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justkending · 1 year

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Finding Memories. Chapter 15.

Series Summary: Waking up with little to no memory of her past, and being saved by a group of individuals who call themselves heroes, sends a long time captive for a whirlwind trying to find some form of grounding in this world she quickly learns runs on chaos. But she’s not the only one trying to figure out her forgotten backstory. Bucky Barnes, along with the other Avengers, can’t help but sense that there is a lot more to the whole situation than a diagnosis of amnesia. Her background slowly starts to come forward in pieces of her past and hidden information discovered. Who is she? And why was she in the room they were meant to destroy?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Word Count: 4400+

A/N: For those of you who have been patient with this story, I would like to say that your reward is here! Meaning, we are finally going to get some answers friends;) I hope you enjoy and I’m excited to see what all you think! Happy Valentines Day loves! Here is my gift to you!!

TW: Torture, cussing, and blood.

Chapter 15:

The next morning, Bucky found himself awakened just as Y/N was about to walk out the door. Either she had been extremely quiet in her morning routine, so much so not to wake the light sleeper spy, or he had really been that far gone in REM.

But when he saw her gathering a few small items before leaving, he sat up from the couch and rubbed his eyes, letting out a raspy voice still riddled with sleep.

“Hey,” he cleared his throat. “Where are you headed off to?”

She looked up from where she was fixing her shoe and stood up adjusting her jacket.

“Oh, hey,” she smiled at him kindly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Given who you’re talking to, I’m shocked to say that you didn’t wake me up,” he chuckled, throwing his legs over the side of the couch and stretching in the new position. “I must have just woke up perfect timing.”

She grinned softly, happy to see that he had gotten some much-needed sleep. He seemed worn out most of yesterday but happened to do a really good job masking it.

“I’m going to go for a walk. I checked the weather this morning, and it’s actually really nice outside for once,” she answered his first question. “Would you want to come with-”

“I’ll tag along,” he stood up promptly.

Her question and his answer overlapped and they chuckled it off. Bucky quickly got dressed and the two began walking downstairs.

His main concern was her going out on her own. Considering Wanda was on a mission and couldn’t join her like normal, he figured she was finally getting comfortable enough in the environment to go on adventures on her own.

A walk around the compound was a simple step in that direction as she had already become familiar with the paths and trails that were mapped out along the property.

The first couple minutes of the walk was in silence as they basked in the rare day of warmth on a fall morning. It was still cold enough for a jacket and comfortable pants, but much less layering than normal.

“Did you see any of the show last night before you fell back asleep?” he asked.

“Yeah actually,” she smiled, hands in her pocket and eyes on the ground as she admired the color-changing leaves at their feet. “I think I was fighting sleep because of how invested I was.”

“I hate to give him credit, but Sam was the one who introduced me to Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Was kind of a stepping stone into the modern world of Brooklyn where I grew up. From a comedic and exaggerated standpoint, but setting-wise, it was a fun way to research, if you want to call it that,” he chuckled, looking down at her kicking a few more leaves with her feet.

“So you’re from Brooklyn?”

“Born and raised,” he nodded. “Steve too.”

“Wow,” she grinned at the thought. A fleeting intrusive thought came and went, wondering where her hometown was. “What was it like back then?”

“Given the time, very technologically advanced. Or at least working its way to that. I never really saw anything between 1944 to 2012 really. I revisited it shortly when I was on the run,” he answered.

He had told her a little of his time when the world thought he had killed the King of Wakanda and before when he tried to unalive Steve, so she knew what he was hinting at.

“Have you visited since then?” she asked.

“A few times. But sometimes it’s hard not seeing it the way I remember it. Overwhelming to a point,” he was honest. “I’ve learned to like the quiet of being out of city limits. A younger and less life-experience version of me would probably argue that, but I’ve gone through some things that changed my senses. It can be chaotic and hard to hear my own thoughts in what used to lull me to sleep as a kid.”

“Crazy how the world can change you,” she replied, a piece of her knowing she was a victim of that as well.

A few more minutes passed of silence as they took in the morning chirps of birds and wind rustling the leaves that had yet to be shed. Bucky also keeping an awareness of any surprises.

A question was poking and prodding at him, waiting for an answer to the mysteries that were presenting themselves recently.

“Can I ask you a question?” His tone showed he wasn’t sure if he would be pushing a boundary, but also showed that he had things he was curious about her as well.

“Sure,” she nodded, still looking down at the leaves.

He worried his question would sound intrusive when in reality he was trying to figure out what all had been going on with Nat and Wanda.

“How has training been going?” He kept it simple to start out.

She noticeably locked up some at that, and he took it as if he had pushed too far. When in reality, the weight of not being a hundred percent honest about their findings was nagging at her recently.

“Remember, when you’re ready to tell others, that’s your choice. We’ll help you figure it out until you’re ready for more people to know,” Wanda’s voice echoed in her thoughts.

She never hesitated in trusting Bucky since he proved to be protective at the museum. Before that, she truthfully had found he was one of the few people in this world she had a genuine and natural trust toward. She had felt awful about keeping their discoveries about herself from him, but she had done it in fear of not truly knowing what all she was capable of.

But after opening up to each other and the last few days spending quality time with each other, made keeping the secret hard and unnerving.

Yet here he had created the space, to be honest finally and she was ready to let him in on it all.

She stopped in her walk and when Bucky noticed, only one step ahead, he stopped and turned back to her with concerned eyes.

“I haven’t been ready to share with anyone really what all came of that night at the museum, but it’s only because I didn’t understand it for myself and I wanted to talk to another girl about it,” she started, he took a soft step forward. “I just was worried you would be scared of what I did that night, but I didn’t even know for sure what I did.”

He lowered himself some to see her eyes where she was avoiding looking at him.

“Y/N,” he reassured, placing a calming hand on her shoulder and coaxing her to look at him. “If you’re worried about my feelings being hurt because you waited until you were ready to tell me what’s going on, you shouldn’t be.” His words worked in getting her to make eye contact and he could see the distress ease some. “You never pushed me to tell you my past or worries. You let me explain them to you when I was ready. I would be a hypocrite to expect something different.”

She smiled at that, but then it slowly fell when she realized just how much she had kept from him.

“Truthfully, it’s just kind of small things here and there, but-”

Her thought process was cut off and she looked over Bucky’s shoulder with eyes full of fear. He picked up on it immediately and turned around with his body shielding hers in instinct.

But he didn’t see anything. It was the same clear path they had been walking the whole time.

Then, before he could process the fact that there was a smell in the air that he knew, Y/N had jumped in front of him. She raised her arm and the sound of a shot echoed at the same time a large purple haze shielded them from the attempt. Bucky scanned the plum smog filled with overwhelming colors glistening throughout.

In any other situation, he would be looking closely at the details and making note of everything that he saw, but this situation could turn any second. There was a threat and that was his main priority.

When she looked up from her position, eyes squinting, and realizing that it was done on instinct. An instinct she forgot she had until now. With her arm still up, they looked down seeing a squished bullet slightly smoking on the ground after its impact with the powerful mist.

Bucky and she both shared a look of astonishment, but they were quickly occupied with who the assailant was.

As if a completely different person, Y/N looked forward once again. When her eyes were back on the target, he noticed an anger in her eyes and a look of recognition.

Before he could look back to where she was staring, still seeing nothing himself, she twisted her hands in what looked like a practiced way. Both heels of her palms connected and with her hands open, she twisted them to the right making them change positions.

In the motion, a dark purple field with specks of rays colors in energy enveloped her hand, and in front of them was a man with his arms stuck to his sides struggling to get out of the hold of invisible restraints.

Bucky hadn’t realized, but in the past 30 seconds of all this happening, he had been stuck there with his mouth gaping wider and wider with each action she did.

She stepped forward to the man a little more than 10 feet in front of them. Her look still showed her anger at the attack, but unlike the museum, she wasn’t terrified. She looked pissed.

“You,” she mumbled, her hands still glowing and being the only thing keeping him incapacitated.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her in an intimidating and annoyed way. Bucky could see fear in his eyes, but behind it, he could see annoyance at her quick response.

“You weren’t supposed to be able to do that yet,” he seethed, once again struggling in the invisible hold she had him in.

“Who the hell are you?” The adrenaline was already wearing off, and the realization of the whole scene was settling in, but she pushed it away wanting answers. “What do you want?!” she shouted.

He stared at her with a stone-cold look. He wasn’t going to talk. Bucky knew what the type of stubbornness was like on someone you needed information on. He knew there was a good chance they weren’t going to get anything out of him here. Not now at least.

Bucky had to snap out of the bombshell that was just dropped on him and get Y/N and the enemy to a secure location.

“Friday, tell Stark to get the cell ready. The one we talked about,” he quickly instructed into his watch, not stopping to hear a response as he approached Y/N.

Before he could de-escalate the situation, Y/N moved her hands in another way that showed this wasn’t the first time she had done it, and the man fell to the ground completely knocked out.

Bucky was once again trying to wrap his head around what just happened, but decided the questions would have to be asked at a less time-sensitive moment.

When Y/N saw the unconscious body she looked shell-shocked at him. Bucky pulled her shoulder to him to turn her back to the body.

“I’ll handle this, but I can’t let you leave my side, ok?” he instructed calmly.

She nodded, closing her eyes and trying to control her breaths which were becoming shakier and shakier by the second.

“He won't be out for long, so we need to move him quickly,” she said in a small voice. “Don’t ask me how I know that, but trust me please.” Her plea was almost as if begging him to not look at her as a monster after she did what she did.

“I trust you, Y/N. It’ll all be ok, I promise,” he nodded, assuring her that he wasn’t freaked out, even though he was.

But it wasn’t the kind of freaking out that lost his trust. He was freaked out that she did what she did without hesitance and as if she had done it a hundred times before.

Quickly, Bucky picked up the man and before they got to the entrance of the compound, a team of agents was already bringing equipment out that would keep him detained.

After finding out about the enhancements of all those they were up against, Tony was quick to create restraints that would hopefully hold any type of mutant they had researched. He had made a form of handcuffs that kept the man from changing density, and he learned the invisibility enhancement was just bending light to keep others from seeing what he projected it toward.

What would be impossible fixes for a normal person, but was just an average Tuesday experiment to Stark.

___________________________

In the process of getting the new enemy in a secure environment and restraints, Bucky refused to let Y/N anywhere outside of his peripherals.

He was working on the paperwork to admit the detainee and get the start of his report in. He wished he could have just signed a few and gone to check in with Y/N immediately, but paper and signature line one after the other wouldn’t stop coming.

Y/N was across the room waiting for one of the nurses to do a check-in with her, while everyone else was running around frantically trying to get things under control after learning about the infiltration.

Agents were running around checking security cameras and entrances, though they were coming up just as empty as Bucky did considering how he was able to break in. Tony was discussing security measures and instructions with the modified restraints and the room he was now in. Shield scientists were already running reports and writing up tests to answer the multitude of questions that were brought to them.

It wasn’t the type of environment that Bucky wanted her in and he knew it was slowly starting to get to her when he could see clear signs of stress from the distance.

Her leg was bouncing. Her hair was disheveled from the number of times she had combed her fingers through it. She couldn’t seem to focus on one thing and was watching everyone scramble around her. She had been fidgeting with her hands; popping them, intertwining them, and squeezing them together in patterns.

He knew she was freaking out and wanted to get her out of there, but every time he got a step closer, another person was cutting him off, asking him questions, and making him sign things.

Just before he was going to break through the crowd, not worried about another question that needed to be answered, he noticed the nurse they had been waiting on, was finally there.

She bent to the ground, set her medical bag by the chair, and started saying things that Bucky couldn’t hear over the chaos that was happening around him. She must have started listing all the things she was going to check up on because he could see Y/N avidly shaking her head at her instruction.

Bucky watched closely, not paying any attention to the agent showing him security footage and asking how she saw him. He knew she was already on edge, and having to deal with a stranger at this time, wasn’t the best plan.

Then she made the mistake many rookies made. She tried to lend support through physical touch by reaching out and placing a hand over Y/N’s trembling ones.

Bucky knew instantly shit was about to hit the fan. Anyone struggling with PTSD, and especially with one that had triggers like Y/N, they were the last person you wanted to lay a hand on. With good intentions or not, you never know what kind of reaction you would get from physical touch.

“I SAID, I DON’T WANT TO BE CHECKED ON!” she shouted and almost everyone in a 30-foot radius turned at the outburst. It was silent for the first time in the last 20 minutes. “Damn it! Would someone just listen to me!” She was up out of her seat screaming with anger and pure frustration in her actions and voice.

It took the first three words of her eruption before Bucky was strutting to her. The kind of strut that made anyone in his path step quickly back, not wanting to be in his wake.

The nurse was freaked out and already stepping away from Y/N in apprehension, but Y/N wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to harm her. Her back was toward the nurse and she held her head in her hands tightly trying to block out everything overstimulating her around her. She began pacing in her step just trying to calm herself down.

Clearly, she wasn’t trying to scare anyone, but she was tired of being ignored.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky came up to Y/N’s side calmly, careful not to make the same mistake as the nurse. Though he had taken the time to build that bond with Y/N that type of action from him didn’t scare her anymore, he knew she was a ticking bomb at the moment and didn’t want to stress her any more than she already was. “What’s going on? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” she grunted, still clearly irritated with the situation.

He looked to the nurse who noticed his stare and shakily brought a paper out to show the order that she was given. She came just to check her vitals and take a blood sample.

Bucky nodded, showing she wasn’t in trouble, but gave her a head nod showing it was best she just stayed back. She agreed, grabbed her bag quickly, and moved to another area.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his hands up showing surrender if she did turn around. The signal showcased that wasn’t going to make her do anything she didn’t want to. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

She didn’t respond or lift her head from the cradle she held it in. She seemed to find a place of solitude in her controlled position. He let her stay there for a bit and when he turned to see most people still staring in dead silence, he gave a glare to them all and they quickly went back to work.

If there was one thing about his past that was actually beneficial, it was that it made it easy for him to give a single look to get what he wanted.

The loud environment started back up, and to his surprise that seemed to bring her back to him. He deducted she didn’t care for the attention on her and wanted privacy in her meltdown given being in a very public place.

And deep down, she was embarrassed that she had reacted the way she had. She didn’t mean to scare the women trying to help her, but everyone was ignoring her when she said she was fine. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want people messing with her while she tried to process what just happened.

Yet not a single person listened when she said she needed a second alone. They just kept telling her not to leave and to stay seated and wait until she was checked on by a professional, while they hauled Bucky to the other side of the giant facility.

“I just needed a second,” Y/N finally replied. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But no one would let me have it.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It’s protocol to run those kinds of tests. I meant to tell them to wait, but they kept hauling me back for more notes.” He took a step forward, lowering his arms some.

She turned halfway to him. Her anger dissipated some but the hurt and annoyance were evident in her body language.

“Can I go?”

“Now?”

She didn’t answer but instead gave him a look that asked, “Are you seriously asking me that?”

This version of her was new to him. He had seen her terrified and stunned. He’s seen her upset and saddened. He’d seen her happy and comfortable. But he had never seen her angry.

This was new territory to him and he wasn’t sure how to approach it. Especially since his answer was not the one she was wanting from him.

All he could think to do was be honest.

“I know you want to get out of here, but I think you should at least let her take your vitals. What happened out there wasn’t something you can just walk away from-”

“I’ve walked away from worse,” she snarked back.

He’d seen positive sides to her bold and quick wit traits, but he wasn’t sure how to take this meaner version of it.

“Y/N,” he furrowed his eyebrows, still trying to process her remark. He didn’t want to be domineering, but he was extremely protective of her at the moment and needed her to be ok. “I’m not trying to make you upset, but it won’t hurt to have someone check to see if everything is ok.”

“Please, just let me leave,” she turned her back to him again, bringing her arms to hug herself. Her snark started to die as she was becoming exhausted begging for someone to just trust her and let her leave. “I’m fine. I just want to go curl under a blanket and hide away.”

He got it now.

The flip of anger to surrendering back and forth was partially her adrenaline crashing, and partially what he believed to be guilt. The emotion came from feeling at fault for all this happening to people she’d grown close to, homes.

He hated that she felt that way when she was at no fault at all. It wasn’t her fault that people were hunting her down even though she was actively avoiding them. And it wasn’t her fault for them infiltrating a highly secure facility. She was not at fault for others actions.

Bucky wanted to grant her her request and let her go curl up away and hide from the world that wanted so badly to keep beating her down. He wanted to be the person who kept her safe from it as well.

But in keeping her safe, they needed to do a check-up after what he saw her do. There was no way everything was normal.

“Doll,” he started, and she turned to him with hope in her eyes. But before he could crush her dreams, he was saved by Bruce.

“Hey. What’s going on over here?” he smiled, friendly and keeping a casual tone about everything even though he was coming into the facility when he heard the commotion. “Everything ok?”

“Banner,” Bucky sighed, a breath of relief following. He stayed next to Y/N but motioned Bruce closer. “I could use your help,” he whispered to him.

Bruce nodded but went on to ask Y/N questions knowing how to play his cards.

“I heard what happened. Is everyone ok?” he asked her, really asking because he knew the answer that everyone was ok, would relieve a person's soul that feels guilty for what they did. Experience, wink, wink.

When she turned to him, she looked back at Bucky as if double-checking he was actually ok, and then looked back to Banner and nodded.

“Good. Then everything is perfectly fine,” he smiled reassuringly. “How do you feel about getting you to bed and out of this place? It’s not very calming in here,” he shook his head before motioning for her to lead.

She gave him a look surprised someone was letting her go and she didn’t even have to ask them. But she took the opportunity quickly and began walking to the exit with the purpose of getting out of there fast before they could change their mind.

Bucky and Bruce followed behind and Bucky started getting onto Banner.

“What are you doing?! She needed to have someone check her over and make sure she didn’t get hurt,” he started.

“She stopped a bullet with her hands, Barnes. I don’t think she got hurt,” he chuckled as if not even slightly bothered by the problem Bucky was worrying himself about.

“The hell?!” Bucky was confused by the scientist. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” he replied, following about 20 steps behind Y/N. “I’m not letting that new intern poke and prod at Y/N.”

“What?” Bucky was lost now. “She was a normal nurse.”

“No, she was called due to an emergency. She was a student CNA which is a nurse's assistant,” he broke down. “I watched her put an IV in a plastic dummy 12 times before she got it right. That thing doesn’t have a pulse or move and she kept missing.”

Bucky’s head turned at that. It made sense why she made such a rookie move touching Y/N’s arm without a second thought. And the horror on her face when she was screamed at…

“Ok, but why are you letting her go to her room?” he whispered now they were out of the loud and overpowering ruckus.

“I can still take a sample and run a simple check-up from there,” he shrugged. “Plus she’s more comfortable in her own space, so I won’t be poking her when she’s already anxious and uncomfortable. She hates needles already. Why add to the stress?”

“You have no tools on you,” Bucky checked him.

“I had someone leave a bag in the kitchen if she ends up letting me do the check-up,” Bruce answered.

“How did you know-?”

Bruce stopped in his step and Bucky halted with him.

“I know you’re smarter than this, Barnes. But I also know you’re probably still in shock with everything that just happened. Most everyone here suffers from PTSD. The Avengers just happened to be the most mentally ill considering how we tend to all get to that kind of ranking,” he smiled at him, before placing a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with a wise grin. “I know too well the steps a person takes to calm their nerves. I knew Y/N would be freaking out after what happened out there. I too would rather be in my room than the hell we just walked out of.”

And he walked on following where Y/N clicked the elevator and kindly waited next to her as she rocked on her feet waiting for the number to match their floor.

Maybe it was the fact he was still trying to process the whole last hour of everything they had gone through.

Shit. It had only been an hour.

He hadn’t even had a chance to process it all.

Feel free to follow me on Wattpad too and vote on any of your favorite chapters:) It helps promote my story & also makes my brain release tons of endorphins everytime I get a notification about one of ya’ll❤️

If you would like to be tagged in this series, please send an ask here.Thank you:)

Finding Memories Taglist: (some would not let me tag. so if you see your name but didn’t get the notification, double check if your blog allows tags:)

@tinkerbelle67 @a-beaverhausen @caruhleener @fanfictionjunkie1112 @sjsmith56 @nancymcl @kaygilles @laisbeltrans @matchat3a

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

#bucky barnes series #bucky barnes slow burn #bucky barnes x reader #finding memories #marvel series #bucky barnes #justkending #marvel #mcu series #reader insert #marvel reader insert #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes x reader series #slow burn #enhanced reader #bucky barnes x enhanced reader

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loveharlow · 3 months

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Hi, I really like your writing and I was just wondering how your writing process works (like how far out you plan, writing chapters, etc.)?

This might be a bit of a long one😅

So, I'm gonna give you my writing process for SEVEN seeing as it does tend to differ between my series, my oneshots, and my blurbs. My series are the most planned out to minimize plot holes and contradictions as much as humanly possible.

