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miraxetine · 9 months

Text

Ecstasy

Words:2,288

Summary:

Ecstasy: an intensification of emotion so powerful as to produce a trancelike dissociation from all but the single overpowering feeling. That is her callsign. Her being recently introduced to the Task Force. Will the members grow addicted? Addicted to the swing on her hips? To the intelligence she holds? The bounce on her curls? Or maybe the mystery within her eyes?

Notes:

Hey! So this is my remake of an old one I wrote. I hope you enjoy! I took a lot of time thinking on the plot and stuff and stuff. This will have more chapters for sure! Shoutout to my friend, R, for helping me with planning and revising. This fanfiction is sort of like a OC and Reader kind of moment, so take that as you will. Also, the tags and this note will be the only trigger warning! Enjoy!!

WILL CONTINUE ON AO3 JUST WANTED TO SHARE ON HERE

- M ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶

Work Text:

Ecstasy

“Raven!” The little curly haired girl waved from the top of the big red slide with a smile on her face. She tried to get attention from the named girl, Raven Watts, her best friend. The eight year old slid down, making her way towards her best friend. Raven seemed to be surrounded by other girls around their age. Jogging her way over, she began talking with excitement, “Raven, let’s get on the new slide that was just set up—“ she was cut off.

“I don’t know why her family is getting the cops involved,” Raven was talking to the other girls. “My mom said it was her fault for wearing that skirt. I think my mom is right, I always told her to wear the other blue skirt that my daddy likes. That’s what she gets for wearing that ugly pink skirt!”

“Raven?” the curly haired girl asked with confusion, though she had an idea of what Raven and the others were talking about.

“XXXX! We were just talking about you!” A girl chimed in.

“XXXX, why would you call the cops on Mr. Watts? He’s a great art teacher!” Another girl asked.

“What do you mean?” XXXX asked, her eyes switching from the other two girls to Raven.

“Don’t act silly, XXXX!” Raven said giggling. “You know it was your own fault for getting touched like that by my daddy! I told you not to wear that ugly pink skirt!”

The curly haired girl stood in silence, frozen, and her eyes wide. Her fist tightened up, knuckles turning white and lips pressing against each other.

“So you do know it’s your fault!” Raven started giggling, taking the curly haired girl’s silence as an answer, whilst turning her eyes to the other girls. “You don’t need to stay quiet—”, before she could continue talking, Raven felt a pang travel down her spine after feeling the back of her skull hit the cement floor she was once standing on.

Screams and shouts echoed between the tunnels and slides filling up the park, the yells of horror coming from different mothers and children. But, none of them came from Raven or the curly haired girl herself. Raven wasn't able to speak, she laid blacked out on the floor, nose bleeding, with the curly haired girl sitting on top of her, being the cause of the bloody nose. ambidextrous punches travelled with a surprising velocity towards the face of Raven, precise in the centre of her face. The little girl didn't stop, she wasn't able to, she didn't want to.

“Ecstasy?” Asked Kate Laswell, she looked at the spaced out woman with the given callsign with concern. Station Chief Kate Laswell stood by the end of a conference table next to infamous Captain John Price.

“Ah yes,” The curly haired woman with glasses stood up with a nervous smile, the chair screeching behind her as she made her way towards Laswell, handing her over a black folder. “Here is the file.” Eyes followed the curly haired woman as she returned to her seat, her stature tall, her body curvy and fit hugged by dark blue high waisted fitted jeans, white t-shirt tucked in with a beige tweed blazer on top.

The curly haired child had turned into a woman, now called Ecstasy, callsign recently provided by the station chief herself. Ecstasy now worked in the CIA. She's a specialist in cyber operations, finding and protecting important information, along with following orders from Laswell.

“This would be an explanation to the breach all of you experienced whilst in the safehouse in Mexico City.” Laswell opened the file, her hand fixing the zoom of the projector for everyone in the conference room to observe. “Russian intelligence managed to get into our database, revealing your location.”

Captain Price started to organize the different pages under the projector, his hands evening out the spaces between each scattered paper. “Your database got hacked into?” Price chuckles, “The CIA never ceases to amuse me.” From the corner of his eyes, the captain noticed Ecstasy quickly look down after his comment. He made an internal note on her reaction.

“There is an explanation for it.” Laswell replies dryly.

“There's an explanation for everything, ‘innit?” John replies with certain sarcasm and tiredness in his voice.

A dark voice filled the room, “Obviously you guys gained something while giving away that information.” It came from Ghost. Lieutenant Simon Riley, callsign Ghost. “What did you find out?” Heads turned towards Laswell once again.

Laswell smiles, searches for a specific paper and zooms into it with the projector. The paper was big compared to the other ones, it was a map, an aerial view of Al-Mazrah, Republic of Adal. Red circles, coordinates, and blue exes scattered around the black and white coloured map.

“What the fuck’s that?” Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick asked, placing the pencil he was once tapping the table with, flat on the table.

“Ecstasy’s work.” Laswell’s eyes found the curly haired woman’s dark brown orbs before shifting towards Gaz. “These are locations of stolen missiles, given away by Shepherd. These are now in the hands of Russians and Al-Qatala.”

“Shouldn't we contact Farah?” Gaz’s voice filled with worry.

“Farah has already been contacted, she has a copy of the map, and she said she will deal with Al-Qatala.” Laswell assured.

“How did you guys manage to get all ‘o this?” John ‘Soap’ MacTavish got to the point, he looked at the other coworkers of Laswell one of them being Ecstasy herself, waiting for an answer.

“Once again, Ecstasy.” Laswell repeated herself. Soap looked at her with a confused face but he wasn't the only curious one, and this prompted Laswell to nod towards Ecstasy herself, signaling to speak for herself.

Ecstasy looked around the room, taking each man’s vibe in before speaking up, “I work in Cyberspace of the CIA, I found a crack into Russian intelligence but whilst retrieving information, our information got leaked…” she looked down in embarrassment. “Leading to the sudden attack you guys faced in Mexico. They got your guys’ coordinates. It was the only way to get information about the missiles.”

“She almost got us killed.” Ghost stated as soon as Ecstasy finished talking, blaming her for the failed mission.

“No. She got us information on the fuckin’ missiles we've all been crying over.” Soap defended the hacker, “I like ‘er.” he pointed his finger at Ecstasy, he got a shy smile in return.

“So, what's the plan? We go to Al-Mazrah?” Gaz asked.

“After the US placed sanctions against Mexico, Russia did the Zimmermann move the Germans did back in the day.” Ecstasy explained.

“Translate.” Gaz urged.

“Russia has been trying to convince Mexico to buy missiles off of them to attack the US.” Laswell chimed in. “We need to seize and retrieve the missiles from them for the sake of not having another war with Mexico.”

The Task Force remained quiet whilst other soldiers and coworkers of Ecstasy whispered amongst each other not knowing how this would play out. Ecstasy fixed her glasses whilst her eyes scanned every crevice of the conference room, her pair seized moving once caught with another blue pair of eyes, these coated with black paint, Ghost. She smiled at him before quickly returning her attention to Laswell, her chair spinning and her hand travelling to rest under her chin. Ghost followed her movements, how her arm supported the weight of her face and how strangely, a twitch of anger appeared for a second on her face before quickly fading away to the original passive, submissive and shy look on her face. Ghost frowned with displeasure under the baklava he was wearing, attentive of the little façade coming from the named Ecstasy.

“You're not giving us this information for free.” John stated, tapping the map with his index finger. “What do you want us to do?”

“Take Ecstasy with you.” Laswell nodded her head towards Ecstasy, Laswell found herself meeting a pair of widened eyes. It seemed like Ecstasy herself wasn't aware of the deal Laswell was setting on the table.

“You want us to take the ‘lass?” Soap asked, laughing with disbelief.

“I'm not going.” Ecstasy spoke up, she began collecting her things, her voice quiet and nervous.

“She said it herself.” Ghost eyes moved from Ecstasy to Laswell, his head moving first before his eyes. “She's not coming ‘wit us.”

Price didn't seem too fond of the idea of taking Ecstasy with them either. It would be dangerous for Ecstasy herself and for the rest of the Task Force, it'd be tiring for him to babysit another human too, the boys were already a handful. John couldn't afford getting closer to another soul, like Ecstasy, while being in constant danger, while there was a high possibility either of them wouldn't be awake to see the sunrise the next day. He couldn't afford that nor could the rest of the Task Force.

John already preoccupied himself with the fact that Ghost would give up on his life any minute from now, that Soap was crying over his family again, or that Gaz was once again breaking down from all the atrocities he had committed so far after following him into the Task Force. He also had to care for himself. Remind himself that someone out there has to make sure the enemy was still scared of the dark, and that that someone had to be him. List reasons in his head about why he should keep doing what he's doing. He didn't want to worry about Ecstasy. He couldn't. He didn’t have the time or space in his mind to worry.

“Why should we take her with us?” John spoke up, wanting to forget his thoughts.

“She's under constant exposure of being a target of the Russians. She's vital for us, meaning she's vital for you.” Laswell answered. “She can retreat constant information about Russians and provide you with coordinates in Al-Mazrah, the downside is that while hacking she has Russian intelligence hacking her in return, them obtaining her location. We’ve had an incident with her safety before already, we can't have that happen again.”

Ecstasy pressed her lips with displeasure and discomfort. Her mind travelled back to the certain incident.

The pistol in her hand propelled her shoulder backwards, bullets repeatedly entering the chest of the corpse that laid in front of her feet. The man laid with his eyes closed and mouth slightly open, his body jolting after each bullet impacted his lifeless body.

The frame resting on the woman's nose had specks of dark red blood on them, evidence of the kill she had obtained. Her eyes blinked defending her brown pair from the blood entering after each bullet squirted the red liquid out from the body. A tiny smile on her face which grew after the sound of each bullet.

Before she could continue on any further, a loud noise of doors opening and commands of putting the gun down filled the office she was standing in. Immediately, she dropped the weapon, and embarrassed and shy smile on her face. Her eyes met with each officer before meeting with the pair of her boss, Laswell. She who stared wide eyed, in horror, at the scene before her. Ecstasy with her hands in the air, blood splattered on her outfit and her face, a small awkward smile, and the lifeless body before her, a pool of blood surrounding it, along with orifices caused by bullets all over the torso of the man.

“Russian spy.” An officer looked up at Laswell, the man leaned on top of the lifeless corpse, his hands holding some sort of identification.

Laswell’s eyes travelled from corpse to the woman. “XXXX…”

“You're getting the missiles.” Laswell commanded. “And you're taking her with you.”

“I did not agree to this.” Ecstasy laughed with nervousness, her eyes looking for mercy with Kate’s. “I don't remember talking about this.”

Laswell walked towards the hacker with heavy steps, a stern look on her face. Before Ecstasy could speak up once again, she was already being dragged out the conference room, the heavy black wooden door closing behind them. The exit of the two seemed to be the end of the meeting, everybody else in the conference leaving shortly after, though the Task Force 141 remained behind.

Gaz leaned back against his chair, his arms crossed with one of them reaching up to his face, his hand holding up his jaw and his index finger tapping his nose, thinking. “Are we seriously taking her with?”

John sat down by the open file left behind by Laswell, his hands moving papers. “I'll see what I can do.” John also leaned back on the dark conference room chair, holding in front of him the map that was once displayed in front of everyone.

“I don't see why everyone's so sad about it!” Soap stood up from his seat and made over his way to the Captain, touching the papers and picking up a specific stack from the table. “Besides…” He became quiet after his eyes landed on the cover of the clipped stack of papers he had just picked up.

“Besides?” Gaz looked at him.

“It'll be a good opportunity for you to get laid for once.” Soap teased Gaz, his hands moving, turning the stack he was holding to face Gaz. A picture of Ecstasy along with her callsign and specialisation under it. “I wouldn't complain if I were you. She's a pretty thing.”

Kyle’s hands reached out to hold out the bottom of the picture, scanning the female specialist’s face. “I’m not the horny cunt here, Soap.” Gaz roasted back. “She’s all yours.”

#fanfiction #call of duty #cod mw22 #fanfic #idek tbh #modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x reader #john price

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whisperprime · 1 year

Text

Hob had been honest when he said that he’d lost the majority of his network. Anyone who wasn’t immortal had died off with his imprisonment lasting as long as it did and he had yet been unable to rebuild a new one.

But that did not mean he was without connections altogether.

It was one such connection that he was currently seeking out.

With the new semester officially having kicked off, he’s only going to get busier as the weeks go by. It is with this in mind that that he knows that if he wants to get this task done, he needs to do it soon.

Rounding the corner on what could be any street in London, Hob approaches a building that reads “Bernie’s Barbershop” in pealing, faded red and white letters. Contrary to the age of the sign, a modern, red light “OPEN” sign beckons anyone walking past to come in and get a haircut.

Hob feels a sense of relief upon seeing it. His memory of his contact’s location in this time period had been iffy at best. He had a few other possible ideas, sure, but he’s glad he won’t have to go on a walk through of all of London to find his target.

A door bell rings over head as he enters, announcing his presence to anyone inside. Hob takes in the mixture of old and new, from the older, brick walls to the newer furniture. He’s just inspecting the display of products, when a slim, red headed woman slips out of the back.

“Welcome, do you have an appointment?”

Hob pulls away from the display. “No, sorry. I’m here to speak with the owner, if possible. He wouldn’t happen to be here, would he?”

He knows full well that the man in question will be here, but it is polite to ask.

The woman, who’s name tag proclaims her to be Sherry, blinks at him. She eyes him up and down for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he’s a disgruntled former customer.

“May I ask who’s looking for him?”

“Tell him Robert Gadling is here to see him.” Hob continues to smile presently at her, to try and show he was here on good terms. “I’m really just an old friend.”

That seems to ease her concerns a bit, but not entirely. Turning on her heel, the moment causing her poofy dress to puff out with the moment, she disappears into the back.

Hob contends himself to another wait.

The owner, however, doesn’t make him wait long.

“Well, I’ll be! Robbie Gadling, as I live and breathe!” A tall, tan skinned man appears in the doorway leading to the back of the shop. He crosses the room in mere strides, throwing his arms around Hob when he reaches him. “It really is you!”

Hob laughs as he allows himself to be pulled into the hug. “It’s good to see you, too, Viktor.” He grips the man’s forearms as Viktor holds him out at arms length to look him over. “I was hoping you’d be in today.”

Viktor laughs, a jolly booming thing. “Ah, you know I practically live at work.” He releases Hob in order to sling an arm over him, directing him towards the back. “You’re going to have to catch me up on all your latest mad adventures.” Over his shoulder, before they pass through the door, he throws over his shoulder, “If anyone asks for me, Sherry, let them know I’m unavailable.”

Hob catches a glimpse at the blank look on Sherry’s face, hears the muttered, “Sure thing, boss,” before they’re through the door.

Viktor leads him down a hall to a door to the end of it. Once they’re inside, the man shuts the door behind them. The moment the door clicks, Hob feels the tingling feeling of he thinks might be some form of magic roll over the room.

Viktor directs him to a chair into which he takes a seat as he says, “You can speak freely while the door is closed.” He moves around a deceptively cheap looking desk to have a seat, himself. “We can hear those outside, but they will not hear us.”

Hob glances at the door. He’s never been certain if Viktor is any kind of practitioner of the mystical arts, but he knows the man’s wards are nothing to sniff at. He turns back around. “Seems a bit much, when you don’t know what I’m here for.”

Viktor snorts, pulling open one of the drawers of his desk. “We are good friends, Robbie,” he states, reaching into the open drawer. “But not so good you visit without a reason.” Out of the drawer, he pulls out a cheap bottle of malt scotch whiskey and two crystal shot glasses, all three of which he sets on the table.

Hob feels a pang of regret for the truth in those words. It’s easy to take people for granted when you know there’s still a good chance you’ll see them in a hundred years.

He accepts one of the two glasses when Viktor hands them to him, bringing it up to take a sip as the other man points out, “But worry not, I’d still love to hear the latest strop you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Hob laughs. “Aw, that’s not fair. My life isn’t that interesting.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow at him, unconvinced. “This coming from the man who spent a month in a ghost town.” He leans forward, pointing at him with a finger from the hand still holding his glass. “And it wasn’t a ‘ghost town’ because it was abandoned.”

In his defense, he had been out of it between the deaths of his nuclear family and near getting drowned for being a witch. A kind hand had been seemed like a god send at the time when the old woman helped pull him from the river.

The fact that the old woman had been a ghost looking to take advantage of his in between state to try and trick him into becoming part of the town indefinitely so they could feed on his life force for all eternity?

Well. Maybe the man had a point.

Hob hums as he savors the whiskey. It’s cheap, but still a good brand. “Sadly, I can’t talk much about what happened without talking about why I’m here.”

Viktor sobers a bit. “You’ve been gone a while. It have anything to do with that?”

Hob takes another sip of his drink. Partially to stall. He nods and looks Viktor dead in the eye as he says, “Yeah, I’m looking for a crew. Discreet and not bothered by a little property damage.”

The taller man of the pair leans back in his chair. He studies him for a long, several minutes. “What kind of property damage?”

Hob smiles. Knows it’s not a nice one. “I want to destroy a house.” He finishes off the whiskey and places the drink back on the table.

Viktor whistles, a little something dark entering his own eyes. “And what did this house do to you?”

Hob studies the other man for a moment. Viktor was a warlock, an immortal one at that. He had no need for houses that curtailed one’s aging, as the man had stopped aging long before the Gadling name was a word on people’s lips. And even if he should show interest in it, he strictly stayed away from sites of deals struck with demons.

He taps the glass on the table, once, twice, and then lets it sit again. “The owner of the house has wronged me and is a threat to those I care about.” He leans forward to hold his cup out, which the warlock refills. “A demon has promised that as long as the roof stands, the owner will not age. I wish to inconvenience the owner by destroying the house.”

That darkness in Viktor’s eyes takes on a shade of disgust. “Hm. And what is the name of the owner?”

Hob raises his glass to his lips, utters, “Roderick Burgess.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of this one. Pompous idiot.” Viktor snorts. “The man everyone says caught the devil in his basement.”

The phrase brings a vicious twist to Hob’s gut. Funny how some things persist. He takes the sip, more to fortify himself this time. “He had a demon in his basement, alright. But the demon wasn’t the prisoner.”

Viktor stills, understanding like lightening across his features. Hob is touched by the anger and outrage he can see behind the shock. “I’m sorry to hear of your misfortune.”

“Thank you.” Hob waves it off, even as he accepts the condolence. It’s hardly water under the bridge, but he isn’t here to talk about it. “There’s one more thing: I want to be part of the crew.”

The warlock doesn’t seem surprised, but he does seem concerned. “You sure you want to go back in there. Any crew I put together will be able to do the job just fine.”

Hob hears where the concern really lies: Viktor doesn’t know what level of trauma he has nor how much it might effect the success of the crew. If Hob wants to endanger himself, that’s one thing, but the warlock won’t let him become a liability to anyone else, both for his own good and the good of the others.

It’s a fair concern, but unnecessary. Hob will not fall apart for the job itself.

Afterword? Well, that’s a different story.

Still, Hob seeks to ease some of the other man’s worries, “I’ll only be in and out.” He finishes his drink and then places it on the table. Waves off any more. “Burgess is a shame, but he has something of real danger. He can’t be allowed to keep it.”

Viktor keeps silent, waiting for Hob to elaborate.

And Hob thinks Viktor is indeed a good friend, but he’s also a very real and very powerful warlock who is only mostly a good man.

Everyone has their weaknesses and who knows what all is contained in the Magdalene Grimoire?

Hob keeps his silence.

After several long minutes, the taller man takes the cue that Hob will not budge on this. Chooses not to take offense and instead nods to acknowledge the fact that the shorter man doesn’t mean anything personal by it. “Well, you’re in luck, Robbie, because ol’ Magus is having party next weekend.” To show the source of the news, he pulls a out a pamphlet, which proclaims the day and time of the event. “Celebrating his 150th birthday, he says.”

Hob snorts. Good to see the man is just as arrogant as ever and still hasn’t learned a thing. It’s that kind of brazen that gets people riled up into mobs and coming to burn you at the stake.

Still, he’ll take the in. “I’ll be there.”

Viktor drags the pamphlet off the table. “Now that that’s settled, what do you say we do a little more light hearted catching up?”

Hob laughs again. They spend the rest of the afternoon catching up, Viktor telling wild tales about the events that led up to the building of his barbershop and Hob talking about his new Inn (”You should come by when it’s finished. The first drink is on me.”) and his new teaching position.

They only realize how late it’s getting when they hear a knock on the door. Sherry’s voice filters through as she says, “Place is all locked up, boss. I’m headed out.”

Viktor rises from his seat and crosses over to the door. He opens it up and leaves it to signify that he’s open to visitors again. Hob can feel the dropping of the wards the moment the door handle turned. “Thanks, Sherry. I’ll see you next Monday?”

She nods, eyeing Hob from behind her boss. He can tell she’s a little curious as to why he’s still here, but not enough to stay and find out. “See you next Monday,” she returns, before heading out.

Hob remembers the shop closes around six and takes it as his own cue. He stands and starts for the door. “Probably should be heading out myself. Still need to make certain everything is all set for the week.”

Viktor pats him on the back and Hob is thankful he doesn’t flinch. “It was good to see you, Robbie. Drop me a line when the New Inn is open and I’ll swing by.”

Hob waves at him as he heads out. Calls over his shoulder, “I’ll save a good one just for you.”

He hears a laugh and, “Always knew you were one of the good ones!”

Over the following week, Hob tries to distract himself with his classes, but finds himself too restless and uneasy to concentrate fully. According to their surveillance, this party is mostly for his inner circle - Burgess and the people who have helped financed him over the years. There’s even talk of a main event that sets Hob’s inner warning bells ringing. He knows it is very unlikely that Burgess will ever catch his true target, but all it would take is the right circumstances and a little luck, and he might catch something that causes the same level of damage as he did the first time. Even if it wasn’t something of real power, anything he caught wouldn’t deserve it.

On top of wanting to bring that damn roof down, if only fuels his need to get that spell book out of Burgess’ hands once and for all.

When the time comes, Viktor's people have been shoe'ed in with a crew that are in charge of delivering the decorations. Flowers, the cake, and other necessities are to be brought in before the party is to kick off. Hob feels not unlike he’s going into a potential minefield. He likely shouldn’t be involved in this. Really should leave this to Viktor’s men, but he can’t chance the book disappearing in the chaos that will undoubtedly follow the destruction of the manor.

He puts some effort into confusing his appearance. Puts on a quality blond wig that doesn’t look half bad once he has it on with the uniform cap. Uses some makeup to lighten up the tan he’s only just recently gotten back. Some padding in his clothes changes his body shape. It would only need to hold up long enough to meet up with and switch places with someone of similar looks and build, who would step in once the spell book was retrieved and could finish the rest of the job.

When the day comes, Hob watches as a picturesque manor comes into view from the windows of the van the crew are driving in. If he had never set foot in this place again, it would have been too soon. He can only imagine what returning here might do to his subconscious that night when it was time to sleep.

Beside him, one of the women of the group, is leaning forward to get as good a look at the manor as she can without unbuckling herself. Hob thinks he heard someone call her ‘Millie’ at some point. “Seems a bit of a shame to tear it down. Place some interesting history.”

Across from her, an olive skinned man groaned in the way people do when they’ve heard something before. Under his breathe, he mutters, “And here we go...”

Millie gave him the finger. “You just don’t care about history.”

Beside her, another man laughs good naturedly. He’d introduced himself as Tom. He was also one of the only people who’d introduced himself. “Only when history gets me a big paycheck!”

The first man laughs with him and Millie turns back to the window with a disgruntled frown.

Hob, taking pity on her, asks, “What’s so interesting about it?”

Tom’s buddy snorted, but Millie ignores him. She looks like she would have pounced on Hob, had that been the polite thing to do. “Not much is known about it before the 1700s, but it used to be called Blackwood Manor. Rumor has it, King George III gave it to a Lady Johanna Constantine in exchange for Pandora’s Box.”

Hob is too stuck on Lady Constantine’s name to contemplate if Pandora’s Box is real or not. “Is that so?” He side-eyes the Manor, wondering if he’s destined to keep hearing about this woman every couple hundred years. Perhaps her footprints on this Earth were deeper than he’d thought.

Millie nods. “She’s the one that gave it the name, ‘Fawney Rig.’” She frowns. “Funny name that.”

Hob, still distracted by the first bit of information, off handedly states, “It’s a ring dropping trick.”

A few of the people in the van turn to look at him. The weight of their gaze is what pulls Hob back to himself. Causally, he explains, “I’m a history teacher.”

It has the effect he’s hoping it would. Most of the people, especially the two who had proclaimed a dislike for history, go back to attempting to ignore them. Millie, however, has leaned forward curiously. To her, he further explains, “Someone would drop a small trinket, often a ring. When someone else picked it up, the person who dropped it would pretend they’d seen it first. The person would offer to take their share of the finders fee and let the second person have the trinket. By the time the swindled realized they’d been swindled, the swindler was gone.”

Tom snorts, the sound tinged with a hint of respect.

Millie wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Quite the character, then, this Lady Constantine.”

If only she knew.

Seeing as they were about to pull up to the manor, Millie quickly wrapped up her story. “It passed through a few hands before it came into the Burgess family. Supposedly, the Roderick Burgess now is the same Roderick Burgess who bought back in the early 1900s.”

Tom’s buddy doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t truly seem to care either way. “Probably some grandson taking advantage of their similar name.”

Hob decides not to comment, which is just as well, as the van in coming to a stop and everyone is getting their things together. All of the supplies are situated in the back and waiting to be collected. Each of them have been given a task, with Hob’s leaving him on the first floor, where he is most likely to encounter a study.

As they begin to unload, Hob pulls his cap down a touch further to make it easier to hide his eyes. He’s handed two large vases of flowers as a member of the staff he’s never seen comes up to direct him over to where he’s to set them. Hob subtly watches for anyone that might recognize him and finds himself relieved when the few members of the Order that are out and about in the house are too busy to pay attention to the bustle of the decorators.

The member of the staff leads him to an area further back in the house. Hob forces himself to walk past a seemingly ordinary door he has not seen in the Waking world, but would still recognize anywhere. One of the other doors they pass is ajar and within it, he can see his prize: Burgess’ study.

