to mean anything important. But when she thought about Reyna, the word became a delicate crystal in her hands: momentous and fragile.

'What are you really afraid of, Thalia?'

'I—' She bowed her head. 'How do I know I'm not just rushing into another decision? Abandoning another family to chase after something new?'

Artemis smiled. 'With age comes the tempering of impulsivity, I see.' She tapped her chin. 'How about this: stay with us until the Winter Solstice. Hunt the monster that extinguished the muscaliets. Discharge this last duty without distractions, and when you have completed this quest, you may return to your decision with a clearer head. And then if you so choose, I will release you from my service.' Artemis leaned forward and touched the reins of her chariot lightly. Her deer swooped into a graceful descent. 'Don't be afraid to move on.'

Thalia heard the echo of Angelos's proclamation: Moving on is not the same as leaving someone behind.

The moon chariot landed next to the Festusmobile.

'I will leave you for now. I believe our Hunters are waiting for you in Seattle.'

Reyna was still on the upper deck. She stared as Thalia hopped from Artemis's chariot to land cat-footed on the deck. Her expression was one Thalia would definitely factor into her eventual decision.

'That story of your life,' Thalia told her. 'Don't write off the ending just yet.'

A/N: When I read about Emmie and Jo in The Dark Prophecy, I felt like it was a little nod to my one canon-unverified ship. It seemed like their existence was proof of a future for Thalia and Reyna. A lot of this chapter was heavily influenced by their story. Obviously this was written before the whole Twitter comment thing blew up fandom, but I’m still glad I can stand by RR’s statement that whatever he says, we’re free to interpret the characters at will!

And on a different, unrelated note, yes, Cleveland is totally a reference to the SoM movie.

Continue to chapter 18 | Back to content page

#pjohoobigbang2017 #pjohoobigbang #curse of lethe #thalia grace #reyna ramírez-arellano #theyna #artemis #canon cast #percy jackson fanfic #pjo fanfiction #hoo fanfiction

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laurent-ofvere · 7 years

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some bullshit au where everyone's alive idk

“@safetytank *BANGS DOWN THE DOOR* DID SOMEONE ASK FOR FLUFF”

The air out in the palace garden was cooler; Auguste welcomed the change from the stifling atmosphere of the dinner hall. With any luck, Laurent would be—

Right on cue, the two of them appeared from behind the entry archway. Laurent still had Damianos’ hand clasped tightly in his and pulled him along with a determined expression, only pausing occasionally to scan for signs of other guests. Damianos followed willingly. His breathless grin said everything it needed to about what he thought of sneaking through the gardens with the crown prince’s little brother.

Laurent wove their steps between statues and topiaries the same way he used to as a child, when he’d dart back and forth and laugh while Auguste chased after him. Eventually this brought the pair to one of Laurent’s favorite spots: a wrought-iron bench, tucked away in an alcove created by the width of the entry’s ivy-covered trellis.

There Laurent turned to face Damianos and led him away from the trellis. Hidden away against the far end of the hedges like this, there would be plenty of warning should someone else wander into the gardens in search of two missing princes.

It was both like and unlike Laurent. The secrecy, the deception planned out in advance to ensure no one could immediately pinpoint his location, throwing himself into something new with total confidence he would emerge victorious, all of that was practically Laurent’s essence of being. The interest in going to all that effort for the sake of someone different, that was intriguing.

They made quite the odd couple. Even freshly out of adolescence, the top of Laurent’s head could perhaps reach to the underside of Damianos’ chin. The difference in height meant the Akielon prince spoke to Laurent with his head at a permanent incline, while Laurent met him halfway with his own tipped upwards. The two of them were night and day, one tall, brawny, and dark, one slight and angular and ghostly-pale in the dappled moonlight.

Had he not witnessed little Laurent defeating opponents feet taller and stones heavier than himself, Auguste might have been concerned. As he was intimately familiar with Laurent’s razor-sharp tongue, however, his concern instead extended itself to Damianos.

Their conversation remained low enough to be indecipherable, but the clear view of them relayed what words could not. Laurent had released the other prince’s hand and stood with his arms folded defensively across his chest. He had to be telling Damianos something deeply important, since he held himself as stiffly and haughtily as possible.