For SEVEN, and any series I have planned, I generally start with Character Arc Planning. For me, that typically consists of generating a backstory and character traits for my MC and mapping out how they grow/develop throughout the course of the story. For example, with TR in SEVEN, I wanted her to start of the story kind of open-hearted and trusting and as the story progresses into season 2 (small spoiler but not really) she becomes a lot more cold, skeptical, reserved, and a bit closed off and by season 3, her shell begins to unharden but she still holds onto some traits and skills she gained herself and picked up from influences around her, so she becomes a better, more well-rounded individual than she was at the beginning of the story.

After I map out the MC, I generally move into mapping out what I call the relationship dynamics between TR and all the other characters. Using SEVEN for reference again, I wrote out all of her dynamics with the pogues and how they changed throughout the seasons. Most notably, if you compare TR and Kiara's relationship to how it's portrayed in season 1 to how it's going to be portrayed in season 2, you'll notice it's drastically different. I like to try and have my MC fit like a puzzle piece into the story while still being able to incorporate a storyline of her own.

Coming back around to creating a backstory, I also figure how I can fit the backstory and my MC into the already determined storyline of the show. Making TR's mother a lawyer fit her in perfectly with the authority dynamic of the adults in OBX (more specifically Peterkin, Shoupe, and Ward), it gave her a place to fall within the shitty-parent category. It also gave the reader and JJ something to relate to in the end of season one, considering all that happened. Also, making the reader and Pogue who became a Kook and then fell back into Pogue life gave me a way to let her live both lives, the best of both worlds.

After all of that, I actually have to go back and watch the show episode by episode. For this series itself, I time-stamped all of the scenes I wanted my MC to be involved in and made notes of the things I wanted to add/change. I do this one season at a time and make adjustments as needed. I never rush myself to write because that produces the worst work known to man in my case and I don't want to subject y'all to that.

I fit in my own cutscenes and plot holes where I can, usually where the time gaps are so large that it leaves a huge space in the story where I can add in something of my own.

Then of course, I proofread and spell check everything and then make revisions and corrections before I publish the chapter.

And even after all of this planning, my writing is still bound to have spelling and grammar errors, plot holes, contradictions, and sometimes I'm not able to fit all of my ideas into the story as I originally planned. It's honestly a lot of work but writing is such a lovely thing for me to do and I love bringing my MC and her story to life and the fact that people get to read and love it as much as I do just makes me so fuzzy inside.

Also, notable thing I might add, if I feel like I'm using a word too much, I use this site called Word Hippo!

I know this was a lot to read, and I probably missed a couple of steps, but I hope this answered your question!

heads up: i added emoji anons to my blog, so feel free to send an ask to take one if you frequently send in asks!

#jj maybank x reader #harlowhasmail💌#faq—frequently asked questions❣️#ask

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heartofspells · 1 year

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15, 18,32, and 37?

Oooookay. This is now my second time trying to answer this. Thank you, tumblr, for eating my answer alkjfajfk

Hello, sweet!

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

I sometimes write in the margins, but I'm more of an occasional underliner/highlighter. Mostly I write whatever notes I want from a book somewhere else, mainly because there might be thoughts I don't want anyone else to see or read, or have them guessing WHY this particular part is important to me. And I never dog-ear. That should be criminal.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

"Sorry," he repeats. "How about we start again, Mr Black?"

Sirius realizes belatedly that he's gaping. He snaps his mouth closed and nods. The man's smile grows.

"I've looked over your file," he says, "along with your scans. I think I've put together a regimen that will be very beneficial if you'll allow me to try?"

Sirius is surprised by the question in the man's tone. Isn't he supposed to be told what he's meant to do? Ordered around until his stubbornness takes over and he eventually searches out someone new? He already feels off kilter, like he's landed on the wrong foot, kicked the ball too early and sent it shooting out of bounds.

"All right," he says slowly. "I'll give it a go, yeah."

The man beams at him happily. "Fantastic," he chirps. His energy is infectious to Sirius, bubbling up something warm inside him. "Well, Mr Black – actually, hang on a tic. I hate the formalities, I'll admit. Care if I call you Sirius instead?"

Sirius blinks again, once more thrown off his footing. "Er…'course, yeah. Hate the Black name, anyhow. I'd ditch it if I could."

"Brilliant!" the man says, grinning brightly, a small, deep chuckle emerging from his throat. "I'm Remus Lupin." He steps forward until he's in front of Sirius, stretching his hand out in offering. "Remus, if you please."

The thing about my writing is that not much changes in the editing phase other than a few minor shifts or adjustments. For the most part, what comes out the first time is what sticks, but I put a lot of thought into important parts before they're even written, which helps. But this scene from Healing Edge is one of the few scenes that I've ever completely changed. In the beginning, when I first had the idea for the fic and started writing, I had this entirely different scene written, a totally different vision for the entire fic. It was meant to be an enemies to lovers tale, but that very clearly changed and it all came down to this one scene.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

My dragonfly, my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw, and this is the map of my heart, the landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me tight, it's getting cold.

This is from Snow and Dirty Rain by Richard Siken and I love it, every single word. It even inspired a fic.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

Probably terrible things. They'd likely label me as miserable and insanely depressed and suffering from some sort of deep psychosis which is hilarious to me for a lot of different reasons. But really, I'd hope they'd at least look at what I've written and consider me insightful to some extent, firmly tapped into emotions and how people's heads work, and hopefully they'd mildly commend me for talking about those darker aspects of life others try to shy away from and hide in dark corners. Or maybe they'd just think I'm insane.

Send me weird questions if you'd like!

#weird writer questions #ask game #anon asks #ask #answer #lovely anons

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h-worksrambles · 2 years

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Chrono Cross’ opening hours are awesome, and here’s why

If you’ve seen my earlier posts, you’ll know that I’m currently playing through Chrono Cross for the first time through it’s recent...’remaster’. Now, the actual quality of that port is a discussion for another day. But as I’m now about 15 hours into the game, I want to talk about how this game starts...because it’s genuinely fantastic. Spoilers for the first...like..2 hours of this game at most.

Chrono Cross’ opening throws you out of the loop with in media res beginning, where you, as you silent player character Serge, explore a mysterious castle accompanied by a feisty, blonde, somewhat cartoonishly accented girl named Kid (as well as a random third choice from one of this game’s absurdedly overstuffed party but that’s a discussion for another day). You do some basic dungeon crawling, fight some monsters to get used to this game’s weird combat system. Eventually you reach a trippy cutscene of Serge turning round and stabbing Kid. But before you can adjust to that, this is all revealed to be a dream sequence. And we see Serge wake up in a way deliberately evocative of Chrono Trigger. Even the world map music uses motifs from Trigger to emphasise this. You aren’t exploring places from the first game, but the structure is much the same. After the first few minutes were strange and disorienting this is tranquil and familliar, especially if you played Trigger. You explore the gorgeous seaside Arni Village, talk to the locals and meet up with Serge’s girlfriend, Leena, and promise to make a necklace of Komodo Dragon scales. Well, gee, Leena, I guess I’ll go risk my life killing monsters for your necklace. At least I get to practise the combat in a gorgeous locale. But I digress, the point is that this opening is very cosy and relaxed. Everyone knows and likes Serge in this tiny community. The whole atmosphere feels like home. If you step out of the village and approach the neighbouring cliff, you can even find a cute engraving where Serge and Leena carved their names into the rock. D’aaawww. How wholesome. I’m sure this won’t come back for an emotional gutpunch later. Incidentally, you can even talk to the locals and learn that Serge has had it kind of rough. His dad is out of the picture, he very nearly drowned as a child, and being attacked by a panther when he was younger has left Serge traumatically afriad of said animal. For a silent protagonist, Serge has a surprising amount of backstory and characterisation (which just makes me wish he wasn’t as it would likely improve the story if he spoke, but again, tangents). Eventually, you get the scales and meet Leena on Opassa Beach. And the discussion they share about growing old and how it’ll change them is actually quite poignant. I’d imagine for many kids and teens playing the game in the 90′s, this hit extremely close to home. And it’s nice way to subtly open the door to the game’s themes of identity. And that’s when it happens. Serge is beset by more cryptic flashes of people and places he hasnt seen, there’s a flash of light, and he passes out. When Serge wakes up on the same beach, someone shows up and suggests you go to Opassa Beach. But that’s a bit weird. This village is tiny enough that everyone knows everyone, so why didn’t he recognise us? Then we head out and quickly see somrthing is very, very wrong. The world map music is wildly different, much more somber. In the village itself...no one recognises us. Some are friendly, some are reserved to this stranger, but no one acknowledges that this is a kid they’ve known all his life. You walk to Serge’s house...and his mom is gone too. A complete stranger is living in your house, and insisting you and your family never lived there. That’s some existential dread if I’ve ever heard of it. Even Leena acts weird, and when you say your name is Serge, she gets mad, like you just did something horribly insensitive. Finally, she calms down and we get the truth. The only ‘Serge’ Leena knows of, is a child who drowned at sea years ago. His mother passed not long after. Chrono Cross puts us in a world where we are long dead, and we explore a version of reality where we never existed. A world that grew up and moved on without us. That’s not a wholly original premise. It’s the entire plot of It’s a Wonderful Life. And it’s not like the first couple of hours of Trigger don’t also send you to another version of reality by travelling through time. But that was a daring rescue mission which Crono willingly went on to save Marle. There’s something about the cosy false sense of security, and the way it slowly unravels to this frightening bombshell of a story hook, that makes Cross distinct. It culminates in you heading to the same cliff from before. When last you came here, you saw Serge and Leena’s engraving, proof of Serge’s childhood innocence and one of the few genuine connections he had at that early stage in life. Now, there is only a grave to a long dead child. The only proof of Serge’s already limited impact on the world, has been scrubbed clean and replaced with something horrifying. You are now well and truly nobody. Even though Serge cannot speak and properly react to this, this quiet moment is an incredibly powerful way of making the player feel utterly alone. As I said, I’m about 15 hours into the game now, and I could talk about so much more. Chrono Cross is both a fascinating classic RPG but also far from perfect, and I could name plenty of pros and cons from my experience so far. And if I compare it to Chrono Trigger, a game I’ve adored for years, it gets still more complicated. But these first few hours are really special. They’re proof of just how much Cross can hit when it’s firing on all cylinders. And I can’t wait to see more moments like this.

#chrono cross #the radical dreamers edition #chrono #jrpg

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messyobservationist · 3 years

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Typology Usage

It’s important to remember what, exactly, typology should be used for. A lot of the time I see people falling out of love with systems like mbti and enneagram etc because other members of the community are taking it way too far. Typology is just organizable generalizations, not identity or even reality. Typology is by no means self sufficient; it relies on human feelings, and thought and decision making patterns. Those thought patterns are what verify typology, not the other way around. It’s like a fishing net with huge holes thrown over people and then adjusts itself to their individual shape- not a silicon mold people must fit into or otherwise risk being labeled as mistyped, a liar, or sick in the head by absolute strangers on the internet. Luckily, I’ve only had three or four experiences like those ones in the community, but I’ve seen way more of these go down for other people and it makes me really sad. So! Here’s a quick review of how typology can be used in a more productive way:

Typology Don’t s:

• seriously typing someone with little regard for what they say about themselves, their life, and their thought process

• making snap judgements about someone before getting to know them thoroughly, solely because of their type

• assigning all of their decisions, thoughts, values, or mannerisms to either their type or your own

• thinking “they can’t do that,” “they’re not good at that,” or “they’d never believe in that” about someone because of their type

• using type as an excuse for immaturity, toxic behavior, etc

• believing that type is transfixed rather than fluid and form-fitting: “this type can’t be empathetic,” “you clearly aren’t this type because your reasoning more resembled this type in this one instance,” and worst of all, “your presentation/behavior doesn’t fit this specific image I have of your type in my mind”

note: type can’t change, but our view of what a type actually is/means can change. It’s important to get down to the building blocks of what makes someone a certain type, and to recognize that some people will fit their type’s profile more than others of the same type will because, once again, types are only general

• avoiding a certain type because they’re your animus or opposing type (I call opposing types types whose blindspot’s are each other’s dominant function. Ex: Esfj and Intj)

• assigning someone a specific backstory, struggle, behavior, mannerism, or character flaw that they don’t necessarily have, purely based on their type

• discounting someone’s growth as them being mistyped / ignoring the positive attributes of a type in favor only of their negative ones (I see this one a lot in the enneagram community)

Typology Do s:

• include someone in their typing process! Ask them questions, collaborate, and believe what they say about themselves. You don’t necessarily have to involve them in the typology side of it, but make sure not to solidify someone’s type in your brain before you know them well or have even spoken to them about themselves at all

•keep in mind someone’s type as a kind of roadmap to avoid miscommunication, making sure to heed each other’s corrections to that map in case something on it doesn’t fit

• understanding that because of you’re cognitive differences with someone, the intent of what they say is most likely different than how you’re taking it (make sure to communicate how someone made you feel by what they said to verify wether or not that’s what they really meant- don’t hastily assume anything either way )

• don’t. assess. people’s. skill. set. based. on. their. type. before. getting. to. know. them. as. a. person. first! I‘ve heard about this from my friends and family all the time in their interviews, college courses, work, etc where the group is tested in a specific type system and either turned down or accepted based on their supposed type. Very wrong indeed

• use knowledge of your type to identify flaws and weak points and, without stopping there, work on them. Typology is a growth tool not an excuse pool to pull from. And on that note, instead of wallowing in self hatred alone, identify your strengths and amplify them!

• adjust your view of what makes or breaks a type; always be open to new ways of qualifying type, since most people aren’t going to fit the stereotypes we like to create

note: if you’re interacting with a member of the community who says they’re one type but it seems to you like they’re really another, maybe engage them in a polite conversation about how they arrived at that type instead of publicly attacking them. If their method of qualifying type is different than yours, rather than calling them wrong or mistyped, explore the differences between how the two of you view type and leave it on a good note. Everyone is bound to have a different interpretation of typology systems. Who are we to think that only our way is right, if their way seems to have worked wonders for them in their life?

• give them the benefit of the doubt if you know that your type and their type easily clash! That said, make sure to grow from each experience. Just because you know that there is the possibility of an explosion doesn’t mean you should do them the injustice of the cold shoulder. And just because your brains “speak different languages” (as my mom puts it) doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t learn their language. (That doesn’t mean that you should abandon your own to speak their language either though)

• not all types are established in the same way! Make sure to ask about someone’s story if you’re interested in finding similarities between their’s and others’ of their type, but don’t just go around making assumptions about what someone has struggled with based on it. Everyone’s specific experiences helped to form who they are. Circumstances aren’t inherently standardized

• know that people grow, and that just because someone isn’t struggling with something now doesn’t mean they never struggled with it. Type shouldn’t only be valid or identifiable by toxicity. You’re not less of a 4 if you’re not a “pick-me-girl” or less of an 8 because you have the self-discipline to stay calm in an argument. You’re not more of an Entp for being an amoral devil’s advocate or more of an Infp for crying more frequently than others. (These four examples are not reflective of how I view these types at all- I’m using examples I’ve seen other people in the community bring up during typology discourse)

In closing,

I hope this helps! I’ve definitely done the dont’ s more than I’d like to admit…deprogramming bad typology habits is not a piece of cake! But to stay in love with the world of typology, grow as a person, and improve my relationships, it’s totally worth it to me. And so yeah! If y’all have anything else helpful to add, please do! See ya on the flip sideeee

#typology #mbti #enneagram #personality types #myers briggs #carl jung #personality typology #cognitive functions #personality #mbti community #type #mbti personality types

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bedlamsbard · 3 years

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Part two of the Caleb and Loth-wolf concept! I am tentatively planning for this to be a five things fic, but I am absolutely unwilling to commit to that at the moment. This follows part one; technically it’s backstory for The Starry Crown, but its relevance there isn’t in any of the posted chapters and it stands on its own.

About 4.7K below the break.

***

When Caleb had a question about anything, which was often, because he didn’t like not knowing things and he liked the satisfaction of having a proper explanation to fill empty spaces in his knowledge of the universe, his preferred method was to pester the crèche masters until he was satisfied by their responses. But this time he didn’t want to let Master Krell know about Rroshaal, since if Rroshaal had wanted Krell to know about him he would have stayed with Caleb instead of disappearing.

So instead, Caleb went to the library.

Caleb liked the library. It was quiet and while sometimes the Knights and older padawans working there looked askance at his presence, no one had ever kicked him out, though he had on occasion been steered away from some of the more restricted sections. Master Nu, upon once finding him struggling to fetch out a holodisk shelved out of his reach because he was intrigued by the symbols on the spine, had shown him how to use the computers to search the Temple databases. Caleb’s log-in was keyed to his DNA and he hadn’t yet figured out how to get around that, so his access was fairly restricted compared to what even an initiate or older youngling might have gotten, but it was better than not having it at all, and he could lose hours scrolling through seemingly endless amounts of information. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize the redactions where information that wasn’t appropriate for his level had been hidden.

He waited impatiently through his last few lessons for the day, which he normally liked but wasn’t in the mood for, then practically ran out of the classroom and towards the library. Caleb made his way through the mazelike corridors of the Jedi Temple with the ease of long practice. He could have done it blindfolded; younglings trained and played that way, placing their trust in the Force and their other senses so that they didn’t become overly reliant on their eyes. This time he didn’t bother.

It was late enough in the day that most of the diurnal species in the Temple – the majority of them – had gone to dinner, either to eat in their rooms or the crèche or one of the big public halls or the gardens. Caleb bounced excitedly into the library and looked around for a free computer. The few Jedi still there looked around at his entrance, indulgently amused at his arrival. Caleb waved at them cheerfully and went over to the nearest computer, raising the seat up until he could see the screen clearly. He poked at the keyboard with his index fingers, trying to think of what the best search terms for Rroshaal’s species were.

Half an hour later, he had found all sorts of canines and felines and other mammals which varied from adorable to terrifying, but nothing that matched his memory of Rroshaal. They varied on the sentience scale, and if Caleb hadn’t been so focused on finding Rroshaal’s species he might have dropped everything to go beg the crèche masters for a miniature hamerlok puppy, but as it was he filed that away to think about later.

Caleb ended up in the library often enough that he knew better than to waste time searching for something when he didn’t know the best way to do so or didn’t have the necessary access. He looked around for one of the librarians and saw Master Nu coming towards him; she had found him on one of his research spirals a dozen times before and knew his pattern. He waved at her and she smiled at him.

“What are you looking for, Caleb?” she asked, resting a hand on the back of his chair.

Trying to sound as grown-up as possible, Caleb turned towards her and said, “I’m trying to identify another species, but I haven’t been able to find him – them.”

“A sentient species?”

He nodded. “But not a humanoid.”

“Someone you saw here in the Temple?”

Caleb bit his lip. Technically he had seen Rroshaal in the Temple, but he didn’t want to admit to Master Nu that he had been in the underlevels, and that wasn’t what she meant anyway. She was asking if he was talking about another Jedi, or maybe one of the civilians who were in the Temple sometimes. “I had a vision?” he said tentatively. It was partially true, after all; Rroshaal had shown him his species through the Force, and that was sort of like a vision. And he had seen Rroshaal with his own eyes, which was technically vision even if it wasn’t a vision. “I read a holobook,” he added, almost immediately afterwards. He read lots of holobooks.

Master Nu looked amused, but didn’t comment on the two contradictory explanations. “Do you know what this other species of yours looks like?”

Caleb nodded firmly. “Big. Furry. Sort of like canines – maybe like lupines. I don’t understand the difference,” he admitted. He pointed at the screen, which was still open on the image of the miniature hamerlok, which was a domesticated subspecies of an Alderaanian predator. It looked a little like Rroshaal had, except much smaller and less fluffy, and the wrong color, though the entry said they came in lots of colors. “Like that. But not. And they can use the Force. And they live in grasslands.”

“Hmm,” Master Nu said. She thought for a moment, then leaned over his shoulder. “Has anyone shown you how to use species identification software?”

Caleb perked up. “That exists?”

“It’s often used by law enforcement, but many Jedi find it useful for other purposes as well,” Master Nu explained. “Most Jedi don’t have to use it until they’re padawans.”

Caleb bounced excitedly at this new information, moving his chair to the side so that she could bring up the program. She had to enter her own ID and log-in information, then adjust the access levels so that Caleb would be able to use it without having someone else log him in. He watched excitedly as she showed him how to cycle through different physical traits, slowly building an image on the screen of Rroshaal as Caleb remembered him. When he was finished, the program offered him a list of possible species that matched the criteria Caleb had inputted.

“Do any of these look right?” Master Nu asked. “From your holobook?”

Caleb shrugged. “No, Master. Can we look at all of them?” There were fewer than a dozen, ranked in order of most to least likely.

“That’s usually the best way to do it.”

Caleb carefully put his finger to the first option, which read TUK’ATA/SITH HOUND (MORABAND). As soon as the new window opened, he shook his head, but read the entry anyway, fascinated, then looked up at Master Nu. “They can’t really all be evil, can they? I mean, if you got a pup and raised it here in the Temple – or away from the Sith worlds, anyway –”

“I can’t recall whether anyone has ever attempted it, but looking up their history might be a good research project for you,” Master Nu said, bemused. “It does seem like the sort of thing someone would have tried, especially during the aftermath of the Sith Wars.”

“I want to try,” Caleb declared.