Burgess’ study, where Roderick Burgess himself is currently talking with another man.

Hob catches sight of Burgess beginning to turn in response to the sound of him and the staff member passing. Shifts the vase, as if getting a better hold on it, which incidentally puts the flowers between his own face and Burgess.

He worries for a moment that this could complicate things, but some deity of luck seems to have taken favor with him today, because he can hear the sound of the two men exiting the study - “They never get the decorations right unless you see to them yourself” - followed shortly by the sound of a door locking.

Hob places the first vase where directed. It’s during the placement of the second one that he ‘accidently’ fails to place it properly. They both manage to save the vase and the flowers are only slightly damaged, but most of the water from the vase is now on Hob and the staff member.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” Hob makes himself fret. “I don’t know what happened. It seemed steady enough.”

The staff member sighs, exasperated, but somehow not surprised. He has clearly dealt with much, much worse in his day. “I’ll get more water for the vase.” He waves a hand down the hall, back the way they came. “There’s a bathroom around the corner, if you want to towel off.”

Hob tilts his hat in thanks. He makes his way back down the hall, waits until the staff member is out of sight, and then steals off in the direction of the study.

He finds the area devoid of staff, decorators, or members of the household. Most everyone is busy with the setting up or are hiding out of the way. Hob glances around, before trying the knob.

It’s locked.

He’s not terribly surprised, having anticipated this could happen. He doesn’t have much need for the kind of skills one gains with banditry or thieving these days, but he’s never let himself forget them. The times was always a-changing and he never knows who he’d need to be in his next life.

It’s almost painfully easy to get the door open. He slips inside without a sound. The room is light with the sunset outside, which gives him enough light for his search. The study is old fashioned, with a stone fireplace, wooden desk and various cabinets and other such oddities he’d expect in a rich man’s home from the 1900s. Few things have been updated over the last century.

He doesn’t see much that screams hiding place for a priceless book, until his eyes lands on a wooden cabinet tucked in the back of the room. It’s a dark wood thing, sturdy, and with a decent lock on it. Without the key or a set of picks, someone would have to make a lot of noise to open the thing.

The lock opens as easily as the study’s for him. Inside, dimly light by the last rays of the sun through the window, he finds a hefty amount of cash, some jewels and other valuables. He ignores them all in favor of- yes. There it is.

Sitting on top is the Liber Fulvarum Paginarum that had given away the fact that he wasn’t, in fact, Death herself. From underneath it, he pulls a book, bound in dark leather decorated with gold tooling. It has no name, and he has only seen it once, but he recognizes it.

It’s also a bit heavier than he thought it would be, but not so much he can’t work with it. He’s thankful for the padding, which is only slightly damp from the water, as it makes a good place to hide the book on his person. It’s a bit awkward and won’t hold up to close inspection, but it will do for the short term.

Hob locks up the cabinet. He pauses at the door, listening for voices. When he hears none, he slips out, locking the door as he locked the cabinet. He forces himself to walk as casually as possible down the hall and towards the doors. He’s almost to the door, when he hears: “Excuse me, sir, can you help me with this streamer? Just need a tall person to help set the ends in place.”

Hob almost carries on as if he hasn’t heard, but there a light tap on his shoulder. Heart pounding, He turns enough to see a young woman too nicely dressed to be part of the staff. She must be a guest or one of the permanent members of the household, having come out to help decorate. She’s holding up a streamer in her hands. Beyond her, he can see more decorating one of the sitting rooms.

Hob weights his choices. If he stays, he risks getting caught. If he refuses, it might seem odd. Memorable even. He glances at the door, which is wide open and tauntingly close. Turns back to her and smiles good naturedly. “Maybe with one. I still have other things to bring in.”

Her smile brightens and she ushers him over to where she wants the thing. He’s putting up the other end, when she looks over his shoulder and calls out to someone in the entrance. “Mr. Burgess! Is this how you wanted it?”

Hob freezes, horror turning his blood to ice. His heart skips a beat and he can’t seem to draw any air. He holds absolutely still as the sound of footsteps come up behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck rise up when Burgess comes to a stop behind him.

“Hm.” A long considering pause. “Yes, that will do, Darla.”

‘Darla’ grins, pleased to have done something for the master of the house.

Hob can feel Burgess’ eyes on the back of his head. He doesn’t dare move as the man of the house offers a hand out to Darla, who takes it. Burgess beckons her away, saying, “Let’s leave the decorations to the workers. There’s no need for you to do anything.”

He can hear their footsteps retreating as Darla pouts. “But I wanted to help.”

Burgess hums at her again, placentally. At what might be the doorway, the steps pause. “I apologize for the interruption to your work.” The old man hardly sounds apologetic, and there’s a clear warning in it. “Please, return to your duties.”

Hob manages to rouse himself enough to nod, although he has no clue if it’s seen or not. He doesn’t dare to move until he’s certain that Burgess and Darla are gone. He has to fight to get his breathing under control and knows he absolutely must leave now.

The sun has set outside, casting more than enough shadows to allow Hob to slip away unseen. The man he was to meet with to switch places with meets him once he’s past the line of sight of the tree line. Hob takes off and then hands him the damp shirt and padding he’d been wearing (sans the book), which the man puts on with only a little grimace. He doesn’t need a wig, as he’s already blond. Hob takes fresh shirt and slips it on. Nods to the man as he makes his way out and back into the party preparations.

Hob, himself, makes his way in the opposite direction, towards where a motorcycle has been stashed for him. He doesn’t allow himself to start to relax until he’s miles away from the Manor, and even then, he doesn’t fully relax until he’s locking the door of his flat.

Near gasping, Hob sinks to the floor. He doesn’t care that the mat his sitting on is dirty. He curls himself up, around the book that has caused so much pain and misery. He wants to throw it away from himself. To start a fire and throw it in. For the moment, he simply sits with it until his heart stops hammering and he no longer feels like his breathing through a narrow tube.

When he finally feels a little like himself again, he rises from the doorway. He places his wretched prize in a safe he’s bought to hold his valuables. It’s barely big enough to hold the book, if place in at an angle, and he’s happy to shut the door and have it out of his sight.

Book secured, he goes straight for the brandy. He drinks straight from the bottle, desperately needing something to calm his nerves. Does so until he can feel the edge coming off enough he can stand to go clean up and change. He’s gotten the make up cleaned off and is just putting on a new shirt when his phone pings at him.

There a single message from Viktor that reads: “Set up complete. Now we wait.”

Hob is equal parts too wired and too tired to settle. He still tries to go through his evening routine. He eats something light, not really feeling hungry, but knowing it’s not a good idea to drink on an empty stomach, immortal or not. Everything seems to go by in a blur, until he finds himself in bed. He’s got a book in his hand he doesn’t remember picking up and he hasn’t read a line from.

Leans his head back against the pillows propping him up and closes his eyes.

He thinks he won’t sleep until he hears this is over.

He falls asleep, despite his resistance, his exhaustion winning out as it inevitably always does.

Part 15

#the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #who is taking a turn as sir not appearing in this film this time #he'll be back in the next part #i need to find more excuses to have him stick around #dreamling #my fic #title: carry you back into the light #i've never written any sort of heist or otherwise #so i have no clue how believable any of this is #just hope this didn't totally suck

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theflowerofthecommonwealth · 2 years

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Companions and What Happens When They Watch Jasmine for a Day Part One

Includes: Piper, Deacon, Danse, Hancock, and X6.

Nick honestly does not want leave Jasmine alone as they are in a unknown settlement with only one of the companions and a bunch of settlers. But he just got a heavy case that Jazzy can’t tag along for and he can’t put off for later. “Hey, I kinda got a long case to follow, do ya mind watching for Jasmine while I’m at it?”

(Note: This takes place after Jasmine accepts the companions as family. Otherwise my girl would just hide in a tree for all eternity)

Piper Wright:

Big sister mode activates as soon as those words leave Nicks mouth.

Bro has been training her whole life for this moment to arrive.

She catapults over to the teen girl who is stacking up rocks into little houses.

Piper: “We are having a girls day today, kiddo! What kinda things did prewar girls your age do?”

Jasmine: “A lotta cartwheels and handstand contests...”

Hearing that, Piper immediately decided to give it a try and scoots back to give herself room.

She holds a handstand for about five seconds before her arms collapse in on itself, making her slump awkwardly onto the floor like melted butter.

Jasmine then chooses to point out that it’s not fair for a competition because she has physical enhancements and will last longer.

Piper gets up with a huff and challenges the teen to do a handstand anyways.

Just like she said she would, Jas is able to hold herself up with no problem.

Girl even shows off by taking away one hand and doing the splits midair.

Much to Pipers great annoyance.

Jasmine stands down with a cheeky smile, offering to help the older girl nail it down.

Piper first must crack out her arms and legs that have become overly stiff with the last attempt.

Jasmine: “Phhhfft, like a little old lady!”

Piper: “Oh, ha-ha, very funny.”

She keeps getting a face full of grass and dirt at every new attempt.

Jas ends up lifting her up by the waist whenever she is about to fall.

She tries teaching Piper several balancing techniques to try to help stabilize her.

But it proves fruitless in the end.

Eventually the teen just lets go without warning to see what would happen.

Piper somehow does a perfect back bend when she drops backwards.

Task failed successfully.

However, she has to get help in getting back up onto her own two feet.

Still, Piper is pumped about it, silently freaking out on how well she did.

Piper: “Oh geez look at the time, we should get something to eat.”

Jasmine: “I don’t like food.”

Piper: “Ah well, too bad you need it to keep living and to do your handstands. Cmon, I’ll make you something real special!”

Piper leads her to the kitchen and starts making a loaf of her famous soda bread with dried up mutfruit for the girl to try. (An actual thing in the Fallout Official Cookbook)

Luckily, she doesn’t burn it to pure ash this time and the house fills with the pleasant smell of freshly baked bread.

Jasmine gets to work on their main course, preparing Braised Deathclaw Steak served over what looks like rice.

Piper: “I’m a little afraid to ask what that actually is…”

Jasmine: “Ehh, it’s close enough to the prewar stuff I think.”

The two girls sit around the table with bottles of Nuka Cola and each of their dishes evenly distributed.

Pipers soda bread has biscuity and slightly sweet tang to it, the mutfruit doing wonders for it. (Although Jas can’t taste it)

And Jasmine somehow got the Deathclaw steak to be so soft and buttery that it magically melts in their mouth.

Safe to say that the course was a full on success, with Piper packing away the leftovers for later travels.

After that, Piper insists that Jazzy should allow her to do her hair.

Well kept curly hair is a rarity in the Commonwealth, even more so when it’s very magically long.

She sits Jasmine down in a chair and brings out a comb, some water, and some hair ties.

Carefully, Piper does the teens hair into a nice updo that she saw in a magazine back home.

She does a decent job, only leaving a few fly aways and mistakes.

Nothing that can’t be fixed with some bobby pins.

Jasmine: “Well by girlish law, now I have to do your hair in exchange.”

Piper: “Was that an actual rule back then?”

Jasmine: “Yup, at least in my town and among the girls.”

They switch places and Jasmine takes control of the comb.

Jasmine: “Don’t peek until I’m done, it’s a surprise.”

Jas sections off her hair and makes two small fishtail braids that meet in the back, lightly curling the rest of Pipers hair and leaving it loose.

She even puts in a few fancy hairpins to give it a extra touch.

The Reporter gets overly delighted when she finally is allowed to look in the mirror.

She starts to run her fingers through it constantly, admiring it at every angle.

Until Jazzy tells her that doing that will ruin it sooner.

Then she makes sure nothing touches or snags it, putting up her arms around her head when she walks close to something.

The two girls change into pajamas and drag out sleeping bags around the fireplace.

Jasmine starts doodling little cartoons while Piper watches with interest.

Piper: “Who are you drawing?”

Jasmine: “Hancock.”

Piper: “His hat isn’t that big.”

Jasmine: “Neither are his boots. It’s a cartoon, everything is exaggerated.”

She continues her drawings while Piper starts recounting a story about the time a bird flew over Diamond City and pooped on Crazy Myrna.

Jas grins wildly and starts drawing a cartoon of that, comedically recapturing the scene in detail.

She gives it to Piper so she can make copies to secretly distribute to the other companions.

At 10:00pm sharp, Piper loudly claps her hands together like a teacher.

Piper: “Alright kiddo, time for you to tune out for the night.”

Jazzy sighs super dramatically at this, tucking her sketchbook back in her bag and laying down on the sleeping bag with a pout.

Although she herself is tired, Piper is determined stay awake until Jasmine falls asleep.

So she keeps rambling about potential cover stories and leads until the teens eyes start blinking shut.

A little part of her wonders if she had bored the kid to death.

Piper scoots her sleeping bag closer so she can lay a comforting arm around the younger girl while she slumbers.

Its quite a sweet scene to see when Nick returns early in the morning.

Deacon:

He is a bit of a wildcard when it comes to this sort of thing.

Right on the fine line of being completely reckless and being completely levelheaded.

He takes being the favorite uncle very seriously.

So Nick is wary on leaving Jas behind with him, they might end up with another baby deathclaw on their hands.

Deacon: “Relax Nicky, I’m the very definition of innocent and wholesome fun-...”

Nick pins Deacon by the shoulders and make him swear to his face and daunting glowing eyes that he won’t get Jazzy into any real trouble.

Top five scariest moments in Deacons life.

He’s kinda shooketh when Nick finally let’s him go and leaves.

Its not like he was planning on doing anything too extreme or cause too much chaos, but he definitely is second guessing.

Nevertheless, he marches up to the teen girl who is messing around with a frisbee.

Deacon: “Hey there small fry, ready to cause some trouble?”

She grins wildly at Deacon and holds up a colored powder bomb she had been saving.

Nothing is gonna be safe from these two.

As long as it’s harmless fun Deacon is all for it.

Deacon: “Now how do we get the Brahmain onto the roof?”

Jasmine: “With a lot of duct tape and critical patience...”

The settlers start getting more and more bamboozled as the day progresses.

Especially when a they find googly eyes stuck to a bunch of inanimate objects.

Deacon: “The pink glitter will stick out more if you use on the plungers instead!”

Jasmine: “Yeah but if I do, what color do I use for the chickens?”

Deacon: “Try periwinkle.”

Jasmine: “THATS FOR THE MANNEQUINS!!”

Both of them deny having anything to do with the balloon animals with scary drawn on faces in the showers.

Or the Sentry Bot guard in a wig and oversized dress.

They get so carried away with their little tricks that Deacon forgets to check the clock.

Deacon: “Ooops, way past meal time, you hungry there Tootsie Pop?”

Jasmine: “No, and how the hell did you come up with that one?”

Deacon: “Great! I’ll whisk us something scrummy!”

Jasmine: “…Is that even a word?”

Usually when Deacon makes food, he does it in a way that makes the dish look wacky and almost unrecognizable.

Buuuuut, with Jazzy that’s not the exactly the bestest thing to do.

So he makes little sandwiches decorated and shaped into interesting characters and scenery.

Deacon gets too into it during preparations and comes up with complex backstories for each one. (And maybe got attached for comedic reasons)

Jasmine: “So… Do you want me to eat this or not?”

Deacon: “Just make it quick for Sir Reginald, the guy has suffered enough hardships…”

Jasmine: “Uhhh, do you need mental help?”

After that drama is all sorted up, the two of them gather up toilet paper, paint, and a bunch of rotten mirelurk eggs. (You can already see where this is going)

That group of Brotherhood soldiers stationed nearby never even saw it coming.

All it took was a big enough distraction, and fast feet to pull it off.

Jasmine: “YOU HAVE TO DO THE PAINT BEFORE THE EGGS DEACON!”

Deacon: “IM TRYING TO AIM FOR THEIR BUTTS!”

Deacon ALMOST got caught red handed.

But a perfectly timed powder filled balloon saved his ass.

By the time they are done causing their destruction and running back to the settlement, it’s well past midnight.

The parental side in Deacon half panics at the time, but he remains cool.

Deacon: (Loud fake yawn) “Okay curly girlie, time to hit the hay.”

Unfortunately for him, Jazzy is hyped on adrenaline and coffee so it’s gonna be a hassle to get her to sleep.

It takes him a half hour to drag the girl inside and shove her some pajamas to change into while he starts the clean up.

More like scrub the evidence.

Deacon gave her a death bunny onesie to wear and she looks totally adorbs, but still psyched up as hell.

Like bouncing off walls kinda hyper. Just dressed as a bunny now.

Somehow he gets her to lay down on the sofa, teasing the teen with her stuff bear by keeping it out of reach.

Another mistake because Jas sits up to snatch it back while smacking his head with her pillow.

Deacon: “Okay, okay, you got me. Seriously though, no more horsing around until you get your beauty rest.”

Jasmine: “What about you?”

Deacon: “Who, me? I never need sleep! Had that redundant function removed way back when.”

He parks himself besides her and recounts his totally 100% true tales of being the amazing and incredible Deacon.

Yes, Jazzy is skeptical of every word that comes out of his mouth, but she slowly falls into a slumber to his tall tales.

Nobody said that Deacon didn’t feel at least a bit touched and emotional, wondering what he had missed out on with Barbara.

Maybe a few stifled tears were shed in that moment….. Or many loud tears. (Give this man a hug)

He doesn’t notice Nick coming in a few hours later until the synth steps closer to them and Deacon is forced to quickly plaster on a smile again.

Deacon: “See Valentine, you had nothing to worry about. She is still in one piece and so is the settlement!”

Danse:

Straightens himself up and accepts without much hesitation and a whole lotta confidence in his voice.

That is until Valentine is actually gone, then the doubts and uncertainty start to creep in and he starts to look a little lost.

He’s had experience with Brotherhood Squires in the past, but this somehow feels completely different.

Danse goes back to tinkering with his Minuteman issued Power Armor, looking up from time to time at the young girl who is playing around with a can of homemade bubbles.

At one point, he gets a little too occupied with the tune up, going a good hour without checking up.

When he finally does, Jasmine is perched on a dangerously high building like she is Batman or something.

He drops everything and runs over, gruffly ordering her to; “GET DOWN RIGHT NOW!”

It’s overly harsh on the tone so Jazzy shrinks back on the ledge with a yelp.

Danse is more overly frightened about her safety and not actually mad.

He quickly apologizes and asks in a much softer tone if she can carefully climb down, in which she obeys.

Danse: “Please refrain from ever doing that again...”

Jasmine: “I’m looking out for those molerats who ate the melons!”

The former Paladin can only sigh at the teen and rub his head while she stares at him with wide eyes.

Danse: “Lets… obtain us something to suitable to eat.”

He honestly has no clue on how to deal with this.

Danse sets up a grill and starts cooking them both a juicy Radstag.

The meaty aroma attracts some wild mongrels so Jazzy runs over to deal with them while Danse continues.

He serves the Radstag alongside mashed potato’s and freshly cut corn.

A solid 10/10 wasteland meal.

Jasmine finishes her food first and she stands up to continue blowing her bubbles.

Her eyes get all big and sparkly while she giggles and tries to pop them all in the gentle breeze.

Danse watches the bubbly girl jump around with a smile on his face and his plate in his lap.

He almost forgets to eat while his food is still warm.

Its quite peaceful so he lets himself sit back and relax.

That is until Jas drops her bubbles and breaks out into a full on sprint across the settlement.

Danse: “Where are you going?!?”

Jasmine: “THE FUCKING MOLERATS ARE BACK!!”

Confused, Danse gets up from his chair and bolts after the girl.

And he learns that Jas can practically break the sound barrier with how fast she can run.

He catches up to her as she is trying to shank said molerats who are eating away at the crops.

Jasmine: “SAVE THE MELONS!!”

They all squeal and retreat back into their den once they see the red fury of the girl.

Of course, Jazzy tries to go in after them but Danse tugs her out before she can get very far.

Danse: “No you can’t go in there! The structure could potentially collapse in on itself!”

No way in heaven is he losing the teen to a molerat den of all things.

Danse tosses in a few live grenades just to ensure she won’t try and rush back in.

Danse: “There, that should do away with last of them-...”

He catches himself subconsciously tenderly wiping some dirt off the teen girls face with his hand.

My guy almost short circuits then and there.

Jazzy didn’t notice until he froze because Nick and almost everyone does it when she gets messy.

She snaps her finger a few times in his face to pull him back into reality.

Danse: “I- uh, sorry…”

Jas shuffles over to her bag and pulls out her frisbee, holding it up questionably to Danse to offer a game.

Its her way to break the unnecessary awkwardness.

He backs up and holds up his hands, still looking a little confused.

The two start flinging it back and forth to each other.

Progressively getting further and further apart.

Only once was Danse bonked on the head when he miscalculated his catch.

The look of shock on his face sent Jazzy into a fit of giggles.

After their game, Danse goes back to fixing his Power Armor while Jas starts playing around with a bouncy ball.

Eventually, he gets back up and searches for the girl to get her inside for the night.

He finds her sitting on top of an old garage playing on her Pip-Boy.

Jasmine claims she isn’t tired, so he tells her to run laps around the settlement with him.

She goes for much longer than he originally expected.

He's almost tired out himself by the time Jazzy finally starts slowing down.

Danse: “Ready to turn in for the night?”

Jasmine: “M’kay...”

To another surprise, she jumps up into his arm while she sleepily yawns.

He shuffles back to their chosen house for the night to set her down in front of the bathroom to change.

Jazzy is barely able to hobble in and slip into her pajamas before she collapses onto the sofa in a deep sleep.

Danse quietly does alterations to his guns on the other side of the room while she sleeps.

Jumping up in a pure panic when Jas starts crying out in her sleep.

Poor guy doesn’t know what to do in that moment other than awkwardly start patting her shoulder with some reassurance that it was alright.

Amazingly, this works and she doesn’t wake up sobbing at him for once.

You might as well have given Danse a million caps, cause he feels overly accomplished like he just had finished a successful mission.

He is still wide awake when Nick walks in at around 3:00am, politely greeting him and stating that the day was a success.

Hancock:

First Hancock must endure a series of exams and tests by Nick to ensure that he is not high/drug and sane enough to take on the job.

Nick is a prewar cop, he knows what he is looking for in the Mayor.

Once he is satisfied with the results, he gives Hancock one last glare before leaving.

The Ghoul strides over to the teen who is bouncing a kickball against a wall.

Hancock: “Okay little sister, it’s just you and me here for now. Whatcha wanna do first?”

Jazzy holds up a jump rope out of nowhere with a small smile.

She ties one end to a fence, and take ahold of the other while gesturing for him to take place in the center.

It takes Hancock a good few tries before he can jump over the rope at a reasonable pace, and Jas starts singing a rhyme to start a game.

Jasmine: “Ice cream soda, cherry on top, who’s your lover, I forgot. Is it A, B, C, D, E, F-…”

Hancock trips and falls flat face on P.

The first name that pops in both of their heads is Piper.

Although something tells Jasmine that she would be horribly disgusted by this.

But Hancock is hysterically cackling face down on the ground and says that its a “sign” from above.

Jasmine: “Please don’t tell her that Hancock, if you value your life…”

He stands up and offers to swap out places with the girl for the next turn.

Jas decides to choose a little harder skip rope song for herself.

Jasmine: “Texaco, Texaco, Over the hill to Mexico, Where they do the splits, splits, splits. And do high kicks, kicks, kicks. And turn around, round, round. And touch the ground, ground, ground. And get outta town, town, town. And get back in, in, in. And do a little spin, spin, spin. And do it all over again..”

By the end of the third time, she carried out each extra movement perfectly, leaving the Ghoul jaw-dropped.

Jasmine: “To be fair, I had more practice on the schoolyard playground.”

She doesn’t think it’s too impressive, but he is still in astonishment for some reason.

After a few rounds of different jump rope games, Hancock realizes they should probably go find something to eat.

They basically run around the entire settlement and take up anything edible that they could get ahold of.

Jasmine slams it all together to make a casserole that smells heavenly in the oven.

Hancock piles together all the sweet rolls and sugar bombs to make an almost cake for dessert.

Hancock: “You think that you're gonna get sick with all this food?”

Jasmine: “Nah, I’m feeling pretty upbeat right now, so I think I’m in the clear.”

Nope! She vomits moments later and crumbles onto the floor in pure defeat.

Hancock kneels besides her and slowly rubs her back until she calms down a little.

Jasmine: “Fuck my life…”

Hancock: “Aww, don’t say that. It’s just a little momentary mishap.”

Big brother Hancock will fight death itself to hype her back up again.

He just starts singing overly exaggerated covers of her favorite songs until the girl starts bursting with laughter.

Hancock: “So bongo, bongo, bongo, I don't want to leave the congo, Oh no no no no no!!!!”

No one can keep a straight enough face to that, especially when he starts dancing to it. (Imagine that for a second)

Soon enough, he’s helping a beaming giggly Jazzy up, fixing her hair, and leading her to the living room.

Hancock brings out Blast Radius for them to play for the remainder of the day.

It was immediately agreed that the original rules were too plain and boring.

So they came up with their own wacky twists to spice things up.

Hancock: “Ooop baby sister, now you gotta do a handstand while singing Yankee Doodle!!”

Jasmine: “I can’t concentrate if you keep giggling like a Dimwit!!”

They both progressively get more and more tired with each new round, but are having too much fun to turn in for the night.

Thats how Nick found them upon his arrival.

Passed on the floor in front of their unfinished game with Jasmine curled up in Hancocks arms.

He chuckles and slowly picks them both up, fondly tucking them into bed.

X6:

To the surprise of most, he is one of the best babysitters out of the group.

My dude takes the job to his heart and God help anyone who tries to get near the girl.

He watches Jazzy from a distance while she messes around with throwing a boomerang back and forth.

Jas ends up doing cartwheels and flips to catch the boomerang with her feet or midair while jumping.

He only intervenes with her game when a two wild Yao Guai appear and one of them snaps the toy in its jaws, leading Jasmine attempting to tackle it.

She doesn’t like it when things that make her happy are stripped away and she is determined to express that.

The Courser scoops Jas up and carries her away before she starts a brawl, being one of the few who can actually do this without dying even if she kicks and protests.

X6: “You can’t start a tussle with them and expect to win without a mark.”