Laurent must have cared very much for his response, or he wouldn’t be taking the pains to detach himself in case the exchange didn’t go to his liking.

Damianos, to his credit, seemed able to withhold the besotted look most people wore while serving as the object of Laurent’s attention. His gaze met Laurent’s and held it firmly, rather than drifting to contemplate the shape of Laurent’s features. Many a dialogue with an unfortunate courtier had been halted mid-sentence by Laurent deciding he’d had enough of being ogled, but Laurent seemed to find Damianos’ replies satisfactory.

Auguste could postulate that his colloquial skills were not all Laurent found satisfactory, and took the opportunity to slip closer under the cover of prickly branches.

“—Like this before,” Damianos was saying in lightly-accented Veretian, smiling in genuine endearment.

Laurent huffed, turning his face to one side. “It isn’t that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

“My father has begun arranging for me to be married off at his earliest convenience,” Laurent said airily.

“Oh.” Damianos couldn’t have sounded more deflated if he’d tried. “Congratula—” He halted suddenly; Laurent must have fixed him with quite a glare. “I’m…sorry to hear that.”

“It’s the way of things.”

Auguste pushed down a laugh. That exact phrasing had been used by their father to justify the whole situation to a furious, defiant Laurent.

“Has it…been decided already?”

Damianos could not possibly be this dense. There was no way he’d sat through an evening of celebrations specifically centered around Laurent’s coming of age, of dancing and sneaking out to the gardens together and holding hands, and still believed Laurent had gone to all that trouble just to inform him that he’d been betrothed to someone else.

“I’ve run over the deadline by quite a margin. Father’s very displeased with me.”

“Oh, you…” Finally, it seemed to click. “…Oh.”

“I decided you should have some say in the matter. I could have settled it all without your input if I’d wanted.”

It was as close to a proposal as Laurent was willing to come.

“Am I to compete with the other candidates?” Damianos sounded breathless, caught entirely off-guard, but not upset about it in the slightest.

“What would be the sense in that? You’d send all of them home in disgrace.” Trust Laurent to deprive the world of Prince Damianos standing bashfully beside a gaggle of Patran princesses who struggled to lift a spear, let alone hurl one accurately enough to take Laurent home as their prize.

“None of the others caught your fancy?”

“You,” Laurent said sharply, “of all people, should know the answer to that.”

He was really going to do it. Not that Damianos was a bad choice, all things considered. Less than a decade passing since the treaty had quieted the tension simmering on either side of the border, but not dispelled it. Several centuries of bad blood remained between the two nations regardless of how well their leaders could play nice with each other. Marrying off one of Vere’s own would be taken as martyrdom at first, throwing the Akielons a blond-haired appeasement to discourage them from invading, but the long-term benefits of linking the ruling families together through marriage weren’t insignificant.

In addition, Damianos himself would make a fine husband. He carried none of his father’s single-minded resentment of Vere, instead embodying the respect and honor his people held in such high esteem. He was straightforward in all things; if he’d posed a threat the way his brother had, even the densest in Arles would have picked up on it.

And Laurent liked him. That qualification stood out beyond all else. Laurent didn’t like people. His affection remained a tightly-guarded resource, expended almost exclusively on Auguste, and perhaps rationed out to a scattering of the courtiers’ children back in the capitol. Auguste couldn’t think of any time in Laurent’s life when he’d had a friend his own age, or childhood memories of getting into mischief with a playmate. That Damianos had earned not only his attention but his trust, that was an unrivaled accomplishment.

That he was wholly infatuated with Laurent as well was almost excessive at this point.

#I WOKE UP TODAY TO READ THIS #YOU SPOIL US #THIS WAS AMAZING #I LOVE THESE FUCKS SO MUCH #straight up though I've been extremely down all day and this made me v happy i love you #submission

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childrenofathoria-rp-blog · 8 years

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◆Out Of Character Information◆

Name/Age: Raven, 24 Preferred Pronouns: She/Her Timezone: EST Desired Character: Nita

◆Character Information◆ (1) What pronouns will your character be using? Would you like to list their sexuality at this time?:

She/her - Bisexual

(2) Any changes or comments?

Nope!

(3) Why this character?