“That is the sort of experiment that will have to wait until you’re at least a padawan,” Master Nu told him firmly. “Since you would have to go to Moraband to find one – every attempt to traffic them offworld has failed. That’s something else you could look up another time.”

Caleb nodded and closed the window. He touched the next item in the list, LOTH-WOLF (LOTHAL), and as soon as it opened, said delightedly, “That’s him! But they’re not extinct?” he added, seeing the first line of the entry.

“Why do you think that?”

“I saw him. I talked to him.” Caleb remembered abruptly that he didn’t want to explain how he had done so and said quickly, “In my vision.”

Master Nu quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do you want to tell me about your vision?” she asked. “Or perhaps talk to one of the masters who specializes in seeing?”

Caleb shook his head so rapidly that his learner’s braid hit him in the nose. “I have to figure it out on my own,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster when he was lying through his teeth. He copied the information carefully to his data storage account, then went back to get the tuk’ata information too while Master Nu went to find him some more books on Loth-wolves, after first making him promise that if he had another vision he would bring it to her or one of the other masters. Since if he ever actually did have a vision that was more than the flashes of precognition that gave Jedi their reflexes he was planning to tell everyone he knew, Caleb promised this solemnly.

Master Nu came back a few minutes later with a stack of holobooks for him – one a survey on Force-sensitive semi-sentient creatures and non-humanoids, one a travelogue from a Jedi Master who had mapped out many of the known Force-strong worlds, and one a history about Force-users who partnered with non-humanoids or semi-sentients. Caleb quietly thought that both “semi-sentient” and “non-humanoid” didn’t describe Rroshaal at all, but he wasn’t about to tell Master Nu that. Well, the non-humanoid part was true, but it didn’t really sum up what Rroshaal was.

He put the books carefully in his bag, noting that the history book was past his usual access level and wondering why, thanked Master Nu, and hurried off to the nearest dining hall. Dinner was still being served; even if he had missed it there was always food available somewhere in the Temple, though sometimes you had to do a bit more searching to find it. He wrapped a dozen meat pasties in a napkin along with two pieces of his favorite spice cake, then wrapped them in another napkin before putting them in his bag and making sure his water bottle was still mostly full. No one paid him any attention – he had found one of the dining halls that was mostly used by Knights and masters, a few of whom he knew, but everyone in the Temple was used to everyone else occasionally doing odd things. He waved at a Kiffar Knight who was one of his teachers in staff-fighting and left, grabbing a jogan fruit from a bowl as he did so.

He had to pause outside the hall and think about the best way to get down to the underlevels, since he wasn’t supposed to go there. After getting caught down there the previous day he probably really wasn’t supposed to go there, but it wasn’t like every youngling didn’t do it at one point or another. Like almost everything else in the Temple, there were lots of ways to get there, but Caleb thought that it was probably best if he chose one of the entrances closest to where Rroshaal had left him. He wanted Rroshaal to be able to find him again, but he didn’t want to get caught by Master Krell or any of the other crèche masters, either.

Decision made, he went trotting off. It took him longer to reach the underlevels than he had expected, since he was coming by a different route, but eventually he reached the bottom of the last staircase and hesitated, looking around. He had taken care to bring a glowstone with him this time so he wouldn’t get caught in the dark again, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt a little like cheating. What Caleb should have had was a lightsaber, but he wouldn’t have a lightsaber until after he had had his Gathering, and his cohort wouldn’t go on their Gathering for at least another two years, maybe even three or four.

“Rroshaal?” he called into the quiet, waiting dark of the underlevels. From here it just seemed like empty, unused space, but Caleb knew that it wasn’t. Further away – and further down – the underlevels deteriorated into a series of mazes, layers and layers of ancient temples built on top of each other. He’d read a book on it – well, he had run across it in a history, but when he went looking for more books he had found that they were beyond his access level, and Master Nu couldn’t be convinced to give them to him anyway. Caleb thought he might ask again, now that he had the excuse of having been caught down in the underlevels. He might as well use it for something. Maybe he could convince Master Krell and Master Nu that having to write a report on the history of the underlevels was an appropriate punishment.

“Rroshaal?” he called again. “It’s Caleb Dume. Rroshaal?”

There was no response. Caleb hesitated, wondering if he ought to go further in and away from the stairs. Maybe Rroshaal wouldn’t want to come this close to the entrance to the rest of the Temple, even though he had brought Caleb back yesterday.

He stood there for a few minutes, calling occasionally and hoping both that there weren’t security cams down here and that no one could hear him from the next level up.

There was no response.

Caleb stood there on the last step, feeling heat gather in his cheeks from embarrassment. He’d thought that Rroshaal had liked him. He was on the verge of going back to the crèche to palm off all the pasties on his crèche-mates when he thought suddenly, no. He had been acting like Rroshaal was a dumb animal, like the charhound pup one of the older initiates was fostering. Not that the charhound wasn’t very intelligent, but it wasn’t exactly a person, and Rroshaal was.

He reached with the Force, concentrating on his memory of Rroshaal’s strong sense of personality, and let his mind sink down into the vergence the Temple was built on. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to do that because vergences were dangerous – even Knights and masters weren’t supposed to do that – but Caleb thought that because he more or less knew what he was doing with it that he probably wouldn’t lose himself in the Force. He remembered what Rroshaal had told him yesterday, about the vergence where he lived and being able to move between that vergence and the one under the Temple. In a way, every vergence in the Force was one. They were unique – but at the same time they were also one.

Rroshaal? he thought, layering his memory of Rroshaal’s strong personality onto it. With rare exception, Jedi weren’t telepaths, but for their first few years in the crèche they didn’t have to speak to each other with words, either; they had the Force for that. Rroshaal, it’s Caleb Dume. He added his own mental signature to that, the emotional overtones in the Force that would tell another Force-user that it was him, Caleb Dume, and not someone else.

He could feel the weight of the Force as he opened himself to it. It was like the lake that he had seen on Alderaan when his cohort had visited the planet the previous year, the deep lake that was actually a rift in the planet’s surface and was more than ten kilometers deep. It pulled at him, at the surface of his mind; Caleb was aware of it – of it fluttering at the edges of his consciousness, bits and pieces of things that had happened in the past, that could have happened in the past, that were yet to come, of people who were long dead or were yet to be born or might never be born, of his people and the enemy of his people and all of those who touched the Force in their own way, whether they were Jedi or not.

He had never gone that deep into the Force before. He hadn’t meant to do so now.

He fought aside his instinctive panic, knowing that, like the lake, if he panicked he would drown. Caleb concentrated hard on his memory of Rroshaal, forcing himself to ignore the insistent whispers of almost-sound and the flickering almost-sight at the edges of his mind. Jedi were will. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed from his intention, now that he had set himself upon it.

Jedi were the Force. Whatever it was trying to show him, he already knew – he already was, or would be, or could be. All things were true at once in the Force.

Not trying to show him, he thought, a little dizzy. Do or do not. There is no try.

Caleb stopped fighting the almost-visions and let them pass through them instead, still keeping his mind on Rroshaal. He felt – bigger, somehow, older, as if his body no longer quite fit him in his dim awareness of his own physical form. But it wasn’t not his body, either; there was nothing unfamiliar about it. Caleb accepted that and let his call to Rroshaal roll out again, noting absently that there were layers in his mental signature that he had never been consciously aware of before. But they had always been there, of course.

He felt an instant of sleepy surprise, then acknowledgment.

They came from outside himself and were accompanied by a strong sense of place; Caleb tasted prairie winds and the rock-smell of an unfamiliar world, the warmth of lazing in a sun he had never stood under.

Certain that he had been heard, Caleb dragged himself uncertainly out of his trance. Reality fluttered around him; Caleb could feel it flexing, as if someone had shaken out a sheet and each fold held a different possibility, a different time, a different place. Then, before he had time to panic, it settled again, leaving him gasping in the dim light of the underlevels.

He sat down heavily on the steps.

After a moment he dug in his bag and came up with the jogan he had grabbed in the dining hall, which he ate slowly. One of the earliest things that younglings were taught was to eat or drink something after an intense meditation session, because it reminded them that while they might be the Force and full of light, they still had physical bodies. Caleb ate the jogan in small, neat bites, concentrating on its taste and how it felt in his mouth, and eventually got out of his datapad to read the database entry about Loth-wolves that he had gotten from the library computers. He had finished both and set the datapad aside so that he could wrap up the jogan pips to throw away later when he heard the soft click…click… of approaching claws on the marble floor.

He saw Rroshaal’s glowing eyes first, coming out of the darkness of the underlevels.

Caleb stood up to greet him, momentarily startled by how big Rroshaal was – he’d somehow forgotten. Rroshaal came up to him and ducked his head to nuzzle thoughtfully at Caleb’s hair, then licked Caleb’s face in a greeting.

“Hello!” Caleb said happily. “You came!”

Rroshaal licked his face again. He had been napping, he told Caleb; it was the middle of the day on his homeworld, and most of his people slept then. Caleb got the brief impression of windswept grasslands, too hot under the summer sun for Rroshaal to want to be out in.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he said. “It’s dinner time here. I’ve got dinner,” he added. “If you want?”

Rroshaal made an inquisitive sound and lay down as Caleb dug in his bag for the pasties. He laid most of them down on the cloth for Rroshaal to sniff at, but kept two for himself, watching Rroshaal eat each one in two bites. Interesting, was his observation when he was finished.

“It’s ronto, I think,” Caleb said; he was only halfway through his first one by the time Rroshaal had finished. “Do you have rontos on your world? They’re saurians, they live on desert worlds mostly, and a lot of ranchers breed them for meat.” He pictured the holos he had seen; he hadn’t seen one in person yet.

Rroshaal’s response was in the negative. Hoppers, he replied to Caleb, along with a strong sense of a big four-legged mammal that moved by leaping from its hindmost feet; it used its front legs more like arms and Rroshaal had a strong, vivid memory of being punched in the nose by one during his last hunt. The memory was accompanied by a strong, gamey taste of raw meat that made Caleb blink, a little startled. Lopers. This seemed to encompass several different kinds of hooved herbivores, some of which were nearly as big as Rroshaal and some of which were much smaller. They moved in herds and ran fast, leaping across the grasslands when the pack hunted them. Horrible birds. These were flightless birds two or three times as tall as Caleb, taller than Rroshaal, with toothed beaks and talon-like feet; Rroshaal showed him the scars another Loth-wolf had from being attacked by one some years earlier, but added that they were tasty after you brought them down. Others. He got a flickering sense of what his instructors would have called “a healthy ecosystem,” and recognized a few species he had seen in holos before. Or relatives, anyway, but you saw convergent evolution on many worlds, and colony worlds especially.

Rroshaal sensed the thought and made a little whuff in the negative. Too much prey, he told Caleb. Horrible birds kill some, but only on one continent. Used to be more hunters. Caleb got a hazy impression of several kinds of big felines and avians; the haziness was because they were extinct and Rroshaal had never seen them himself, only through the passed-down memories of other members of his pack.

“Colonists killed them?” Caleb asked, remembering one of his classes. It happened a lot.

Rroshaal made an affirmative sound. Others, he said again, showing Caleb several animals he recognized.

“Those are nerfs,” Caleb said. “They’re all over the galaxy. People breed them for meat and fur. And the little saurians are nunas. They’re meat animals too. I can’t remember what the fluffy ones are, but I’ve seen holos of them before.”

Tasty, Rroshaal observed, licking his lips. Then he laid his chin down on his paws and added sadly, Not enough pups.

That reminded Caleb. “I read about you!” he said. “I looked you up in the library. You’re a Loth-wolf.”

Rroshaal flicked an ear, bemused by the name. The People, he said instead.

“I know, but most species call themselves something like that. I’m a human.”

Rroshaal raised his head and snuffled thoughtfully at Caleb’s knees for a moment before saying doubtfully, You’re People. You feel like People, even if you don’t smell like People.

Caleb put his hands out for Rroshaal to sniff, then lick clean of lingering crumbs. “I’m a Force-user – a Jedi. Maybe that’s it.”

Rroshaal whuffed again, dubious.

“You’re supposed to be extinct,” Caleb said, then hesitated, unsure if he had hurt Rroshaal’s feelings. Instead he just felt the Loth-wolf’s resigned weariness.

Not enough pups, he said again. It took Caleb a few moments to sort through the flurry of information that accompanied the words; Rroshaal had been the only pup in his pack to live more than a year in the last decade. Pups had been born dead or had gotten sick and died soon afterwards. He had heard that other packs were just as badly off.

Caleb said shyly, “We – the Jedi – are having problems too. I heard the crèche masters talking about it with Master Windu and Master Yoda once. There used to be thousands more Jedi than there are now – there are whole sections of the Temple that are shut up – and the cohorts keep getting smaller and smaller. Even two hundred years ago you’d have cohorts of dozens, but mine is only three people, and the ones after me are the same. About twenty or thirty years ago all of a sudden the Temple started getting large cohorts again – large by current standards – and that lasted for about twenty years before they suddenly started dropping off in size. The senior padawans now are from the last few large cohorts. The masters don’t know if not as many Force-sensitive younglings are being born or if they’re just not being found.”

Rroshaal made an inquisitive noise.

“I don’t know all of it,” Caleb admitted. “When babies are born in Republic medcenters, they’re required to have a lot of tests run, and one of those is for midichlorian count. That gets passed onto the Order if the parents consent, and if it’s high enough then someone – usually the Sector Watchman – will check on them regularly. Just because you have a high midichlorian count doesn’t mean you can be a Jedi, though, so the Watchmen have to keep checking, and of course if the families refuse then they won’t. Outside the medcenters it’s mostly just the will of the Force.” He stared longingly at Rroshaal’s soft-looking ears, wondering how rude it would be to ask Rroshaal if he could pet them. “I was born in the Temple.”

Rroshaal’s ears flicked forward, interested.

“It’s not usual,” Caleb admitted. “It happens once or twice a generation, but usually even if one or both parents is a Jedi then the baby won’t be strong enough to be one too. I was. That’s not rare, but it’s not common, either.” He shrugged in response to Rroshaal’s question. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter who they are. If I hadn’t been strong enough in the Force to be a Jedi I would have gone to one of their birth-families if they wanted.” He hesitated, then admitted, “I heard once that one of them is an old military family on Coruscant, but I don’t know if that’s true or not. And it doesn’t matter anyway since I’m a Jedi.”

People, Rroshaal insisted.

Caleb spread his hands for Rroshaal to see. “Not People, not like yours,” he said. Then he got the cake out of his bag and offered one piece to Rroshaal, who sniffed it with interest, then sneezed. “It’s spice cake,” he explained. “It’s my favorite.”

Rroshaal ate it out of his palm in several delicate bites, then lay licking his teeth thoughtfully as Caleb ate his own piece of spice cake. Good, he decided finally, then gave Caleb a grin, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Different.

He licked Caleb’s hands clean when Caleb held them out again, then flicked one ear back as if he had heard someone calling him. I have to go, he said regretfully. My mother wants me.

Caleb had the brief impression of a bigger version of Rroshaal, brown and with a scarred ear, whom Rroshaal regarded with occasionally frustrated adoration. He said wistfully, “Can I see you tomorrow?”

We’ll be away, Rroshaal said, and Caleb could tell that he genuinely regretted it. Embassy to another pack. He thought, then said, Nine days?

“How long are your days?” Caleb asked, then realized that Rroshaal probably didn’t count time in hours. “I’ll look it up.” He hesitated, then added, “Can I hug you?”

At the affirmative response, they both stood up, and Caleb carefully put his arms around as much of Rroshaal’s furry front as he could manage. He was just as soft as Caleb remembered from the previous day and smelled of clean fur and unknown winds, a little musky. Rroshaal tucked his muzzle down against Caleb’s back, then licked his face after Caleb released him. Caleb curved the backs of his knuckles against Rroshaal’s cheek, carefully stroking the short fur there, then giggled as Rroshaal rubbed his cheek against Caleb’s smooth one.

Soon, he promised, then, Bring more of the cake-thing.

“I will,” Caleb said.

Rroshaal licked his nose, then backed away. Caleb must have blinked, because one moment Rroshaal was there, then the next he had vanished into the shadows of the underlevels.

Caleb sighed regretfully and rubbed the back of his hand over his nose, the scooped up the discarded cloths and stuffed them into his bag. He had a lot of reading he wanted to do before he saw Rroshaal again.

#cut scenes and concept writing #caleb and the loth wolf tag #comics caleb is a tiny nerd #as always comments are appreciated #eta: yes I DO have a partially written concept for caleb's extended birth family; the forbidden backstory

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Story of the Past

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Five

A JSE Fanfic

It’s the backstory chapter! Whoo! djaskfh Anyway, I thought we should hear more about Henrik and Jackie, start to get the details of who they were before the Masked Phantoms. And also, it’s about time we address the missing element that Chase has been noticing...and in the process introduce a new boy! :D Hope you enjoy reading!

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It was snowing for the first time that year. Chase stood in the shadow of the dragon’s bones, hat pressed to his head, and watched it fall from the sky. The snowfall wasn’t particularly thick, but the flakes were fat and clumped together. It would probably leave a respectable layer by the time it was over.

It was ten days since Chase went out on his first mission with the Phantoms, and nothing much had happened in the meantime. Jackie and the two others on the mission were alright, Elin recovering from the magical burns she’d gotten from that wizard. Apparently no other missions had gone out since then, though there were a lot of messages coming in from other locations and Phantoms who were already out. Probably the most notable thing was the approach of the winter holy days. The winter solstice was only a few weeks away, and everyone was talking about preparing the celebrations.

There was the faint sound of footsteps in the snow, and soon Henrik appeared by his side. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Chase,” he said, adjusting his scarf. “I was delayed. Many people have come down with sudden cold sicknesses and I was handing out medicine.”

“It’s alright, Henrik,” Chase said understandably. “I think you should set up more fires, not just the ones for cooking. I’ve never been in a mountain house that doesn’t have a fireplace for winter.”

“Perhaps, perhaps.” Henrik nodded. “We could cut open holes in the canvas covering the storage and the skull, so that the smoke will not fill it up.”

Chase laughed a bit. “If you did that, the smoke would come out of the skull’s eyes and nostrils. Then it would really look like a dragon.”

Henrik laughed as well. “So, now then. Onto other matters. I will keep our reading lesson short today so that we can get out of the snowfall. Can I see the board you were using?”

Most of the lesson was spent refreshing and reviewing what Chase had already learned. Even though both of them had winter coats now, it was still cold standing out in the snow, and Chase’s fingers were quickly losing heat. Still, he felt like it was actually warmer than it should have been. Especially when it was snowing. Just as they were wrapping up, he decided to point this out. “You know, even though we’re high in the mountains, I feel like it’s warmer here than it would be back home. Isn’t that strange?”

“Oh, that is probably because of the skeleton.” Henrik knocked on the nearest bone. “Dragons were very magical creatures, you know. And most of their magic was fire and heat, in some form or another. Even after this dragon is long gone, its magic is still attached to its bones, and that is probably making it a bit warmer.”

“Huh. Fascinating.” Chase pressed a hand to the bone. It was cold as stone, but magic worked in strange ways, so he wasn’t going to doubt Henrik’s explanation. “For a doctor, you know a lot about how magic works.”

“Well, you have to be prepared,” Henrik said. “You could encounter injuries that were caused by any sort of magic. And witchcraft’s potions are excellent medicine.”

“Yea, but these are some intricate details. I understand Tripp and the other sorcerers here knowing about that, but you’re not a magic-wielder.” Chase shrugged.

“I keep my ear out for new things to learn. And I learned a lot from—” Henrik stopped. “From...my studies. Anyway, I think we can stop for now. You will just need to practice more, as always. It seems you’re having trouble with—”

“Why does everyone do that?” Chase blurted out.

“...do what?” Henrik asked, visibly confused.

“Practically everyone I’ve talked to has avoided speaking about something at some point or another,” Chase said. “A person, I’m guessing. I’m not one to pry, so I’ve just let it happen, but honestly it’s pretty frustrating.” His voice slowly grew in volume. “I’ve been here for half a season now. I have my own mask, I helped out last time, I’ve even done the dishes and other chores. Isn’t that enough? Am I not considered part of the group yet?! Does no one trust me?! I—” He sighed, and continued in a softer voice. “Sorry. I...It’s...frustrating, to have this happen over and over. And it...it feels...discouraging. Like I’m not really a part of everything, and nothing I do will...be good enough.”

Henrik didn’t respond for a while. Chase started to worry that he pushed too far, but then Henrik leaned in close and put a hand on his shoulder. “Chase. It is nothing to do with you, I can promise you that.” His voice was gentle, but firm underneath. “I am sorry for making you feel that way. It is just...well, it is still a sore subject for Jackie and me. But we never told anyone that they cannot talk about him. I suppose they just didn’t want to tell you in case we did not want you to know.”

“...oh.” Chase said softly. “Is it...sensitive? No, wait, you don’t have to tell me, it’s not my business—”

“No, I want to,” Henrik insisted. “Everyone else here already knows. Because they have all been here since it happened a year ago. You are the first new person we have found, so it makes sense that you are the only one who does not know.” He paused. “But I should talk with Jackie about how to tell you. It is about him, too.”