Jasmine: (Demonic screeching and hissing)

No. She isn’t very happy when she is set down on a lawn chair a block away and she makes it very clear.

Jasmine: “I totally would’ve won that fight!”

X6 patiently tells her to wait there while he goes back and exact vengeance on her behalf by exterminating the two Yao Guais.

Returning with blood on his coat and casually stating that they should find something to eat.

He has zero idea how to cook something that is meant to be flavorful and appetizing.

So he walks up to any motherly/fatherly looking settler and states “The child needs sustenance,” while offering them a handful of caps to cook Jas something.

The entire time said settler is preparing the meal, X6 is watching menacingly from the sidelines to ensure they don’t slip anything suspicious into the food. (Poor settler person was shaking like a tree)

He hands the plate to the teen and simply says “Consume.”

And my girl can’t argue with that logic so she willfully does.

Later on Jazzy ends up throwing up behind a tree and she starts crying from it.

X6 is done about to go strangulate the settler with his bare hands then set their house and every possession they owned ablaze.

Jasmine physically stops him and hastily explains that it wasn’t their fault.

He still has a murderous look and grumble even after the reasoning.

Instead Jas asks him to help her with something once she is sure that he isn’t going to commit homicide and arson.

X6 says nothing, letting her take his hand and drag him away from a very terrified group of people that had gathered around.

They sit down at a picnic table outside a shack and Jazzy starts teaching him how to do origami with scrap paper.

She starts with the simpler ones like the fortune teller and the paper boat.

X6 gets really intrigued by this pastime and memorizes each set of instructions the girl shows him.

He gets overly frustrated on the swan, not able to get the smaller folds or the wings perfectly even.

Each imperfect model he makes gets excessively burned to ashes.

The settlers walking by are very confused and disturbed, wondering if it's some kind of passive threat.

It probably is.

The moment it turns 9:45, X6 suddenly looks up from his work.

X6: “You should get ready for sleep now, no arguments.”

Kinda scary when he talks because it’s pitch dark with only Jazzy's pink Pipboy light glowing.

The girl is not intimidated though.

After careful consideration, X6 finds and leads her to the safest and warmest place in the entire settlement.

Bro ain’t messing around, he does half a dozen security laps around the settlement before coming back to start up a fire.

He straight up almost melts inside at the sight of the girl in adorable fluffy pink pajamas and clutching her stuffed bear to her chest.

X6 hastily stands up from setting up a fire and states that he will give the perimeter another once over, leaving with his rifle drawn. (Nothing will hurt the precious child on his watch)

Upon his return, Jas is already falling asleep curled up sweetly on a sofa.

So he takes post on the other side of the room by the window and door, giving her a glance every now and then.

When she starts thrashing in her sleep a few hours later, he carefully walks over and strokes her head until she calms down, muttering soft words of comfort.

X6: “It’s alright starlight. You are out of harms way here… I will protect you.” (She awoke long enough to hear that. Awwww)

If anyone barges in during this moment or wakes Jas up, they will never see the light of day again.

Nick returns early in the morning to find his daughter cozied up and peacefully asleep.

He gets a fully detailed report on the entire day from the moment he left from X6.

(I wanted to do all the companions in one but it got way too long so I had to split it sorry)

#Idk who would be considered the best sitter out of the group.#They all did good in their own way.#Only two of them didn’t get Jas in bed on time.#The Deacon one is pure chaos and I love it.#You can’t even really tell what’s going on.#fallout #fo4 #fallout 4 #fallout oc #fallout companions #paladin danse #danse fo4 #fo4 danse #danse #deacon fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #x6 88 #piper wright

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Text

Tu Reflejo Junto al Mío

Day 1 - Fair

@wagner-fell @littleturtle95 @chibi-tsukiko

1997

Things started out horribly wrong.

“Is your sister there?” Abuela Matea asked, peeking into the living room Areusa was searching, her wrinkled brow creased with worry.

Areusa put her hands up in a sign of frustration. “La mato, abuela, te juro que me la cargo.”

“Niña, no digas eso,” Abuela Matea entered the room “Ven, vamos a buscar juntas.”

Areusa had to suppress a sigh —her grandmother accepted no forms of negativity— and obliged in searching for Finea, the Carranzas’s youngest, together.

‘Searching together’, though, mostly meant Abuela Matea proposing absurd spots Finea could be in, and Areusa checking those absurd spots.

“She could be under the couch.”

Areusa picked up her skirts, kneeled down, and took a look at the space under the couch. “Nothing,” she hastened to stand back up. There was something embarrassing about being on the floor while a dozen portraits of your ancestors, all magnificent in their own way, stared down at you.

She tried to focus on Abuela Matea instead of the portraits.

Abuela Matea was probably the most elegant 63 year old Areusa had met (not that she’d met many). She had a perfect posture, carried herself with ease, and her voice compelled you to listen. But she only ever spoke about shallow subjects, probably because of the trauma she’d sustained by having her older sisters desert The Kinship to join the Spanish Civil War, thus leaving her with the dual task of cleansing the Carranzas’s name in the eyes of the Saz as well as keeping the dynasty going.

As of present, her ageless beauty was heightened by the blue traje de flamenca she wore for the Feria de Granada. Her very curly brown hair was held up in a simple manner, and had been adorned with a white peineta. Areusa herself was dressed in a similar fashion, but her dress was white and she wore a red rose, not a peineta.

“Bueno, ya aparecerá,” Abuela Matea shrugged her shoulders “You look a mess. Come here.”

“It’s not necessary,” Areusa muttered, heeding her grandmother’s orders.

Abuela Matea flattened her dress and took some dust off the hem. “You’re not on your period, right?” she asked casually.

“No.”

“That’s good. I remember the Feria de Abril of 1888, when Tatarabuela Gregoria wore a white traje just like yours —well not exactly like yours, you’re showing more skin— and she was on her period. Poor Tata bled through the fabric and ruined a perfectly good dress. I guess she also scandalised Sevilla, by that’s of little importance.”

Areusa hummed but didn’t say anything. She had the distinct impression that Abuela Matea only wanted to comment on the past; she was a historian, and they oftentimes were like that. Besides, Areusa, who was also a historian, had already glimpsed into Tatarabuela Gregoria’s period fiasco before.

“Ah, this is lovely,” Abuela Matea commented. She’d taken Areusa’s red rose and was inspecting it with awe “Where did you buy it?”

“It was a gift from my friend,” Areusa did her best not to blush.

“The one who’s tagging along?”

Areusa nodded.

Last night they’d snuck into a little village that had specialised in rose production. An old man there had mistaken them for a newly-married couple (likely because they didn’t dress like people their age) and proposed he buy a rose for his ‘young bride’. He hadn’t needed much insisting, and by the time they’d returned to Emtikax, Areusa had done so with a red rose bucket in tow. Taking one of them that morning and fitting it on top of her bun, however, had been an unpremeditated decision: she couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“Well, your friend is very kind,” Abuela Matea said “A gentleman. He reminds me of Justo.”

Justo Robles Infante was Elicia’s best friend, and the embodiment of a Don Juan.

“He’s nothing like Justo,” Areusa said.

“I disagree. All men that treat their best friends with the gentlemanly care as they would their lover are just like Justo.”

That was the thing: he wasn’t Areusa’s friend, he was her boyfriend. Theirs was a forbidden love bound to be kept as their precious, dirty secret.

“We have to find Finea,” Areusa reminded, going back to the original subject to divert from the thorny one at hand “Otherwise we’ll be late, and that’ll make Tata Leonila and Elicia very angry.”

Areusa didn’t want to be in the same house, in the same country even, as an angry Tata Leonila and Elicia. They both loved the Feria de Granada with a senseless passion, and missing it because Finea was lost would be akin to the greatest of offences in their eyes. Where could Finea be, anyways? She’d been at the breakfast table that morning and been reminded of their going to the feria.

“But I’m so sad,” she’d complained.

“Qué sad ni qué sad,” Nise had chastised, inflicting a distinct Spanish accent into the Sazla word “If I have to go, so do you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Finea had carried on.

Nise and Finea had kept on complaining for over fifteen minutes during which Areusa had paid them no attention whatsoever. After all, they were having churros, a more interesting case of study than silly arguments. She’d only raised her eyes from her sandwich once to see Finea storm off towards a part of the Carranzas’s finca no one really treaded into.

Areusa’s eyes widened. “I know where Finea might be,” she breathed “Abuela, stay here.”

Before Abuela Matea could give her an answer, Areusa fled the room.

The Carranzas’s finca was a large country house in Aboveground Granada, and the main scenario for many of Areusa’s fondest memories. By all accounts, each one of its rooms, corridors and nooks radiated warmth and comfort, and yet there was a darker side to the finca few were privy to. At the very back of it —at the very back of a narrow, unwelcoming corridor— there was the beginning of a spiral staircase that descended several meters below ground.

The staircase led to a crypt.

Arms around herself, for the path to the crypt was a cold one, Areusa reached the end of the staircase and found herself in a short, dark tunnel at the other extreme of which was a metal door from the first half of the 20th century. And Finea was seating propped up against it.

“Te mato,” Areusa said “What are you doing here?”

Finea looked up at that. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” Areusa took a deep breath that would hopefully keep her from murdering her sister, and strode to her side “Everyone’s looking for you. Tata’s angry, and Elicia is close to being angry. Elicia. They’re worried and we’re going to miss the feria if you don’t hurry up to get changed.”

Finea harrumphed something unintelligible and crossed her arms at her chest. She glared down at her 1830s dress —an almond-coloured monstrosity, really. “I said I didn’t want to go.”

“And why is that?” Areusa asked, trying to hide her exasperation.

Those were the magic words to unleash a well of her sister’s misfortunes. “I’m not allowed to be on my own at all. I have to be with Tata and la Abuela in the finca suffering through their old friends who’ve been chocheando for two decades telling me how much I’ve grown and how they knew me when I was like this,” Finea spread her hand no more than five centimetres from the cold stone ground “And then they start talking about politics and Felipe González, and then about how ‘los jóvenes de hoy en día’ have had everything handed to them, and that when they were our age they could only ever afford to breakfast, lunch and dinner tortilla de patatas made out of orange peels and teachers at school could blah blah blah. And they expect me to listen and be interested!” she put her hands on her face “Oh, Areusa today I was supposed to get married and instead I have to go to the feria.”

Areusa blinked slowly several times. “Sorry what? You’re going to what?” she deadpanned. This was ridiculous.

Finea glared at her. “Yes. To Felipe Curado —don’t laugh at me!”

Now her laughter Areusa couldn’t help. Felipe Curado was a boy from Mirror Bolivia. He was the only classmate with whom Finea could speak in Spanish, and he was also very, very clearly gay. He followed two of Areusa’s male friends with ridiculous lovey-dovey eyes. That, Areusa could’ve told Finea, but decided against it for the sake of her little sister’s imaginary relationship.

“How are you even going to marry? You’re only twelve,” she said instead, once her laughter had died down to weak chuckles.

“I know we’re only twelve,” Finea pouted “But this will help me prepare for my real wedding: we were going to lock ourselves in the principals’s bedroom and kiss and say our vows of marriage, but we wouldn’t really marry because we would say ‘actually, no’ at the end.”

“You were going to lock yourselves in the principals’s bedroom?!” Areusa was flabbergasted, the sheer audacity “Never mind, stand up,” she tried to think of something that would get Finea outside the crypt; when she did, it was like a bulb lightning up above her head “See, today you won’t be with Tata and la Abuela all the time.”

Finea looked disbelieving. “I won’t?”

“No. I’ll get Justo to get on cacharritos with you.”

Justo was Finea’s deepest infatuation. Had been since as long as Areusa could remember.

“Really?”

Areusa nodded.

Finea scrambled to her feet and even did a little jump. “Let’s go then. Felipe has nothing on Justo. Justo is so, so, so, so, so handsome. He—”

Areusa wished she could share in to her sister’s enthusiasm. She couldn’t appreciate Justo’s best physical traits, as she’d desperately prayed she were able to do before being with him.

“I’m going to find Elicia,” Finea said when they got out of the crypt “I have to be especially pretty for Justo,” and then, she hopped away, her mass of brown curls bouncing off merrily.

Having dealt with Señorita Torbellino’s problem, Areusa collapsed against a wall as soon as Finea was out of sight. Carefully, she passed a hand over her hair, just to make sure neither her braided bun nor red rose had been upset. After that, she regained her composure enough to walk to the nearest floor mirror (under Tatarabuela Aixa’s portrait). The crypt was cleaned only twice a year, and she needed to check if her very white dress had got dirty.

“It’s fine. Thank Roxia,” she muttered.

As she inspected herself, she realised how much she’d love to see him reflected in the mirror, too. She wanted to see the both of them together and see how good of a pair they made. Fuck the people who’d think otherwise merely because they were different.

That thought in mind, she abandoned the mirror. He should be here anytime soon, and, in fact, the moment she turned a left corner to the living room she’d been in with Abuela Matea, the strident ring! of an old-fashioned doorbell reverberated across the finca.

Areusa picked up her skirts and ran.

“Respira, miarma, respira,” Justo said when she got to the foyer. Areusa had been so fast she now found herself heaving for breath. Not that she cared.

He was there, as gorgeous as ever he was and smiling slightly at her. He looked awkward in his traje campero.

Slowly, Areusa took a step forwards, then another and another towards him. When she was close enough, she set her hands on his chest, trying with every fibre of her being not to let on her adoration. “You’re wearing this right,” she said, sliding a finger down his left jacket’s sleeve.

Trajes camperos were like a straight, narrow line. Everything —the jacket, shirt, waistcoat, high-waist trousers— clung perfectly to his majestic body, giving just a tiny hint of how muscular he was beneath the layers. The grey tones of the jacket and pants complimented his tanned skin, and the sombrero cordobés he also wore gave him an air of mystery. Areusa could’ve kissed him then and there.

“I assisted him myself,” Justo piped in, effectively ripping Areusa’s eyes off his lips “He didn’t even know where to begin.”

“I hardly think I should be blamed for that,” he defended himself “I’m not Spanish.”

Justo shrugged. “I only hope you get used to our clothing, because I have a feeling you’ll be wearing them a lot.”

“I will,” he nodded.

He and Areusa shared a knowing glance.

Justo noticed it, but didn’t seem to grasp the meaning behind it —of course he didn’t.

“Is Elicia upstairs?” Justo asked. Already his body was half-turned away from them.

“In her room, probably with Finea.”

“Perfect, then I’ll head there.”

“Bye,” he said.

At the same time, Areusa remembered her promise to Finea and exclaimed, “Wait!” she explained what she needed from him “Justo, an hour or two will be fine. Get on the saltamontes with her, buy her buñuelos or candy floss, teach her a sevillana for all I care.”

Justo shrugged. “Sure. Now I’m leaving.”

Areusa watched him go with a relieved satisfaction; it was good that he adored Finea like a little sister. Justo’s footsteps steadily dissipated into nonexistence, and when she could no longer hear them, she turned to face him. And he instantly kissed her.

The sudden embrace caught her by surprise for a split second, but she quickly kissed him back. Areusa threaded her fingers through his hair —effectively knocking his hat down— and pressed her body against his. By the time he pulled back, they were both breathless in the best possible way.

“I recognise this,” he murmured, tracing the outline of the rose with the tip of a finger.

“Is that why you kissed me?”

“That, and because I simply wanted to.”

Areusa laughed. “Vente pa’ ca,” and she pulled him into a kiss again, this time shorter “Today will be great, you’ll see.”

He arched a brow at her. “On our way here, Justo told me to beware of you.”

“Justo’s the biggest scaredy-cat out there. You aren’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Areusa waved him aside. “You should greet the others.”

A silent pleasure of hers was watching him with her family. The Carranzas were intense, and he so clearly wanted all of them to love him.

“And who were you again?” Areusa’s father asked him when they entered the kitchen, where everyone —including Finea, Elicia and Justo— were. Austrecliciano de Rojas Alberti was a robust, short man with a skin complexion prone to tanning and a knack for speaking without preambles.

Abuela Matea jumped in the conversation before he could respond. “He’s Areusa’s friend.”

He smiled and stayed where he was. Inconspicuously, Areusa poked him on the ribs. “Kiss,” she whispered.

“Ah,” his eyes widened “Of course. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Rojas.”

And he moved to kiss Dad once on each cheek. Then he did the same with Abuela Matea, then her husband, Abuelo Geronimo, and Areusa’s mother, three sisters, and Tatarabuela Leonila. By the time he was done, he looked like he was trying not to look done with Spanish formalities, while Areusa’s family looked either amused or approving.

“I would offer you something to drink,” Mum told him “But it would make us be late to the feria and it’s unfair that you miss up on it.”

“We would have more time if it hadn’t been for someone,” Nise said, glancing pointedly at Finea.

Finea, standing before Elicia and Justo, grew red with fury. “It’s all your—”

“Girls,” Elicia said, in a calm yet no-bullshit tone.

Nise and Finea glared at each other once and shut up.

Elicia smiled. “He could stay the night, right?”

Areusa’s eyes widened like platters. Next to her, his reaction couldn’t have been much different. Did Elicia know what she was saying? No, of course she didn’t. She had a tendency of not clocking in romantic feelings, and, besides, he was an imlium. That was a reason upon another reason to believe he was only a friend.

“That would be perfect!” Abuela Matea clapped her hands together.

“As long as he doesn’t go near the crypt, I don’t have an issue with it,” Tatarabuela Leonila added.

The kitchen was soon filled with the Carranzas’s affirmations. Having him here would be great, he’s such a lovely boy, Abuela Matea thought. He was such a good listener, Mum thought. Parece un buen mozo, Abuelo Geronimo thought. He’ll love the special breakfast we’ll have tomorrow, Dad thought. It was good that he would stay the night, Justo thought, because he was around so often that his visits didn’t garner a special breakfast anymore. The only complaint was voiced by Nise:

“Why can he stay the night but Leora can’t?”

“She isn’t here now,” Finea said.

Nise rolled her eyes. “She could be.”

It all seemed settled, but then he intervened. “Wait,” he put his hands up “I’m not sure if I can accept the offer. Although I really appreciate it, don’t get me wrong.”

Everyone turned to look at him. He glanced at Areusa.

She read his gaze like an open book: he, too, was scared of what could happen. Whenever they wanted to be intimate —or just be together way past their bedtime— they enrolled Parisa to stand guard behind either of their dorm room’s door. Parisa alerted them of any dangers, and now that she wasn’t there, a lot of stuff could go wrong.

“His parents,” Areusa hastened to explain. Her family turned to her with equally blank expressions “They might be upset if he doesn’t show up.”

He nodded.

Thank Roxia, they bought his excuse.

“A night apart won’t hurt anyone,” Tatarabuela Leonila said, waving him aside “It’s good, actually. You need to build up on your independence, and tonight would be a step towards achieving that.”

Abuela Matea nodded. “Anda, stay.”

He was visibly conflicted. Tatarabuela Leonila and Abuela Matea were the oldest Carranzas, they were at the top of the hierarchy of authority of the family he so desperately sought approval from, and they had pretty much given him an order in his eyes. In fact, Tatarabuela Leonila’s stance promised no complacence to a negative response —in the past, he had served as her conduit to reminisce her youth in the Kingdom of Granada, and she was likely to want to bother him with her tales of robbing the Sultan’s harem again.

Areusa came to his rescue. “Why don’t we go to the feria now and let him think about what he wants during it, without you pressuring him like two—” she finished off with a rude word in Andalusi Arabic that had Tatarabuela Leonila snorting. It meant both hag and busybody, and was overall not something Andalusi youths would tell their elders.

“You can swear like a sailor sometimes,” Tatarabuela Leonila said, also in Andalusi Arabic.

Areusa shrugged. “Not my fault an insult describes you so well.”

Her great grandmother arched a brow.

Areusa smiled.

Abuela Matea clapped her hands together. “Let’s stop insulting each other,” she said in Sazla “I apologise if we sounded too pushy. I personally adore you, and wanted to retain you with us just a little while longer. It fills my old heart with joy to see my granddaughter surrounded with such good people.”

He beamed at her. It was adorable, he looked like a little boy who’d been given a toy he’d been begging for for ages. Areusa had the sudden urge to peck him on the cheek, ruffle his hair, and tell him how much she loved him.

“Abuela, you’re not old, come on” Elicia piped it.

“Matea, you’re a silver-haired beauty,” Justo added.

Abuela Matea looked highly satisfied. She shot Elicia and Justo a smitten smile, then walked to him and set a hand on his back. “See, regardless of what happens after we’ve decided it’s time to go back home, I simply know you’ll love the Feria de Granada. My great grandmother thinks Granada is at its most beautiful during Semana Santa, but I think you won’t see my city any prettier than this week.”

The Feria de Granada (or just about every other feria) was at its liveliest once the sun had set and the moon shone bright in the sky. At this time, the caballistas had mostly dissipated, and the stench of horse shit (oh, how Areusa detested horses who weren’t made of metal and cogs) thankfully cleaned with high-pressure hoses. The casetas —bar-like establishments— were filled with people who either were looking for a good dinner or wanted to get drunk and party hard.

They’d spent a good chunk of the afternoon in a caseta that was a juxtaposition of both types of casetas. The patrons there tended to be on the older side, and wealthy. Tatarabuela Leonila had kept an eye on a couple of them for hours, as if she were an eagle and they her prey. She was pretty much like an Andalusi Robin Hood: wishing some piece of shit would announce itself —usually by condemning Franco or talking about the Civil War in anything but a horrible light— to then slip a couple pesetas from their pockets into hers.

He had been flabbergasted by her actions the first time he’d witnessed them. He’d turned towards Areusa, the question ‘is this real’ shining on his eyes, and when she’d nodded that yes, the first Carranza was close to being a kleptomaniac but he shouldn’t give her away, he’d heaved a surprised breath and obediently gave his full attention back to Elicia and Justo.

As it happened every feria since they turned sixteen, they’d walked into the caseta and sweat-talked the owner into giving them the stage for an indefinite period of time. He played the guitar, and she danced flamenco to his improvised songs. It was standing on that stage that Areusa’s sister shone the most; Elicia lived for dancing, it was obvious. She moved with infinite grace, commanded everyone to look at her and be at awe at her. The red traje she wore equalled her to a flame, it made her a source of light the passion with which she danced only heightened. Elicia was the most beautiful woman in the whole of the feria.

But, eventually, her show drew to an end. Two hours after arriving to the caseta, Finea plopped herself besides Areusa and whined, “La abuela ya ha empezado a hablar con los viejos de la mesa de al lado sobre los jóvenes de hoy en día.”

Abuela Matea had been, true to Finea’s words, leaning over her table to better communicate with the married couple on the table next to hers —the caseta was so loud, Areusa couldn’t listen to their conversation. On Abuela Matea’s right, Tatarabuela Leonila ogled the woman’s pearl necklace. On her left, Abuelo Geronimo had already fallen asleep, and, resting her head on his chest, so had Nise. Both were doppelgängers, so there was a chance (albeit a small one) that their animi were strolling somewhere in the feria.

Finea had stared at Areusa hard, thus prompting her to stand up to whisper into Justo’s ear he’d promised to spend some time with her little sister. Justo had told Elicia, and Elicia had stopped dancing to the disappointment of quite a few of the patrons. However, while still recovering her breath, she’d seen Areusa and her face had brightened up.

“I’ll be back in a moment, but for now, my family is full of talent. My sister is a singer.”

Just like that, Areusa had been dragged up onto the stage. He had been the first her confused eyes locked into; like a compass created to always point north, she was destined to turn to him, no matter how disoriented. He smiled at her, and everything was fine. Her stage-fright disappeared, and before she could be none the wiser, she’d started singing.

For a split second —or perhaps an eternity— the caseta became silent. Areusa wouldn’t be able to remember what song she had sung first, only that it had been succeeded by multiple others, and that, as confidence settled in her belly, she’d begun accompanying her singing with dancing of her own. Soon, she felt herself Lola Flores in El Balcón de la Luna, and when she was done singing A Tu Vera, someone shouted:

“Ay Pena, Penita, Pena!”

“Estoy muerta de amor, muerta de amor,” she began; her eyes on him, always on her heart “No lo sabe mi pulso, ni mi pierna, ni el eco de mi voz, ni mi cintura, ni lo sabe la luna que está interna en el jardín de amor y calentura. Y estoy muerta, señor, como una rosa tierna, como una gacela en la llanura, como un agua redonda en la cisterna o un perro de amarilla dentadura. Muerta de amor, señor, y hoy que es Corpus Cristi, he paseado mi cadáver de amor iluminado, como una espantapájaros siniestro. La gente sin asombro me ha mirado, y ninguno el sombrero se ha quitado para rezarme un triste Padrenuestro.”

Wild applause, but she didn’t register it. He looked solemn, like he didn’t know Spanish, but understood her words for the declaration of love that it was. Right now, he was the only one who saw her, because wasn’t she going to die from love? Wasn’t the fatal assurance of it proof that she was already dead? And wasn’t everyone else oblivious to her fate? Everyone but him, who was terminal with her?

The beginning of the instrumentals of the song reached her as if from afar. She became one with the music, with its message. Lola Flores sung about the miseries of missing a lover who was faraway. And he was with her, but, in the presence of others who corrupted their intimacy, he could only let on a shadow of himself. As could she. She missed their true selves. She was angry that they could only exist stranded in a paradise whose foundations were built on shame and secrecy and guilt. She mourned a life of kisses shared in public and words of affection whose utterance wasn’t frightening. She mourned a life that would never come to be.

Tears streamed down her face before she could realise what was happening. There was nothing that mattered aside from him, her love for him, and her fury. Her fingers closed around the rose with the lyrics, mis rosas de abril, she brought it to her lips and sung: ¡Ay pena, penita, pena, pena!

Pena de mi corazón, her hands went through her head, unknotting her bun and letting her hair cascade down her frame. She let it down wildly, it covered her back, her arms. Que me corre por las venas, pena, she brought her eyes away from him, if only to observe her forearms. She imagined her sin flowing through her veins, red hot like passion, as if it substituted her blood. Con la fuerza de un ciclón, her gaze went back to her fellow sinner.

Es lo mismo que un nublado, tierna y pedernal. Es un potro desbocado, que no sabe adónde va. She looked at him. Es un desierto de arena, pena. Es mi gloria en un penal. At him, always at him.