Of all the characters I’ve played, Nita would be the most human of them. She may be a werewolf, but she wasn’t always one and she’s no Angel or Demon. She doesn’t serve a higher purpose like they do, she lives for herself and Anshega. Her humanity is a very important factor and I’d love to play around with that aspect in situations that challenge her morals. She doesn’t seem to stand for a side of good or evil, but a very neutral zone exclusive to her own motives. It’s so refreshing since I rarely play characters with such a neutral aspect. Nita would have a lot of freedom to branch out and get involved in all sorts of situations since she travels so much.

(4) Interpret this character:

I pretty much plan on portraying her as someone who has a huge chip on their shoulder. I feel like, up until the early days of her trade, she had a pretty honest outlook on life. I wouldn’t call her naïve, but she definitely had a positive viewpoint of the world and her place in it. She would have just started up her business and Nita didn’t think twice at how her image or social status would affect work; she thought it wouldn’t make a difference. All it took was one guy who was pompous enough to show her how little she actually mattered. I don’t think she ever got over that, so she spends a lot more time than she should trying to prove that she’s good enough.

I headcanon that, for some reason or another, Nita’s parents were in some sort of danger. I imagine that her mother was a Ronin wolf and her father was the human. They stopped in a tavern one evening and left a note for the one of the cleaning women to find attached to Nita in her basket. Instead of casting her out to some orphanage, a young woman named Marie, the head cook in the tavern, decided to raise Nita as her own. It was through Marie that Nita learned her love of cooking and how she was taught to make spices. When she has some down time, Nita can be found in her home, making all sorts of meals from recipes she’s gathered from cooks all over the country.

Until Nita traveled to Hala, she had no idea of her lineage. I feel like she never questioned her urges around full moons and considered her enhanced strength and agility as being naturally fit. Leeds is a tough place, but considering her sort of innocent demeanor before her humiliation I doubt she’d been in enough situations to properly test those limits. So when Nita became a full werewolf, I think that she took to it pretty well. After her humiliation, I think she found a sense of security by becoming something superior. With a pack to guide her, she’d have finally felt at home and centered. Nita loves to hunt and run. Given her profession and tendency to travel, she’s honed her senses of scent and hearing.

I feel like Nita’s always been a killed fighter, even before her warrior training. Although, her warrior training would be a lot more extensive. Being trained in the manner wolves would be a lot different than the mundane style of fighting. Her largest setback at becoming a warrior, of course, is her temper. What Nita lacks most of all is discipline, so in the right situation, I can see her succumbing to blood lust easily. She had a tough time during her first full moons, but presently, she handles herself just fine.

I’m not quite sure on the adventures Nita’s going to get into just yet. But I’d like for her to get to a point, one day, where she might give up trading to be a warrior full time. Based on her connections, Farryn isn’t putting her full attention to Nita’s training. Instead of traveling, she could be training instead so she might have to pick one over the other. This could also lead her to seek training elsewhere, given her impatient nature. I’d also like to explore Nita finding out who her parents were. Although, that plot would be good for flashback threads. I’d also like to do a flashback of the massacre she caused as well. Also, given her temper and tendency to succumb to bloodlust, I’d like to get her into a situation where she screws up and has to bear the consequences.

Nita understands how important the relations between Anshega and the Crown are, but personally she doesn’t care for King Nathan. Although, I do think that she respects the way the monarchy enforces the law and the sense organization they bring. She doesn’t want anyone else unfairly suffer as she had. I also imagine that her stock is highly sought after by the King’s esteemed cooks. She’s pretty much only concerned with how much the crown is willing to pay her to support herself and Anshega. Since they’re her only family, the pack holds a special place in Nita’s heart. She doesn’t know what she’d do without them and doesn’t mind using her profits to support them.

◆ Interview Questions ◆ (1) Have you ever killed anyone after you murdered all those people who humiliated you?

“Only when I have to. But I’ll admit, after the incident, fighting was...difficult. I’d get flashes of that night. The chaos I caused, the blood on my hands. I felt stained — ruined and I let that fucker do that to me, let ‘em change me. I try not to be that monster I was, a thing that was neither bear or wolf. I stop at knocking ‘em senseless and if they get back up, then I make sure they don’t. Try to keep it swift, clean. I love to fight, but killing ain’t nothin’ to smile about.”