“I see.” Honestly, Chase felt relieved that it wasn’t the big secret he’d been building it up to be in his mind. It wasn’t a lack of trust, it was just personal. “I’m...sorry about all that. I guess Lukas has just been getting to me.”

Henrik scowled. “Ignore that ass. His mistrust is to a ridiculous degree.”

Chase laughed. “Hard to do that when he’s in charge of the crosses.”

“I am issuing an official decree to ignore him. Next time he does something based on suspicion, tell him I told you to ignore him.”

“Alright, I get it.” Chase laughed some more.

Henrik cracked a grin, too. “I will talk to Jackie about the matter you were worried about. We’ll tell you about it so people can stop being ridiculous about avoiding it.” He rubbed his hands together. “Whoo. Now I say we wrap this up and go somewhere warmer.”

“Great idea.” Chase brushed the snow off his hat. “We’ll be snow-covered statues if we stand out here any longer.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple days passed without anything extraordinary happening. Lukas tried to put him through more bow and arrow ‘training,’ to which Chase told him that he wasn’t supposed to listen to him. Naturally, Lukas looked upset about that, but he let off. Chase thought that was strange. Why was that what got him to ease up on his suspicions? But he was quickly distracted when Holly stepped in to give him some pointers on using his hunting knife in self-defense. Today, this involved her emphasizing that a knife of this design was used for cutting, not stabbing, and helping him to practice slashing a dummy with it. Chase felt he had the technique down, but it would probably be much more difficult when faced with a moving person.

Talk of winter celebrations continued. Evidently, every faith had a holy day on the winter solstice. Chase was most familiar with the Longest Night, which celebrated winter and paid tribute to the Elder of Dark, but that wasn’t the only one. There was also the Moonlight Festival, which Henrik told him was the Celestial Sisters’ winter holy day, and the Freezing, which Nemet said was part of the Temple of the Forge. So, naturally, practically everyone at Wyvernlair was excited to celebrate. Even those that weren’t faithful were looking forward to feasts and parties.

Then one night, about three days after his last reading lesson with Henrik, Chase was passing by the skull on his way to his tent, and he heard someone call his name. “Huh?” He stopped and turned towards the call. “Oh, hello, Jackie. How’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” Jackie said. He had his mask off and the hood of his cloak—he still wore his waist-length red one, even though the cold might call for a longer one—pulled down. “Can you...come here for a few moments? We need to talk.”

Immediately, Chase’s nerves shot through the metaphorical roof. “Yea, of course.” He followed Jackie into the skull.

The whole place was empty, which was unusual. He hadn’t been in here that often, but there was always at least a small group of people inside. Mostly sitting at the desks or the map table. Now, there was no one. Except for Henrik. He was sitting on a chair by a small fire, enclosed by a ring of stones. The fire was placed underneath one of the skull’s eye sockets, so it wasn’t exactly in the center of the room, but it was close enough. When Jackie and Chase walked in, Henrik looked up and gestured them over. There were two more chairs by the fire.

Chase slowly sat down, trying not to appear anxious. Jackie didn’t sit, and instead merely bounced on his feet, running his fingers along the edge of his chain mail shirt. For a moment Chase was distracted by the fact that Jackie almost always wore that mail armor—they had some in storage and he’d tried a shirt on, just out of curiosity, and it was surprisingly heavy. But then he got over being impressed and returned to being nervous. “So...what did you want to talk about? Did I do something?”

“No no no, it is not that,” Henrik hurried to say. “It is just—we have decided to tell you about the subject everyone was avoiding. Do you remember that?”

“Oh. Oh!” Chase’s eyes widened a bit. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually tell me.”

“Well, of course we would.” Henrik sounded a bit surprised. “It would not be fair otherwise.”

Jackie let out a breath. “Yea.” Now that Chase wasn’t worrying about what the conversation would be, he could tell that Jackie was also nervous. Or...that wasn’t exactly the right word. Agitated, maybe.

“So, you have noticed that people are talking around something,” Henrik continued. “And you have picked up that this is a person, yes?” He waited for Chase to nod. “Yes. Well, that person...was a friend of ours.” He indicated Jackie and himself. “His name was Marvin.”

“Marvin,” Chase repeated. That wasn’t a name heard often in the mountains. It sounded coastal.

Henrik nodded. “He was the other founder. It was the three of us.”

“The other...what?” Chase asked, confused.

“The...other founder?” Henrik repeated, equally confused.

“Founder of what?”

“Of the Masked Phantoms, Chase.”

“...wait.” Things started to click into place. Why Jackie and Henrik wore masks with more colorful designs. Why they always seemed so busy. Why Henrik had been able to get Lukas to back off with such authority. Chase shot to his feet. “You two are in charge of everything?!”

“Elders, did you not know that?!” Jackie said, absolutely shocked.

“No! I didn’t! Nobody told me!” Chase shook his head in disbelief. “I thought some things were strange, but I never realized—oh elders, no wonder Lukas is so suspicious of me. I walked right up into your main camp and immediately got friendly with the leaders of the whole secret resistance.” He might have reacted the same, honestly.

Jackie threw his hands up in the air, walking away for a few paces before coming back. “Elders and Sisters, Chase.”

“What?! I’m new to this!” Chase protested. “I’ve never joined a group like this before, not a guild or a hunting band or anything. I don’t know how leadership works! And you’re all flatlanders, for all I know, this was just a regional difference.”

“So who did you think was in charge?” Henrik asked.

“I don’t know. Some far-off figure who led from the shadows. You two are just...here. Interacting with everyone regularly. Jackie went on a mission with me, what if something happened?”

“We’re not kings, Chase,” Jackie said. “We like people to know we’re working with them. And trust me, nothing would have happened to me in Skytown. It would’ve been close if you hadn’t shown up, though. We might have lost Elin. And even if something did happen to me, Schneep stayed here, so we wouldn’t have lost leadership.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize it,” Chase muttered. “So this Marvin was also a leader? What...happened to him?”

Henrik started to say something, but Jackie interrupted. “He turned into an ass.”

“Jackie, it has been a year,” Henrik sighed.

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a bastard about it,” Jackie muttered. “Prick.”

Henrik rubbed his temples as if a headache was starting to come on. “I am still upset, too, but you are holding this grudge for too long.”

“What happened?” Chase repeated.

Henrik and Jackie glanced at each other, and Chase got the distinct feeling they were having a silent conversation. “Actually...do you mind if we tell you the story from the beginning?” Henrik asked after a long period of silence.

“Um...is this something that would make me seem even more suspicious for getting you two to open up to me?” Chase asked.

Jackie laughed. “Only in Lukas’s eyes. A few people around know this story, but I will admit, not most of them. Nemet, Tripp, Ana. The ones who’ve been around for a while. But it’s no secret. I hear there are some exaggerated versions of the story traveling around other camps.”

Chase grinned a bit. “But...why tell me? What if I’m actually a spy, or what if I switch sides—”

“I do not believe you would do that, Chase,” Henrik said quietly. “I met you once before. You are a kind, open man, and you care for your family and others. You would not side with the King.”

Chase’s chest swelled with emotion—the sadness and worry he was used to feeling when his family was mentioned, but combined with a warm feeling, knowing that others had faith in him. He nodded, and said nothing, blinking back sudden wetness in his eyes.

“So.” Henrik took a deep breath. “Let us start from the beginning.” He paused once more, then started to talk. “To understand why the subject matter is still bothering us—or, well, bothering Jackie—so much, I think the beginning is essential. Everything started fifteen years ago. I arrived in Glasúil off a ship, and headed down the coast and a bit inland. My parents had paid for me to study under a doctor named Slaine, who lived in the town of Fíornear.”

“Wait.” Chase didn’t want to interrupt so soon, but he had to hear that again. “Fíornear? As in...Fíornear Field?”

“Ah, yes. See, you would know that place.” Henrik smiled a bit, amused. “I have no doubt you grew up hearing stories of the warriors trained on the Field. But I did not. All I knew about it was the town name, and that it was a big, important area of the kingdom. Luckily, it was very easy to get directions to the town. I was glad that I had already studied your language before coming here. But it was...difficult, still. At that point, I could understand everything when it was in writing, but many people talked too fast for me to keep up.

“Because of this, when I actually arrived in the town of Fíornear, I was very confused. I was expecting something fancier, if I must say. The whole town was—and still is—very, ah...utilitarian. The only place that fit my expectations was the small castle where the area’s noble family lived, and even that was fortified with thick walls. I could tell that this was a place where warriors lived and worked, and I was very confused. And sort of afraid, if I must say so, thinking I had accidentally wandered onto a restricted area in a foreign land.

“So I thought I would get more directions. If this was Fíornear, I would ask where Slaine lived. If it was not, I would ask how to get there. I entered the first building I saw on the edge of town. It was a tavern with a name I could not understand, but that I would later learn was the Flint and Dagger Tavern. I would also later learn that this was known as a place where troublemakers gathered. Warriors who were learning the trade at the Field, but who were too ill-tempered to mingle with the others. They had taken this tavern as their own.

“Now imagine a fourteen-year-old boy walking into this tavern. A bookish-looking boy who is carrying all his possessions in a bag with him, including all his money, and who is rather skinny and likely to blow over in a strong wind.”

“I think your past self would be insulted to hear that, Schneep,” Jackie laughed.

Henrik grinned. “No, no, trust me, I was very aware of this fact. Even more so as everyone else in the tavern was strong enough to pick me up with one hand. They were all giving me looks, and I immediately felt I was not welcome. But I thought I could hurry through. So I walk up to the tavern keeper, and before I could even say anything, he says something along the lines of ‘Get out of here, kid.’ The exact details escape me.

“Of course, as I said, I do not understand the spoken language as well, so I think I misheard him. And I say, very clumsily, ‘Excuse me, is this Fíornear?’ And I mispronounced it, too, calling it ‘fee-OHR-neer’ instead of ‘FEE-or-narr.’ And from there, a few of the patrons in the tavern started grumbling at each other, sitting at a table in the middle of the room so they are not even hidden.

“The tavern keeper says, ‘Why? Are you looking for it? Hoping to become a warrior?’ and he gives me a very mocking smile at that last part. And I say, ‘No, I am looking for a doctor named Slaine.’

“And before I can say anything else, the group who are sitting and grumbling stand up and walk over to me. All of them, older than me, taller, and quite a bit stronger. One of them said something that was like, ‘So you’re a fancy foreign boy, then?’ And I am very confused. I know he is insulting me, but I am not sure how, so I just try to ask if this is the right town once more. They all laugh, and say things that are too fast for me to understand, but I know they are still insulting me. The one who spoke before leans down, very close to me, and grabs the front of my shirt. ‘You’d better get out of this place before we throw you out,’ he says. ‘You don’t belong here.’

“At that moment, I understand that this is a mistake, and I apologize, trying to leave. But this taller, older boy is not letting go of my shirt, even though he wants me to get out. I try apologizing again, and I look around for help, but everybody is looking away. Until, all of a sudden, there is a shout of ‘Hey!’ and next thing I know, the older boy is hit in the head with a shoe. I turn in the direction it came from, and there is a tiny girl standing on top of one of the tables, holding the other shoe in the pair.”

“I was not tiny!” Jackie protested.

Henrik laughed. “You were a small twelve-year-old child, all your height came from the table.”

“Okay, alright, but I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet! And I was full of righteous anger so that makes up for it!”

“Wait, Jackie, you were the girl?” Chase clarified.

“I was,” Jackie said, turning to look at Chase. “I didn’t realize it at the time this story takes place, but I was born in a different name.”

“Oh!” Chase nodded. “You’re a man?”

“Mostly, yea.”

“I see. You look good.”

“Thank you,” Jackie grinned. “But I thought you were married.”

“Hey, don’t take it that way, I mean it as a friend.” Chase chuckled a bit. “What were you doing in this tavern?”

“Oh, I was training on the Field,” Jackie said proudly.

“Really?! At twelve?!” Chase didn’t hide his surprise. Though Fíornear Field technically trained anyone over the age of twelve to be a royal warrior, there usually weren’t students that young. “How did you convince your parents?”

“Well...I didn’t,” Jackie admitted. He finally sat down in the third chair. “See, I grew up on a farm, smack dab in the middle of the kingdom. It was boring. I had siblings, two older and three younger, and I could play with them, but I just wasn’t interested in farmwork. Mam and Dad said that I could start warrior training when I turned fifteen, but I didn’t want to wait! I’d be practically an adult by then, and it seemed so far. So I...ran away.”

“Oh, elders,” Chase gasped.

“Once I was actually receiving training, I asked the armsmaster to write a letter back to them,” Jackie said. “Because I couldn’t write yet. I didn’t want them to worry, but I wanted to be sure I had a place at the Field before that happened, so it’d be harder for them to drag me home.”

“Elders, I can’t imagine being that old and going out on my own,” Chase shook his head in disbelief.

Jackie grinned. “Well, I was a tiny fireball as a kid, fierce and stubborn. I wanted to fight villains and protect people. And as you can probably tell, one of the first times I did that was by throwing a shoe at Samuel when he was harassing Henrik.” He briefly shook his head in disgust. “That boy wasn’t worthy of that name, he was a bully in every way.”

“Let me guess...things rolled downhill quickly after the bully got hit with the shoe,” Chase said.

“Well...eventually. He certainly let go of Schneep right away. I remember shouting at him to ‘Leave him alone!’ and of course, he immediately got angry. He picked up the shoe again—which was mine, by the way, off my feet—and said, ‘I won’t be taking orders from a pipsqueak mouse like you!’ and threw it back at me. I managed to catch it, which was pretty impressive if I say so, and shouted back, ‘If I’m a mouse, you’re a brute, picking on someone half your size! Fight like a warrior!’”

“And then what happened?” Henrik prompted.

Jackie sighed. “He and all his lads charged at me.”

“Ancient elders,” Chase groaned.

“It could have gone worse!” Jackie insisted. “Apparently picking on someone so young was too much for some of the other patrons, and they all jumped in to stop them. Oh, and I leapt right off the table before any of them could get there! I...didn’t exactly land on my feet, but it didn’t hurt that much, compared to being rammed by about eight or nine sixteen-year-old warriors-in-training. You know, Samuel and half his lads got denied training before the winter. Ha! Served them right.

“Anyway, then I stood up and ran over to Schneep while the other patrons were trying to hold back those lads. I asked him if he was alright, and he said he was fine. Then I said, ‘Good, now let’s get out of here!’

“Before we could ‘get out of there,’ though, Samuel shouted, ‘Get those brats!’ and about three of his lads went to block the front entrance. So I grabbed Schneep’s hand and ran the other way, into the back halls of the tavern that connects the kitchen, and the storage, and the lavatory, and whatever else was back there, I forget. By that point, a brawl was starting, so we had a head start. I knew there’d be a back entrance to the building, but I wasn’t sure where. It was my first time going there, you know, and I’d only gone out of curiosity, not any desire to visit regularly.

“So it wasn’t long before we were lost. We took a few wrong turns, and Henrik asked me, ‘Do you know where we are going?’ and I lied and said, ‘Of course!’ But he didn’t believe me. And I could hear footsteps and shouting following us, and I knew either Samuel or one of his lads would find us soon.

“But before that can happen, I hear someone say, very quietly, ‘Excuse me?’ I jump a bit, spin around, and almost punch this tall kid who’d suddenly come out of one of the rooms. Luckily, Schneep stopped me. And the tall kid says, ‘You’re the people that got attacked back there?’ And I don’t answer right away, because I’m a bit suspicious. But this boy isn’t one of Samuel’s lads. He wasn’t built enough, if you know what I mean. Instead, he was this really tall, sort of willowy boy around Schneep’s age, wearing this fancy ring that looked like real silver with a real emerald in it. So I say ‘yea, that’s us.’ And he says, ‘Alright. I’ll help you get out.’

“This boy turns to the nearest wall and stares at it for a while, like he’s trying to read invisible words. Then he pokes his ring, and all of a sudden, the emerald in it starts glowing. I remember staring in shock as he pressed the emerald to the wall near the floor, then raised it up, around, and down. As he did, the glowing light rubbed off on the wall like chalk on a board, drawing this doorway that was round at the top. Once the doorway was done, he pressed on the wall in the middle, and it just disappeared. Instead, there was suddenly the outside, even though we should have still been in the middle of the building.

“‘You have to go through first,’ this kid says. I’m a bit suspicious, but then Schneep nods and walks right through this doorway. And now I feel responsible for him, so I follow him, and next thing I know, I’m outside the tavern, on its side. The tall kid walks through the doorway, and then it disappears. And we all just stare at each other for a while. It’s a bit awkward, but I felt like we were all connected somehow, you know? So I say, ‘I’m Jackie. Daughter of Fiona,’ because, again, I hadn’t realized my name was wrong yet. Schneep introduces himself as ‘Henrik von Schneeplestein,’ and this new kid just says, ‘I’m Marvin.’”

Chase physically started. “Marvin was a wizard?!”

“And a very talented one, too,” Henrik added. “The spell he used there was a Doorway Through Walls, and I understand it’s not usually taught to fourteen-year-olds.”

“But...” Chase shook his head a bit. “You said that wizards usually side with the King. A-and Tripp told me that was because the royal family provides their magic focuses, so how—?”

“Most focuses are temporary,” Jackie said. “They get worn out from channeling magic for so long. You might get one or two years out of them before they need to be fixed up or replaced. But there are ones that can last decades. They just...cost a hefty fee.”

“Marvin stole his,” Henrik added.

Jackie laughed a bit. “Yea. He did.” But his smile was more sad than anything. And short-lived too, as he realized he was smiling and quickly dropped it into a frown.

“So that’s how you three met,” Chase said, putting together the pieces. “So...you stayed in contact?”

“It was easy to do so,” Henrik said. “Jackie was training at the Field, I was studying with Slaine, and Marvin lived in town. We would meet up as often as possible. There were difficulties, of course, mine and Jackie’s schedules were full, and Marvin’s parents did not approve of him leaving home, so he had to sneak out.”

“We had a lot of little adventures,” Jackie said, leaning back and linking his hands behind his head. “Schneep was the brain, I was the brawn, and Marvin was the—well, he said he was the beauty, but really, he was the power, with his magic. And, uh, money, actually. You don’t get a lot of coin as a warrior-in-training or a doctor’s apprentice.”

“But I think we should skip over those,” Henrik said. “I think we may have taken too long explaining our first meeting.”

“Alright, skip to the part where you decide to form a group to rebel against the King,” Chase suggested. “When did that start? The moment he was crowned?”

“No, not at all,” Henrik said. “In fact, I was quite happy for him. Though a little shocked, to be honest. I had just finished my studies, and I felt barely ready to step out into my own. Yet he was being crowned King of an entire kingdom, and he was a year younger than me!”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Jackie sighed. “Not with the last King and Queen gone, be at peace. At least he got a year to prepare?”

“Twenty is hardly better than nineteen,” Henrik huffed. “But either way, we could not have known what was to happen.”

“What started it all?” Chase asked.

Jackie and Henrik glanced at each other. “It was about three years later, or so,” Jackie said. “At that point, I was one of the royal warriors, so I was able to notice some things. Our commands were...questionable. My captain told all of us that we ‘weren’t to hold back’ against troublemakers. There was talk of shutting down dissidence, and testing the people’s loyalty. Now, keep in mind, there hadn’t even been a whisper of rebellion before this, but this sort of talk seemed to appear overnight. And a lot of my fellows, people I had considered friends, were eating this up.”

“And then the King cut the funding for medicine and doctors,” Henrik added. “You know how most of us doctors receive supplies and salaries from the royal funds, yes?”

“Except for the travelling doctors,” Chase agreed. “They’re a separate thing. You were a town doctor once?”

“Yes, so I knew we were receiving less,” Henrik grumbled. “And now, years later, it is even less. The royal fund is not paying for supplies anymore, meaning doctors have to ask for donations so they can afford what they need.”

“And Marvin was hearing rumors about the noble houses,” Jackie said. “How they were turning on other families that weren’t loyal enough to the crown.”

“All of this was so different from what the King had been doing when first crowned.” Henrik shook his head. “And the three of us talked, and we realized that he must have been hiding his true intentions. Waiting until his position was secure, and then enforcing his rule, making sure every last person in this kingdom followed him.”

“And we had to do something about it!” Jackie shouted, standing up. “Something more! Something drastic!”

“Something that we could not do as ourselves,” Henrik said. “So, we decided to use masks, to hide who we were.”

“Little things first. But you would not believe how quickly things got out of hand.” Jackie whistled. “Something about the masks inspired something, I guess. People started following us after we went out to stop injustice, asking to join. And well, more people meant we could do more to help, so we expanded. Now here we are, five years later.”

Chase didn’t say anything for a moment. It just all seemed...so much. The Masked Phantoms was created by just three people. Two of which he was starting to consider friends. But that begged the question...why were only two of them left? “What happened to Marvin?”

Jackie took a deep breath, as if holding back a rant of words. “I know I just said our plan was to do something drastic. I just said that. But...there are...limits.” The last word came out as a growl.

“Jackie, please. Sit down,” Henrik said softly. Jackie stayed standing, so he sighed, and continued. “Our goal has always been to protect people. And so, we encourage fighting to be a last resort.”