¡Ay, penal! ¡Ay, penal!

It was torture, keeping her love hidden. Her voice, her movement, her eyes offered testimony of it. But, by Roxia, she’d take that torture willingly, for otherwise she wouldn’t have him at all. Having him was non-negotiable, otherwise her life would be a senseless void, no matter how much their condition infuriated her.

“¡Ay, pena, penita, pena!” Areusa finished off, unloading all her innermost love and pain onto that final verse. The story of her misery.

For the longest moment, silence took possession of the caseta. The rose had come apart with the strength of her dance, and Areusa now stood, heaving, with tear streaks running down her face, in the centre of a circle of petals. The first sound that broke the silence was that of his chair as he stood up from it. Holding her gaze, he walked up to the stage and hugged her in front of everyone.

Areusa’s ear was directly connected to his chest, and she could hear his heart beating a frantic staccato. It was that, that brought her back to reality. The caseta, the stage, the patrons, her family. Carefully, she untangled herself from his embrace. His hands found their way to her shoulders.

“You were,” he whispered in Sazla, his dark eyes shone “You were like an angel. I don’t know what you were singing, but it was an experience only a goddess could enact.”

Areusa almost told him she loved him then and there, but remembered her family at just the right moment. From the corner of her eye, she caught them approaching along with several of the patrons, and had half the mind to get him and herself off the stage before the small platform became too crowded.

Elicia hugged her in a way that made it impossible to breathe. “Justo, Finea and I returned the moment you started singing. Areusa, you’ve honoured Lola better than any other professional performer ever could,” she was crying, Areusa vaguely realised. It made sense, probably, as Lola Flores’s death only a month ago had left her devastated. She’d been Elicia’s idol growing up.

Mum and Dad came next.

“I knew you sang well, but I never knew you sang this good,” Dad said.

“I saw Lola Flores,” Mum said before drawing Areusa for an assault of kisses on the cheek.

Tatarabuela Leonila and Abuela Matea complimented her, as well, and so did Abuelo Geronimo and Justo, who kissed her on the forehead. Finea and Nise showed their surprise at ‘la actuación que se había pegado’. Afterwards, the patrons surrounded Areusa; they told her she should make a career out of singing, they asked her name, they begged her for one more song, though they didn’t know how she could top the last one. Throughout the stress-inducing inquisition, he kept a gentle hand on the small of Areusa’s back —the sea of people all around made his gesture impossible to notice— to show her support. She siphoned strength out of his touch.

“I think I want to go breathe some fresh air,” Areusa announced, yelling so as to make her voice heard.

A few people, among which were Elicia and Justo, voiced their complaints, but he promptly began ushering her out of the caseta, elbowing everyone (but her family) in the process. Areusa stole a glance at him, and saw he had on his face of dark forbearance. It made her smile. He looked like he wanted to snap at someone, and the fact that he couldn’t because he didn’t speak Spanish was killing him.

Eventually, they were able to get out of the caseta.

Areusa breathed in, drowned her lungs in fresh air with just the faintest trail of shit and wet pavement. “Finally,” she muttered in Sazla “They were so fucking annoying.”

He seemed surprised by her usage of The Kinship’s tongue. “We aren’t supposed to speak Sazla here,” he noted.

Areusa shrugged. “Music’s so loud no one will hear us,” she gestured around as if to proof her point; the streets were abuzz not only with people, but also with the song Mi Gran Noche, a Spanish classic “Besides, language education is so poor here, I’m pretty sure we’ll be mistaken for your average foreigner.”

That was enough to calm him. “It is rather loud here,” he commented.

She nodded. “Let’s get to the cacharritos section.”

“What are they, anyways?” he asked, when she began leading him to the front of the feria.

They interlaced their hands together. There were lots of people —the gesture wouldn’t be noticed— and Areusa could always use the excuse that she had wanted him close so that he wouldn’t get lost if someone she knew did notice their behaviour was more fitting for a couple, anyways. In the middle of dozens, several hundreds of strangers, she felt safe to express herself just a tad more openly.

“Cacharritos are rides. Like that thing,” she pointed at a metallic stick quite a few meters taller than any other buildings. It spun round and round before their eyes.

“We’re not getting on that, are we?”

Areusa arched a brow at him. “Of course we are. Cacharritos are the best part of ferias.”

“I disagree.”

“Oh, come on. I’ll pay for them.”

He looked like he wanted to protest further, but for some reason didn’t. He schooled his face into a facade of bravery and said, “Okay.”

“You’ll love them, I promise.”

He didn’t love them.

They first got on the saltamontes, a staple in ferias.

“Dos entradas,” she told the man in the cabin while he glared at the ride.

“¿Tu novio?” the man asked, glancing at him.

“Sí.”

“No vomitará, ¿no?”

“Qué va,” Areusa handed him the money “Ten.”

The man hummed and gave her two tickets. Areusa went to him and kissed him on the lips, in front of a hag who murmured ‘cuando Franco estaba vivo, los jóvenes sabían comportarse.’ Areusa paid her no heed.

“What was that about?” he asked, though he drew her in for another kiss.

“The man called you my boyfriend,” she explained “It made me happy.”

Someone from The Kinship would never do that. Areusa had always been too afraid about people finding out their relationship, that she’d forgotten how good it could feel to simply have a third party call him hers.

“I am your— oh, Roxia, that thing’s stopped.”

Areusa’s smile widened. She took his hand and pulled him into a seat. A few minutes afterwards, the saltamontes started.

She’d got on the saltamontes on every feria since she was eight. It was, by all accounts, the tamest ride she liked. It consisted on their seats going up and down all the while they also spun in a circle. He hated them.

He gripped Areusa’s hand until her fingers turned white, and when she asked him how he was faring, his voice became very high-pitched as he let out, “How do you think I’m faring?”

“Have you never got on any of these?” she asked in return.

“No!”

Areusa laughed, and that was that for the reminder of the ride. Afterwards, he said —while wobbling— that it hadn’t been that bad.

“Are you sure?” Areusa asked him.

He nodded effusively. “The ride itself was torture. But seeing you so excited was more than enough payback for weathering the last remnant of the Spanish Inquisition.”

They got on many other cacharritos after that one. Areusa laughed and shouted and had fun, and Mehran looked like he was a breath away from dying. Once, on the Project 1, he even asked Areusa if she knew any prayers, and when she told him she only knew them in 18th century French (Felipe V spent too much time praying), he begged her to recite them so he could then repeat her words.

Despite Areusa’s offer to stop with the rides, he insisted they kept going. The answer to her inquiry of why was always the same: “I love how happy you look,” he said on the line to buy the tickets for the tall cacharrito they’d seen first.

Areusa caressed the back of his hands. “You can always wait for me outside.”

He shook his head. “I won’t get to see you in the heat of the moment, though,” he smiled “Come here.”

And he pulled her closer than they already were. He was leaning against a grille, legs slightly open so that Areusa could stand in at a kissing distance. One of his hands was clasped together with one of hers, while the other hand brushed her hair with a care similar to adoration. The rose she’d been wearing had got too damaged by her dance, and some petals were stuck in her hair. He found one.

“There are really no words to describe you,” he said, inspecting the rose petal in his fingers “I almost couldn’t breathe, looking at you.”

“It was the song,” Areusa suppressed a shiver. He spoke with such feeling.

He took his eyes from the petal to her. “What was it about?”

“An impossible love.”

His lips twisted in pain. “Nothing has happened yet,” he murmured so low Areusa almost couldn’t hear him over the deafening music “Perhaps nothing will ever happen.”

Areusa wanted to believe him.

“Nothing will happen,” he insisted, his tone one of reassurance more than one of certainty “Hiding it is painful, but we’ll keep doing it.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say anything then, so she just kissed him. He returned her kiss, and it wasn’t until it was their turn to pay for the tickets that they broke apart.

“Dos entradas,” she said, taking out a handful of pesetas.

“¿No paga tu novio?” the woman selling the tickets asked.

Areusa tried not to flinch: people calling him her boyfriend wasn’t as pleasing now. “No.”

The woman tsked. “Los hombres, si son hombres de verdad, no dejan que la mujer pague nunca.”

“Pues entonces mi novio no será un hombre y yo seré lesbiana. ¿Cuánto eran las entradas?”

“450 pesetas,” the woman answered with a look of disgust.

Areusa handed the money over. “Aquí tienes.”

“That woman didn’t look the kindest,” he commented as he interlaced their hands.

Areusa snorted. “She’s a bitch.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s nothing,” she brushed his concerns aside, then pointed at the cacharrito, which was beginning to slow down so that a new wave of people could get in.

He took a deep breath. “Just please let this be the last one.”

“It is,” she promised.

“Thank Roxia.”

“After all, this can’t be topped.”

He groaned.

He closed his eyes all throughout the ride, promising he was going to throw up every time they did a 360° spin at the highest point the cacharrito would go. When they got back to reality, Areusa got the impression he wanted to kiss the floor. He would have, if it hadn’t been for her family.

“¿Se ha montado borracho?” Abuela Matea asked.

Areusa shook her head. “No lleva eso de los cacharritos muy bien.”

“Ay pobre.”

All of the Carranzas, with the exception of Elicia (plus Justo) were there. That meant it must be one or two in the morning, time to go back to the finca. Tatarabuela Leonila was smiling in a feline-like manner; rings and bracelets Areusa hadn’t seen before shining on her hands. Dad looked slightly tired, as did Nise, Finea, and, especially, Abuelo Geronimo. As a cryogenised doppelgänger, Mum looked perfectly rested, but she nevertheless seemed to want to go back to the family home. Abuela Matea looked just like she had at the start of the feria.

“Are you good?” she asked Justo in sloppy English. She refused to speak Sazla among humans, even if she was horrible at communicating in the alternative. Areusa would be forever grounded if she found out her granddaughter had been speaking in any language other than English.

“I’m fine,” he replied. His English was accented, yet a far cry from Abuela Matea’s.

Abuela Matea smiled. “Good,” she turned to Areusa “Hablar en inglés es una tortura. Va a pasar la noche con nosotras, ¿verdad?”

“Er,” Areusa looked at him “She wants you to stay the night.”

He, who was only now coming off the cacharrito’s high, seemed very confused. “Sorry what?”

“That’s a yes,” Abuela Matea said, leaving the rest of the family to hook an arm through his “We have a very nice room for you. Justo usually uses it, but I think he’s sleeping under a bridge tonight, so you can take it.”

“A bridge?” he asked, utterly bewildered.

“Yes, yes. That’s not important.”

“They’re going to keep partying until who-knows-when,” Areusa explained “And by the time they’re done, they’ll be so drunk they’ll sleep in the streets because no hostel will accept them. But it’s okay, they know how to take care of themselves.

“Ah,” he said in a very neutral tone “So I get Justo’s room, then.”

Areusa looked down; suddenly the discarded serviette by her feet was very interesting. “Yes.”

He wouldn’t stay in Justo’s room.

Areusa paced her room up and down, traced the silhouette of the ancestors portraits that hung on her walls thrice each, and rearranged her wardrobe for two hours, after which she felt confident that the non-doppelgängers of her family were asleep, and that the doppelgängers were wandering far into the olive trees (that’s all they did at the finca). Then, she changed into a simple nightgown, put on a black manton over her shoulders, and slipped out of her room.

The distance between hers and Justo’s room was short, but still she treaded the way with swift feet —in the event someone resting in any of the rooms between theirs found themselves a light sleeper tonight.

She reached the door and knocked once, lightly.

Immediately, she heard shuffling from the other side, and he opened the door. He hadn’t even changed out of his traje campero. Areusa could see the bed fully untouched behind her.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Naturally,” he stepped aside to grant her entrance, but Areusa promptly refused.

“I was thinking of going for a walk?”

He arched a brow but obliged. They made their way down to the ground floor in silence.

“I wasn’t thinking about sex, by the way,” he said after a while, at the foot of the stairs.

She was one step ahead of him, so she for once came up to his height. His brow was creased with an adorable worry that made her chuckle. “I know that,” she whispered; the finca was so quiet it only felt right to speak in hush tones.

He didn’t have the highest sex drive out there, Areusa thought that sometimes he felt self-conscious about it, which was stupid, and making love once a fortnight was enough to satisfy him and her. Normally, when Areusa sneaked into his room, it was to have late-night conversations while cuddling half-naked and kissing. They did lots of kissing.

“You know,” he whispered back, looking into her eyes “If you ever think that your needs aren’t met, you can tell me. I don’t mind being intimate in that way more often.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she got on the same step as him, meaning he now towered over her, and hooked her arms around his neck “I firmly believe in quality over quantity. And we’re being intimate right now. Intimacy is more than having your dick in my vagina and fornicating like rabbits.”

He snorted, slightly flustered. “You’re too explicit,” he set his hands on her waist.

Areusa rolled her eyes. “I’m not half as explicit as I could be,” she got on her tiptoes to kiss his nose “Have you seen the Andalusi drawing room?”

“I haven’t.”

“I’ll show it to you,” she stepped aside; not relinquishing his hand, though “Tata had it made in the style of rooms in her youth —it’s all very Andalusi, hence its name. There’s a windowsill we could sit on, it overlooks a particularly nice piece of countryside.”

That was a lie, obviously. All of the countryside that surrounded the finca was boring. To the right: olive trees. To the left: olive trees. Up front: olive trees. At the back: surprisingly enough, more olive trees. There were mountains everywhere. Areusa thought Spain dull, at least when she wasn’t elbow-deep in her glimpsing, yet it was home.

“The Andalusi drawing room sounds nice,” he commented, and that was Elicia’s cue to pull him completely down the stairs.

A sudden thought crossed her mind on the way to the drawing room, though, and she stopped dead in her tracks in front of Tatarabuela Urraca’s portrait. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Come here,” Areusa spun around and headed off into the opposite direction “I want to do something.”

Her mind went back to that afternoon, right before he had arrived. She remembered herself in front of a mirror, seeing herself reflected on it, and wishing desperately for a second person to stand by her side.

“Stay here,” she said, upon arriving at the right corridor and urging Mehran to get in front of the mirror.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You don’t need to,” Areusa went to stand next to him.

Their reflections together were beautiful. She could’ve stayed there for an eternity, analysing every minuscule detail that made everything perfect. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand as if in an afterthought, he was leaning just ever so slightly towards her, his eyes shone with affection when he looked at her reflection, a small mark was beginning to appear on his neck where she’d sucked into before, he was slightly disheveled from all the rides and so impossibly handsome. And Areusa somehow fit with him, with this divine creature she was lucky enough to call hers, even if she was also unfortunate enough not to be allowed to stake her claim publicly. There was nothing more she wanted than to declare her love for him and force everyone to be witness to her declaration.

“Amo ver tu reflejo junto al mío,” she said. She didn’t whisper. She didn’t want to. Whispers were for dirty secrets, and in that fleeting moment of boldness, she didn’t want her love to be dirty nor a secret.

“What does that mean?”

Areusa turned to him, she let the warmth in his eyes to bathe her. “It means I love you.”

He smiled. “Oh, Areusa, I love you, too.”

#oc-tober 2022 #there's so much Spanish here I can't bring myself to translate it #anyways it's a boring story #although I do recommend listening to ay pena penita pena once #oc tober 2022 #oc tober

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 2 years

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Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to get to know better.

Tagged By: @chronic-ghost my beloved, you are AMAZING!

Name: Eloah :3

Star Sign: Aries (no, I'm not the rl incarnation of 'anger' from Inside Out lol)

Height: last time I checked I was 5'6", so yeah, Father Paul would easily pin me to a wall.

Time: 22:01 pm

Birthday: March 24th

Favorite Bands/Favorite Solo Artists: Humm what a hard task, it changes sometimes, but I'll keep my all-time favourites; David Bowie, Bauhaus, The Smiths, Joy Divison, She Wants Revenge, Queen, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Edith Piáf, Al Bowly, Vera Lynn, Chico Buarque, Elis Regina, Cauby Peixoto, IAMX, Florence + The Machine, Aurora, Queens of the Stone Age, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, The Weekend, The Lumineers, Cage The Elephant and Coldplay. (yeah, my music taste it's quite unusual, but like the olds would say; Call wine, wine.)

Last Movie: Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness — Sam Raimi gave me a full meal of fun, horror, drama and dark humour.

Last Show: AHS: Hotel — revisiting one of my favourites gothic atmosphere and Lady Gaga was *chef's kiss* as the Countess. The soundtrack for that season is also fucking incredible.

When did I create this blog: Ahn, I'm sure of the year, but not of the exact date. It was around January 2017.

What I post: Mostly, moodboards and aesthetics, dark academia and gothic academia; LOTS of fandom stuff and since May of the last year I'm posting fanfiction for a couple of people. Writing keep me sane… well, mostly sane, lol.

Last thing I googled: the word "hermenêutica".

It's a feminine noun (in portuguese we have genre to words). It means science, technique whose object is the interpretation of religious or philosophical texts, especially the Holy Scriptures.

Lmao, this was a bit didactic, sorry.

Other Blogs: None, just this lil one =D

Do I Get Asks?: I DO!! Please, I get so excited when I receive one, it's like Christmas morning!

Why I chose my url: it used to be a quote from the 1976 film 'The Man Who Fell to Earth' — everything begins in eternity —, one of my favourites for a very long time. But I started to think the url was too long, so I decided to change to 'ebiemidnightlibrarian' — ebie because it's the first letter of each word from the quotation above;(and also my nickname here bc my real name sounds odd in english, lol); midnight bc Midnight Mass fucking changed my life as a huge cathartic experience, and librarian bc it's my profession lmao.

Following: 459

Followers: 220

Average hours of sleep: 3-7 hours, usually, but on my day off maybe 12 straight hours. None of them are healthy, but I'm working to fix this.

Instruments: Ohh, if I had the money to pay for the classes, I would TOTALLY play the piano. (However, I love cello too.)

What am I wearing: a terribly old nightdress that used to be pink, sandals, my granny's old jumper and a pair of workout pants from high school, it's really cosy.

Dream job(s): own a small bookshop with a small café and whole lots of first editions, where my manager it's a cute English grandpa (very specific, but I always wondered how it would be to live in England); a research colleague of a really hot literature professor (stealing this one from taylor, bc with some luck this one will become true within the next five years, lol); a guide from an old history museum.

Favourite Food: TEA, LOTS AND LOTS OF TEA! If I can make tea of it, it's great to me. Summer rolls humm I LOOOVE summer rolls; lasagna from almost any type, and specifically my grandmother's wedding cake (she was a full hand baker, once you ate her cakes every other becomes instantly shit.)

Nationality: Brazilian (things are pretty shitty around here, but, hey, it's election year, there's still hope!)

Favorite Song(s): Holy moly, okay, these are all-time favourites from whom I never get sick of:

slow burn — david bowie

tempo perdido — legião urbana (en.: lost time - urban legion, i highly recommend)

blueberry hill — louis armstrong

marian — sisters of mercy

cool cat — queen

stardust — iamx

villains of the circumstance — queens of the stone age

Currently playing on repeat:

janitor of lunacy (demo) — nico

mary on a cross — ghost

heaven is here — florence + the machine

blood in the wine — aurora

young american — the vaccines

animal impulses — iamx

big bad wolf — in this moment

Last book I read: I have just finished reading A Roda de Deus (The Wheel of God) and O Criador da Morte (The Creator of Death). They're the two parts of O Evangelho do Exorcista (The Gospel of the Exorcist), both written by Leonel Caldela.

Those books are an expansion of a Call of Cthulhu RPG tabletop, inspired by various historical events that took place in Europe over the millennials. The first part follows a novice and a priest in 1989 divided Germany who are hunting the minions of the Messenger God of Cthulhu, Nyerlathotep. The second part follows the only surviving character from the original role-play table, he's living the WWII and ALSO another war, one for our souls! Following him gave me a lot of nostalgia, and have great easter eggs for anyone who followed the main campaign. The two parts range from Charlemagne's empire to a dystopian future full of horrors. A terrifying adventure filled with mysteries, exorcisms and extremely immersive historical fiction. (I better stop now or this is going to get GIANT.)

Top 3 fictional universes I'd like to live in: Uhh, I never really thought about that. I would probably try my luck into the Lord of the Rings universe, Crimson Peak's or in Maleficent's, I have a weakness for dark fantasy/gothic worlds lol. Although I ADORE the aesthetic of Wes Anderson's 'The French Dispatch' and 'The Grand Budapest Hotel'. Ugh hard choices.

tagging: @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish @mutt-thingy @rothko-mirror @sallyragdoll @everythingbutresolved @jakegwyllinghall @pegplunkett @littleredwritingcat @hamishlinklaters @plainlo-inthemorning @turbulent-protagonist @fatherpaulsimp @choosekindly @johntylersgirl @girlwiththenegantattoo @raraenocteses @sleepswithvillains @aherdofbees @p-e-r-s-e-p-h-o-n-e @babelincolns @upstartgeek @supplanther @to-taste-your-beating-heart @the-redheaded-league @agirlinherhead @meownsignor @ashton-slashton @apbajs @mysoftboybensolo @mybisexualheartbeatsforzemo @norabrice1701 @jyngerpeach @johnspruitt @lovepollution

(definitely not 30 ppl here, but think if you saw this consider yourself tagged :)

(fun fact, I almost accidentally tagged neil gaiman on this, lol)

#tagged #tag game #thanks for the tag #nice people ♥#ebie talks #this was really fun thank you sm for the tag hope you feel you know me better now :D

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gossamerashes · 2 years

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𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

Name: Wolfram Alexander Marx

Eye color: Cold, light grey

Hair style / color: Grey/Silver. Undercut; short on top, sheered on the sides.

Height: 6’3”

Clothing style: Practical. Utilitarian. Gambesons, leather boots and spats. Dark, leather gloves. Fabrics that are matte and subdued in nature; less likely to reflect light, better to meld into the shadows.

Best physical feature: Subject to who is doing the looking. His features are chiseled and strongly masculine. His stature is strong, large, and broad.

𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

Your fears: “Failure.” A pause, then – “Being forgotten.”

Your guilty pleasure: “Fruit. Strawberries, in particular.” A tame answer, but it is an indulgence nonetheless.

Your ambitions for the future: "See to it that my Lord’s mission meets with fruition."

𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑮𝑯𝑻𝑺.

Your first thoughts waking up: He considers the ache in his left knee, the lingering tightness along his shoulders and back. Minor discomforts, and those that will fade as his muscles warm up from movement, but that they exist at all indicates that his years are finally catching up to him.

What you think about most: “The mission at hand; ending the spread of the blight before the next Ashfall.” (Visions of roots crawling over him, spreading through his veins; nightmares of an end he cannot fathom.)

What you think about before bed: “My tasks for oncoming day.”

What you think your best quality is: “I am a difficult man to kill.”

𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻’𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹?

Single or group dates: “Single.”

To be loved or respected: “If I cannot have both, then neither.”

Beauty or brains: “Same answer as before.”

Dogs or cats: “Hm. Cats, if I had to choose. More self-reliant.”

𝑫𝑶 𝒀𝑶𝑼…

Lie: “Yes, when needs must.”

Believe in yourself: “Yes.”

Believe in love: “A pretty thought, that.” He pauses. “For some, yes. For others? No.”

Want someone: His features school into a forced neutrality. He does not answer. He does not say, ‘Always.’

𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑩𝑬𝑬𝑵…

Been on stage: “No.” Arenas, yes. Tournament grounds, yes. Stages? No.

Done drugs: “Rarely…by my own volition.”

Changed who you were to fit in: “To keep the peace, yes.”

𝑭𝑨𝑽𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑻𝑬𝑺.

Favorite color: “Blue, like the waters that feed from a glacier.”

Favorite animal: “Ah. Hm.” Horses, he thinks. They are practical. Useful. “Ravens,” he says instead.

Favorite movie: In the modern verse, likely Clint Eastwood westerns.

Favorite book: “Historical non-fiction.”

Favorite game: “If you can consider it as such; I enjoy a good hunt.”

𝑨𝑮𝑬.

Day your next birthday will be: “Winter.” The season is all he is willing to offer.

How old will you be: “…” It takes him a moment. “It will be my two-hundredth and seventy-sixth year.”

Age you lost your virginity: “Fourteen.”

𝑰𝑵 𝑨 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑺𝑶𝑵.

Best personality: “Hard to say.” Wolfram eventually offers, “Learned. Confident. Mature.” His shoulders roll in a lazy shrug.

Best eye color: “Subjective.” It matters who the belong to, he does not say. Instead, he offers, “Brown. Doe-brown. Honey-brown.” Warm. Dark. And in their way, comforting.

Best hair color: “Dark hair.”

Best thing to do with a partner: “Depends on the partner.” Depends on what they are willing to do, he considers. “Sitting in companionable silence, perhaps.” There’s a wry note to his tone, a barely-there tug at the edges of his mouth.

𝑭𝑰𝑵𝑰𝑺𝑯 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬.

I love: “Things and people I ought not to.”

I feel: “Tired. Hungry.” Empty.

I hide: “What needs to be hidden.”

I miss: “Home.”

I wish: “That the Fates, one day, decide to be kind.”

tagged by: @magioffire

tagging: whoever is feeling it!

#dash games #ch: wolfram

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only-lonely-lovers · 3 months

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08.12.2022

tags: sex dreams, dreams in general

Bird is あ / Avvy is つ

つ：i think the concept of tsukasa being like "there we go. very good" while you come is like a nightmare hanako would have. its been funnny to think about bc it isn't their dynamic. its liek you have an extremely fucked up dream that is inscrutable

あ：lol yeah just something to make you feel really fucked up like -- NO..

つ：hai, hai……

あ：its so funny though bc like again one has incest dreams even when youre a normal person the thought of alive boys ever having them its mutually so funny

つ：yes, they're completely normal. its something i think about. its free childhood incest thoughts no rules no limits

あ：in my mind tsukasa isn't able to parse his as incest he's just like. what a silly little dream i had about amane and the contents arent actually incriminating enough it really is like we're helping each other pee

つ：he's just like ah that was interesting

あ：omoshiroi. that would never happen though.