(2) Describe why you love the spice trade and how you learned to grow such a successful business?

“Everyone knows I love a good drink, but I love to eat too! I grew up workin’ in a tavern in Leeds, serving drinks and cookin’ in the kitchens. My boss could make the most delicious pot pies and her secret ingredients were spices. She used to make ‘em by hand and taught me to do the same. I didn’t think it was fair that only our customers should experience good food like that so I decided to start up my own business and spread that joy. At first, I started givin’ out samples, showed people that meats seasoned with peppers and coriander tastes a lot different than ones without. Soon enough, cooks all over town were offerin’ to pay for my spices. See, the trick to my success is that makin’ the stuff takes a lot of discipline and hard work. It might even be more tedious than farming, so people don’t want to do it. A lot of the plants I use are found all around the country. So unless you got the right soil, it wouldn’t be possible to grow half of the stuff I sell. Spices are rare and in high demand and as long as that factor remains, I’m always gonna bring in coin.”

◆Writing Sample:◆

Cold, gray eyes studied Nita from across the table. For a long moment that’s all the man did was stare at her. As if he were waiting for some illusion to fade, to make sure that what he was seeing held true. “Is there a problem, sir?” The trader asked, her expression puzzled. Before her, sat four small jars of cinnamon, saffron, turmeric, and vanilla. Nita thought it was wise to offer samples of her product. Her old boss, Marie, always said that if you gave them a taste, then they’d want more. The wealthy warlock before her hadn’t so much as sniffed any of the samples yet. “Is there somethin’ on my face? What are you starin’ at me like that for?” She offered him a nervous grin.

“What is the name of your company?” He asked.

“Ursa’s Spices, sir. Though I already told you th──”

He cut her off. “And how did you, a peasant, become the proprietor of this company?”

“I built it from the ground-up myself...Are you callin’ me a thief, sir?!” Nita’s temper flared, that wild, animalistic part of her rose to the surface. Marie always said that she lived up to her namesake. That there were times when she truly believed that Nita had been conceived by some beast or bear; her temper could be a force of nature.

“A filthy, bloody-cunted, thief is all you are!” He boomed. “You come here to my estate, dressed like a marauding wench, with your outlandish prices and cheap lies. I bet you stole those casks off some carriage. You could have at least come dressed like a proper merchant, perhaps this sales charade would’ve been believable!”

Nita stood so quickly that her chair toppled over. “I’m the farthest thing from a god damned thief! Fuck you!” She began to gather the samples and stuffed them into her knapsack. “I ain’t gonna stand here and be accused of being a criminal. There are plenty others out there willin’ to buy what you won’t and they’ll treat me like the businesswoman that I am.”

The brunette turned away and made for the exit, but the warlock’s mercenaries entered the room and blocked her path. She wouldn’t even be allowed to leave, he already condemned her without any valid proof but his own suspicions. He could have used magic to erect the truth, could have probably read her mind too, but the bastard was arrogant. Nita fought as hard as she could with a club, blade, tooth and nail but it wasn’t enough. Her workers had been apprehended as well, but they were released after being beaten. Nita, on the other hand, was kept by the warlock to be humiliated. He stripped her publicly, lashing her back with a leather strap before forcing her in a frilly dress. They styled her hair and chained her to a cross right outside his estate for all to see.

“This isn’t fair!” She cried out, her voice hoarse from screaming. Nita already did her crying and the fire in her dried her tears, leaving only simmering rage. “You can’t do this to me! Where’s my trial, where’s your proof?” She said for the thousandth time; the words had become a mantra, the only thing keeping her from breaking any further. “Why won’t you listen to me!” She screamed, her dread intensifying the moment she saw the branding iron being brought her way. “Get that thing away from me!” The warlock let it hover closely to her face, teased at pressing it to her breast, then finally mashed it against the back of her palm.

Nita didn’t have any more strength in her to cry out, the sound seemed to get caught in her throat before dying there. The silent wail wracked her frame as the heat bled into her, burning away her hope, leaving resentment in its place. The light in her eyes died and her head sunk in defeat; she’d been shattered completely. And even if she put herself back together somehow, Nita knew she would never be the same again.

#athoria accepted

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