“I’ve picked up on that, yes,” Chase said. “Holly always says you should never strike first.”

“Marvin thought we weren’t doing enough. He started to say that we should strike first. And strike...fatally.”

“How could he?!” Jackie shouted. “How could he?! The King’s warriors are just people, same as us! They have families to support, friends that would miss them! They’re following orders, and shouldn’t be blamed! Even the noble houses are under the crown! Doing what they need to! Nobody should die unless there’s no avoiding it!”

“Jackie, calm down!” Henrik snapped.

Jackie fell silent. He looked over at Chase. “One day, the three of us were talking about our plans. The long-term ones, our goals. And Marvin—he—just—so casually—like it was nothing, he said we should kill the King.”

“What?!” Chase stood up as well. “You can’t do that! The royal lineage hasn’t been broken for centuries! It goes all the way back to Samuel the Green-Eyed, it’s entwined within the land itself. You can’t end it!”

“Yes! See! This is it!” Jackie shouted. “People care about the line! They care about the legend of it! They care about our history!”

“I can see where Marvin was coming from, though,” Henrik said. “The King has abused his power for years, and people are suffering. Killing him might end it, and it would mean he would never return to try and regain his rule. But we cannot kill him right away. Not unless the people agree with that decision. And if we assassinate him now, people will definitely not agree. Half the population will immediately revolt against whatever new rule we try to establish. We must strip the King of his powers, then plan what to do.”

Chase forced himself to take a step back from the immediate indignant anger he’d felt upon hearing someone was planning to end the Glasúil line. Really, did it matter that much? Well...yes, actually. The royal family had ruled peacefully for centuries, and people loved them. Not just because of who they were, but because of what Jackie said, the history and legend. But if this King ordered villages burned down for no reason? Yes, he could see where Marvin was coming from, too.

But Henrik was right. People would be raging at the idea. His own reaction was proof of that. Killing the King now would just lead to chaos. “So you kicked Marvin out, then?”

Jackie laughed. “Oh noooo, we didn’t do that! The bastard said he was too good for us, and stormed out! What an ass!”

“To be fair, we did have...quite a large fight, leading up to that,” Henrik pointed out. “Personal insults were said.”

“Mostly between me and him,” Jackie admitted. “Schneep tried to mediate.”

Henrik laughed bitterly. “For the first minute, yes. I got caught up in it, too, do not pretend I didn’t. I would apologize, if I could.”

“I wouldn’t,” Jackie muttered. “Not unless he does first.”

“Not even for punching him?”

“Nope.”

Chase looked back and forth between the two of them. He wasn’t about to press, but he could tell that this fight had been bad. “So...he left.”

“A year ago, yes,” Henrik confirmed. “We hear about his...activities, occasionally. A wizard in a mask, acting on his own. Mostly destroying noble property and warrior forts.”

“With no regard for casualties,” Jackie added angrily. He grunted in frustration, then looked back at Chase. His voice softened. “...sorry to dump all this on you. It’s just been so long since we’ve talked about it, I guess we needed to.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chase assured him. “I understand, you can’t keep your feelings buried forever.”

“Well...alright then.” Jackie let out a long breath, then leaned in and gave Chase a quick one-armed hug. “Thanks for listening.”

Henrik stood up, gave Chase a similar quick hug, then stepped back. “We have been talking for a while. We told everyone not to disturb us, but...”

“More busy leader duties?” Chase asked humorously.

Henrik gave him a wry smile. “More busy leader duties.”

“Don’t worry,” Chase said. “I understand. And really, I’m just glad that you took the time to tell me all this. You didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to,” Henrik said. “And now, when others try to avoid the subject, you can say that you already know about Marvin, so it is not a problem.”

“Do you...think you’ll ever cross paths again?”

“I hope we do,” Jackie said. “So I can punch him again.” He hit his hand in demonstration. “But...on a more serious note, I think it’s inevitable. Our goals are the same, even if our methods are different. Eventually, we’re going to have to meet him again.” He paused. “And the more time goes on, the closer that moment becomes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Southern Moors of Glasúil were not built for permanent settlements. They were wetlands, with watery soil that wasn’t fit to farm on, without gems or metals to mine, and with mud that could easily ruin books, art, and clothes. But still, people found a way to live there, using the resources native to the moors to trade for what they needed. Most of the time, people lived on boats that floated down the many rivers, migrating seasonally as certain areas got difficult to work with. But a few locations had become home to permanent towns, towns that floated in the middle of still water or had their buildings tower on stilts.

This was a town that fit into the latter category. Houses, shops, everything was on stilts that were at least twice as tall as the average man, built like that to avoid the rising waters that would come every spring.

But for now, in the winter, the waters were just thin streams that wound around the tall buildings, some of them covered in a thin layer of ice. But the biggest stream was unfrozen. And this night, under the light of the stars and the waning moon, a single rowboat was floating down this stream. A boy, probably around ten to thirteen years old, was paddling it to his destination. He kept glancing up at the stilted buildings, waiting to see someone on the wooden bridges that connected them. But it was late, and it was winter, and although the Southern Moors weren’t all frozen yet, it was still cold. So the boy paddled on.

Then, he glanced up at the wooden bridges again. And there he saw...a cat. Sitting near one of the wooden ladders leading down to the ground, its eyes reflecting the starlight as it stared at him. The boy stopped paddling, tied up the boat, and climbed out, grabbing the wooden ladder. Once on the solid wooden walkway around the building, the cat darted around him and across the bridge.

He followed the cat to the next building, a house, where it stopped and sat outside the door. Swallowing nervously, he pulled open the door.

The inside was filled with a wide array of candles, all of various colors, but mostly orange and black. They sat on every possible surface, even the floor near the walls, but only a few were lit. The layout was that of a normal one-room house, with a bed in one corner, a rocking chair in another, and a table with two chairs in the middle. And there was a man sitting in one of the chairs.

The cat darted past the boy and leapt onto the table. Its fur was mostly white, but its ears were dark gray, and its tail was striped gray and black. Its legs were similarly striped, though with brown and white, and the fur on its face had a pattern of brown stripes. It stared at the man with big blue eyes, and the man started petting it.

The man himself was...unusual. Most of his clothes were hidden by a thick black cloak, leaving just his gloved hands and his head visible. Though, that wouldn’t do much. His features were hidden by a white mask in the shape of a cat’s face. Colorful markings decorated the surface, red whiskers on the cheeks and green spirals in the ears, with the four card symbols in black in the center of the forehead. Brown chin-length hair framed the mask in waves.

“Um...” The boy hovered in the doorway.

“Close the door,” the man said, and the boy did so. “What did you find?”

The boy walked closer to the table, though he didn’t sit in the chair. “Um...well...my cousin, Ryenn, she works at Portmota Castle. Does their laundry and cleaning. And she...she says that the King has chosen them for his Longest Night celebration. H-he’s arriving soon, maybe within the week.”

“I see.” The cat hopped into the man’s lap and curled up, where he continued to pet it. “How does your cousin know this?”

“Well, they were doing preparations, cleaning things more than usual. And she asked why, and the others said that the lady was getting ready for the King’s visit. Apparently she got a letter in secret, saying that the celebration at Fíornear was a ruse and it was actually going to happen at her holding.”

“I see,” the man repeated, nodding.

The boy hesitated. “Um...can I...? The, uh...”

“Yes, of course.” The man reached into his cloak and pulled out a small leather pouch. He set it down on top of the table. It made a clinking sound as the coins inside rattled against each other.

The boy stared at it, then slowly reached down, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he snatched the pouch up, checked the inside, and saw it was filled with golden coins. His eyes widened. He looked at the man and quickly nodded. “Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a problem. I should be thanking you for what you told me.”

“Right.” The boy took a few steps back, suddenly uneasy. “Uh...” Then, without another word, he turned and scrambled out of the house. The man could hear him running all the way back to his boat.

“He shouldn’t be so scared,” the man said to himself. The cat in his lap purred and sat up, stretching. He winced. “Draco, your claws.” Of course, the cat didn’t say anything. In fact, it started kneading his legs. “Ah!” The man gasped, then sighed. “Silly boy.” He picked up the cat and set it on the floor, where it whined at him. “Sorry, but you can’t be up here. I need the space.”

The man then reached into his cloak and pulled out several things. A map, some parchment, a quill and bottle of ink, and finally, a necklace with an ornate pendant: a flat, palm-sized emerald in a thin silver frame, smooth on the front but with golden patterns inlaid on the back. The man ran a finger along the edge of the pendant, and it started to glow. He flicked the light off his fingers, and it scattered, flying to all the unlit candles and lighting them, providing more than enough light to see.

“Now, let’s get to work.” The man picked up the quill, dipped it, and wrote down a name: Portmota, the noble family the King would be visiting for the solstice. He’d heard rumors that the celebration wasn’t actually going to be at Fíornear, but this confirmed it. Now, he just had to come up with a plan. Something more subtle than his usual heads-on approach. This was too important to risk.

He’d make sure the King didn’t live to see the spring.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #septic egos au #jacksepticeye au #chase brody #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #brigid writes fanfiction #fantasymasksau

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kiribakuhappiness · 3 years

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👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?

Ahh, this question is always so interesting!

First I just want to define the terms above - in case some people aren't aware of their meaning!

Planner: Relatively self-explanatory, a planner is someone who plans out their entire story from start to finish before they even think about writing it. Character backstories, settings, relationship connections, timelines, order of events and their significance, important symbolic details, everything is entirely fleshed out before that pen hits that paper or before those fingertips start tapping away at that keyboard!

Pros: - No need to stop writing for every new plot point/chapter - Generally very well fleshed out characters and scenes. - Plenty of room for constructing well thought-out foreshadowing.

Cons: - Takes a lot of time and effort before the writing process can even begin. - Generally very difficult to tweak details later on, as it creates a domino effect regarding the remainder of the preemptive planning.

Panster: Coined from the term "by the seat of one's pants," a panster is someone who gets a vague idea for a story and takes off running with it. No direction or planned events needed, just their juicy inspiration and a blank document! Pansters are also usually known for writing scenes out of order.

Pros: - Lots of creative freedom. - No feeling of being weighed down by a predetermined path/plot. - Great technique when writing a story that will contain a lot of plot twists.

Cons: - So. Much. Editing. - Will generally end up doing everything that a Planner would do, just later on in the game. - Character motivations + plot structures can suffer by becoming cloudy and unclear/unexplained.

Planster: Probably the easiest to identify/define after learning about the other two, but a planster is someone who is a healthy mix of both! Most writers are plansters, as the range is much more varied and so, by default, contains the medium average. Plansters will get a new story idea, make a few notes or plan out a few important scenes/details, and then use that like a vague roadmap for their stories similar to the dodgy early-2000's Google Maps Directions.

Pros: - A healthy amount of creative freedom when coming up with new scenes and characters. - Easier to make midcourse adjustments in regard to plot devices, foreshadowing, etc.

Cons: - Writer's block can set in when struggling to connect one vague predetermined plot point to the next.

As for my answer, I am very much a Planster, leaning more towards Panster! Usually when I come up with a new story idea, it's a very vague concept, but a concept nonetheless.

So, take Why Is Everything So Weird With the Lights Off? as an example!

When I started that fic, my only notes going into it were these (copy + pasted from my notes app):

Bakugou appears at Kirishima's door; he's been drinking (third year, reasonable age to engage in such activity). Kirishima's first time seeing Bakugou drunk. Bakugou has come to confess his feelings - Kirishima can't imagine why Bakugou would think that midnight on a school night is a good time to strike up a conversation, but what kind of friend would he be if he turned him away? Kirishima's chivalry to be a good friend battles internally with his desire to be with Bakugou as the night progresses. Bakugou is uncharacteristically touchy and honest about his wants to hang out with Kirishima (internally, he's frustrated that he keeps fucking up his attempts to confess, and so tries to stay later and later to get it right). "'M not fuckin' comfortable," he [Bakugou] says [from the makeshift bed on the floor], louder and firmer, as if that will change anything. From beginning - no attraction/romance detected between them. As story progresses - lines start to cross and blur and Kirishima's buried feelings for Bakugou become more apparent to the reader. (Their relationship has started to subtly change, as all relationships tend to do.)

As you can see, there's very little in-depth details here. I don't really go into long-winded explanations and I don't really focus on anything regarding the setting or plot points. Of course, the type of notes I take and the amount of attention to details I give vary drastically regarding the project, but the entire idea is at least glossed over so I don't forget it, and I always try my best to be firm when considering Character Motive (ie; Bakugou drunkenly arrives with the one and only goal to finally confess his feelings to Kirishima), the rest of the fic and all of its minor details come as a result from these motives.

I'll give another example where I went into A LOT more detail, again, copy + pasted from my notes app! Disclaimer: major spoilers for unwritten chapters regarding Fighting Tooth and Claw to Get Back to You.

[Upon UA Katsuki + Fantasy Katsuki meeting for the first time]

"It is fucking winter?"

"Yeah. It's fuckin' winter."

[Right before they switch back] - UA Katsuki experiences a darkness where he finally meets Barbarian Bakugou face-to-face. They approach each other, movements mirrored, and it's UA Katsuki who raises a hand out towards him first, which Barbarian Bakugou hesitates to accept (he is resentful and ashamed of UA Katsuki and believes him to be ignorant and immature). But UA Katsuki needs to know what happened right before the switch, he needs to unlock that memory, and Barbarian Bakugou is reluctantly curious about his unwavering determination, so they clasp their hands together in a strong grip and are thrust into a new place - sunny and filled with green grass. The barbarian clan is there, Dragon Eijirou included, as they prepare to train for several moons straight before migrating away for the winter. Barbarian Bakugou and Dragon Eijirou leave to go train on their own, unbeknownst to them that Eri is following. They banter for a bit and kiss before bakugou wraps an intimidating hand around his neck and jaw. "Are you going to fight me or not?" Dragon Eijirou grins at that, still giving him a sultry, distracted look despite the fingers clasped threateningly around his neck. "What do I get if I win?" He teases. Barbarian Bakugou smirks before he gives Dragon Eijirou's head a light shove in the opposite direction, who steps out of his space again just as easily as he had entered it. "Off, you dumb lizard," Barbarian Bakugou grumbled, still looking amused before he reached over and pulled the glinting, golden sword (All Might) from its holster on his hip and brandished it towards Eijirou, whose red eyes glisten with a new kind of want as he stared at it - the dragon part of him yearning to collect such a valuable treasure. "You would look good as a King, Katsuki," he tells him. Katsuki's smirk grows wider. "And you as a dragon, if you'd ever hurry the fuck up." He gave the sword a vague sway through the space between them and Eijirou's eyes flash dangerously. "Come and take it from me. I know you want to," Katsuki goaded. Eijirou turns into a dragon and they fight.

[Choice made when Imperial soldiers attack during their training session (mentioned at beginning of story by Sero)] - All Might (sword) is falling off the cliff's edge, while Dragon Eijirou is about to get shot by a piercing arrow. Barbarian Bakugou chooses to try and save Dragon Eijirou (abandoning the sword and his future Kingdom), who calls out "NO" even as a dragon who shouldn't be able to speak (he doesn't want Bakugou to lose his throne just for him), which causes Barbarian Bakugou to stop abruptly in shock. The arrow is shot and pierces Dragon Eijirou's underbelly. He lets out a loud roar before he plummets down into the forest out of sight (leading to his capture). Barbarian Bakugou sees red, reaching down to grab the nearest abandoned steel sword (one shown at beginning of story that UA Kirishima shatters) that he then uses to swing down and slice into the shoulder of the soldier that had shot Dragon Eijirou. More soldiers descend into the valley. Katsuki hears a scream and turns to see Eri lying on the ground, terrified as a soldier holds up a crossbow at her. "TO THE END OF ALL DRAGONS!" The man yelled (revealing that Eri, in the fantasy timeline, is also a dragon, and explains her fondness for Barbarian Bakugou when she joins their group and observes how he treats Dragon Eijirou with kindness instead of prejudiced fear). Barbarian Bakugou's feet move without thinking as he lunges in front of Eri, just as her fingertips reach out and graze along his shoulder before everything goes black.

When UA Katsuki awakes again, he is in the hospital on campus, and Kirishima is sleeping in the chair beside him.

[fantasy setting, after the switch back. Barbarian Bakugou - despite still being offered the throne for Musutafu - declines. Izuku and Todoroki are preparing to go back to the kingdom with the news of the vanquish of the Imperial Army, gazing out at Bakugou's barbarian clan as he absently moves about the crowd, barking orders and preparing his clan for travel. Dragon Eijirou joins them to watch as well.] "I am surprised to learn of Kacchan's abandonment of the throne. I thought there was nothing in this world that could replace his desire to be King," Izuku mused out loud to him. "He would have made a great leader."

Dragon Eijirou grinned from beside him. "You're wrong, Izuku," he states simply. "He already is a great leader."

Because of the complexity of the story, with all its many plot twists and such a large cast of important characters, my notes are far more in depth here than they are for my other fic - however, these notes wouldn't necessarily be structured enough to be considered a Planner-mindset, as there is still plenty of room for added details, dialogue, etc.

Phew! What a fucking post :,D a big ole chonker - I hope you enjoyed reading at least, if you've made it this far! 🧡

Fanfic Ask Game - send me a question! ☺️

#fic ask game #kiribaku #writing #personal #asks

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

one chance to change your fate - chapter 8

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, Nico Flores, Dragon Witch (villain), background OCs Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Loceit, eventual Dukexiety, Royality, background Karrot Kings Warnings: Language; mention of past bullying; crying; past & current anti-Janus's-scales/anti-cursed-people attitudes that are very similar to ableism; brief cult mention; brief exorsexism mention; Janus makes up a fictional abusive ex. Word count: 5248 Notes: a big big thank you to my awesome beta @yougoodfahm!

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Chapter 8

Janus stepped off the trolley and found themself smack in the middle of the business sector of the city. They took a deep breath and pulled out the scrap of paper in their pocket to check they hadn’t forgotten the address in the forty-five seconds or so since they’d last checked it. They glanced around to orient themself and took off.

About ten paces later, they remembered they were supposed to be in-character, and their typical straight-backed stride was far too confident for the moment. Pity. They could use all the confidence they could get, just now. Even so, for the sake of the part, they adjusted their step to a more casual, hesitant walk.

They went over the character they had created. Shy. Unsure of themself. Nervous. Enough backstory to answer any questions that might arise.

Hidden scales.

Janus clenched their hands into fists and walked just a little quicker. Just make it in and out. That was all they had to do.

No more than ten minutes later, they arrived at their destination. A large, imposing government building, the words Flores Capitol Department of Records and Files emblazoned in letters as tall as a person above the wide double doors.

Janus took a deep breath, walked up the steps, and pushed open one door. A rush of cool air hit them in the face. The inside of the building, though well-lit, was dimmer than the sunny square outside, and Janus had to squint for a moment to adjust.

Thankfully, nobody was paying them much attention. It wasn’t terribly busy, but there were enough people in the wide lobby area they were standing in that they didn’t draw much attention.

As their eyes adjusted, they scanned the room, soon locating a map and directory on the wall opposite the door. A quick perusal of this, compared against the instructions their mother had given them, told them where they wanted to go.

Janus glanced around the lobby before taking their leave. A basket sitting on the counter of the help desk at the center caught their eye—Take one! a sign on the basket invited. Upon investigation, the basket was filled with simple pronoun badges—slips of paper attached to little hooks, presumably to hang on a collar or perhaps a pocket. A stack of papers on the side were blank with an array of pens available, but the ones in the basket were printed. A small infographic on the side explained what the colored stripes on employees’ sleeves meant—the same system as the castle used, of course.

Janus considered for just a second, then snagged a they/them badge and headed for the stairs, hooking it onto their collar. They took the stairs to the third floor and navigated the hallways, occasionally glancing at markers on the walls, until they found the door they wanted. Titular Records, it read in neatly painted letters.

Janus closed their eyes for a moment, slipping fully into the character they’d constructed over the last couple of hours. Time to step into the spotlight.

They pushed open the door—ringing a tiny bell above it—and stepped inside.

The room they stepped into was plain and wide but oddly shallow. The split paneling on the walls—dark wooden panels on the lower half, and plain white paint above—was the same here as it had been throughout the building. There were the same sconce lamps set into the walls, too, with orbs of frosted glass to diffuse the light.

The room was divided in half, narrowing it still further, by a counter made of a bluish-gray stone; the half Janus stood in was mostly empty, with a few tall stools by the counter and a couple of tables and chairs set along the wall with the door they’d just stepped through. The back of the room had a wide open space set in the wall, a little too big to properly be called a doorway, and beyond it Janus could see neatly labeled shelves filled with folders.

The counter was mainly bare, but there was a person sitting behind it—not quite centered, a little to Janus’s right—and on that section of the counter sat a lamp, a selection of pens and inkwells, and a tall stack of papers with writing on them.