つ：as much as you have a dream you both eat big caterpillars together off of leafs wooow intresting. i liked that that dream had amane in it

あ：as unfettered about them as one could be amane hasnt been in my dreams for a few days. im glad he is back

つ：amane wakes up more like… woeuhg.. [going to try to willfully forget this. distract with tasks] ugh… weird dream… shakes it off

あ：in a haze sometimes. like wipes drool off of mouth. eugh…. well whatever…. as weird as having dreams where i'm like stuck in this scary old man's sexual carnival like just garbage brain making up shit [represses]

its like overall i think amane just ahs more sex dreams. and sometimes they're nonsense by virtue of having more. just fodder.

つ：i think when you get into the harming phase of their relationship…. it's…. hmm. going to get sicker but I also love the idea of nutting in sleep but the dream wasn't coherently sexual at all

あ：mnnn yeah i think then its a lot more.. visceral, relevant, and stomach twisting

つ：when you have major anxieties repeating all the time it does start to reflect… ah no sad tothink about amane having a lot of dreams tsukasa goes missing again, NOOO

あ：I think emotional stress IRL makes things manifest more coherently in dreams… well, its like it simulates your sense of helplessness etc

having dreams where tsukasa just is very listless and if you let go of his hand for a few minutes he's trying to leave, crawl out windows, like a pet stress dream

つ：probably a lot its his fault, too..... get distracted as one does in dreams.... forget about tsukasa while you're like. tabbing through dolls in an extravagant shop. only remember him existing later like MY-- TSUKASA!!!! NO!!! TSUKASA!!!! RUNNING AROUND THROUGH EVERY BUILDING

あ：dreaming about being in crowds and tsukasa just walks in the opposite direction and he's just gone you blink and you're just like ??? wait. oh NO

つ：dreams of hearing tsukasa just behind a door and opening it and he's not there… desperately opening hundreds of dors…

あ：and calling his name and sometimes you hear "amane" but also like "its fine… im fine…. you dont have to come…" and its just like😭 TSUKASA!!!

つ：the nature of how blissful you were before he disappeared means you can never have just…. security. i imagine dreams would be very cruel and be very WOO HOO BOUNCE HOUSE and then tsukasa gone

when bird can't stop himself from like . forgetting about me or neglecting me in a dream like you just have an extreme memory problem

あ：Noo yeah like i just have this disability almost, I'm just pathologically unable to be more attentive or considerate. Like i fall out of time. Amane just getting so engrossed in tuning his telescope

つ：youre like discovering a new astrological phenomena or some crap or for age 5 youre like seeing. real bunnies on the moon. making a stupid discovery

あ：Lately i keep having dreams where im being so supremely picky about video games like … obsessing about old consoles and getting the right versions of games. but it makes me meaner and shittier somehow like a version of myself thats an eviler nerd. thinking about Amane more or less becoming some goblinized version of self, liek you're staring into your telescope and you FEEL tsukasa's hand tugging you urgently but you slap him dismissively and keep adjusting and when you look up tsukasa's just liek gone His stuff is all scattered on the floor in a mess like he dropped a bunch of stuff and staggered away

つ：you wake up and you. must. let tsukasa do whatever he wants today lead the way… tsukasa PLEAAASE

あ：anything at all roachie So sad, you can really imagine there being bed time distress both at like 4-5 freshly dealing with tsukasa going missing/returning, and then 12-13 as life gets bad

I just think early days there was soo much anxiety to be had also about tsukasa leaving again…. ah, i like to think about them really being prone to waking up in the middle of the night from bad dreams and face snuzz and cuddle… just need the comfort

つ：it had to have been .... the circumstance which really rots them from the inside out..... the act of losing contact, once.....

あ：Its reasonable to, come a little, in your sleep, once in a while. after everything you've been through.

つ：it is completely normal and reasonable.

あ：Sitting here trying to think about what the average random incest dream for Amane is before things get psycho specifically and it's so funny I think he's just like ruined himself from porn. I think it's like I'm jerking off in dream and then Tsukasa is like WHOA let me help. WOW your cock is awesome.... Amane... Impressive, its bigger than mine. wow. WHAO!!1 your come... so cool

つ：ITS GOTT ABE THE WORST WHEN HE'S LIKE TOO DUMB TO HAVE NUANCE OR ACUTE SHAME BUT IS HORNY AND LOOKING AT PORN

あ：like the gormlessness of an amane at some point being like ahah.F GH.F. sh/.. SEX!!!

つ：tsukasa is just there bc he always is and you know him and he is always supportive and down and thinks you are really cool

あ：Yes sjkfdjgh like i think its almost comically like oh let me help you with that. Your hand looks tired brother Just sit back I think some dreams are like. tsukasa wasnt part of the plot but suddenly in the middle of it you know tsukasa

つ：whoa it went really far!!! itslike a normal dream youre like hiding in a closet jerking off but then tsukasa is just there to comment on your cool hog

あ：it's a gormless sex dream like you're going to fuck a big life sized sex doll or something and tsukasa is suddenly here to pull down your pants for you

the random detail in someone's sex nightmare where the machine had to jerk them off to make them erect before cutting it its like wait you need to get hard first.

つ：fkld;sjfsk its sf funny how dreams are procedural and not tasteful HERE I'LL HELP puts dinosar hand puppet on your cock and goes homf homf homf

あ：exactly

つ：butits a dream so youre like fuck it feels so fucking good jesus ive never felt anything this good in my whole life

あ：yes. its also like haphazard and completely abandons plots and changes details for no reason so suddenly its like ahhh i fuck the dinosaur puppets mouth and like THIS is the fetish i was chasing

I actually think itd be funny if Amane's inability to like respect people as individuals means he cannot have sex dreams with strangers so its always some stupid fetish nonsense your mind cannot generate the fantasy of interfacing with people. so instead you really are sooner some panty stealing pervert or like at best peeping into love hotels or something

it's like ahh in this dream im really hornyabout marbles what number is the sexiest

つ：it feels just so feasible you like hear about dinosaurs laying eggs and youre like whoa i forgot dinosaurs would have sex like normal animals [THINKING OF THEM LIKE UNICORNS OR DRAGONS MAGICALLY] . have a dream you guys are playing dinosaurs and tsukasa is like. auhho i wanna have eggs [you are 4 with no understanding of biology] get eggs in me

あ：Please amane screaaaaaa and its like oh god oh christ… gets into the positions

its all crude and like meaningless dream nonsense but the point is its like whoa feels pretty good

つ：dreams can put you through any bullshit and irl youre like coming about it

あ：itd actually be funny to be like older but having a dream about being 4 in the yard again and doing this but older like 8

つ：to have more knowledge. take it again. I know what it means to put egg in you now

あ：the dream wires get mixed up and you start also RPing attacking tsuaksa during it still like bites [tsukasa shrieking]

つ：fighting you….. wrasslin in your grasp

あ：its a dream you really bit through his shirt and there is blood

#22 #pre-shinjuu #playtimes

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house-vulort · 8 months

Text

A Brother’s Return

Tw: violence

The Firmament was bustling as always, adventurers and skybuilders ran to and from building sites, completing tasks and collecting materials. Gaël smiled, it warmed his heart to watch. The Dragonsong War was over, Ishgard had entered a new age. The damage of the war left deep scars in both parties, some groups resisted the peace between Ishgard and the Dravanians, a lot still clung to the “old ways”. It was to be expected, peace was slow after all. However, the rebuilding efforts made his heart sing. It was nice to relax for once, though his Wolve’s did make the occasional strike, to keep the peace from the shadows, as always. The Wolve’s Den had gone silent once Ishgard entered the Eorzean Alliance, those that followed Gael, or Lycan, for a few short years, had gone their ways.

He watched through his red glasses as children ran past, playing a game of tag, their laughter was like music to him. Oh, how he wanted to join them, but work came first. He adjusted his grip on the crate of materials and made his way to his destination.

“Ah, Lord Gaël! Do I take this as another delivery from your shop?” Asked the stall attendant.

“Aye! As promised, all extra supplies go to rebuilding efforts! Leathers, wool, animal pelts and cotton all reliably sourced too, even some exports from the Black Shroud!”

“We happily accept your donations, my lord. Will you be taking some time to join in some of the activities as well?”

Before Gaël had the chance to speak, a loud crash hit the counter. Two MASSIVE crates full of ingots and wood landed on the counter beside Gaël and the attendant, making the pair flinch. The crates’ owner, drenched in sweat, wiping his brow, winced as his single good eye went from person to person.

“S-sorry, I lost my grip on them at the last moment. I didn't mean to interrupt!” The man was a tall, burly, red-haired Elezen with a gold eye. The other eye was covered under an eyepatch, and most likely damaged or missing. His face was grizzled, covered in scars and facial hair. Strange, he reminded Gaël of someone from a very long time ago.

“Don’t worry about it… I was on my way anyway.”

“Again, sorry about that Ser.” The Red-haired man said, rubbing the back of his neck. Gaël stared at the man as he traded his goods to the attendant and made his way to the new construction site, as Gaël followed behind. He reminded him of someone, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

The two worked together running supplies and using them to build up frames of a few new homes with the other groups of adventurers.

“Why is a noble helping with building? I mean, Lord Farcel is overseeing the entire thing as well as the Count Durendaire, but why a Baron like you?”

“These people deserve a home to rest, like everyone else, why do you ask?” The man shrugged. “So, what brings you here, adventurer?”

“New sights I guess, I’m a mercenary by trade, before this I was helping the Grand Companies liberate Ala Mhigo. With the stalemate still ongoing, I thought it best to seek work elsewhere. Plus, I know I’m from this city, it feels so… familiar to me. Ah! Where are my manners? My name is Ivent Travanchet, and May I ask yours?”

“Gaël. Gaël Vulort.”

The man furrowed his brow and ran a hand through his beard.

“Vulort… That name sounds… very familiar…”

“You lost your memory?”

“Aye, over twenty years ago. Think I was a dragoon or something like that. My squad got surrounded by dragons, I ended up on the back of one and it took off. Long story short, misfortune struck and I fell. Woke up badly injured in the care of the person who saved my life, and without a memory, even my own name.” Ivent frowned, rubbing the palm of his hand. “My rescuer tried to help me get my memories back, but… we just kept hitting dead ends. The only piece I had left was the remaining parts of my armor, and it’s now among the rubble under the fragments of Dalamaud. Recovering it is a suicide mission.”

Gaël listened to the man speak, he began to recall the story of his brother’s passing. His squad ended up in a trap by the dragons as planned by Spider, all because Sylvain got too close to taking him back. No body was recovered, only a helmet and his lance. The search party was taken into the North Shroud, and parts of Dravania, but he was gone and given a knight’s send off to Halone’s Halls.

“…Was your new life happy?”

“Oh yes, it was…” Ivent smiled warmly. “I later married the woman who saved me, and we had a daughter, who took after her mother in almost every aspect. Our life was quiet, we tended to the life of the Shroud… Until the Calamity. I lost my wife and became separated from my daughter. I haven’t seen her since, and finding her these past few years has been one of my goals and reasons for traveling. Having a family is something I’ve always wanted, I know that much even with little memory or who I was.”

Memory… A memory began to call out to Gaël.

~~~~

“Hey Sylv?” A much younger Gaël asked his brother.

“Yeah?” Came the response of his older, red haired brother. He had just come back from a day of training and still wore his armor as the two played in the streets. They laid against the grass in the back of their estate, watching clouds and the stone spires that pierced them.

“If this war didn’t exist, what would you do?”

“Find someone I like and start a family I guess, while taking care of our father's shop.”

“That’s boring! Think of something else!”

“It’s true! As I get older, I do want to start looking for someone I can be happy with. Besides, I’ve… always wanted to have a family. Or just caring for someone like that.”

“I don’t like that! When I’m older I wanna travel the world and see what’s out there!”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad, but you should look out.”

“Huh? Why?” The young child asked his brother with a tilt of his head. Sylvain quickly grabbed Gael, pulling him close to him and rubbing his knuckles against his head.

“Who’ll keep you safe from the knuckle monster!?” Sylvain laughed and Gael yelped out and laughed.

“Hey! Mister Gael, you alright there!?” Ivent called him back to reality.

“O-oh… Sorry… I must have spaced out. You just… really remind me of my late older brother.” It was odd, the man before him acted almost exactly like the brother he knew.

“Really now? Who knows? Maybe I could be him!” He joked with a laugh. Even that laugh of his, despite him being older, sounded exactly the same. Gaël let out a soft nervous laugh as they returned back to work. It only drove Gaël more up the wall as the man hummed Coerthian folk tunes he swore he never heard before, something his brother would sing often after training.

Why are you going off a hunch? This could be another person?

What if this is him? It’s almost EXACTLY like him.

Fine, fine, how will you jog his memory?

He… had mother’s handkerchief, and I still have his broken lance and helmet Father was given. Maybe showing them to him will jog it?

A few days had passed, it was now late evening, Gaël sat in the estate enjoying a cup of tea as he went over some paperwork. From his window he’d watch the passerby’s go about their day, but that man, Ivent, would frequently walk by almost hourly after work in the Firmament concluded.

“Are you alright?” Gaël asked him from the doorway.

“This place… it feels familiar. Like…” Ivent paused for a moment trying to figure something out.

“Why don’t you come inside and get out of the cold?” Gaël motioned for him to come inside. Ivent looked around and slowly came inside. His good eye widened as he looked around the entryway.

“I… feel I’ve been here before… a long time ago…”

“Oh? I didn’t really get time to add my own flairs after my father passed, it’s kinda been the same since I was a child, well, minus a few rooms.” Ivent quickened his pace as he went into a seating area. His eyes locked on a shrine, Sylvain’s shrine… his shrine, containing the broken helmet and lance, with a small painting of his. Something the former lord commissioned.

“That’s… my helmet… and lance.” He winced out in pain holding his head. Gaël quickly grabbed a hold of his arm and guided him to a nearby chair.

“Take it easy, don’t force yourself.” Gaël quietly told him. He sat beside him, in case he needed someone. Not all of those memories would be happy ones.

“I’m… starting to remember so many things… I had… a massive fight with my father after he sold you. I was… outraged… things were thrown… I left for the Brume and became a dragoon instead of the temple knight he wanted me to be… I spent every day looking for you… I got close so many times… I was… making that man nervous, he threatened me so many times, had members of the Brume chase me away from wherever he was keeping you. Then… My last mission happened… it happened so fast… I’m sorry I wasn’t here to keep you safe…”

“No, no! Don’t apologize! We’re… alive aren’t we, Sylv- Ivent?” Ivent rested his head on Gaël’s shoulder.

“That… will take some time… My name I mean, both suit me, but I don’t want to lose the name she gave me…”

“You don’t have to go back, maybe you can keep both of them? Like Sylvain Ivent Vulort? No, that doesn’t sound good…”

“It’s fine… I don’t mind what I am called, both feel right.”

The next couple of weeks were the happiest Gaël has felt in a long time. He enjoyed every moment he spent with his brother, the meals they cooked together, the stories they shared, it was perfect, he couldn’t ask for anything better. He learned a lot from his brother again, he started a family with the woman who rescued him and together they had a daughter, who he is still looking for after being separated from the Calamity. It was all going fine until one night.

After closing the tailor shop for the night, Sylvain came into the Gaël’s office while he was organizing customer details, and slammed a stack of letters on his desk.

“Can you explain these?” He growled. Gaël blinked at him as he went through the papers, letters from his former subordinates about cleaning the filth out of the city. Some of the death notes of targets.

“Where did you find these? I had these hidden away for a reason.”

“Oh, so you know what they are then? What the seven hells are you doing with execution orders!?”

“You seem to forget I was trained to be a killer. Sadly old habits didn’t die after I escaped Spider’s web. But yes, I ordered these and acted on them.”

“You murdered people!? Why would you do that!?”

“Why? You are asking me why? Those… those animals did nothing but bring suffering to the lowborn. I grew tired of watching it! Before you say it, yes, I tried to report it all but I only got brushed aside. If there was going to be real change, sadly drastic measures had to be taken. Am I proud of it? Hells no, but it had to be done.”

“So, you sought no other options but to murder these people?”

“I already told you, I tried putting myself in the crossfire personally, even tried using my status as a Baron, as much as I detest doing that, and nothing was done, I’ve done less if you did read those files and still there wasn’t much change. Corruption still ran rampant, I had to get my hands bloodied in some cases.” Gaël said as he stood up and went around his desk, reading off some of the documents placed before him.

“You… say you wanted change but all you did was create an endless circle of strife. How is that better compared to what Spider did?”

“Do not compare me to that demon.” Gaël hissed.

“Look at what you have done! What makes you think after all you have done even in his care, you are better than him!?”

Gaël immediately saw red, he lunged at his brother, striking him square in the face. Sylvain stumbled back, covering his nose, blood coating his hands. Gaël watched as Sylvain’s aether flicked to life, but something about it seemed… wrong. He didn’t have enough time to react to Sylvain lunging at him like a wild beast, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him to the ground. A struggle ensued as the two fought for control. Sylvain held Gaël down as he repeatedly swung at Gael’s face, staining his fists red. Gaël struck his brother in the crotch, giving him enough time to throw Sylvain off him. His instincts told him to run, but he couldn’t make it far as his vision blurred to black. He saw his brother turning back to him, before stopping.

“…What… what am I doing…?”

Gaël awoke in a Chirurgeon’s office a few days later with half of his face bandaged, and severe bruising on his neck. Their fight had broken his left orbital wall, parts of his jaw and nose, along with a concussion. Eating and drinking were PAINFUL to do on his own, he hated having to rely on feeding tubes and straws until things healed more. It reminded him of his time recovering from his injuries while in the labyrinth and how much he hated hospitals because of it. Chirurgeons were tending him every several hours, tending to his wounds. A few weeks of this and he should be fine. One day he awoke to a Duskwright woman placing herb based ointment on his healing injuries.

“What the hells are you doing!?”

“It’s an herbal salve I made! It should help with your healing process, and make you smell a lot nicer!” She had dark gray skin, with her face dotted with light freckles, white hair that draped over her shoulders into small “drills” and a long braid in the back. Gaël sank further into his pillow as she got closer to his face.

“Aris, stop. You are making him uncomfortable.” A voice came from the other side of the room. Sylvain leaned up against the wall by the door, his arm was in a cast along with bandages across his nose. Seeing him made his blood run cold.

“Oh… right. Sorry, uncle!” The woman, Aris, stood back up and trotted over to Sylvain’s side. Gaël stared back to the two visibly confused.

“Right, introductions! Gaël, this is Aris, my daughter. She’s been tracking an aether trail when I bumped into her in the markets the other day. Turns out, she’s been studying to be a medic and herbalist in Sharlayan! Aris, this is your uncle, Gaël. He’s the head of my side of the family and owner of the family tailor shop, and has been working closely with the Firmament in rebuilding efforts.”

“Nice to meet you! But… uh… who did this to you? Or the both of you?”

Both brothers turned their gaze away from her. She looked between the two and sighed. “Oh… I see… I uh… should probably let you two talk if… uh… you want to…” then quickly left the room. The air became heavy as silence and muffled footsteps and chatter from beyond the door claimed the room.

“L-look,” Sylvain finally started after several minutes. “I said some really horrible things to you in the moment I really should not have said. You have every right to be upset with me, I’m sorry Gaël. You don’t have to accept my apology if you don’t want to.”

“We hurt each other…”

“I… can’t argue with that… How about this” Sylvain took a step closer, causing Gael’s posture to shift into an almost defensive position, causing him to stop. “…No… too soon, I’ll give you your space while you heal, we both need some space, but when you're healed up, why don’t we do something nice? We could visit the Twelveswood or the borders of it, if you want…”

“…That… that sounds nice….” Gaël choked out, as he pulled his knees closer to his chest.

“Then it’s settled! Sylvain said with a bright smile, “I’ll leave you to rest now, and again, I’m sorry.”

A week later, the three of them, Aris, Gaël and Sylvain took their chocobos out to venture to the Twelveswood. Everything was going fine until they got to the Coerthas border into The Black Shroud, it was like Gael’s body refused to press on.

You are abandoning them! Don’t go! They need us!

“Gaël? What is it?”

“I… I can’t go. I’m sorry.”

Sylvain furrowed his brow. “Why not? What is stopping you?”

Don’t go! Don’t leave them to die!

“I… I can’t go… I can’t go…”

“Why can’t you? Help us understand, Gaël.”

Gaël ran his fingers through his hair, he could feel his heart starting to race.

“Just take a-“

“He isn’t ready yet, and that’s okay! It’ll take time! It might be best if we return to Ishgard for… all of our sakes…” Aris pipped up, turning her white chocobo around. Sylvain let out an annoyed grunt as he mounted his own steed to turn back. The ride back was quiet, Gaël noticed Sylvain frequently pressed a hand to his chest, as lightning based aether surged through his body, something he frequently said was normal due to his past injuries. However, upon watching Aris’ gaze switch between the two, something told him there was more going on.

Upon their return to the estate, a group of Temple Knights awaited them, leaning up against the main stairway into the estate. The captain stood and approached them.

“Baron Gaël Vulort, you are under arrest for crimes against the Holy See.”

“T-there must be a mistake!” Aris cried out. “He’s been with us for the past several days, not counting his recovery in a medic’s ward!”

“No, milady,” The captain shook his head. “These crimes ranged from before the end of the Dragonsong War’s end to a few short months ago. By law, all heretics must still be given fair trial.”

Gaël froze up, eyes wide and focused on the captain and his squad slowly surrounding him. “Under what evidence do you claim I have committed such crimes!?”

The Captain presented a document at Gael’s nose. “Do you recognize this, my lord? This was given to us by an anonymous source.” It was the exact same document Sylvain slammed on his desk a few weeks prior. Gael’s face went white in horror then a beet red as he turned to his brother. He couldn’t even meet his eyes.

“You sold me out!? Why!? Why the fuck would you do that!?”

“You committed murder among several other crimes! Do you really think I’d turn a blind eye? It doesn’t matter if it happened years or months ago! It doesn’t matter if they were innocent-“

“THEY WERE NOT FUCKING INNOCENT PEOPLE! No! Those DEMONS were far from that! They terrorized INNOCENT people, and when those people came to them, they were brushed aside as if it didn’t matter only for the abuse to get worse! I know their pain! I know EXACTLY what it feels like to try and testify against a higher power and to be brushed aside only to be called a lunatic and threatened! I didn’t want to kill them! Do you think I didn’t try to avoid it!? I was tired of living that life already, but that never left me.”

The knights closed in closer on him, Gaël took a few steps back.

“Please sir, don’t make this difficult for any of us. We don’t want to hurt you.”

“Like hells you would, I’m just another monster to you…” He took another several steps back, weapons were now drawn.

“Don’t you fucking DARE run from this, you beast!” Sylvain spat out. That same corrupted aether sparked to life again, turning his good eye a bright red for a second. Aris noticed and looked at the pair horrified. This wasn’t Sylvain anymore… whatever was corrupting him was taking over, and it would grow worse if he fled from his arrest.

Gael tossed his weapons aside and raised his arms up in surrender, the captain stepped forward to cuff him and escort him to the Tribunal. He was made to shed his personalized garments to that of rags that marked prisoners. Memories of his last few days in the labyrinth came rushing in his head, chained up, blindfolded and unable to speak. At least, this time he was to be treated more humanely until his trial. He just didn’t know what to feel. Sorrow, hatred, relief, confusion, it all washed over him, leaving him feeling nothing and everything all at once. This time at least his cell was warmer than the depths. He sat in the corner curled in a ball, tears rushing down his face. He wanted to live, he had to. There was still so much he wanted to do. This place was going to be his home for the time being, until someone came to give his rights before they took him to trial or he requested trial by combat…

“I want to live…” he kept saying to himself until he fell asleep. It was going to be a long several days…

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv writing #elezen #tw: violence

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panther-os · 1 year

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I posted 1,031 times in 2022

That's 353 more posts than 2021!

247 posts created (24%)

784 posts reblogged (76%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@isurrendertoclones

@thatoneguy157

@sarah-yyy

@atohii

@cinaed

I tagged 360 of my posts in 2022

#/incoherent noises/ - 215 posts

#star wars the clone wars - 119 posts

#dragon age - 45 posts

#rvb - 37 posts

#star wars - 33 posts

#tcw - 32 posts

#captain rex - 22 posts

#clone troopers - 20 posts

#commander wolffe - 14 posts

#commander fox - 12 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#and their temper and/or self-esteem crumpling like a stack of cards bc in their world thats basically the equivalent of killing their dog

My Top Posts in 2022:

In TCW there's Commander Fox CC-1010 and in RotS there's Trooper Fox CT-0000/1010 and instead of them being the same person, consider: Fox has a mini-me. Everyone was calling him Fox Jr, esp after they found out about the numbers, and it stuck. In the barracks he's mostly just Junior but Cmdr Fox is a being of pure chaos who delights in such confusion as "What do you suggest, Commander Fox?" "I have the perfect trooper for the job, sir. Fox!" "Yes, Commander Fox?" "Fox, come here. The Senator has a task for you, Fox." "Sir, yes, sir, Commander Fox, sir!"

270 notes - Posted July 5, 2022

Broke: Wolffe got his name for biting and growling at people.

Woke: Wolffe got his name for being super protective of his brothers.

Bespoke: Wolffe got his name because he got like. 1000% of Jango's Mando adoption genes and if he even just sees a child that child is his now. He's a serial adopter who loves and looks after all his children/little brothers equally and with all he can give and he got banned from creche duty on Kamino because he kept getting too attached and only when he got banned did he bite someone but it was a one off and not the main reason for his name. He can't fucking stand natborn adults though. Children are soft and full of wonder and spite, natborn adults are mostly just fucking stupid. Also please note this makes Plo a grandpa.

445 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

Cody, high off his ass on pain meds, petting Rex' hair: baby rex baby brother baby boy baby

Rex: EXCUSE?

Wolffe, probably: shut up, you're like. three

Rex: I'm 10???

Bly (probably): nope, you're three forever, I'm using my marshal commander powers to make it happen

Cody: baaaby

594 notes - Posted July 26, 2022

Brief Guide for Star Wars Writers

DC-15A Rifle:

Used for formal events and ceremonies, and as a sniper rifle in the field.

DC-15A Carbine:

See the full post

1,079 notes - Posted October 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The 212th colors are endlessly fascinating to me, because it's clearly orange, but the fact that Obi-Wan is likely aware of Mandalorian color symbolism and the idea that he chose it and chose to call it gold? Like? What happened?

Palpatine: Master Kenobi, why are you so insistent on this color?

Obi-Wan, sweating: It's gold, it stands for vengeance in Mandalorian culture.

Palpatine: It's orange, though?

Obi-Wan, hoping Jango Fett's ghost doesn't slit his throat in his sleep for this: Mandalorians see color differently.

Palpatine, known racist old white man: Ah, I see, carry on.

Obi-Wan, to his troops fifteen minutes later: Listen, idk your relationship with Mandalorian culture, but this color? Orange means freedom. By death or in life, you will take your freedom eventually.

The 212th, who just fucking met him: ????

Obi-Wan: But if anyone asks it's gold and means vengeance and Mandalorian humans don't see color the same as other humans because of their Taung ancestry or something like that. This is very important because I just lied to the Supreme Chancellor's face about it lmao

1,861 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #/incoherent noises/

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taromolktea · 2 years

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▀▄▀▄▀▄ ｏ𝐏ｅ𝓡άｔⒾ𝔬Ｎ: 🄵🄾🅄🄽🄳 🄵🄰🄼🄸🄻🅈 ▄▀▄▀▄▀ (a Spy X Family AU), Chapter 1: Operation Strix

Xiao X Reader (2nd person)

word count: 5k

content: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY BELOVED MEOW MEOW- been loving spy x family sooo much lately and i couldn’t NOT turn it into an au ehe i don’t read the manga (yet?) so it’ll be an episode-by-episode kind of thing at best (and i didn’t think it would take so long to turn an episode into a chapter but alas, here we are) i think even if you haven’t seen the anime (i recommend you do and then talk to sophie and i about it owo), you’ll still really like this series of work :D you the reader don’t actually appear until the next chapter but hopefully the fluff will tide you over

chapter 2: secure a wife

regular tag list (message to be added/removed) 🏷 @icedthoma @citrussaurus @danibby

｡🌠 🎀 𝓇𝑒𝒷𝓁🌞𝑔𝓈 & 𝒸😍𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓇𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹❢ 𝓌𝑒'𝒹 𝓁❤𝓋𝑒 𝓉💙 𝓀𝓃🍑𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎🌺𝓊 𝓁🍩𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝒷💍𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈❣❣ 🎀 🌠｡

Alatus. It is a mountainous task to phase him, always keeping a cold expression even among his boss, Morax, and other agents known as Adepti, fellow “coworkers” one could say. Thus, Morax himself was highly amused when he managed to crack that composed look on his face.

“Your mission is to get close to the target and probe any seditious activities. In order to achieve this, you will get married and have a child.”

A spray of tea tarnished the newspaper containing his mission parameters. Alatus quickly apologized to the concerned bystanders in his midst. Although Morax was as powerful as he was wise, even he had a sense of humor. A peculiar one at that. Often, his Adepti were the subjects of these social experiments.

Alatus cleared his throat of his surprise. To infiltrate the target’s life and discover their secrets, he was now tasked with procuring not only a spouse, but also producing a child to infiltrate an illustrious academy… all within seven days?

Surely you could’ve assigned Ganyu to this? He grimaced. Or even Yanfei. They are much better at… missions that require interpersonal skills.

Alas, here he was. Securing a modest single-family apartment with adequate escape routes.

“I’ll take it.”

“Excellent, Gui Xiansheng. Now then, if you’ll sign these documents.”

Gui Xiao. Occupation: psychiatrist. A devoted father and loving husband who has moved his dear family to the robust city of Liyue. Absolutely preposterous.

With accommodations squared away, he arrives at a nearby (and rather shady looking, he might add) orphanage. Perhaps Morax’s strange sense of humor had rubbed off on him. The realtor- what was her name? Verr Goldet? Seemed rather confused when she asked about his darling child.

“Do you have a son? Or a daughter?”

“I’ll be deciding on that shortly.”

“...Eh?”

It was true, after all. And the shadier the establishment, the more likely it is that one will find a child with a complicated past. It would make integrating them into his mission easier. Now if he could just find a six-year-old that could read and write…

“Ah, Qiqi. Why don’t’cha introduce yerself?”

Xiao’s attention followed the owner to a little girl with lavender hair and vivid cerise eyes. She looked at him blankly.

The owner continued, “She doesn’t talk much. But she’s a good kid, and pretty bright.” She’s a creepy brat that I’d be all too thrilled to have out of my hair.

Xiao knelt down to Qiqi level and introduced himself, “Hello. My name is Xiao.”

If I recall Morax correctly, the earliest age students can enter Sumeru Academia is six… She definitely looks no older than four or five.

“Six.” Qiqi murmurs, “Qiqi is six, Xiansheng.”

“So you are.” But… she looks rather small.

Qiqi scrunched her neutral face and stood up on her tippy toes before running to the nearby table and picking up the daily paper. Xiao tilted his head in confusion upon being shown the crossword puzzle on the back. Surely that was too difficult for a child like Qiqi.

She beckoned him over to her and wielded a mighty purple crayon as her eyes scanned over the prompts. Xiao looked them over as well. It was easy for him of course, given his intellect.

Let’s see… one down is “homeostasis”, one across is “casual closer”, then the one below that is “symplectomorphism”-

Xiao’s gold eyes went wide. Qiqi showed him her handiwork with a straight face having completed the crossword puzzle, all 100% correct.

Interesting… with such a high intellect, it would be an easy task to pass the entrance exam. That’s another part of the mission groundwork complete. Admittedly, it all feels a little too simple.

“I’ll take her.” Xiao tells the owner before extending his hand to Qiqi, “Is that alright with you?”

A spy mission. Qiqi gazes at him with doe-eyes, takes his hand in both of hers and nods, How exciting…!

Unbeknownst to Qiqi, his endearing new daughter happened to be a telepath. One that was often kept in solitary confinement for research purposes. Had he known, he might have recalled Morax’s research on Visions that granted beholders a kind of supernatural ability. Of course, such people are very rare. Surely Qiqi was not among them.

“Alright, Qiqi. Starting today, you and I will be father and daughter.” Xiao said at the foot of their apartment, “But if anyone asks, you’ve always been my daughter. Do you understand?”

Qiqi bobs her head, “Yes.”

“Also, make sure you address me as ‘Father’, okay?”

Qiqi bobs her head again, “Okay, Papa.”

Xiao’s brows twitch, “Acceptable. Let’s go inside.”

One of his neighbors greet them in the hallway, “Aiya, hello there! Welcome to the complex.” She crouches down to Qiqi’s level, “Aren’t you a cutie? My name’s Hu Tao.”

“Thank you for the welcome, Hu Tao.”

Xiao glances at Qiqi, who seems to… not like this Hu Tao very much, but begrudgingly she replies, “Qiqi’s name is… Qiqi. Qiqi has been Papa’s daughter for a very long time.” She holds out both her hands, the left palm open and the right having only her only index finger up, “For six years.”

Hu Tao laughs, “How adorable! Yes, six years being your daddy’s little cutie is a very long time.”

Xiao can’t help but find child speech a little odd but makes no comment on it otherwise. He is all too glad that Hu Tao is so unperturbed.

“Why don’t we go inside. Say goodbye to Hu Tao.”

Qiqi only waves at her silently and Xiao sighs with relief as her curiosity leads her all over the apartment’s living room, stopping at the TV, which he turns on for her. She seems especially drawn to the show “Spy Wars” which… is unexpected for many reasons, her fascination with pistols with silencers being one of them.

“Is this really Qiqi’s house?”

“Yes, make yourself at home.”

Since she’s occupied, Xiao begins planning the next phase of having Qiqi infiltrate the academy. An ID card for starters, and a few other things. As soon as he heads for the door however, announcing that he’ll only be running some errands, Qiqi bounds up to him and jumps onto his leg.

“Adventure, Papa.”

“It’s not an adventure, Qiqi. Just shopping.”

“Qiqi wants a pistol with a silencer like the one from Spy Wars.”

“Sure. Maybe if one is on sale.”

Xiao’s neutral expression was on par with Qiqi’s out of pocket request. It was in his mission’s best interests that the two of them behave like a normal family. Not under any circumstances should they draw unnecessary attention to themse-

“Papa, save Qiqi.”

Archons.

His attention snapped up to Qiqi caught in a whirlwind of passengers boarding a bus. He hurried to her side as an older woman lifted her out of the crowd and reunited them.

“There you are. You need to make sure you hold the little one’s hand.” The woman chided gently before boarding her bus.

And so, Xiao relinquished use of one of his hands to hold Qiqi’s as they continued down the street. It was a costly thing, really. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have made the trade off. Fine. The damned will sooner die again than lay a hand on us.

Qiqi’s indifferent eyes widened some as Xiao’s inner thoughts resounded in her mind as clearly as if he had said them aloud. With a little pull, she freed her hand from his and looked around nervously before ducking in between a cafe signboard.

“Qiqi? Now what’re you doing?”

“Hiding.”

Did I do something to make her want to hide from me? Perhaps I held her hand too early… does she hate me? Tch. This isn’t good. I need to maintain a good relationship with her in order for my mission to be successful. I must research this… creature. And bond with her. According to Morax, basic diplomacy and understanding the other party is the first… and hardest step to peace, be it of world peace or one-to-one interpersonal relationships.

Qiqi looked fixedly at him, “Understanding Qiqi… will bring lead to world peace?”

“Huh?”

Qiqi came out from under the signboard and took his hand in hers, “Qiqi likes cocogoat milk. And finches… but not to eat. They are just very pretty.”

Xiao nodded, taking her words as valuable notes.

“Qiqi also doesn’t like bacon from baconries.”

She points at the sign of the bakery behind him and Qiqi frowns slightly, “You mean… a bakery? They don’t even sell bacon.”

Qiqi tilts her head in confusion but gets distracted by a street vendor selling posters. The one of Spy Wars was calling her name.

“Qiqi would like… this one, please.”

The small coin she holds out to him is certainly not enough for a poster but Xiao gives the seller the proper amount shortly afterwards. Something wasn’t adding up, and it wasn’t just the money…

Strange, that’s twice now. Is she… actually stupid? Perhaps the crossword puzzle was a fluke. Maybe it isn’t too late to go back and get another child-

For the first time today since not liking that Hu Tao girl, Qiqi’s purple braided hair went stick straight with fright. Her eyes immediately turned glassy as she grabbed Xiao leg and sobbed louder than he thought was even remotely possible for a human.

“Pwease don’t get rid of Qiqi, Papa!”

Xiao choked on air at the sudden commotion that was once again drawing attention to the two of them, “W-What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

The disapproving whispers of passersby made goosebumps erupt on his skin as Qiqi continued to cry, “Pwease love Qiqi! Qiqi is a good bargain!”

What do I do, what do I do?

Xiao blinked, “U-Uh, I’ll get you cocogoat milk! And a pet finch! Just stop crying please!”

Qiqi immediately stopped, her face resuming its indifferent look, “Yay.”

He sighed. The ability to cry and stop crying in an instant… children are… awful. It took a second to discern that “cocogoat milk” is actually coconut milk. Xiao recalled Morax’s musings on oolong tea, which supposedly, was lovely in combination with coconut milk over ice. He wasn’t sure if a child would appreciate such a drink but-

“Qiqi is… sleepy, Papa.” She hugs his arm from her seat in the cart that he pushes around the store, “Take Qiqi home, please… Can’walk’ny’more…”

You’re not even walking in the first place.

If Qiqi was tired, imagine Xiao’s exhaustion. He scooped her up along with the groceries and began walking to the apartment. Such irrational behavior… I don’t understand it. I’ll need to consult manuals for a better grasp on of all this. His arms were a tad sore when he finally arrived home with groceries, Qiqi, and many books on parenting from the library. After tucking her in, Xiao began pouring over the readings at a breakneck pace.

“The key to raising a child is trust. Rather than scolding them, try to understand things their perspective. Children are not very good at putting their thoughts and feelings into words, so be very patient in understanding them.”

Tch… so interrogation isn’t an option. Parenting in and of itself is a taxing mission. How do actual parents do this?

“Nurture their self esteem to give them a better future and outlook on life. By giving them the ability to think for themselves, their future…”

Xiao stopped and glanced at what little he could see of Qiqi sleeping soundly in her bedroom.

Her future… our future.

He sighed.

As soon as I’m done with this mission, I’m sending her back to the orphanage. The extent of our relationship is… is merely transactional.

The next morning was… a raucous one. Considering Qiqi’s usual temperament.

“Qiqi doesn’t wanna study.”

“I need to assess how smart you truly are for the Sumeru Academia entrance exam.” Explained Xiao with his arms crossed.

Qiqi shook her head, “Qiqi doesn’t need to study to do any exam. If I just read other kids’…” minds.

Xiao frowned, “‘If you just read other kids’ answers’? Is that your plan- cheating? Listen Qiqi, if you don’t pass this exam…” my mission fails. He huffs an exasperated huff, “Fine then. I’m going out, and you’re not coming with me! Not under any circumstances.” There has to be another way…

The ability of a six-year old to get into places they’re not supposed to was… unexpected for Xiao. It took Qiqi four attempts at following after him before he resulted to… less orthodox methods of telling her ‘no’. True, barricading Qiqi inside the apartment and sealing the door with a heavy crate was perhaps questionable at best. But it worked!

After finding Qiqi in the vents, Xiao couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at his success.

Hah! Try getting out of that.

“I pray you don’t get reported for child abuse.” Yanfei, a fellow Adeptus, sighed.

Xiao sighed too, “Children are… difficult. Their method of crying to get their way is truly a troublesome one.”

Yanfei laughed this time, “Hate to break it to you but that’s what kids do. Little Qiqi seems to be quite the natural. Speaking of little Qiqi, here are the records I found on her that the orphanage didn’t have. And the questions for Sumeru Academy’s entrance exam too. I must say, they were quite tricky to procure.”

Her minty green eyes and read over Xiao’s shoulder as he examined Qiqi’s records. There was very little to be examined however. Nothing about her birth or age, not even her real parents. The only information to be noted was from last year.

“She’s been adopted four times and returned each time.” Said Yanfei solemnly, “She’s also been to two other orphanages.”

“Bai Qiqi. Zhu Qiqi. Song Qiqi.” Read Xiao.

“And now ‘Gui Qiqi’. She changes names as much as you do- you two are perfect for each other.”

Xiao stares at her coldly.

“Please, I’m only kidding. Everything for the sake of your mission.” Yanfei shrugged with a seemingly all too carefree and uninvested air, “You know nothing good will come out of getting attached to Qiqi, right?”

The hidden question was meant to egg him on but Xiao merely replied, “Thank you for your concern.”

Yanfei watched him go and smiled. Not very often someone wiggles their way into Alatus’ heart. That little Qiqi must be quite the charmer.

Qiqi gazed up at the ceiling aimlessly. Qiqi is… bored. When is Papa coming back? She lolled her head to the side and spotted the door leading to the Xiao’s bedroom containing his equipment. Earlier this morning, she recalled him reciting the code in his head.

A pistol with a silencer…

And that’s how all of Xiao’s equipment ended up on the floor, including but not limited to a jade winged spear that Qiqi couldn’t help but wonder how it even fit in the closet. Pointy… pretty… but not a pistol with a silencer.

Upon opening up one of the briefcases, Qiqi’s curiosity fell on the communicator. A suitable, but unbeknownst to her, highly dangerous and compromising form of entertainment. She spent the rest of the day touching buttons and flipping switches, leaving monotone messages to who knows who until the realization struck her. The room was now a mess.

“Now that you’ve found out I’m a spy, I’ll have you disappear!”

Qiqi shook her head free of the impression of a furious Xiao and quickly began putting things away.

If Papa finds out Qiqi is a telepath… Qiqi will have to leave…

Old memories of a man in a lab coat with green hair and a white snake resurfaced in Qiqi’s head. Studying over drawing. Research over her feelings. There was no time to bother with childish games, not when her exploitation could further studies on immortality and perhaps even bring about “world peace”.

Qiqi sighed after putting everything away and curled up on Xiao’s bed. It smelled like him- comforting and safe. Her eyes began to droop shut just before a harsh and abrupt movement resounded from the front door.

Papa?

Xiao arrived in the apartment lobby that afternoon just as Hu Tao happened to be leaving, “Hi again, neighbor!” She chirped, “Say, about that heavy crate you blocked your front door with…”

He stiffened, “I-It’s uh… because our lock was faulty. It’s just a temporary fix-”

Hu Tao tilted her head, “Oya? I was jus saying it must’ve been as tough to move it there as it was to move it out of the way all by yourself. It took like three guys earlier.”

His gold eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, “Three?”

After bidding a quick goodbye to Hu Tao, Xiao hurried upstairs to the front door where he found the crate moved ever so slightly from its original spot. Inside the apartment was dark and quiet. Xiao’s eyes narrowed as his ears pricked from the sound of footsteps. Too large and heavy to be Qiqi’s light and little ones.

Like a crack of lightning, he flipped his assailant onto his back and narrowly dodged the bullets fired from the two behind the couch. Xiao made quick work of them. Once they were all disarmed and unconscious, he searched the apartment for Qiqi. Her bedroom was empty. It wasn’t until he got to his bedroom that he found his equipment a mess on the floor alongside the finch plush he had gotten Qiqi yesterday.

She’s been compromised, and so have I by the looks of it. Who were those thugs? Did they take her? Where could they have gone? …Calm down. Calm down.

He picked up the finch plush from off the floor. Qiqi had placed a heart-shaped sticker on its back and even wrote the characters for her name on it with a marker. “七七”. Except the first 七 was backwards. He couldn’t help but crack a smile. It was her first ever possession that was entirely hers. Xiao recalled her nearly imperceptible look of excitement when he gifted it to her. He shook his head and stuffed the finch in his pocket.

…I should get to safety. As for Qiqi… there- there are other children out there. I’ll start over from square one and-

When Qiqi came to, she found her hands tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth. Her heartbeat thrashed in her chest, suffocated by the evil thoughts brewing in the room full of thugs and their leader, who wielded a pistol with a silencer.

A bad guy!

“Who is this kid anyway? Does she belong to Alatus?”

“No clue. She was in the room where the signal for his location was found. Must be Alatus’- there’s no other explanation.”

“Fine. She’ll be our hostage to lure him out. It’s a rare opportunity to dispose of one of Morax’s Adepti anyway. One less to worry about.”

“Yes sir. Especially Alatus, the fiercest of them all.”

The engine of a car roared to a stop outside and two more thugs joined the dimly lit room, one of them hauling in a thrashing body whose head was covered by a bag and unceremoniously dropping him on the ground. Qiqi’s eyes widened. Papa?

It all happened so fast, Qiqi could barely process it. When they unveiled the body, from the shoulders down, she was so sure it was Xiao. But from the shoulders up, she never saw who it was. Based on the surprise from the thugs and their leader, and the lights going out in the warehouse immediately afterwards, she could only shut her eyes and curl up in fright. Papa! Please save Qiqi!

As if someone heard her wish, Qiqi felt her body get scooped off the ground and tucked under someone’s arm. Their thoughts were frantic but the voice behind them was… familiar.

Tch. Reduced to waltzing right into enemy territory- how absurd.

Papa?

“Papa!” Qiqi cried, throwing her arms around him even though she couldn’t see his face.

She knew it was him. She would recognize his voice anywhere, and she knew he would come to save her. Xiao’s eyes softened behind his Yaksha mask for a brief moment but kept his gaze on the exit, holding Qiqi tight against him.