The person sitting behind the counter looked up, blinking at them from behind cat-eye glasses with thick wire rims and breaking into a delighted smile. “Oh! Hello there! How can I help you?” she asked, her gaze very obviously catching in confusion on their scales before she rapidly looked away from them, first checking the pronoun badge on their chest and then awkwardly settling her gaze above their right shoulder. Her sleeve bore a yellow pronoun stripe on the wrist, and her dark hair was cropped in a sleek pixie cut; she wore a blue suit over a floral blouse, all neatly pressed and buttoned. A badge on her chest read Allie Tran, she/her. Overall, she gave off a tidy, businesslike appearance. She looked probably a few years older than Janus, perhaps in her mid to late twenties, and she appeared to be the only person in the office.

Janus took a breath. “I’d like to update the name my title is registered under,” they said softly. They pitched their voice higher than usual—young, innocent, nonthreatening—and let just a touch of anxiousness into the undercurrent of their tone. They gave her their best shy, hopeful smile, keeping their eyes wide and drawing their shoulders in close to themself nervously. “I—I only got my name changed a little while ago. Is that alright?” they tacked on, remembering they were supposed to be uncertain and should probably ask permission for things that normally they’d take for granted.

“Oh!” Her face softened. “Of course. Do you have your ID with you?”

Ignoring the internal wave of triumph at having already so clearly won her sympathy—take that, Patton, they could act sweet if they wanted—Janus nodded, reaching into their pocket. “It’s still got my old name on it, though.”

This was, unlike most of the things they planned to say during this visit, entirely true. Janus pulled out the thing they’d found in their drawer at home: their old ID, one from years ago, before they’d legally changed their name. The ID wasn’t even quite at its expiration date—they’d procrastinated on the legal change for a few years after they’d started going by Janus, and only got it done a couple of years ago, which came in handy now. As long as she didn’t look at it too hard, the old ID would seem perfectly legitimate, and hopefully it would be too much work for her to look it up and discover it had been invalidated years ago when Janus got one with their actual name on it.

This was admittedly riskier than they liked, but their real name was far too recognizable to use here, so hoping to skate by on the old one it was.

“My new ID hasn’t come in yet,” they said sadly, half-hiding the ID in their hand as if they were reluctant to look at it. “Is that okay? They said the new one would be mailed to me really soon, when I got my application approved last week.” That way, it sounded like the paperwork for a new name was already on file, and she wouldn’t look up their old name and discover that that identity no longer existed.

“Of course, honey,” Allie said, nodding her head with an understanding look on her face. She gave the ID only a cursory glance before handing it back. “That seems in order. And how are you doing today?”

Janus pocketed it quickly. Danger point one: passed. “I’m doing alright. Lots of paperwork lately to get my name all sorted out, you know?”

She smiled as she rifled through a stack of papers, seeming to soak up the social contact. “No kidding! You must feel so good to be getting it all done, though!”

Janus gave a small laugh. “Oh, absolutely. And how are you, miss?”

Allie lit up at the question. Janus supposed one didn’t get a lot of traffic helping nobles change the names on their titles. And the woman seemed to be a hopeless extrovert.

She launched into an eager monologue, during which Janus learned that she lived with her two younger sisters, one of whom was a doctor’s apprentice and one of whom had just graduated from university, and they had two dogs named Daisy and Potatoes, and she was saving up to marry her girlfriend Latisha, and she didn’t really like her job but it paid well and she had such good handwriting that they loved her here, and her favorite thing about the morning paper was the crossword, and she had three coworkers but today it was just her, and she was “best friends” with two of the coworkers (whose names were Ethan and Clarisbet) and “couldn’t stand” the third (she didn’t mention their name, seeming to think better of it at the last second), and normally she’d be scheduled with one of them but on the slowest day of the week they only ever called one person in, and she’d seen some lovely purple flowers on the side of the road on her way to work this morning and if they were still there when she went home, she’d pick them for her girlfriend, and—

“Oh! But I’m chattering on,” she cut herself off suddenly. “I’m sure you don’t want to be wasting your time here. I just haven’t seen another human being in hours!”

Janus gave her a friendly chuckle. “Don’t worry about it at all,” they assured her.

She turned her attention back to the stack of papers she’d been searching through before, pulled out what looked like a list, and examined it. “Alright, so for this process, I’ll need to bring out your old title deed so we can confirm it’s on record,” she explained. “We have those filed in the back. I’ll just need to know what your title is, what surname it’s under, and the year you were born. And you said your general name change has already gone through?”

“Yes, they approved it last week. I’m just waiting for the physical ID to arrive in the mail,” Janus said. “It’s under Lord Dufour.” They spelled it out for her and told her the year they’d been born in.

Allie wrote down Janus’s answers on a pad of paper sitting before her. “Perfect, thank you, sweetie! I’ll be right back with the papers for you.” She took the information with her and disappeared into the back room.

Janus took a seat on one of the stools by the counter and tried not to jiggle their leg. Stay calm. Cool. Collected. But act like a shy, nervous teen. They knew they could pass themself off as having just a little less life experience and a whole lot more naivete than they actually possessed, and she seemed to be buying it so far. Which was good. Winning as much sympathy as possible was important to pull this off, so she wouldn’t monitor the process as closely and wouldn’t notice the things that Janus did not want her to notice at all.

“Here we go!” Allie emerged from the room, holding a blank form and a parchment with several large, shiny seals stamped on it. “You’ll just fill this out, I’ll send in a request to verify it, and you’ll be good to go!” She set the papers down, smiling at them. “Congratulations, I know what a big step this is! You must feel so proud of yourself! I remember how happy I felt when I got my name change done.”

Janus gave her their best winning smile. “Thank you, it’s really exciting.” They accepted the pen and bent their head over the papers.

The first was, of course, the actual record of their nobility; they had their own copy at home, but they hadn’t touched it in years. This one was in far better repair, the parchment still crisp and smooth, if aged.

The second paper was a form to change the name associated with their title. Perfect.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the gentle scratching of the pen against the paper as Janus began to fill out the form.

Allie shifted slightly and cleared her throat after a minute. “Now, I don’t mean to pry,” she began, her voice very warm and gentle and almost pitying.

Ah. There it was. Janus schooled their expression back into that shy fright and glanced up.

“But, if you feel unsafe in your home life, I want you to know there are resources to help you,” she added, all too obviously not looking at the left side of their face. “And I would be happy to help you get connected with them. Oh, um, and—” She glanced at a booklet she’d procured from somewhere, clearly trying not to make it too obvious she was reading directly off of it. “You aren’t obligated to tell me anything, but if you disclose that something happened to you that breaks the law, I will be obligated to report that.”

“Well…” Janus pretended to consider this, fidgeting with the pen and letting their lips tremble. “Do you have to do the report if I’ve already reported it and it’s being investigated? I wouldn’t want to be a bother….” They knew full well what the answer to this question was; they’d gone through what was likely the exact same training as she had, if not a more detailed one.

“Oh! Well, that’s good news, then. I’m very happy for you. There are certain things I would still need to report, but the scope is much more limited.”

Janus let her explain what the specific cases she would need to report were, putting on their best conflicted thinking face as she did so. They were thinking, but not about what she was saying; they were weighing the pros and cons between telling a more detailed lie, or saying nothing. There was more opportunity to be caught the more they talked, of course. But they were a good liar—they’d had to be, after all—and they knew how to tug at people’s heartstrings. And they’d prepared for this.

And the more they won her sympathy over, the less likely she was to ask too many questions or pay too much attention to the things they wanted her to miss.

Better to risk it. They could pull it off. And better them at risk than Patton.

So when she finished speaking, they waited a moment longer, then set down the pen, summoning their best heart-wrenching sigh. “I mean, they told me a lot of things when I reported it, but it was all so much and it was really confusing.”

“There’s no shame in that. Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”

“I—I don’t know.” Janus had absolutely perfected the I’m about to come clean routine. It had come in handy frequently as a child when adults refused to accept that they couldn’t say what they meant and would insist for Janus to just tell the truth. They glanced down at their hands, fidgeting on the table, then sighed and let their eyes move back up to meet hers, relaxing their shoulders a barely-noticeable fraction. “I mean, I actually just moved out of my—” They swallowed. They’d been going to say boyfriend, and discovered very suddenly that they did not like that association at all, even if it was a pretend boyfriend that had nothing to do with Logan. “—My girlfriend's house—I mean, I guess my ex-girlfriend's house. I’m staying with a friend right now.”

“And do you feel safe there?” she asked.

Janus nodded. “They’ve been trying to help me out for a while now. My girlfriend’s in the—the Fellowship—you know, um, the Fellowship of Truth….” They watched the woman, pausing until they saw her expression shift just slightly from puzzlement to realization, and horror. Perfect. “And….” They allowed themself to trail off, delicately touching the scales on their cheek and staring down at the countertop. “Um, she wasn't very happy when I came out to her.”

They let the silence sit for a beat, not looking up, waiting for the woman to make the next move.

“Oh, sweetie, that’s terrible,” Allie breathed. “I’m so sorry she treated you that way.”

Janus felt a pang of guilt and pushed it aside. “Yeah,” they said softly, gazing at their clasped hands.

“Let me—here, I know I have a list somewhere in here…” Allie began digging once again through her stack of papers, which seemed to be different things for her reference. “Here it is. Okay. So you may know about some of these already, but the city has, um—” She consulted the paper. “Counseling, of course, and then you said you’d already reported the incident… Oh! Did you know there’s actually a department in the government that specializes in lifting curses? They can help you be normal again!”

“Wow,” Janus, who was the entire reason that the kings had established that department eight years ago, said. They plastered a smile on their face and pretended the word “normal” hadn’t punched them in the gut. She’d meant well by it. (That didn’t really make it better.) “That’s so wonderful! Would you mind telling me where I’d go for that?”

They nodded along through her explanation and the rest of the resource items she read off the list to them, zoning out just a tiny bit so they could focus on dragging their thoughts away from that thoughtless “normal” and forcing themself back into the correct mindset for the task at hand.

“Thank you so much,” they told her sweetly, accepting the copied list she’d scratched down on a fresh sheet of paper and pushed toward them. “I’ll definitely check some of these out—maybe my friend can go with me.”

“I’m just glad I could help!” Allie responded, all but vibrating out of her seat with eager energy. “Gosh, it’s normally so quiet and dull in here; I’ve got to tell you, this conversation is the nicest thing that’s happened all week. Oh, but look at me blathering on again! I’m sure you’ll want to finish that up.” She tapped the name change form that was the entire reason Janus was here in the first place, lying half-finished on the countertop before them.

Janus had just been thinking about how to draw the conversation to a natural close. “Oh, thank you,” they told her sweetly, picking their pen back up. “You’ve been such a great help, honestly.”

It didn’t take long to fill the form out; it was all fairly basic personal information. Not difficult to call up from memory. They were finished in less than five minutes.

“Here you go.” They pushed the papers over to her.

“Amazing, great job!” She picked them up and scanned the form, giving it only the briefest once-over and focusing on the top of the paper—the “first name” section. “That looks perfect.” She flashed them an encouraging smile. “Let me just nip on over to Personal Records, okay? I just need to look up your identity file and check that this is all in order. Normally we’d have you file this with them, and then wait for them to get back to you, and then we’d make a follow-up appointment over here to get you the new document—but we’re not busy today, and I’m sure you don’t want to wait for this! So I can just go in through the back and get everything sorted out for you, okay?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Janus said wholeheartedly. They didn’t really like small talk, but they had to admit it could be incredibly useful; when people liked you, they were willing to do nice things for you.

Allie nodded, looking very pleased. “Alright, I’ll go get that all sorted. I’ll just be a few minutes while I get access to that file.”

“Sounds good,” Janus told her. They were nearly done. Nearly out, scott-free. Just as long as she didn’t notice the one obvious discrepancy.

Allie was gone for long enough that, in spite of how well everything had been going, Janus’s thoughts were veering towards “escape plans” and “how likely can I make it out of this building at a dead sprint?” and “how to send Roman a message communicating ‘I’m sorry I spent an hour doing my level best to make you hate yourself today, can you please come get me out of prison?’” and “oh god Logan is never going to let me hear the end of this.”

But when Allie stepped back into view, arms filled with several more papers and sealing materials, she was still smiling. Janus relaxed.

“I checked your form against your file and it’s all good to go!” Allie chirped. “Let’s get you all set with the official documents now, alright?”

She filled out the two duplicate documents she’d brought with her, signed them, and pushed them over to Janus, who somehow hadn’t been expecting this. That was right, they were old enough to sign their own nobility records now. The old paper had been signed by their mother when they were a baby.

Janus stifled the habitual impulse to sign their own name when they put the pen to the paper. That wouldn’t do at all. They were so close to pulling this off; it would be no good to spoil it at the last minute like that. They took a single steadying breath.

Janus could forge a few signatures. This one in particular wasn’t a problem; they’d done it a few moments ago on the form, too. They still didn’t know how they kept their hands from shaking as they scrawled it out twice, on the two parchments, careful to make sure it matched between them.

“That looks great! Now, this is my favorite part. Watch this.” Allie poured out hot wax in a dark blue color, then picked up the first seal and stamped it on the two papers with loud, satisfying thunk sounds. She then repeated the whole process twice more with two more seals, in red and gold wax, none of which Janus bothered to examine closely. They made approving little oohs and ahhs in response to the expectant look of glee Allie gave them; she beamed, so evidently their reaction was acceptable.

“Now,” Allie went on, pushing one of the parchments towards Janus and picking the other one up herself, “I’ll file this one, you keep that one for your own records, and the old file”—she tapped the parchment bearing their deadname and their mother’s signature—“will be properly disposed of by the end of the day.”

“Thank you so much for everything,” Janus said, and they didn’t even need to act to sound relieved and grateful.

“Of course! Happy to help. Congratulations!”

Janus emerged from the room out into the hallway a moment later, parchment tucked safely into their satchel, feeling almost ready to collapse from a mixture of relief and stress and roiling discomfort.

They hastily peeled off their gloves as they strode down the hallway, cradling their left hand in their right and rubbing their fingers back and forth along the scales all over the back of their left hand. Still there. Still theirs.

In spite of themself, Janus could feel their breathing growing shallower as they walked, their complicated tangle of emotions only growing bigger and stormier inside their chest, and they suspected they were growing too obviously distressed to walk past strangers without drawing unwanted attention. They looked around, spotted a restroom sign on the wall, and quickly made their way towards it. They just needed a minute to gather themself. Nothing more.

The restroom was empty, thank goodness. The countertops were made of a beige stone speckled throughout with little black flecks. The walls were gray tile, but the wooden doors of the stalls were painted a beige that almost matched the counters. There was a wide mirror above the sinks.

Janus leaned on the counter, bracing their elbows against it. They were still clinging to their own hand, fingers rubbing repetitively across their scales, and they couldn’t bring themself to let go for even a second even though they were doing it so roughly it was starting to hurt.

This was stupid. They should be fine. It had all been pretend. It wasn’t real.

They stared into the distance at nothing, eyes unfocused and lips not quite trembling but threatening it, their tight-pinched grip on their own hand painful but so, so necessary. They needed it, needed the reassurance that their scales were still there, raised and defined and smooth and slightly cooler than the rest of their skin.

A single hot tear splashed down their cheek, and they swore under their breath, reaching up to roughly wipe it away. Their hand came away smeared with foundation.

Almost unwillingly, they found their eyes dragged to the mirror. Their face, almost symmetrical and entirely wrong, stared back. The outlines of the scales were still visible under all the makeup, but far less noticeable than the usual state of affairs, especially from a distance.

This had been suggested to them by loads of people, back when they were a kid. All the time. Why don’t you just cover them up? Maybe then people would like you. Maybe then they’ll leave you alone. What, do you like being cursed? Do you have to draw so much attention to it? That’s weird. You’re weird. Lying freak. If you really want them to stop being mean to you, why don’t you do anything about those awful scales?

Really, what all those messages had boiled down to was, If you’re so tired of being hated, why don’t you just try hating yourself instead for a change?

And it had been so, so hard to refuse. The makeup, no matter how necessary it had been, felt like the worst kind of betrayal to themself. A sick violation.

It was stupid. It was stupid and meaningless and empty, and yet Janus couldn’t stop attaching meaning to it, couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop feeling.

Janus scrabbled at the tap on the nearest sink until it gushed water, their breath coming out harsh and ragged, and grabbed one of the thin linen towels that lay in neatly folded stacks beside each sink. They shoved it under the water and began sponging at the makeup on the left side of their face with a desperation that they weren’t entirely sure they could control.

The makeup smeared and clung to their scales without any makeup remover, but Janus scrubbed away until the towel was caked in foundation; they dropped it into the basket of dirty ones under the counter and grabbed another, their hands shaking. Water splashed on the towel and the counter and all over the front of Janus’s shirt and dripped down their arms to their elbows, and they didn’t care.

As they scrubbed at their cheekbone, eyes squeezed shut in a hopeless attempt to hold back more tears, a sob clawed its way out of their throat despite their best efforts to strangle it. Then another, and another, and more, until they were bent almost double over the sink, every sob shaking their entire body, clinging to the rim of the counter with one hand and with the other still desperately wiping at the makeup smeared across their scales, crying so hard they couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t see, nose clogging up with hot damp dripping snot and tears mixing with the half-gone makeup on their cheeks.

Janus wasn’t sure how long they stood there, clinging to the countertop for dear life and crying so hard they thought they might throw up, but they slowly began to wrestle their control of themself back. At some point they’d dropped the towel, and it was sitting in the sink, water rushing over it and pooling in its creases, blotched with foundation and the occasional smear of mascara. Janus fished it out, squeezed the freely dripping water off, and dumped that one in the basket as well. They glanced to the mirror to assess their state.

They flinched at the sight of their face, now red and splotchy, but their scales were there, vivid and green and undeniably visible even with some makeup still smeared here and there. They used another towel to wipe their eyes and blow their nose, then a fourth to begin dabbing—somewhat more gently this time—at the remnants of the makeup. Their scales being back out like this was more calming than Janus knew how to put into words.

They turned off the sink at last, feeling a vague twinge of something that wasn’t really strong enough to be guilt at the thought of Logan talking about sustainable water usage. But it wasn’t their fault. (Nevermind that they had been the one to turn on the sink.) It wasn’t like they’d been planning to have a breakdown in such a public space.

Janus took another towel, dry this time. They wiped away the streaks of water running down their forearms and sponged at the large damp patch on the front of their shirt. It didn’t do much, but it was probably better than nothing. Then, for good measure, they wiped once more at their face. Very little makeup came away this time, and they let out a shuddering, shaky hiss of breath in a relieved sigh.

Their body felt more their own once again.

They wiped up some of the puddles on the counter, dried their hands, and took several deep breaths, thanking their lucky stars that nobody had come in during that little situation. This was… probably the best-case scenario, to be honest. Well. Breaking down crying in a public restroom was never ideal. But it was better than doing it at home where Patton would know about it and absorb all their distress. Keeping Patton from hurting was always a priority. Besides, Janus would much rather put this behind themself immediately and not think about it unless they had to, thank you very much.

It had been worth it, they told themself as they exited the restroom and made their way out of the large building. Hiding their scales had been worth it. They’d gotten what they were after, hadn’t they? A miracle, safe in the form of a parchment in their satchel that they would guard with pretty much everything in them. A way for the people they loved to make their way back to being okay. A way for Patton to not get his stupid fragile heart broken for the fifth time in as many years.

This had been for Patton, and Janus would do almost anything for Patton, even things that made them cry in a public restroom for—they checked their watch, a mother-of-pearl concoction on a slim band of dusty pink leather—half an hour afterwards. For their brother, it would always be worth it, without even a shadow of doubt.

Because they’d done it. They’d pulled off the wildest idea they’d had in their entire life without a hitch.

“Congratulations,” Allie had said as she bid them goodbye. She’d glanced down at the document of nobility in her hands, looking at the name written on it. “Congratulations, Lord Patton!”

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@private-snippers @fivehargreeves05 @theimprobabledreamersworld @the-sympathetic-villain @crazydemigod666 @nightweirdo

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #janus sanders #ts janus #patton sanders #ts patton #platonic moceit #royality #janus angst #one chance to change your fate #ts fic #ts fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #peregrin writes #nonbinary janus

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thegreatobsesso · 3 years

Text

A longer bit feat.: Callie and Simon angst. :)

Talking with @drippingmoon got me thinking of some cornerstone scenes in the enemies-to-friends slow-burn I do with these two idiots and this one, I think, stands out as the dead-center point, so I’m gonna not second-guess myself and just post it. 🥴

Tagging @thelaughingstag too! (I remembered!)

Context: Callie broke into Delaney to steal an ancient magical artifact and, believing she meant nothing but harm, Simon stopped her. But while waiting for the cops to come and drag her back to prison, Simon asks her to just tell him the truth, once and for all. Callie agrees to let him read her mind all the way back to the beginning, thinking she’s got nothing left to live for. Simon gets hit with a truckload of tragic backstory he wasn’t prepared for and is asked to follow them back to Downing Bay, the prison she’s being held in.

They’re still mentally connected, even after Simon has let go. He can hear her, and she can hear him too, which definitely isn’t normal.

Word count: 3,200

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failure. failure. failure

She wasn’t even doing this on purpose and it wasn’t just the word reverberating through his skull.

More like a full-bodied feeling flooding his consciousness as he left Delaney, a steady stream of self-hatred punctuated only by expletives.