“Look, you’re okay.” He insisted as she continued to cry, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you as long as I’m here, got it? You don’t have to be scared.”

Xiao admitted to himself that he was hardly any good at comforting children, but as Qiqi’s sobs grew louder, he remembered why he hated the sound so much. This is exactly why children suck. They remind me of… me. When I was powerless under that person. When I was exploited and forced to do unspeakable things on his behalf before Morax saved me.

Just before the light of the outside world, Xiao knelt down and let Qiqi stand on her own two feet. Normally, he was certain his Yaksha mask would frighten small children, even grown adults. But Qiqi stared fondly at him even with her glassy eyes. She reached out her hand to touch his cheek but he backed away.

“Listen up… little one.”

“Qiqi.” She said.

“Listen up, Qiqi. Take this and run around the corner to the right of here. You’ll find a police station. Give this note to one of the police officers and they’ll take care of everything, okay?”

Xiao handed over her finch plush plus a folded talisman with Morax’s insignia inside. One of the Adepti agents planted in various organizations would be able to meet Qiqi at the police station. And bring her to a better orphanage. Give her a better future than one with me in her life. I’m not going to involve a kid in this mission.

Qiqi’s eyes widened as Xiao directed her down the street with the throw of his arm. He barked at her to go and she found her legs taking her away, but her focus remained on his thoughts.

I’ll figure something else out. Rework the plan. I can’t… bring myself to put Qiqi in danger ever again. Not when I swore my life to Morax in order to create a world where kids like don’t have to be afraid or cry.

Qiqi swore she saw a glimpse of Xiao’s face under his mask just before he returned to the darkness of the warehouse. The sound of gunshots and screaming urged to keep running but she told her legs to stop just behind a telephone booth. She crouched down to catch her breath before looking over her beloved finch plush. Unharmed and not a thread out of place. Underneath it was the folded note Xiao told her to give to a police officer. She stared at the two objects before stuffing the note in her pocket and clutching her finch tightly against her chest.

“Do I make myself clear?” The malice in Xiao’s voice was clear, though it hung in the air like vapor.

The edge of his winged spear just barely brushed against neck of the leader of the band of thugs. His henchman lay in unconscious heaps around them, and his hands were raised in defeat. Even one centimeter closer would’ve drawn streams of blood from his throat. The blade glowed faintly in the dark, barely illuminating the ornate jet black mask covering Xiao’s face. The leader managed to nod without hurting himself any further.

Xiao remembered the man from various dossiers on corrupt political figures. He wasn’t of particular note, but he was a caring father. In that sense, perhaps they had one thing in common.

“Despite your sordid reputation, even you have it in your heart to love your daughter. I’ll make this easy for you: if you want her to have any semblance of a normal life, you’ll leave me the hell alone.”

His pole arm cut through the gun in the man’s hand like a hot knife through butter. Only when he cleared out did Xiao return outside. Exhaustion clung tightly to his bones as he removed his mask. The warmth from the setting felt… nice. He wondered if Qiqi made it to the police station safel-

Xiao’s eyes widened when he spotted her just behind the telephone booth, “Qiqi?”

“Papa!” Qiqi gasped and ran over to him, finch plush in her arms that she then wrapped around his leg.

“W-What’re you doing he- I mean… what’re you doing outside the house?”

Qiqi looked up at him blankly.

Xiao cleared his throat, “I was… just in the area to… shop? Shop. Yeah. But it looks like the store here is actually out of business.”

Qiqi smiled fondly. 爸爸不善于撒谎的人。(Papa is not a good liar.)

“Qiqi missed Papa. So… Qiqi went to go find Papa but… Qiqi got lost. Qiqi was scared.”

Xiao knelt down and held her shoulders gently, “I’m sorry you were scared. I’ll do better so that doesn’t happen again.”

She leaned into the crook of his neck and sighed, “Qiqi wants to go home. To our home, Papa.”

“Are… you sure?”

“If Papa leaves Qiqi behind… Qiqi will cry.”

She’s been adopted four times and returned each time. Bai Qiqi. Zhu Qiqi. Song Qiqi. And now Gui Qiqi.

Xiao nods and pats her head, “Let’s go home then.” Qiqi wraps her arms around his neck as he lifts her up and stands, “But that apartment is far too dangerous, so let’s move. I spotted a poisonous snake there yesterday.”

“Qiqi doesn’t like snakes.” 爸爸不善于撒谎的人。但是他是个好人。。。(Papa is not a good liar. But he is a good guy…)

The train ride to their new neighborhood is full of scenery that keeps her looking out the window, “Qiqi wants to live in a castle.”

Xiao glances at her and smiles, “We’ll see if one is listed. But once we move into our new home, you have to study, okay?”

“Hn...”

“This time, you just have to memorize all the answers. It’ll be easy. And I’ll get you another finch if you pass.”

“Qiqi will… do her best.”

The stressed thoughts of other six-year-old students were difficult to not tune into as Qiqi began her exam. At first, she thought she could simply read their minds for the correct answers. But as it turns out, they didn’t know anything. They were all suffering together for the next allotted hour and a half.

You can do it, Qiqi. I’m counting on you. Just like we practiced.

Xiao’s comforting and encouraging thoughts spurred her on as she tightened her shaky grip on her pencil. Slowly but surely, the confusing material became more and more familiar. Just like we practiced… just like we practiced…

When the results were released, parents and their children crowded around the scoreboard searching for their ID number. Qiqi couldn’t remember hers but thankfully Xiao did. It was hard to tell who was more nervous between the two of them. The moment he found Qiqi’s ID on the scoreboard however, he felt… pride? Fill his heart up to the brim and overflow with happiness. It was very strange, but at the same time, it felt very good.

He lifted Qiqi so she could see her ID, “It’s there, see? You passed!”

Qiqi smiled brightly as Xiao spun her around, it felt like she was flying! “Did Qiqi do a good job?”

“Yes, a very good job, Qiqi. I’m proud of y…”

In the moment he had relaxed, the wear and tear of fighting all came crashing down on him, which then made Xiao come crashing down on the grass.

“Eh? Papa? Papa!”

I need… to get a grip. I relaxed and everything hit me at onc- wait. I relaxed?

The last noise he heard before promptly passing out from sheer exhaustion was Qiqi’s distressed bawling, “Papa! Don’t leave Qiqi! Papa! Papa! You’re going to make Qiqi cry! Qiqi promises to be a good girl if you come back! Please come back, Papa!”

Eventually though, the two of them made it back home where Xiao managed to flop down on the couch and lay motionless once more. Qiqi hung her head low and prayed over him. Papa died… When the doorbell rang, she wiped her nose and went to see who it was. It was the mailman.

“Is this the Gui residence?”

“Qiqi’s name is… Gui Qiqi.”

“Wonderful! Can you give this to your mommy or daddy for me, little Qiqi?”

“Qiqi will give it to Papa because Qiqi’s mama doesn’t exist.”

“O-Oh, really? I’m very sorry!”

Sending the sympathetic mailman on his way, Qiqi scurried back to Xiao’s still dead-as-a-doornail body, “Papa, the mail is here!”

No response, even after patting his cheek with the letter. Qiqi hummed before putting the letter on the coffee table and, with a mighty effort, lifted up Xiao’s limp arm so she could crawl underneath it and curl up beside him. Xiao never let himself sleep for long so within a few minutes, he was up again. To his horror, he found Qiqi snuggled against his heart and nearly shoved her off the couch in surprise.

“W-What do you think you’re doing?” He demanded, “Are you trying to kill me?”

To think I actually fell asleep in front of someone… incomprehensible.

Qiqi rubbed her eyes and slowly got up to get the letter on the coffee table, “Mail.”

It was a congratulatory letter from Sumeru Academia, as well as a description of the second phase of the admission process: a family interview.

“It is absolutely mandatory that the applicant attend with both parents, no exceptions.” Grimaced Xiao.

Qiqi frowned, “But… Mama doesn’t exist.”

Xiao sighed. Tch. I guess my mission is moving on to the second phase too.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin modern au #xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao fluff #xiao comfort #genshin qiqi #qiqi fluff #incoming telepathy 🔮#operation: found family 🪺

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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

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Can I ask for an request where Levi is a soldier who is pointed to protect a royal person. Then he fell in love with her active attitude, smart brain and support to the scout

AN: This took me so long. I deleted it like three times on accident so this is as good as its going to get 😂. do let me know though if I misspelled anything I didn't skim over it sooooo YOLO.

Summary: Levi is asked to attend the summer gala with !princess reader.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Warnings: mentions of Levi's scarring, some cussing? I think? that's about it

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Levi's hand trembled as he ran the fine toothed comb through his damp hair. He scowled back at his own reflection, eyes avoiding the pink scars that marred his skin. It had been nearly a year since he had been discharged from the military due to his injuries. At first he had struggled to find a routine, having been in the military for more than half of his life, it was a huge loss.

His hand jerked unexpectedly and the comb pulled through a knot in his hair painfully. He clicked his tongue and dropped the comb, gripping the edges of the sink to steady himself.

How pathetic.

There was a time when he could complete these tasks with no problem. But now his body seemed to be failing him, if he stood for too long his joints protested, he struggled to hold a pen due to his lack of fingers. He also wore an eyepatch to cover his milky right eye and some of the scars that covered the right side of his face.

Normally Hange would help him get ready, they were the only person he could stomach seeing him this way. But Hange was busy, they had meetings all morning. So Levi was left on his own, and he managed as well as he could. Although it took him double the amount of time it usually took, he still did it.

He grabbed his cane on his way out of his humble apartment, the carriage was waiting for him outside. In the carriage was the last person he wished to see, Zeke Jaeger. His glasses glinted in the sunlight as the coachman held the door for Levi who sat as far away from the war chief as possible.

Zeke blew out a puff of smoke, which swirled around in the small space. Levi's lip curled into a sneer, and Zeke smirked pleased to rouse a reaction from the retired Captain.

"Big day today eh Levi?" He spoke around his cigarette and Levi rolled his eyes.

"I suppose." He agreed, eyes never leaving the man.

That was about the only words exchanged between the two, the ride was thankfully short. The carriage arrived to the castle just after noon, the coachmen opened the door for Levi and Zeke. The sunlight was bright and made Levi squint, it didn't help that the castle seemed to glow as the sun bounced off of it.

"This way old friend." Zeke instructed and Levi followed begrudgingly, Zeke led Levi through the halls and into a large ball room. The castle staff was scurrying about, carrying massive bouquets of flowers and other decorations in preparation for the summer gala. Levi had attended this very event many times over his career, but he had not intended on joining in this year. Zeke paused a few feet away from Erwin, who was standing before a young woman Levi had met a handful of times. You had aged in the past two years that he hadn't seen you, although you weren't any taller, he could see the age on your face. Much as he assumed you could see in his, you also carried yourself more confidently, shoulders back, chin up.

Erwin paused and turned to greet the two men, who both saluted him and you.

"Captain, how nice to see you." You hummed, a pleased glint in your eyes as you curtsied, much to his surprise.

"You as well Zeke." You seemed less excited to see the war chief.

"Princess, you look lovely." Zeke closed the distance between the two of you, taking your hand a bit too eagerly and bringing it to his lips. You smiled a bit tersely, but allowed it.

"Ah, and you look...as hairy as the last time we met." Your jab threw Levi off, but Erwin seemed to have expected the exchange. Zeke laughed heartily and pulled back.

"Such a sharp tongue on you princess." He chuckled and you shrugged, a smug grin on those lips of yours.

"You make it easy."

"Princess, you are aware that Levi is to accompany you to this year's gala yes?" Erwin steered the conversation in a more relevant direction and you nodded.

"Mhm, and I'm very excited to be escorted by Eldia's most eligible bachelor." Levi wasn't sure if you meant it sincerely, or if it was his turn to face the wrath of your sharp words.

"I'm sure you are." Erwin chuckled, his hand falling on the back of your tricep. You gathered your skirts and took a few steps closer to Levi.

"The last time we met, you weren't keen on dancing, I do hope that's changed." You smirked at him and Levi barely fought the flush off of his cheeks as you pushed past him.

"We can go in the drawing room and discuss logistics, the gala is a mere week away after all-" Levi tuned out whatever it was Erwin was babbling about, too focused on watching you saunter out of the room.

Levi spent the next week trailing behind Erwin, attending meetings and luncheons with other high ranking military members. It was boring, but nothing that he hadn't done before. The day of the gala, Hange arrived with the remaining of the 104th cadet corps. Levi felt great relief at seeing the familiar faces, Hange had eagerly came to hug him, and he pretended to hate it. Mikasa even came and gave him the briefest of embraces, Connie had been the most excited, throwing his arms around his former captain and squeezing him tightly. Armin had grinned sheepishly, and offered a small wave. Jean just nodded respectively in Levi's direction. Gabby and Falco had tagged along as well, wearing their best uniforms, decorated with their medals.

"I can't believe we get to come to the summer gala!" Connie gushed, his hazel eyes wide as he soaked in the castle in all of its glory.

"We won a war." Jean huffed, eyes sharp, hand fidgeting with his medal on his lapel.

"We lost more than we won." Mikasa murmured, her own shaky hands reaching for a scarf that was no longer wrapped around her neck. The cheery mood quickly dissipated at Mikasa's statement, Hange cleared their throat and clapped their hands in an attempt to drag everyone from their thoughts.

"Let's go meet Erwin then." They said, and Levi nodded.

"Let's." The group walked through the halls, Hange in the lead and Levi at their side, it felt like old times. The kids, well they weren't really kids anymore, were beginning to return to their annoying selves.

"-will we be able to eat the food?" Gabby asked, and Levi nearly flinched, the statement reminded him all too much of Sasha. Connie seemed less phased, he sighed and brought his arms behind his neck as they walked.

"I sure hope so."

"We're here on business." Mikasa reminded them and Jean hummed in agreement.

"We're here as representatives." Armin added, and Hange chuckled.

"Use this as an opportunity children." Hange cooed, pausing in front of the doors to the drawing room.

"Have some fun, get drunk, you've earned it." Hange then pushed the doors open, revealing the cozy drawing room, Erwin sat with his legs crossed in one of the arm chairs, a book in his lap. He closed the book and stood, his sleeve hanging limply where his arm once was.

"Cadets, erm or should I say captains." Erwin chuckled awkwardly as the kids all jumped to salute him, fists clenched over their hearts.

"Commander." They all greeted in unison.

"Sit, we have much to discuss."

The discussion was rather tame, a short bit of it had been relevant. Where the kids were to stand, what they were to say and how they were expected to act. The rest of the afternoon had been spent catching up and enjoying each other's company. Just a few hours before the guests were to arrive, Erwin sent the group off to find their spots.

Levi found himself waiting outside of your room, his watch gripped tightly in his fist, watching the minutes tick by. You emerged about fifteen minutes after him arriving, your dress was a deep emerald green, elegantly hugging your frame in all of the right places. You smoothed the silk gown skirts and smiled at him, the red lipstick on your lips making your teeth seem extra white.

"You look ravishing Captain." You complimented, accepting his arm before walking slowly down the hall, careful to keep his pace.

"...as do you." He choked out, a blush tickling his ears.

"Did you get all done up for me?" You pressed, hand tightening around his bicep.

"No." He answered, although he was partially lying, the truth was all he could think about as he dressed, was you. How would you be dressed? Was he to match you? Or was he expected to wear his usual military dress? He had opted for the latter, and it seemed to work well, the inky black dress coat and the gold medals that decorated his lapels seemed to compliment the emerald in your dress.

"Well, I sure hope that you will at least dance with me." You pouted, shooting him a hopeful look.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, truthfully it was all that he could mange, he was nervous enough about joining you this evening. But you asking him to dance? He had never danced in his life, and with his legs in the state they were in now?

The two of you stopped, overlooking the ball room which was already filled with guests, milling about with flutes of champagne. You snuck a glance at Levi, who was looking down at the crowd with a bored glaze over his eyes.

"Ready?" You asked, squeezing his bicep once and he nodded, chin held high as the two of you slowly made your way down the staircase. Levi's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces, which he found in their designated spots. He knew that the king had asked him to accompany his daughter largely as a political move, not for protection as he had in the past. But old habits die hard, he double checked exits and kept an eye out for shady people, it was easier than looking at you after all. Not because you were ugly, rather the opposite, you were stunning and that intimidated him.

After at least forty five minutes of socializing, the dancing began and you tugged impatiently on his arm, which you had yet to let go of.

"Please Levi, just this once." You whispered so only he could hear, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at your closeness.

"Princess." He said sternly, although his voice did shake a tad, and you grinned, knowing that you had nearly convinced him.

"Captain." You countered, taking a step towards the dance floor.

"Just one." he said after a moment's hesitation before falling back in step with you.

"Just one." You affirmed with a wicked grin as you led him into the mass of bodies.

Levi felt his pulse race, his anxiety was roaring he had absolutely no clue how to dance, especially with his legs in the state that they were. You seemed to sense this, carefully taking his hand and resting it on your hip as you stepped ever so closely to him. Your chest was pressed against his, and he was sure that you could feel the pounding of his heart as it threatened to escape his ribcage.

"You just follow my lead." You whispered as he brought his other hand to rest naturally in the palm of yours. He nodded, eyes wandering down to glance at his feet, which were partially concealed by your skirts.

"It goes something like this, step-" You took a step towards him and he took one back.

"Then to the left," You instructed softly and he obliged, the two of you moving slightly out of sync.

"Then forwards again." You nodded as he stepped forwards and you stepped back, skirt swaying.

"Then to the right," You chuckled as his brows remained fixed in a tight knot as he tried to focus.

"Then we do it again." You seemed satisfied, and he nodded it was simple enough, although he could already feel the strain of the activity in his joints.

"Easy." He huffed, taking the lead and you giggled and fell into step with him.

"Tell me Levi, when you went across the ocean and fought those men, who were you fighting for?" The question caught him off guard and he nearly forgot the next step.

"That's an odd question." Levi shot you a mean look and you shrugged.

"I want to know what pushed Humanities strongest to be so strong." You answered, unfazed by his sour look.

"I fight for the people." He replied curtly and you sighed.

"That's a boring answer, I want to know what really drives you." You pressed and Levi frowned.

"Its the truth."

"Then tell me a lie." You raised a brow, challenging him and he screwed his nose up in distaste.

"Why would you want me to lie to you?" He asked out of genuine curiosity, no one had ever given him such a request.

"To spice some things up I guess." You hummed nonchalantly and squeezed your hand that held his.

"Then I would tell you I fought that war for you." He regretted the words, but you seemed to be pleased by them.

"Aw so you did think of me while we were apart." You cooed and Levi nearly broke away from you, but he only gripped your hand harder.

"You were the last thing on my mind." he huffed and you let out a throaty laugh. A lie, he thought of you often.

"You really are funny." You let your head fall affectionately into the crook of his neck and he swallowed thickly, as your scent washed over him.

"I didn't mean to be."

"I know, that's what makes it funny." Your breath tickled his neck as you spoke, you seemed to be in no hurry to pull away.

"Hmph." He hummed stupidly, unable to form words with you so close.

The song ended and you lifted your head, one of those wide grins sprawled across your lips.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" You whispered cheekily and he scoffed as the two of you exited the dance floor. You both found a seat at one of the tables set on the outskirts of the room, taking a break to drink and enjoy each others company.

Levi rubbed his knee under the table, the dance had truly taken a toll on him and he barely suppressed a groan. You noticed, shooting him a concerned look.

"Does it bother you often?" You asked, dragging your chair closer to his. He rolled his eye and pulled his hand slowly away from his leg.

"No."

"You're lying, just tell me the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to lie to you." He snapped back and you scoffed.

"Not about this." You reasoned and he sighed deeply.

"Yes, it hurts like a bitch." He turned to face you, his knee knocking yours and you frowned.

"You should've told me, I wouldn't have made you dance."

"I-" He paused, catching himself before the words left his mouth. But after one look at your open and concerned face he couldn't not say what he had been wanting to say.

"I wanted to." He admitted and your eyes widened a fraction.

"You...really wanted to?" Your words were raw and clearly Levi had caught you, the witty young princess off guard.

"I did."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"Hm." A smug look crossed your face and Levi scowled at you, not liking the way you seemed to be plotting something unbeknownst to him.

"What?" He snapped and you let out a short burst of laughter.

"I knew that you weren't lying when you said that you thought about me." You teased and he growled lowly under his breath.

"Maybe that was your last dance with me."

"Easy now, let's not be hasty, we have the whole night after all darling." You patted his shoulder, standing slowly and walking around the back of his chair to squeeze his shoulders before slipping off into the crowd.

He hoped that you meant it, that you would come back even if he could not dance with you again. He hoped that you had thought of him too, that his fighting had all been worth it. To spend the rest of his life by your side, even if he was just your guard or even a political ploy. He would do it for you, and he would do so happily.

296 notes · View notes

bubblyhoney · 3 years

Text

win for me

warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!

tags: sapnap x fem!reader

summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship

words: 5000

A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)

Sophomore Year:

Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.

It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.

There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.

Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.

Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.

“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.

“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.

“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”

He stutters out a laugh, nodding.

“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.

“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”

Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.

“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.

“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”

“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”

“Ah.” You nod.

The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.

When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.

“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.

“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.

“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.

It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.

“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”

He turns, dark eyebrows raised.

“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.

“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”

He nods, affirming your statement.

“See you around Y/N.”

It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.

Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.

Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.

Junior Year:

It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.

It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.

The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.

Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.

“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.

“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?”

“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.

“You’re so slow.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”

“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”

“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.

“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”

“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.

“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”

“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”

They snap open not-so-peacefully.

“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.

“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”

“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”

“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.

You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.

“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That was smooth.”

“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”

“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.

“Hell yes.”

When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.

Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.

“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.

“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.

“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.

“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.

“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.

“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”

“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”

He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.

“Glad to hear it.”

“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.

“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.

You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.

“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.

“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.

“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.

“That’s actually gross.”

“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.

The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.

“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.

“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.

Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.

“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.

“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.

The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.

“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.

“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”

“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”

“And for me,” he adds.

“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.

Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.

“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”

“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”

Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.

“That’ll be all,” he reports.

“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”

He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.

“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.

“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.

“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.

“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.

“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”

He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.

“Should we?” It’s barely a question.

“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.

“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.

“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”

“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.

Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.

“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”

“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.

“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.

“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.

“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”

“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”

He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.

“You’re dead.”

If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.

“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”

“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.

You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.

When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.

“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.

“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.

“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”

“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”

He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.

Cute, you both think at the same time.

Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.

It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.

You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.

“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.

“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.

“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.

“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”

“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”

“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.

“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”

“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.

“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”

“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”

You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.

“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.

The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—

A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?

“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.

After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.

“Hey, are we dating?”

You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.

“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.

“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.

“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”

He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.

“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.

“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.

“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.

“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”

“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”

“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.

“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”

“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.

“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.

“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”

“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”

“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.

“That’s facts.”

The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.

Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.

“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?

“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.

You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.

He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.

“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.

“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”

“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.

“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.

God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.

Perfectly him.

A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x reader #sapnap x fem!reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap fic #sapnap oneshot #mcyt imagine #bubblyhoneyfics #mcyt x you

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moonlight-frittata · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Need a Mechanic

Overwatch: Dva and Brigitte (a few others make appearances)

Word count: ~5500

My take on when Dva meets Brigitte and the first month or so of them getting to know each other on base.

---

Six months Hana Song had been a part of Overwatch, and during that time she set a very strict precedent that no one, not even Winston or Athena the AI was allowed to touch her mech, Tokki. So seeing the back of someone inside the cockpit as she entered the Watchpoint Gibraltar hangar made her blood boil.

“Excuse me!! What the hell are you doing??”

The person’s body jerked, their head banging against the low roof of the cockpit ceiling they wedged their torso inside. Hana heard a short mumble of something incomprehensible and a long, thick ponytail of red hair retreated from the mech in a hurry. A very tall, buff young woman around Hana’s age emerged blushing with a sheepish grin.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I’ve always wondered what these Korean models looked like up close. But in hindsight I really should have asked first.”

Her accent was European, but it was hard for Hana to place with any real certainty. Could have been Scandinavian, remembering some of the players from Finland she competed against back in her pro days.

“Yeah, you should have fucking asked.”

The crimson hue on the tall, possibly Finnish trespasser’s cheeks faded and she held her ground, not scared off yet by D.va’s harsh tone.

“Right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” she said.

Dva scoffed a bit and pushed past the buff intruder to look inside the mech to inspect if anything was out of place. A moment of stuffy silence passed between the two and Hana hoped the other girl would get the message and leave.

“I’m Brigitte Lindholm by the way.”

Hana let out an audible huff as a familiar freckled face appeared looking through the glass on the other side of her heads up display.

“Oh. Yeah, Fareeha warned me a new girl was joining,” Hana replied from inside the cockpit while she busied herself checking Tokki’s systems.

“And you’re Hana Song, right?” Brigitte continued lightly, clearly unperturbed. “Or do you prefer to go by D.va?”

Hana paused at the mention of her gamer tag turned call sign.

“It’s Lieutenant Song, actually.”

Brigitte raised an eyebrow at the curt reply, her smile fading to a neutral expression. It only dipped for a moment though as she extended her hand.

It was an awkward gesture to shake hands from inside the mech, even though the front of the cockpit was partially open near the joysticks. Hana looked at Brigitte’s outstretched hand and gentle smile on the other side of the glass. Was this a joke? She pursed her lips and sized Brigitte up for a few tense seconds before reaching out. The grip was firm and Hana’s hand practically disappeared in Brigitte’s large palm.

“Lieutenant Song. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Hana sighed and rolled her eyes, a little of the bluster going out of her at the sincerity in Brigitte’s tone. Satisfied that no harm had come to the mech, she backed out of the cockpit.

“Just call me Hana. That rank doesn’t really mean anything here anyway. Lena will probably make fun of me if she hears you calling me Lieutenant.”

Brigitte walked back around Tokki to join her, a lingering hand tracing over the pink exoskeleton as she moved. “I’m surprised she doesn’t make you call her Captain.”

“Oh, she’s tried.”

Brigitte laughed.

“Sounds about right.”

D.Va chuckled for a moment, briefly disarmed by the new stranger, before she remembered how this person was rudely poking around her stuff only moments before, and snapped back into her gruff demeanor.

“Lindholm, you said? Like Torbjörn Lindholm?”

Brigitte sighed, clearly used to this connection.

“Yes. Genius engineer of Overwatch 1.0, founder of Ironclad Industries, husband to Ingrid, and father of way too many children, including yours truly.”

“So, you grew up in an Overwatch family?” Hana asked as her full attention focused on Brigitte for the first time in their conversation.

“You could say that,” Brigitte said. She picked up a silver ratchet resting on a nearby worktable, spinning the head around between her fingers and levering the handle back and forth, testing the weight distribution of the tool in her hand.

Hana could tell there was more to the story than her new teammate seemed willing to let on. She found it interesting that Brigitte, who had been all candid smiles a moment ago when she was caught somewhere she shouldn’t be and oversharing to someone she just met, was now hand waving around the subject.