Stop, he begged her.

i can’t, you stop listening

I can’t.

She laughed, out loud in her cell. He heard it and felt it, over the miles that separated them, the ocean and metal and glass.

He’d overextended; that’s what caused this. It took him awhile to put it together because he’d been so upset - maybe even been in a mild state of shock, in retrospect - and he spent a lifetime being so careful with his powers that he’d never done it before to know what it was like.

And so that was bad, yes, but come on. How much longer could it last?

He was stepping onto the boat to Downing Bay when the pain started - hers, and not the torrent of existential agony he was struggling to adjust to but pain, physical and substantial.

What’s happening? he tried to ask, but it got lost - she could barely think, suddenly, let alone focus on sending him mental telegrams.

The cluster of metal buildings hovered threateningly on the horizon, and as they got closer, minds inside got louder, almost drowning Callie out. He wanted to tell them to turn around and take him away; the claustrophobia was overwhelming, the collective sense of being trapped.

The boat brought them underneath the smallest building; a scorched sign read Diagnostics in block letters with an arrow pointing up. What might’ve once been a loading dock was sectioned off with caution tape and hanging sadly down into the water, barely still attached to the rest of the infrastructure. They laid a make-shift bridge between the boat and platform to walk across.

Once inside, they asked him to empty his pockets and leave all his belongings in a small box.

“This stays with me,” he said, holding his Headmaster’s key, bronze and solid, in the palm of his hand.

“No, sir,” said the tired corrections officer, unaware of who he was. “All belongings.” She shook the plastic container for emphasis, rattling the rest of his stuff around.

“I’m the headmaster of Delaney of School for Magicians,” he said. “This is a master key and it doesn’t leave my neck. If you need to call your superiors about it, please do it, but I won’t leave it here.”

A few minutes later, he put the chain back around his neck, dropped the key down inside his shirt, and was escorted inside.

“No one’s suppressed me yet,” he said to one of prison officers. He waited until the last second; surely they knew their own duties better than he did. He didn’t wanna insult anyone, but they hadn’t done it and they were bringing him though thick, reinforced doors to the warden’s office and if not now, when?

“We’ve not been asked to, sir. This way.”

The warden smiled when Simon entered his office, waved everyone else away. He introduced himself as Warden Prescott and extended his hand - it was thin and cold when Simon shook it, despite the muggy warmth.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said. “How fares your school?”

“It’s seen worse. It looks like she hit this place harder, to be honest.”

The warden smiled, and Simon caught an image of a collection, varying people with differing characteristics on display in tiny boxes, one of them out of place. “Yes, she put on quite a show on her way out. Destroyed all our boats and did a significant amount of superficial damage, but nothing structural, thankfully.”

Of course not - living her memories alongside her showed him she made sure she didn’t hurt anyone, only crippled their ability to pursue her.

It was too warm in here and he wondered how the warden could be so buttoned up in thick polyester when he had to unbutton his own light jacket.

“A hearing will take place tomorrow morning and your presence will be required,” he began. “I suspect I know at least part of the reason why. News reached my ears that you behaved quite badly.” He made a tsk-tsk sound and shook his head at Simon like he was a naughty child.

“I did what I did,” he said flatly. “I shouldn’t have read her mind, and I accept the consequences for it, whatever they’ll be.”

“Oh, I meant absolutely no disrespect,” the warden said. “The opposite, in fact. I daresay if I had your powers, I’d like nothing more than to take a stroll through that mind of hers. She’s an interesting one. The fact that you did so might work to our advantage, in fact. You see, we’re in a bit of a bind with all this. May I speak plainly?”

“I wish you would,” he said. The warden was carrying his collection of dolls in his mind, all unique and valuable and distinctly dehumanized, and Callie’s thoughts were still flowing like a steady IV drip, making him feel irritable and short.

“Well, Mister Bennett, the facts are as such: we’ve got a limited testimony from you that the authorities will need expanded upon, that says you’ve seen the original crime in the first person, and your account differs wildly from the one she’s given. There are additional crimes stacked up past that - her escape from prison and attempted theft of an undisclosed item from your school. And the world wants to know how an infamous killer managed to become the first person in history to escape Downing Bay.”

“It’s a valid question for them to ask.”

“With an undesirable answer. But I think you’re in pain, Mister Bennett. Do you need a doctor?”

He was, but it wasn’t his own injuries that made wince.

“It’s her,” he groaned. “You’re hurting her, what are you doing?”

The warden sighed. “Come,” he said. “I’ll show you.”

He took Simon down the hall, into a sterile room filled with recording equipment and a solid wall of glass. On the other side of the it, Callie. She sat a bare table in prison scrubs, hands cuffed to its surface. IVs were inserted in both her arms, the needles taped down, liquid flowing from bags hanging behind her. The metal collar around her neck flashed blips of red, yellow and green, reminding him absurdly of a Christmas tree.

She bit her lip and shuffled restlessly, an involuntary response to the pain she was trying to ignore.

“You’ve got to stop this,” he said.

“To be fair, this isn’t what diagnostics usually looks like,” the warden said while he swallowed down a wave of sickness. “Typically, we focus on finding a long-term suppressive solution that both nullifies abilities and has minimal side effects for the prisoner. We are, unfortunately, in disaster minimization mode rather than long-term maintenance with your friend here.”

This was the strain being put on her body - the combination of every drug known to medicine that could hold back the expression of magic for any amount of time at all. “She’s not my friend,” he muttered. “Isn’t this unethical?”

“Should we allow all her power to rush back in so she can kill my people and escape again?”

“She’s not killing anyone,” Simon said with certainty.

“That’s not what she said a few hours ago,” the warden recalled. “We had no less than five guards trying to process her and she threatened their lives.”

Dammit. “What we you doing to her?”

“Attempting to place her segregation.”

He resisted the urge to groan in frustration, to punch the glass in front of him. “She didn’t mean it,” he muttered, not relishing the job of being her translator. “She’s terrified of solitary confinement, she just didn’t wanna go.”

“That’s unfortunate, given that we can’t very well place her back into general population. This is all that’s left, a quarantine unit, meant for contagious disease.”

On the other side of the glass, Callie squeezed her eyes shut and dropped her head. A fresh wave of pain ran over him too.

how much longer, how much more?

“How long can you keep this up, these stop-gap measures? Surely they won’t work forever.”

Warden Prescott raised his eyebrows. “These measures aren’t even working very well, Mister Bennett. I daresay if she wanted to, she could be gone before nightfall. I’m afraid she’s only here at her pleasure.”

Pleasure? He looked back at her in the next room, her face contorted. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was,” Warden Prescott said, with a small smile. “We’re in the dark here, fumbling through uncharted territory without a map. She’s got my best techs feeling like children when they try to interpret the results of all this treatment. She’s a thing that isn’t supposed to exist: a hybrid. Focused magic and Eclectic, all at once.”

The implications of the warden’s words began to stack up in his already overtaxed mind and part of him thought, ridiculously, of a vacation. Of sitting on a beach with a book getting a suntan, drinking something with a slice of pineapple on the rim, smoking a cigarette or two or fifty - of not having a care in the world, for just a little while.

A hybrid, then. Focused and Eclectic.

He’d walked through her life with her and even she didn’t understand that, not really, not in such terms. She, and everyone else who knew what she’d done to Peter, had thought of it like an acquisition of new powers; not a fundamental genetic change.

Did Riley know this? Riley, who gathered Callie’s DNA and did extensive testing on it, who still had it?

“Has anybody been in touch with the family?” he asked, unwilling to explain why he was asking.

“I know someone’s reached out,” the warden said. “I don’t believe there was any reply.”

No, he supposed not. Riley would want nothing to do with any of this. Still, she had to be sweating, didn’t she? How could she know Callie still held up her end of their deal?

“I wonder,” Warden Prescott drawled, “if your trip through her mind was quite so extensive that if she were back inside your school, right now, you’d trust her not to hurt anyone.”

“It was,” he said. “And I would.”

He couldn’t imagine this would be easy for anyone else to swallow. He certainly wouldn’t believe it himself without first-hand insight. “I want to talk to her.”

The warden nodded his assent at the guards lining the wall.

“As I said, everyone wants to know how she managed to escape,” he said, walking Simon around to the entrance of the adjacent room that held Callie. “The thing I’m most curious about it why she even waited so long to do it. Is that something you know, from your jaunt through her mind?”

“Yes.”

“Are you inclined to share?”

He decided earlier, definitively, that he didn’t like the warden: the way he looked at his inmates like specimens, pinned inside a case. “No,” he said.

“Fair enough,” he agreed. “Although you might be asked tomorrow, by someone more powerful than me, in a much more formal capacity. We’ll be leaning on your expertise considerably to entangle that mind of hers.” He shook his head in admiration. “The unsuppressable Callie Ray.”

“I wouldn’t toss that around,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

The guard undid a stack of locks on the quarantine room door. “I don’t want her hearing it,” he said as they pushed the door open. “She’ll like it too much.”

—

Little black cameras dotted the corners of the room; he knew the warden would be listening on the other side of the glass where’d they’d just come from, and he was certain they were being recorded too.

She lifted her head, smirked at the sight of him. “I’d say hello,” she said, her voice scratchy. “But it’s like I never left you, isn’t it?”

She looked awful. Her red-rimmed eyes matched her hair; one was still swollen, decorated in bruises. “I am sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean for this.” He gestured between his head and hers.

he just says it, just like that

“Did you get a good spanking for it? I’m sure nobody expected that from their golden boy.”

Her words were hollow to him now; they washed over him uselessly and left him thoroughly unimpressed. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite her at the steel table, mirroring her position with his hands folded in front of him, except for the absence of cuffs, obviously.

We could talk like this, he said, if you don’t want them to listen.

A jumbled negative reply came across their connection. He nodded.

“There’s a whole team of people on the other side of the door, trying to figure out the best ways to keep your magic suppressed on a minute-to-minute basis,” he said.

“Can you believe it?” She tried for a smile, but it was poorly constructed. “All this for little old me.”

“Well, you’ve convinced the world you’re a dangerous monster and now you’re being treated like one. You did this to yourself.”

“Did you hear me complaining?”

Another wave of gnawing pain; she was sweating, her jumpsuit damp in the armpits. It hit him too, surely just a fraction of what it felt like for her, and he’d already had enough.

“Just tell them,” he said. “Tell them what I know, that it was an accident from the start and you don’t wanna hurt anyone else, and they might let up.”

“I don’t want them to,” she said, voice strained, hanging onto composure by a thread. “I like the pain.”

if I’m in pain I’m getting what I deserve I don’t have to feel guilty

He’d never felt a mind twisted up into knots like this, how did it get this way?

“Is that why you’re still here?” he asked. He looked toward the glass where he knew Warden Prescott was still standing, watching and listening. “They know you’re letting this happen. That if you wanted to, you could stop it.”

She blinked; a powerful emptiness surged up inside her. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

It wasn’t a rhetorical question - she was interested in an answer if he had one, but he didn’t. He lived her life alongside her in a compressed whirlwind of tightly-packed failures and she had no family to take her in, Delaney certainly wouldn’t have her, there were no relationships, no friends…

He pulled back; it hurt to be near.

“Just because you say you’re not gonna try to escape again…” He fumbled, trying to lay out the mess. “They still can’t hold you on your word, Callie. You’ve got the public frightened that Downing Bay can’t hold you and the authorities are scared you’re gonna prove it.”

She nodded and winced; something crossed her mind too quickly for him to get a good look. “What are they gonna do to me?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think they do either.”

“Why don’t they just kill me?”

The way she said these things - it was infuriating. “They can’t just execute someone because they don’t know what else to do with them.” He narrowed his eyes like it might help him see her clearer. “Is that what you want? To die?”

She rolled it around in her head. “Not really,” she shrugged. “But I don’t really wanna live either.”

Hopelessness emanated from her; he felt her future the way she saw it, a vast, meaningless chasm of nothing. It made him want to scream.

“Don’t,” she snarled, her awareness of their connection snapping to life. “Don’t you feel sorry for me, you jackass. I don’t want your pity, I’d rather you spit in my eye.”

“I can’t help it,” he groaned. “You sit there acting like this while… it’s, it’s like two different radio stations blasting into each of my ears, I can’t think.”

She swallowed thickly, like she was nauseous. “Do you wanna know exactly how much sympathy I have for you right now?”

“No.”

“Zero,” she said anyway. “Nobody made you drill yourself your own personal pipeline into my brain.”

“That’s not what I was trying to do.”

“Oh, so sad,” she pouted, turning her bottom lip out. “You made your first mistake. Feels like shit, doesn’t it?”

he’ll tell everybody, then everyone will know how stupid, how useless, how embarrassing, and he’s listening to you RIGHT NOW, he knows it all, i wish i WAS dead so i didn’t have to, would be easier than this-

“You let me think you did it on purpose,” he bit out, too overwhelmed to hold it back. “You let me think the absolute worst of you.”

“The worst of me is the truth, the shit you know now.”

“No, it’s not. What you are is not worse than a cold-blooded killer, a, a liar, somebody I could spend the rest of my life feeling like a fool for letting in, how do you justify doing that to me?”

She shrugged, blinked slowly, helplessly, like she couldn’t believe she had to put words to something so simple. “I… the damage was done.”

He scoffed - he couldn’t help it. “It wasn’t. There was a lot more damage left to do, and you did it. You did it all.”

Anger, fresh and bitter, burned through their connection.

i was trying to fix it if you would’ve just walked away none of this would be happening i could have made it go away-

“At what cost?” he asked. It would sound like a non sequitur to everyone listening but he didn’t care. “Even if the orblex could do what you were planning, you can’t possibly predict how it would’ve worked. Did you think it would just drop you off on Christmas twelve years ago and let you start again? No one knows how Time magic works and you wanted to just unleash it. For all you know you could have ripped the world apart.”

Disbelief. how could he say something like that?

“Wouldn’t you?” she asked. A crack in her voice - a tear springing from her eye that hadn’t been there a moment before, rolling down her cheek. “You wouldn’t take that risk, Bennett? To bring him back?”

He wanted to say no, but it got stuck in his throat. She still grieved for him, as hard as he ever did, and it annihilated the space between them, blurred the final lines.

He pushed his chair back and got up - he needed a second. Not to be looking at her, not to be sharing feelings.

“Where are you going?”

are you leaving? don’t leave

He clasped his hands behind his head, breathed in and out, shut his eyes.

say something say something say something say something-

“There’s gonna be a hearing tomorrow,” he said, cutting off the flood of her thoughts she couldn’t control. “Or, not a hearing. A discussion, I guess.”

He turned to face her again; she was listening with rapt attention. She hadn’t been told yet.

“They’re gonna talk about whether there’s any kind of precedent they can fall back on for this, anything at all. I don’t know if they want me there as a witness or a human lie detector, but they asked me to stay for it and I’m staying. After that, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll see you again, maybe I won’t. I have to think this-”

He gestured to the space between their heads again, at a loss for what to call it. “This’ll fade with time and distance. It’ll have to. It can’t stay forever.”

It couldn’t, could it?

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: swears #tw: prison #writing #writing snippet #writing excerpt #original novel #my wip #oc: callie #oc: simon

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my-soul-sings · 3 years

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just my luck: chapter 1

Fandom: Wannabe Challenge Characters: Taehee x Reader

Summary (placeholder): Having been cursed to live a life filled with misfortunes, moving to a new city to start anew was, as expected, a difficult process. But things start to change after you encounter a mysterious doctor who seems to know you even though you’ve never met him before.

Notes:

Will contain spoilers for Taehee’s Story.

The ‘Reader’ character will be left unnamed, and there are no mentions of ‘y/n’.

Taehee is trained in western medicine here, instead of oriental medicine.

The reader character will not be based on the in-game MC, other than her looks. The differences are because personally I think the in-game MC and Taehee’s personality don’t really match somehow.

This is basically my version of events of how Taehee and MC meet again. The details and events in this are not true to the game, other than Taehee’s backstory.

For now it’ll be here on tumblr (if and until I move it to AO3) and i’ll be using the tag #justmyluck on the blog for chapter updates.

***

The rain was loud in your ears. Cars whizzed by you, water splashing beneath the tires and onto the pavement as they went by, and people hurried about with their umbrellas that did little to keep them dry in this torrential weather.

You stood still in the middle of the hustle and bustle, your luggage by your side and your broken umbrella hanging limp and useless in your hand. The cold rainwater seeped into your clothes, and you shivered as a chill ran down your spine when the strong wind blew against your frame.

You could feel odd stares being directed your way, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your phone battery had been depleted, which meant you could no longer refer to Poogle Maps to get to where your new apartment was. You had already waited for the past hour trying to hail a cab to no avail, and no one was accepting your request on the Duber app.

As if moving wasn’t stressful enough already, all of this just had to happen. But you weren’t surprised in the least—it was just another typical day in your unfortunate life.

For as long as you could remember, you had terrible luck. At first it was trivial things like always getting the shitty prizes in a lucky draw no matter how many times you spun the wheel, and always losing in games of chance against friends. No matter where you went or what you did, it seemed you were doomed to consistently draw the short end of the stick.

Your luck seemed to only get worse as you grew older. Injuries grew increasingly common, and more severe. You didn’t think there were so many ways a person could get hurt—you had to learn it the hard way, from slipping on a banana peel, getting knocked down by someone who accidentally ran straight into you, getting hit by stray soccer balls or baseballs in school… The events were countless.

Your classmates used to joke that you had been cursed by a witch when you were younger. Sometimes you found yourself wondering if that was true after all. There was only so much bad luck one person could have in their life, and you seemed to be attracting a never-ending supply of it.

You’d hoped that maybe things would change after moving to this new neighbourhood. You had even specifically asked for an apartment that had ‘good feng-shui’, hoping that would make some kind of difference.

It didn’t. You hadn’t even arrived in your new home yet, but you could already tell that things weren’t going to change. If you had been cursed by a witch or been fated to suffer neverending misfortune, then moving to a new neighbourhood to start afresh wasn’t going to change anything.

With a sigh and a shiver, you decided to shake yourself out of your low spirits. No point dwelling on these things, you may as well hurry to your apartment before something worse happened. So you picked up the handle of your luggage and continued trudging on, your feet making squelching sounds with each step from the water that had filled your shoes. You’d get home one way or another, and a little rain wasn’t about to stop you.

Just as you finished that thought, the handle of your luggage broke, and the whole thing tumbled straight into a muddy puddle, sending specks of mud flying and staining your jeans.

It took everything in you to suppress a frustrated scream when you dipped your fingers into the dirty waters to pick up your luggage again.

***

By the time you arrived at the apartment building, you looked like you had been to hell and back.

But hey, at least you had come out alive, right?

Your landlord had been surprised to see you drenched from head to toe, and she had kindly offered a fresh towel and some hot tea for you after inviting you into her home. She was a kind elderly lady, and her warm welcome brightened your mood considerably. The tea had felt extra warm as you made small talk with her before taking the key to your apartment.

But then your mood sank right back down to rock-bottom when you realised that you had to carry your heavy luggage up five whole flights of stairs, because it just so happened that the elevator wasn’t working. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone you could ask for help—certainly not the sweet old landlady. You felt bad to bother any of your neighbours too.

So an hour and one rough tumble down the stairs later, you miraculously made it all the way up to your door. You would be jumping for joy if your arms didn’t feel like they were about to fall off. All you wanted to do was take a hot shower, lie down and get some sleep. Maybe take some painkillers before that too, because you could feel a migraine coming up.

The apartment smelled a little musty when you entered, but otherwise, everything looked great. It was bare, seeing as there was some delay in the delivery of your furniture, but it was clean. There weren’t any bugs that you could see from a quick survey of the rooms, so that was good enough in your book.

Looking around your simple studio apartment, you smiled to yourself, glad that you had finally made it here despite the many hiccups along the way. Nothing could dampen your spirits now; moving here marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life, and you were ready for your new job that would be starting in two weeks.

You had a good feeling about all this somehow, despite dripping wet all over your floor and even though your sides hurt from falling down the stairs together with your luggage earlier.

Cursed or not, you were excited about living here already.

***

Two days later, your furniture still had not arrived. You had to make do with the sleeping bag you’d packed in your luggage for contingencies such as this. The moving company wasn’t getting back to you even though you had sent them a string of emails asking for updates. You hoped it was just a lack of staff around on the weekends, and that someone would get back to you by Monday.

Apart from that, there weren’t any major problems. Everything in the apartment was working fine. You had made sure to check everything to make sure you wouldn’t suffer some kind of freak accident in your own home—it had happened before, when the ceiling fan in the living room fell just when you left to take a drink. (Looking at it from another angle, you had been incredibly lucky with that close shave.)

The only issue left was the fever that you had woken up to that morning, definitely because you had been caught in the rain. Thankfully, the landlady had informed you that there was a clinic just across the street, so you made plans to go after forcing yourself to eat half of an apple. You didn’t have an appetite but you’d probably faint on the way if you went on an empty stomach, and ending up in the hospital was definitely not on your to-do list here.

It was warm out when you stepped out of your apartment building. The sun was up, and the temperature was just right. Perfect for a walk. You’d probably enjoy it better if your head wasn’t pounding so much.