Overwatch kids are pretty up their own asses about 1.0 normally. Wonder what her deal is...

This was what Hana was known for back in her pro days. Seeing a flaw in an opponent’s defense and breaking it wide open. But she needed to remember she only just met this girl, who would soon be her teammate. Maybe save that for another day.

“Well, Lindholm. As long as you stay clear of my mech, I don’t see a reason we should have problems working together. What’s your specialty?”

Brigitte perked up at the change of subject.

“Support. Both base level engineering support and in the field. I've got my bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, and I’ve been working on Reinhardt’s gear for over a year now. Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler, is training me to be certified as a field medic.”

“Tough job. Think you can handle the gore?”

A wry smile pulled at Brigitte’s lips, her head shaking back and forth in a small, bemused gesture as she placed her hands on her hips.

“You don’t pull any punches do you, Lieutenant Song?”

D.Va crossed her arms, holding eye contact with Brigitte who matched her gaze with amusement.

“The best shot caller in the world is just a loud piece of shit if her team isn’t up to the same standard. So yeah, I like to know who has my back and if she can handle herself.”

Brigitte regarded D.Va for a moment, her jaw working back and forth as if chewing on the approach she wanted to take in response.

“I’ve been patching up Reinhardt for a while now. If I’m honest though, I’m scared it’s not going to be enough one day. But that’s not what I need to focus on, and instead I’ll do the best I can to support the people here.”

The plain way Brigitte shared her apprehensions left Hana uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine telling someone out loud she was afraid, especially on her first day. Though in truth, she herself felt scared shitless half the time while doing this work.

Brigitte’s smile was back. Did it ever leave that pretty face? It did suit her though, framed by the freckles and warm brown eyes. If this girl wasn’t built like a literal tank of 6 foot something muscle, Hana might have more apprehension about sending her out to fight Omnics and Talon.

“Well Lieutenant Song, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time with my intrusion. Fareeha and Winston will be missing me very shortly for the rest of their planned orientation schedule,” Brigitte said as she carefully placed the ratchet she previously picked up back on the workstation, breaking the spell of awkward silence.

D.Va smirked, feeling tension leave her shoulders to match Brigitte’s playful demeanor.

“Mmm, well now I understand why you were hiding down here.”

“Yes they are indeed quite enthusiastic and thorough with their material.”

She gave a wink and started to walk away, turning briefly to call over her shoulder.

“I noticed there was a small coolant leak under the left fusion cannon. Might get a bit sticky on the left hand.”

“Bye Brigitte, enjoy your 300 page orientation manual quiz.”

Brigitte waved once more and turned around, already so sure and familiar with the layout of the hangar and the base.

She’s just another Overwatch kid, and just another nosey engineer trying to get in my mech.

Hana lingered by her workstation, picking up the ratchet Brigitte had been fiddling with and thinking over their brief encounter again.

Would this girl be a liability on the battlefield? Brigitte looked strong on the exterior, but then, so did Tokki. If you took away the mecha armor, inside was just a squishy human target bullets and fire could cut through like paper the second she was exposed and vulnerable.

Hana took a deep breath.

She walked around to the left fusion cannon and did indeed see the signs that a coolant leak was backing up inside the casing. Pretty subtle to spot with minimal visible damage to the exterior.

Not bad, Lindholm.

D.Va pulled her headphones on, turning to her latest loop of pop songs to blast while she went to work removing the panels on the cannon to replace the broken coolant line. The task felt good, and helped her mind drift to thoughts other than her conversation in the hangar.

---

Hana didn’t see much of Brigitte the next few weeks. The new recruit was busy with training and learning mission protocols expected of field agents in addition to shifts with Mercy in the clinic to fulfill the certifications Brigitte was required to complete. Hana would see her sometimes at dinner, often in a spirited conversation with Reinhardt or Lena. It seemed to take Brigitte no time at all to fit in amongst the old guard, but it seemed that’s what being the favorite niece of pretty much every person here would get you.

Hana would half listen to their stories, always feeling awkward and out of place amongst their banter. Overwatch was like a family, but she was more like the stranger invited as someone’s plus one. Everyone seemed to have an ingrained familiarity with each other. A single word could trigger a whole series of anecdotes every person around had some personal insight to add on to.

Remember this!

Oh how is so and so?

Damn, that was 5 years ago already?

Even on her squad in Korea, she never had what they people here seemed to have. Dae-hyun was a close childhood friend and followed her into the MEKA squad, but the other pilots were a different story. There was always a bit of friction and distance with the rest of her teammates because of their history as pro-gamer competitors forced into an arrangement as teammates. It never really gelled beyond cordial coworker relationships. Hana’s celebrity status didn’t help either, only adding another barrier between herself and the others. The fame of D.Va closed her off in access to most people unless they were on the other side of a screen, and then they only saw a polished up version of herself.

Not exactly the best way to get close to people.

Sometimes she was curious to learn more when she heard the Overwatch stories, but she always stopped herself before saying anything. It was easier to pull out her phone and queue up a game. Easy to pull back and ignore them, and usually they left her alone to do it.

She was okay with that. She was okay with keeping Hana and D.Va separate. She was okay with only polite greetings and trite platitudes. She didn’t need to know about the times from before, or what her Overwatch teammates did on the weekends. She just needed them to listen to her in the field and leave her room to make her plays. Like every time she started a new game, she didn’t have to focus on the past, or what others thought, she just had to focus on the objective in front of her. It’s what got the job done and what kept her alive.

---

Brigitte kept her word to stay out of Hana’s mech. She set up her own work station on the other side of the hangar where she worked on Reinhardt’s gear as well as her own. Hana would sometimes see the blue flash of a shield out of the corner of her eye over the hum of diagnostic scans or smell the burn of sparks from welding.

One day curiosity got the best of her when she heard the loud, repetitive pounding of a hammer on metal and she wandered across the hangar.

“You’re doing that by hand?”

Brigitte stopped working when she heard the voice behind her, the deafening echo silenced on the metal shoulder guard she was beating against.

“On this armor I do. Reinhardt’s gear is special from the time it was made. It has to be maintained with some older techniques.”

“Why?”

Brigitte looked at her surprised for a moment then laughed, loud and warm.

“You know, I wondered the same at first. It’s a bit of the way this armor is made, modern techniques can be too harsh on it, interestingly enough. Too precise and it becomes too fragile.”

“That doesn’t sound true,” D.va said.

“Oh, questioning my methods huh? Well, maybe the truth is more I didn’t originally have the right gear out in the field, and Reinhardt didn’t have much modern tech either, so the only way to do it was by hand. But it’s nice actually to keep doing it this way, I like getting my hands dirty with it. Helps me relax.”

“See that I believe.”

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, Lieutenant Song.”

D.Va rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.

“I told you before, you can just call me Hana. Although, I do like the respect of authority.”

“Lieutenant suits you.”

Hana smirked a little at the complement, turning to pick something up on a nearby table. She picked up one of Brigitte’s gauntlets, slipping it on her hand. Her arm sagged under the weight, the glove coming up well above her elbow.

“Is it exhausting wearing all this armor? How do you run around with it on? I can barely lift this thing.”

“There’s movement assist when the unit is turned on. But I mean, I think I can handle it.”

Brigitte smirked as she made a show of flexing her well defined arms, and Hana couldn’t help but gawk a bit before she turned back to fiddling with the glove.

“Um, yeah I uh, noticed you seem to be in good shape.”

“Oh yeah?” Brigitte was smirking, clearly enjoying the slight fluster she was causing in her new teammate. Hana put the glove back on the table and gave Brigitte a light shove on the arm.

“Oh give me a break, you know you’re buff. Do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”

“I’m very familiar with OW 2.0’s handbook, and the dress code is quite lax about on-base personal attire. But, mostly I just like hearing you complement me.”

Hana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re strong enough to move your ass around in this armor so you can protect my blindspots while I’m doing all the real heavy lifting.”

Brigitte laughed again. Hana couldn’t help but smile too at the warm sound. Brigitte’s whole face lit up, and her eyes crinkled around the edges. No wonder she was the favorite niece.

“Fair. I’ve seen your battle footage and some news clips when you were back in Korea. You’re so strong, I doubt you even need me.”

“Ah, another fan of D.Va. Well, who can blame you,” Hana said with a flick of her hair. She continued to walk around Brigitte’s workstation, picking up random pieces of armor. Brigitte didn’t seem to mind.

“Actually Reinhardt was the real die hard D.Va fan. We used to always have a stash of the instant noodles with your face on them in our rig. Great shelf life. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you for an autograph yet.”

“Well he’s one to talk! Did you know, when I was a kid there was a Reinhardt special edition line of noodles? I remember I tried them once and they had such a weird flavor. It was like ketchup and curry powder or something. He had a pretty big fanbase in Korea actually.”

“Hah! I didn’t know that, but I’d believe it. There’s been so much Overwatch merchandise over the years, I’ve lost track. They were such celebrities back in the day.”

“Yeah.”

Hana knew a thing or two about having her image used for propaganda. She wondered for a moment what it was like for Brigitte, growing up amongst the same environment, but removed from the center of it. An image of her laughing in the cafeteria with the old guard flashed through her mind. She decided it must have not been too bad, and refrained from asking the question.

“Okay well, I’ll leave you to your meditative, hammer time. I need to get back to my mech anyway, I’ve got a mission tomorrow morning,” Hana said, turning to leave. Brigitte let out a long sigh, slumping into a chair.

“Oh, it must be nice to leave the base.”

Hana stopped in her tracks, curious again, hearing such an outburst from Brigitte. She turned around and poked one of Brigitte’s large muscles near her shoulder.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be done with your training block soon. Fareeha is just, really particular before she lets anyone out on a mission. It took almost two months, and me breaking every score in the simulators for her to let me out in the field.”

“I know, I know. It just sucks sometimes feeling like everyone is being overprotective of me. I can handle myself, I’m not a little kid.”

Hana couldn’t help but give a little hmphf sound, her lips pulling down at the corners.

“Yeah, I get that feeling. You can’t speed up time though, you just have to grind it out.”

Hana wasn’t normally one for listening to whining, but she thought Brigitte looked quite cute while she pouted, her arms crossed tight against her torso and her lip jutted out. It was hard not to laugh at the sight a bit, but Hana held her tongue. She really did know how it felt to want to prove yourself.

“Hey come on, there’s plenty of work you’re doing here that’s valuable. And when you’re ready, you’ll get called up and out there with the rest of us.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, seeming to blow out the negative feelings in one dramatic sigh. When she straightened up in her chair she seemed to be in better spirits, smiling at Hana again.

“You probably know better than anyone how to do that. Thanks Lieutenant, I’ll try. Let me know if my hammering gets too distracting. I can always go find something else to do.”

“It’s fine. I hardly noticed.”

“Well in that case, I’ll just be over here until dinner time.”

---

A few days later Hana almost threw her computer across the hangar.

“Why is this piece of shit so useless!”

The MEKA diagnostic program she used to keep Tokki up to date was crashing every five minutes when she tried to run a scan of the system. It had slowly been degrading the last few weeks and after the latest mission it apparently decided it had enough. She tried every trick she knew, both from working on the mech for years and everything she could think of on her personal gaming rig, but she only had rudimentary coding skills and was vastly out of her depth.

“Everything okay?”

Brigitte’s gentle voice called out from a few feet away as she had stopped her own work to come see D.Va’s meltdown.

“Everything’s fine. Except I’m going to have to go throw this piece of crap, and then myself, in the ocean.”

“Sounds like a costly solution. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

She could feel Brigitte’s sympathetic look burning into her cheek and hated it.

“Okay no problem. I’m around though, just let me know if you want an extra set of eyes.”

Hana stared at the email she had sent to Dae-Hyun the day before that still had no response. She knew her mech’s hardware inside and out, but he was the one who really handled all the intense computer program internals. She was out of her depth here and needed him to call her so she could get this thing working again, but he wasn’t answering. Maybe he was deployed somewhere or too busy with a social life now that she was gone.

She had decided to come here for Overwatch. So maybe she should trust Overwatch.

“Brigitte, wait a minute.”

The other girl paused and turned, only having walked a few feet away from D.Va’s workstation.

“I could probably use some help here, if you’re still offering?”

Brigitte smiled, but it was more muted than her usual mega watt grin. Hana appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal about it.

God, why is this girl so nice.

“Definitely.”

Brigitte walked around the workbench where Hana set up her computer station and listened to the general description of the problems. As Hana started clicking through screens to show the protocol she usual ran, Brigitte held up a hand to make her stop.

“I understand what you’re saying, but looking at the text, I can’t read Korean. Does it have a translation setting?” “I doubt it. This thing was only meant to be used by the Korean MEKA squad.” Hana felt her stomach drop at how quick her hopes of getting this programming running were already dashed.

“Well lucky for us, Overwatch has some very robust translation tech we can utilize.” “Really? It’s not the AI is it? I’ve been so resistant to letting her in my computer.”

“That would be one possibility, but there are some more localized options we have. I’ve had to do this once or twice on one of my papa’s projects.”

“How long will it take?” “Don’t know! Could take a while, I’m not going to lie to you, especially with your program already acting buggy. But don’t worry Lieutenant, we’ll sort you out.”

Hana groaned, already having major doubts about letting Brigitte mess with her tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options, and this was probably the least embarrassing choice on the table at the moment.

Brigitte moved back and forth between D.Va’s workstation and her own across the hangar, gathering cables and a laptop she would use to debug the system. Hana watched over Brigitte’s shoulder for a while, monitoring her work to get the translation program working on the MEKA diagnostic software.

“Where’d you learn to do this type of thing?”

“Back in college. I had to learn a certain amount of coding for my major, but I helped out Winston some in his lab on campus and he taught me a lot of tricks too.”

“Jesus, is there literally anyone on this fucking base you don’t have some personal connection with?”

Hana stepped away from the computer and dropped down into an empty chair with a huff, spinning the chair on its axis in erratic circles.

Brigitte stopped typing and watched Hana’s tantrum. “It bothers you that I’ve got a close connection to Overwatch?”

Hana did not reply, but crossed her arms and let out a frustrated sigh. Brigitte’s gaze held her for a moment but eventually shifted back to the computer screen as she seemed to weigh her thoughts on how to respond.

“Why did you leave the MEKA squad to join Overwatch?” she asked finally. “It doesn’t have the best history as an organization, you know.”

Hana stopped spinning to look at the side of Brigitte’s face, who’s eyes were still trained on the laptop screen. “Well it’s better to actually be in a fight than on the sidelines.”

Brigitte stopped what she was doing and turned to face D.va. “You’re the best pilot in the MEKA program. Why would you be sidelined?”

Hana let out a bitter laugh. “Best pilot? I was more than that. I was the face of the fucking Korean army! Which eventually meant I was too valuable to be an actual soldier.” Hana stood up walking to the end of the workbench, reaching out to touch one of her mecha’s guns. She couldn’t see Brigitte, but she could feel the other girl watching her.

“I got real banged up in a fight with the Gwishin. Like, probably should have died kind of banged up. I was out of action for months. After that, the army realized they couldn’t let the poster girl for their success stories die in an actual fight. So they moved me off the Busan base and deployed me to lead baby fights happening inland, but whose sole purpose was really just a photo op.”

Hana balled her fist in anger at her side, remembering how awful it hurt seeing images of herself on television in all those epic battle sequences, reporters singing praises of heroism, only to know the real truth that it was all a fabricated lie. She couldn’t stand it.

“So when Winston and Lena came to my apartment and asked me to join the new Overwatch, it was a no brainer. My piloting skills are too valuable to just be sidelined in a studio with a green screen.”

The MEKA squad team was fairly understanding when she told them. The same couldn’t be said for her commanding officers, but as D.Va, the amount of influence and money at her disposal proved sufficient for a smooth enough transition.

“I believed this was my shot to get back in the fight. So even if there’s some bad history there, this is a new chance for me, and I am ready to deal with any fallout.”

Text whizzed by in the background of the computer screen as the console spat out a continuous stream of logs from the program Brigitte fired off as she listened in silence.

“I never liked Overwatch. I still don’t,” Brigitte finally said.

Hana turned to face her, very confused.

“Really? But, you’re like, one of the legacy kids.”

“All that means is I know more of the gritty details and seen firsthand the way people I love were chewed up by this place.”

Hana’s brow furrowed in thought, crossing her arms as she focused on Brigitte. Hana had been so taken in by all the happy scenes in the mess hall and around the base, she hadn’t even thought about the implications and complications that must have been a part of Brigitte’s life. She was so good at always putting on a bright face, how could she have known?

Brigitte took a deep breath, looking weary as she took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“When I was a kid, it was like I was one of those audience members you talked about. I was told all the best stories about heroes and villains, and it so happened that my family were literally starring as those heroes. But when I was a little older, I started learning more about history, and the other side of things. The PETRAS act. In fighting and war crimes. Blackwatch. Angela’s medical tech weaponized against her wishes, by my own father it turns out. Winston and Tracer buried under so much red tape, I’m honestly surprised they were ever allowed to leave a military base of their own free will. And Reinhardt... He’s a lot like you, I think. Brave, loyal, too stubborn to be just the face of a movement without putting his own skin on the line. Not when there’s something bigger than himself he believes in.”

A deep sigh, and an almost painful expression crossed her face.

“So no, I don’t like Overwatch. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while they risk their lives, knowing I can help them. They’re my family. So here I am. Family can be complicated, ya know?”

Before Hana could come up with something to say, the computer dinged behind them. Brigitte tapped on the keys, reading quickly when a smile crossed her lips.

“Look at that, perfectly legible Swedish.”

“It’s fixed?” Hana hurried over to look at the computer screen.

“Well, the translation program is running. Now I need to actually debug your diagnostics program.”

“Ughhhh, I’m never going to leave this place.”

Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done. Feel free to go get some dinner if you want. This will take a while.”

“No way I’m going to leave you here all alone!”

“I promise I won’t touch Tokki.”

“It’s not...it’s not that, Brigitte. I just don’t feel right strolling off to dinner while you’re stuck here fixing my shit.”

Brigitte smiled.

“Okay. I definitely don’t mind the company.”

---

Hana tried to keep up with what Brigitte was talking about as she debugged the code. And she could follow along, for a while. Eventually she was way too lost to feel useful, and didn’t want to distract Brigitte while she was fixing the issues, so she retreated to a nearby futon against a wall. It was well past midnight, and Hana’s eyes were starting to droop. Brigitte drank one of the Dva branded nano cola energy drinks a while ago and seemed to be completely in the zone.

The next thing Hana knew there was a strip of bright light in her eyes as the sun started to stream in through a window in the hangar. Hana stretched to pull out the discomfort her back protested with from not being in her bed, but it was really not that unfamiliar, considering some of the positions she’d fallen asleep at her gaming computer before. A blanket was draped across her body she didn’t remember picking up when laid down on the futon. She was all alone in the hangar and her watch told her it was just after 5am.

“Brigitte?”

No one answered.

She sat up, noticing an unopened water bottle and energy bar laid out on the ground beside her futon with a little sticky note.

“Give it a go, Lt - Brig”

Hana scooped up the rations and dropped in front of the dark screen of her laptop. When she started up the terminal screen, her diagnostic programming kicked off like it normally did. All in Korean.

The screen showed exactly where an electric circuit was tripping in the defense matrix grid of the mech, which had been glitching in the field the last few days. Hana noticed the parts and tools needed to complete the fix laid out on the workbench neatly, but when she poked her head in the mech, it remained untouched.

She smiled to herself.

“Kept her word to stay out of Tokki. These Overwatch kids are too much sometimes.”

D.Va pulled the panel off her mech and got to work.

----

At dinner that night, Hana spotted Brigitte in the mess hall with Reinhardt, Tracer and Winston. Brigitte gave her a wink when she noticed her. Hana got her meal and sat beside her, leaving her phone in her pocket for once.

“Thanks for the help with Tokki, Brigitte. Works like a charm now.”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Song.” Brigitte’s smile was kind, her expression gentle and warm. Hana noticed this close up Brigitte’s eyes were lighter around the edges, and she had a few more freckles on her left cheek than the right.

“Did I just ‘ear you call ‘ana Lieutenant?” Lena cut in. “She’s ‘Lieutenant’, but I can’ get none of you to call me Captain? Double standards round ‘ere, I tell ya what.”.

“Well, Hana was a more recent officer in her respective position, while you have been discharged from the RAF for several years now.”

“Who’s side you on Win!? Those ranks don’t expire!”

Brigitte chuckled, whipping her head around to look at Tracer’s shaking her hand dramatically in the air, eyes downcast in an over acted, scandalized look. Hana also let out a small giggle.

“Your rank on the flight simulator scoreboard sure did,” Hana said, poking her tongue out with a playful smirk at Tracer. Brigitte, Reinhardt and Winston all laughed.

“She’s got you there, Lena,” Brigitte said.

“The youth of today. Ruthless.” Tracer grabbed a fist over her heart as if shot in the chest by a bullet.

“You know, back in my days of Overwatch…”

Reinhardt started in on one of his specially tailored stories for whatever situation was at hand, this case a very detailed recount of the first time he granted a field promotion in the Crusaders. Brigitte sighed, correcting inaccuracies she heard along the way, giving a wink to Hana when Brigitte’s presence in the story was pulled into the story much later on.

Lena took up the torch after that, remembering a time she accidentally flew into restricted airspace and managed to sweet talk her way out of being shot down. They all took turns sharing more elaborate one ups from their time before Overwatch. Hana even volunteered a story, sharing the time she convinced Dae-hyun to set Tokki up to stream a battle with the omnics. She broke her single day subscriber count in under one hour.

They all laughed well into the night, and for the first time Hana really started to feel like part of the team.

---

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!

#overwatch #mekamechanic #dva #brigitte lindholm #laura writes #man I've been poking at this for ever finally time to just put it out in the world so I can think about something new ahaha #hope you like!#hana song #(also there was no 300 page onboarding manual until Pharah wrote it)

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

Mayhaps a wild take : Geralt folds the corners of his precious, centuries old, valuable beyond compare, bestiaries. Jaskier sees and loses his marbles. ( Then gifts geralt a book mark with pressed.. somehow familiar flowers... 👀 )

Hi, hello... So... I got carried away? This is 2.1k? I hope you like it!

CW: mentions of injury (on Jaskier)

________

Monsters mutate. They adapt, change, grow. Geralt was clearly a very skilled witcher with decades of experience, and Jaskier never grew bored of watching him fight, on the rare occasions he was actually allowed to watch that is. Most of the time, he had to make do with second-hand stories told by Geralt himself, which just wasn’t the same. But, sometimes, just sometimes, Geralt would deem the contract safe enough for Jaskier to trail along with a silver dagger gripped in his hands, and sometimes... Geralt got it wrong.

Jaskier was poking at his bandaged thigh where the drowner had bitten him, already beginning to stain red as the blood oozed from the wound. It hadn’t needed stitches but it still stung. The fight, however, oh the fight had been surprisingly spectacular. It was a small drowner nest just outside of town, attacking nearby fisherman along the beach, nothing that Jaskier hadn’t seen before and certainly not ballad worthy, but he’d tagged along regardless. He never wanted to pass up the opportunity to see Geralt in action. The witcher was just so beautiful, dancing with his sword in hand, all grace and elegance and fury. Jaskier was entranced every time. It was truly a miracle he didn’t get hurt more often.

The drowners had been fast, faster than they should have been, and now Geralt was muttering about mutations and skin pigments as he scratched words into a worn out copy of a bestiary. The witcher has borrowed one of Jaskier’s least expensive ink sets to update the centuries old book. It broke Jaskier’s heart to see such a beautiful book treated so poorly but he understood that it needed updating to keep his witcher safe.

The poor book though.

Academics at Oxenfurt would kill to get their hands on it. It would have been treated with the utmost respect, kept away from the grubby hands of the first and second years, only allowed out for special projects, and here was Geralt, covering it in his appalling handwriting, bloody fingerprints and dirt smudges in the margins.

“Oh bollocks,” Jaskier hissed as he jabbed at the bandages a little too hard, his restless energy getting the better of him. The witcher always told him off for picking and scratching at his bandages and scabs, but he couldn’t help it. They were just so scratchable, and the itching drove him mad!

Geralt sighed, glancing up at Jaskier with an exasperated expression. He took one look at Jaskier’s bandage and…

And he fucking folded the corner of his page before closing the book.

Jaskier saw red. He stammered and pointed at the pages, gaping as he tried to find the right words to express his utter outrage. “You-You… Geralt!” he whined.

The witcher’s brow furrowed and he looked between the book and the bard, obviously completely confused by Jaskier’s sudden change in mood. “What?”

“You did not just fold down the pages!”

“Yes?”

Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, dear witcher, you and I are taking a trip to Oxenfurt immediately!”

Geralt scowled, looking at Jaskier as if he’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“Geralt, please. Don’t make me suffer your cruelty any longer,” Jaskier pleaded.

The witcher rolled his eyes but didn’t argue any further. He just took Jaskier’s hands in his, keeping them away from the bandages. Jaskier blushed, the gap between them suddenly feeling too small and yet too far all at once. He swallowed, trying to ignore the sudden swell of nerves in his chest, and laced their fingers together, smiling shyly up at the witcher.

______

By the time they reached Oxenfurt, Jaskier’s limp had almost entirely gone. He still got tired quickly and by the end of the day he had to lean on Geralt or ride Roach until they found a suitable camping spot. Geralt had been ridiculously caring, obviously looking out for Jaskier at every opportunity, their days were shorter and well… Jaskier had actually been allowed to ride Roach. That was new. Holding hands had now become almost normal, and Geralt was just so gentle when he took care of the bandages, making sure the bite wound wasn’t infected. It made Jaskier’s heart do all sorts of acrobatics in his chest.

If he hadn’t been in love with the witcher, then he certainly would be after all of this-this… nonsense.

When Geralt wasn’t looking then he crouched at the side of the road, picking up a variety of buttercups and cornflowers and slipping them inside his heaviest poetry book. The supplies he needed from Oxenfurt were specialist ones. He hadn’t made bookmarks in ages, not since his days at the Academy, but he used to make them for all his friends. It was something to do with his hands that didn’t feel like work, and he had always enjoyed giving gifts. He was looking forward to getting back into his old hobby.

“Why are we here, Jaskier?” Geralt groused, glaring around the town with his scary witcher face. Jaskier felt a little bit bad for dragging Geralt back into a busy city but it was important.

He scoffed and waved a hand at the witcher. “You’ll see,” he said with a grin, and booped Geralt on the nose. “Don’t be nosy.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed back, sticking out his tongue. “You know your way to my rooms at the Academy?” Geralt nodded. “Excellent! I will see you there in time for dinner, but I have shopping to do. Did you need any potion ingredients?”

Geralt cocked his head, his brow furrowing as he thought. “Blowballs.”

Jaskier grinned and brushed his lips against Geralt’s cheeks before he could chicken out. “Be good, darling, no scaring my colleagues.”

The witcher smirked. “Unless it’s Valdo?”

Jaskier laughed, “Unless it’s Valdo.”

And then they went their separate ways. Jaskier easily navigated the streets of Oxenfurt, basking in the hustle and bustle of the city. It was alive and thriving, as if it had a beating heart of its own. The witcher may hate the city but Jaskier lived for it. He was a bard, a man of the people. He needed to be seen, loved, adored. The bookshop was in the same place that it had been when he was a student, tucked away in the backstreets, only known by the students and professors. Jaskier grinned and slipped inside, the bell ringing as he pushed up the door.

He let his fingers trail along the leather spines of the books, inhaling the musky scent of paper and old parchment. It smelled like home, and a warmth settled in his heart. He knew this shop like the back of his hand, and he easily found the supplies he needed. The pressed flowers from the road would be fixed onto a soft leather strap, and then Jaskier would cut the end into smaller strips, creating a kind of tassel. He also planned to engrave an inscription into the leather, something lyrical, something poetic… something for Geralt to remember him by when they were apart.

“Gods, I’m pathetic,” he mumbled as he worked. His tongue flicked between his lips as it so often did when he needed to concentrate. Each letter took time, a delicate process, and he sat in the little corner at the back of the shop, just as he had in his youth. After an hour the owner, now an old man with a thick grey beard, brought him a cup of herbal tea. Jaskier smiled up at him, and gestured to his work.

“How’s it looking? I’m, well, I’m a little out of practice,” he hummed, scrunching up his nose.

“It’s beautiful, and it’s good to see you back here, Jaskier. It’s been too long. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten us.”

“Oh, no. I would never!” Jaskier reassured him, “and thank you. This one is special.”

The shop owner chuckled. “You used to say that every time.”

Jaskier grinned sheepishly. “This one is extra special.”

He stayed later than he intended, past the closing time of the bookshop, and certainly past dinner time but he just lost track of time, too focused on his task. By the time he finished, Geralt’s bookmark was a work of art. The inscription was written in his finest calligraphy, and the flowers were arranged just perfectly. It had been made with love.

He just hoped that Geralt liked it.

When Jaskier made it back to his room, Geralt was perched on the corner of the bed, a needle and thread in his hands as he made repairs to his armour. His silver hair was loose and falling in front of his eyes, and there were the beginnings of a beard growing on his cheeks. The witcher’s golden slitted eyes were almost completely black in the dim light of the room, and Jaskier was once again envious of his friend’s ability to see in the dark. It was a handy skill, and he looked almost ethereal as the light bounced off his eyes, making them glow.

“Dinner was two hours ago,” Geralt murmured, not looking up from his sewing.

Jaskier felt his cheeks heat up and he scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, umm…, yes, well…”

“Jaskier.”

“You know how I get?”

“Hmm.”

His friend finally looked back up at him, giving Jaskier a soft fond smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. Jaskier stuck his tongue out, “Don’t hum at me, witcher, I’m fluent in Geralt speak!”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being obtuse, and don’t you dare…” Geralt hummed again. “Stop it! You bastard. I’m not giving you your present now.”

“Present?” Geralt cocked his head, looking stunned by Jaskier’s revelation.

“Ha! That got you, oh shit, cock it. It was meant to be a surprise. Fuck!” he groaned and buried his face in his hands. The bookmark was tucked away in his bag but it seemed to be taunting him, and he was suddenly struck by the fear that Geralt would hate it.

Fucking buttercups.

He was an idiot.

Why would a witcher want flowers on a bookmark?

“You got me a present?”

Jaskier nodded “I made you a present, Geralt.”

The witcher looked completely taken aback, a blush painting his cheeks. He set his needle and thread aside, and reached out for Jaskier. It was almost instinct at that point to reach back, taking Geralt’s hands in his. “Can I see?”

Jaskier glanced at his satchel and sighed. “Yes, yeah. Yes, of course. Umm, wait here.”

With shaking hands he plucked the cloth bundle from his satchel and handed it to Geralt, mentally preparing himself for the worst. At least he was already in Oxenfurt, he wouldn’t have to travel alone when the witcher inevitably decided to dump him. Gods, he was such a fool.

Geralt gingerly unfolded the dark blue cloth, humming as he picked up the bookmark. “Buttercups?”

Scratching the back of his neck, Jaskier cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“To my dearest, Geralt. May your days be filled with Destiny, heroics, and love. Ever yours, Jaskier.” Geralt read the words aloud and Jaskier wanted to sink into the floor. It was ridiculous. They weren’t even that good. He was supposed to be a poet for Lilit’s sake.

“It’s shit. I’m sorry, I’m tired, what with my leg healing and the rush to get here, but I just… you fold down the corners of your page, Geralt. I could not sit by and let that happen, and I-I… ah fuck it. I wanted you to have something to remember me by, you know,” he gave a flick of his wrist, one hand resting on his hip, “when you’re stuck up in that mysterious witcher keep of yours, and well, you probably don’t remember but I-I said you smelled like-”

“Death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak, I remember.”

“Oh, umm… well yes. Death and heartbreak seemed a bit… dramatic? So, I-I changed it… to love.”

“Thank you, Julek,” Geralt murmured, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss that was over before Jaskier could even process what was happening.

He stared wide-eyed up at his friend, his heart racing and the whole universe shifted until Geralt was at the centre, burning brightly in the dark. Jaskier cupped the nape of Geralt’s neck and pulled him back into another kiss, and this time they didn’t break apart, their lips moving in tandem. It was slow, lazy even. There was no rush, just the two of them against the world, their breaths mingling and their hearts beating as one.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #wolfie's witcher writing

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