It wasn’t too difficult to find the clinic. Like the landlady said, it was right across the street, a mere five minutes’ walk from your apartment. And then right down the street was a convenience store too. You’d go pick up some snacks and ready-made foods later — it’d be too tiresome to cook while sick.

The clinic wasn’t too full, thankfully. There were maybe about four to five people inside when you arrived, and after registering at the counter you took a seat and checked your phone. You hadn’t had the energy to reply to anything yesterday, so it seemed that your phone had blown up while you were gone.

The messages were mainly from Seohee, your best friend. You saw multiple missed calls and messages from her, and from what you could glean from the message previews, she had been worried because you just went MIA without updating her on your whereabouts. She had been worried from the start when she heard that you were going to live alone in a new city, without anyone accompanying you.

Grimacing, you swiped right to open the chat, and you typed a quick message to assure her that you were doing fine and adjusting great, casually omitting the part where you had fallen sick and your furniture hadn’t arrived yet. No need to worry her, she had enough things on her plate to manage.

The other messages were from random group chats that you didn’t have the energy to read at the moment, so you locked your phone and closed your eyes momentarily, leaning back in your seat and resting your head against the wall. The doctors seemed to be taking a while…

About half an hour later, your number was called. Finally.

You stood up a bit too quickly, and black spots promptly appeared in your vision while your head started to spin. A nod was all you could manage when the receptionist pointed to one of the rooms down the hallway, while you took hesitant steps forward and tried to steady yourself. Eventually the dizziness subsided and your head cleared up a bit when you read the name written on the door plate: Dr. Taehee Kim.

You repeated the name a few times in your head. It had a nice ring to it. You knocked twice on the wooden door and pushed down on the door handle to enter.

“Good morning.” You heard a deep, male voice, and your first thought was that you liked it. There was a soothing quality to it, and maybe it was an exaggeration but your headache seemed to lessen just from hearing him speak.

You looked up, wearing a polite smile and returning the morning greeting. Or at least, you were about to, but then your voice caught in your throat and you found yourself staring into the eyes of who was quite possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. He had thick, wavy black locks parted to the side, and a pair of deep set, dark grey-ish green eyes—a colour you had never seen before. His complexion was fair and otherwise flawless, and you could tell from his defined jawline and broad shoulders that he worked out regularly too. He looked handsome enough to be a model, and you couldn’t help but stare with widened eyes, while heat began to gather in your face. Whether it was from the fever, or because of him, you couldn’t tell.

But getting to see such a handsome doctor… today had to be your lucky day. For once.

The only thing was, it seemed to be the exact opposite for him. Contrary to the tone of his greeting, he now looked like he had just seen a ghost. He sprang to his feet the moment he saw you, and his chair rolled backwards until it hit the wall behind him with a loud thump. His eyes were blown wide, lips parted as he stared at you, searching your face for something… You didn’t know what, exactly.

The normal thing to do now would be to sit in the empty chair next to his desk and for him to do his job, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move a single step. Not when he was looking at you like this, as if he had a million things to say but couldn’t. So you stood there, feet glued to the spot by the door as you stared back, blinking and confused.

He spoke again after the tense silence stretched on for much longer than you’d have liked.

“Is… Is it really you? Am I dreaming? Is this… real?”

In the silence of the room, his shaky whisper rang loud and clear in your ears.

Affection. Sadness. Longing. They were unmistakable in his wavering voice, in his eyes that were starting to glisten with what seemed like tears.

The only problem was, you didn’t understand why. Much less why it was being directed to you. You were missing something here, or maybe it was him. You didn’t know. Your head hurt, and you just wanted some medicine, and then to go home to sleep this fever off.

But now your doctor was walking towards you, each footstep ringing in your ears as he drew closer and closer, his perplexed expression remaining the same. And for some reason you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his, much less find the strength to push him away when he stood an arm’s length away and gently held you by the shoulders. Even the way he tried to hold you was strange — his hands were shaking and his palms were barely brushing against your shoulders, hesitant and afraid.

Maybe you had spoken too soon. It probably wasn’t a lucky day at all—when would you learn? Now you were stuck in an office with a weirdo who was getting way too emotional over a simple consultation.

“A-Are you… okay?” The words came out as a timid squeak, and you watched as he blinked, though his eyes didn’t lose the glass-like quality to them. The ceiling light was reflecting off his eyes, and they seemed to be glistening with fresh tears.

“I never thought… I… I can’t believe it’s- it’s- H-How could this happen?”

You flinched when you felt something brush against your cheek, and it took a few seconds for you to realise that the back of his hand was ghosting over your skin.

Belatedly, your fight-or-flight response finally kicked in and you pushed his hand away, putting your hands out to make him step back and put some much-needed distance between you. Handsome or not, this guy was getting downright creepy and inappropriate.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, and I think you’ve got the wrong person. I’ll just go to another clinic-” You turned around, ready to hightail it out of his office, when you felt his hand on your wrist, holding you in place.

“No, wait. Please- Please wait. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

A voice pounded in your head then. An image flashed in your mind, one of a man who didn’t belong in this time period. He was dressed in traditional clothes, and he was holding you with tears streaming down his face. You couldn’t quite make out his face from the blurred picture that came and went like lightning, but the sound of his voice was the same as this doctor’s desperate plea.

Then dizziness hit you once more, but this time it didn’t subside. The last thing you remembered before your vision turned black was the sound of him calling your name.

***

A/N: I will be leaving this on tumblr for now, I’ll probably start posting on AO3 when I have more chapters ready to post. :) I’d love to hear your thoughts on this first chapter and thank you for reading! :)

#wannabe challenge #wannabe challenge taehee #kim taehee #wannabe challenge fanfiction #wannabe challenge fanfic #taehee fanfiction #my writing #just my luck

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cali-holland · 4 years

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Golden Bullets, Ch. 6: The Spy Who Loves Me

Harrison Osterfield X Reader, James Bond!AU

Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007, was once the best MI6 agent around with the astounding reputation as a womanizer. Between illegal gold smuggling and black market trading of weapons, he finds himself deeper in his latest mission than intended, weaving himself into a web of the criminal organization, S.P.E.C.T.R.E.. At the center of it all is the one woman who’s never fallen for his charms- you, Agent 006, the best MI6 agent, the new assistant director of the program, and his new partner.

Word Count: 4100

Gif is not mine

Golden Bullets Masterlist

Masterlist Harrison Osterfield Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be added to the series tag list

Warnings: violence (character death, punching, kicking, brass knuckles, guns, explosions, choking- just everything), swearing, sexual themes

Featured Song: Nobody Does It Better Carly Simon from The Spy Who Loved Me (1977)

~ “But like heaven above me, the spy who loved me is keepin’ all my secrets safe tonight, and nobody does it better, though sometimes I wish someone could, nobody does it quite the way you do, why’d you have to be so good?”

This was also for @spideygirl2003 ‘s 800 follower writing challenge with the prompt “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” (I forgot to add this in the original haha)

~~~

“Kentucky.” You heard Q call out as you stepped out of the hotel bathroom.

“What about Kentucky?” You asked, running a towel over your hair in an attempt to dry it faster. Just an hour ago, Q picked you up from near the river; you two grabbed the flash drive and got a small hotel room for the time being- at a different hotel, of course. After a warm and much needed shower, your body was beginning to feel normal again, and it definitely helped that your arm and wrist were both patched up now.

“That’s where they took 007.” Tom replied as his fingers continued to type away on the laptop before he showed it to you. A GPS satellite image showed a map of the U.S. with a blinking red dot right in Kentucky; zooming in, the satellite shifted to display a farm outside of Louisville. “Turns out Goldfinger’s family owned a stud farm. It’s retired now, but it must be a good location to smuggle gold bullions and super spies.”

“And the flash drive?” You opened your suitcase, taking inventory on your guns, itching to leave and shoot something in Kentucky.

“Almost done. Contrary to what you field agents believe, hacking is a lot of work.” He said, and you looked over at him. Glaring, you cocked one of your guns as if to say “test me”. He held up his hands defensively and you refocused on packing. The room was silent for a moment, before Tom spoke up again, “He’ll be alright. 007’s a tough one to break.”

“I’m not worried about him. I want to kill the bitch that keeps attacking me.” You muttered.

“For a spy, you’re shit at lying.” His words made you freeze, and he continued with a laugh, “I know that look in your eye; you’re worried about him, even if you try to hide it as revenge on Galore. You and Harrison- you’re both independent and badass, but you’re both into each other and are just too much of wimps to say anything about it.”

“I killed a dozen men tonight already. I hardly think I classify as a ‘wimp’.” You used air quotes around his descriptive word choice.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Before you could reply, his laptop beeped, signaling he was into the flash drive. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” You asked, coming to sit beside him to look at the screen. Tom’s eyes trailed over the laptop, taking in the information as he continued to scroll through the files.

“Goldfinger’s planning on blowing up Fort Knox. He’s got the schematics for it and everything right here.”

“How does this connect to S.P.E.C.T.R.E.? And Sciarra? And Le Chiffre?” You questioned, and he began researching more of the files.

“These are-” Tom started.

“Bank records. This is Le Chiffre’s system.” You explained, recognizing it from your time spent tailing him. “Le Chiffre wasn’t his competition, he was an investor in Goldfinger’s plot- that’s why Goldfinger killed him off.” You got up, hurrying to grab your laptop and opening one of the electronic files M had sent. You sat your laptop down next to his on the table.

“Look.” You pointed to the screen. “M sent me a comprehensive list of all the sniper’s targets this morning.” You and Tom looked between the two lists, spotting how every single one of the targets had their bank account on this flash drive.

“Goldfinger was scamming them to become the leader of S.P.E.C.T.R.E. and bombing Fort Knox would make him the sole supplier of gold, too. It’s like a sick, get-rich-quick scheme.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“We need to stop him from getting to Fort Knox.” You paused, “But Silva isn’t on this list. How was he involved?”

“Tiago Rodriuez is, though.” Tom stated, and you looked at him confused. “Tiago Rodriguez is Raoul Silva’s given name. I bet he found out what they were doing and created this flash drive as protection.”

“There needs to be something else on it. Something that Goldfinger and Galore were terrified of losing.”

“I’ll keep looking, but we need to get going. M got us a private jet, and we have a flight to Kentucky to catch.” He had barely finished his sentence and you were already on your feet, gathering your bags. He looked at you for a moment, a humorous smile on his face.

“Are you just going to sit there or are you coming with me?” You asked.

“You’re so into Harrison.” Tom chuckled in amusement, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“I will leave you behind if you say one more word.” You threatened, picking up your bags, and he shut off his laptop.

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d have no idea where 007 is.” He reminded you as he put away his things.

“You act like I wouldn’t hunt down Galore with or without you here.” You stated, opening the hotel room door.

“Trust me, I know you would.”

~~~

Everything was a blur. Harrison blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear his vision. He heard a voice announce that he was awake, and he was quickly reminded of his last memory: getting drugged by Galore in the Montenegro hotel room. He was sitting rather uncomfortably in a wooden chair, his ankles bound to the chair’s feet and his wrists bound together behind his back. And his mouth was covered by what felt like duct tape, leaving his lips feeling dry. His vision finally cleared up, and he took in his surroundings: three metal doors on three of the dark gray walls and a window behind him on the fourth. There were four armed guards in the room as well as Oddjob and a man in a crisp white suit with gold detailing- Goldfinger, no doubt.

“Oh, how lovely of you to join us, 007.” He said, ripping the duct tape from Harrison’s mouth, but leaving it to tauntingly dangle from his cheek.

“How lovely to meet you, Goldfinger.” Harrison replied, sarcastically. Goldfinger stepped closer as Oddjob came up beside the chair, adjusting the cap on his before tugging a brass knuckle onto his hand.

“You and Agent 006 have certainly been a nuisance.” Goldfinger started, and Harrison cut him off.

“Why, you’re welcome.” The air was swiftly knocked out of him as Oddjob threw a painful punch straight into Harrison’s gut. He held onto the back of the chair with one hand to keep it steady. “You couldn’t have started without the brass knuckle.”

“You stole a very valuable flash drive from Sciarra, who stole it from me. Where is it?” He questioned.

“If it’s so valuable, how did Sciarra end up with it?” Harrison let out another groan, hit with another hard punch.

“Where’s the flash drive?”

“I don’t have it.” He shut his eyes, ready for the next blow, but it never came. Instead, Goldfinger just glared at him, narrowing his eyes in anger and frustration. Harrison noted how stressed he looked, raising his eyebrows at Goldfinger, “What’s on that flash drive? You and I both know you’ll kill me in here, so there’s no need for the secrets. Give me the long-winded villain backstory, I’m itching to hear it.”

That time, he earned a punch from Oddjob. Harrison could already feel the bruises forming as his stomach repeatedly got abused, and he could definitely tell Oddjob had been pulling his first few punches.

“I believe you’re familiar with Raoul Silva? Before you killed him, he hacked his way through my system, froze my accounts, stole information. Now, that drive has the final piece to my masterplan, a neurotoxin so powerful that it can wipe out Fort Knox in its entirety.”

“Fort Knox?” Harrison asked, biting back the smirk on his face. “Steal from the U.S. gold supply, brilliant plan.”

“Not steal. Destroy.” Goldfinger stated, a devilish smile on his face. “Now, where the hell is my flash drive?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” A voice said, stepping into the room. Harrison didn’t even look to know it was Galore. “He doesn’t know where it is.”

As she stepped into the room with a small limp in her step, Harrison got a good look at her face. He could see the bruising on her neck, no doubt from his own chokehold on her during their last encounter, but, judging by the fingernail marks, you’d gotten your hands on her, literally. Her perfectly arched eyebrow was interrupted by a large gash over it, some medical bandages doing their best to cover the fresh wound. He also spotted some dried blood in her hair from a gash to the back of her head, and he felt a small wave of pride wash over him. There was only one person that he knew would have given Galore hell- you. He wasn’t surprised at the fact that you put up an impressive fight against her. That pride though was fleeting and was quickly replaced by worry because, if Galore was here, that meant either you were captured or dead, or you somehow managed to escape her clutches better than he had.

“Get into a cat fight, Pussy?” Harrison asked, a smirk finding its way onto his face. She crossed her arms, pursing her lips in annoyance.

“For Agent Y/L/N being MI6’s assistant director, I thought she would have put up a better fight.” She let out a small sigh, watching how Harrison’s jaw tightened involuntarily. “A pity really.”

“What did you do to her?” He questioned through gritted teeth. She laughed wickedly at his emotional response. Goldfinger and Oddjob stepped backward to let Galore come closer to Harrison. She trailed a

“Harrison Osterfield, Agent 007- the famed womanizer falling for the maneater. Who would have thought indeed?” She clicked her tongue in sadistic amusement as her nails began to dig into his skin, making him squirm under her. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not like me calling her that? Funny, she didn’t take a liking to me calling you womanizer either.”

She let go of him, before pulling the duct tape back over his lips. She took a step back, her cold glare never faltering. Goldfinger shook his head, “I would’ve loved to meet Agent 006 and have my way with her.” Harrison couldn;t refrain from letting out an angry breath, his eyes narrowing at the thought of Goldfinger ‘having his way’ with you. He watched as the man in the suit turned back to Galore, “Where did you leave her again?”

“I left the bitch at the bottom of the river.” At her words, Harrison dropped his head down, and Galore let out another cynical laugh. She, along with Goldfinger and Oddjob, froze as they noticed Harrison’s shoulders start to shake. He threw his head back in laughter, the sounds muffled by the duct tape.

“What is he laughing at?” Goldfinger spat, growing suspicious of the agent in front of him.

Before any of them could react, a bullet went racing through the window and straight into one of the guard’s heads. Everyone ducked as another bullet flew into a second guard’s heart- well, Harrison did his best to duck in his chair.

“How did they find us?” Goldfinger questioned, and Galore and Oddjob drew their guns. Galore looked over at the amused Harrison. A third bullet came through, right into another guard, and immediately afterwards, the last guard was taken by another bullet.

“We need to go.” Galore pulled open the door to the left and escaped with Goldfinger. Just as Oddjob pointed his gun at Harrison, the door right in front of them blew off its hinges, sending Oddjob towards the door to the right, which he quickly got up to escape through. Harrison groaned from the sudden explosion, but as the smoke cleared, he saw your figure come through the doorway.

“Wait on the balcony, my ass.” You said immediately, pocketing your gun as you stepped into the room. You ripped off the duct tape from his mouth, giving him no time to prepare for the pain.

“Ow.” He muttered. “Watch the lips, I need those.”

“Oh, do you now?” You replied. You grabbed out a knife from your belt to cut his ankles free.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy these lips.” Harrison teased with a smirk as you reached around him to free his wrists, your face just inches from his. The second his wrists were loose, he untangled himself from the ropes and grabbed your cheeks to kiss you. You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face as your lips moved against his.

“Moneypenny owes me 50 pounds.” You pulled away from Harrison, hearing Tom’s voice in your ear comms. You sighed, reaching into your pocket to grab one out for Harrison before handing it to him. He quickly put it in his ear, and you handed him a couple guns.

“Do you have to be such a prick?” You asked Tom, moving away from Harrison as you looked out the window, knowing he was in the distance with his sniper.

“‘No, I’m most certainly not into Harrison.’” Tom replied in a ridiculously high pitched voice to mock you. “Are you going to keep standing there or are you going to go after Goldfinger?”

You looked at Harrison, and he cocked his gun, nodding to the door to the left. You slowly opened the door all the way, checking for anyone down the hall, and Harrison quietly spoke up, “When you said those lipsticks were tranq lipsticks, you were serious.”

“Really? That’s how she got you?” You asked with a small laugh as the two of you continued your way down the hall, guns at the ready.

“I was going to use it on her.” He replied. You couldn’t reply before you two turned a corner and saw three more of Goldfinger’s men down the hall, backs to you.

“I’ll get the two on the left.” You whispered.

“Why do you get two of them?” Harrison asked.

“Because I’m a better shot than you.” You said as if it was obvious.

“We both get one on the outside and then it’s whoever gets the middle one first after that.” He offered a compromise and you nodded. The men turned before you two could fire and instantly engaged in a fist fight. As much as you two had discussed who got the third, it wasn’t important anymore as the third guard ran off, most likely to inform Goldfinger of your whereabouts.

Harrison blocked the opposing man’s first punch, but the second hit him in just the right spot in his gut, sending him stumbling back for a moment. Regaining his footing, he gripped his gun and shot at the other man, hitting him in the shoulder. While he staggered in shock and pain, Harrison kicked up right into his face, knocking him backwards onto the ground.

Meanwhile, you dodged the second man’s punches, letting him strike right into the concrete wall. You grabbed his outstretched arm, kicking under his elbow hard enough to break the bone. Then, as he shouted in pain, you jumped down to sweep your feet under his to send him falling backwards. Before you could grab your gun and shoot him, Harrison shot him for you.

“That counts as mine.” You argued as you two continued your journey down the halls.

“But I killed him.”

“Are you two done competing yet? I’ve got a visual on Goldfinger.” Tom said from his perch outside, yards away from the scene.

“Where is he? Which way?” Harrison asked as you both came to a halt with a fork in the road.

“Goldfinger’s to the left.”

“And Galore?” You questioned.

“To the right, up the stairs.”

“I’m going after Galore.” You stated, starting to make your way to the right, but stopped when Harrison’s hand grabbed yours.

“Goldfinger’s the one we need to stop. Leave Galore.” He urged you.

“They’re both heading this entire thing. You get Goldfinger. I’ll get her.” You replied. Seeing the concerned look flash across his features, you smiled, “Look at her and look at me- I can take her.”

“Just kiss and run separate ways already.” Tom’s voice came through the comms and you rolled your eyes.

“I’ve got Galore.” You said, before running off to the right. Harrison looked at your disappearing figure for a moment before taking off to the left.

Once you were up to the second story of the building, you were met with a single long hallway and over a dozen doors. Gripping your gun tightly, you spoke quietly into your comms, “Q, where is she?”

“I can’t tell. My heat map is malfunctioning.” You could hear him messing about on his laptop, trying to get his sniper heat map to work. Slowly, you continued your way down the hallway.

“Here, kitty kitty.” You tauntingly called out. You kicked down the first few doors, checking them for any signs of her.

When you kicked open the fifth door, you heard something shuffle behind you. Before you could turn to take her, Galore used a belt to wrap around your neck. In shock, you dropped your gun, attempting to keep her from fully cutting off your airway. You threw yourself backwards, with her still tightly holding onto the belt behind you, hitting her into the wall. You gasped out, trying to regain your breath as you blindly rammed her into the wall again. On your third attempt, she loosened her grip, giving you the opportunity to grab the belt away from your neck. You kicked yourself up, using the wall in front of you for leverage to twist around and kick her in the head to knock her down.

“You know, I’ve always been more of a dog person.” You breathed out, still trying to regain your breath.

“Bitch.” She spat out, blood coming from her newly broken nose. She grabbed your gun from beside her, aiming it at you. Before she could shoot, you grabbed your second gun and shot her in the shoulder. She dropped your gun as her shoulder began to bleed.

“That’s for 009.” You said, using your foot to press your weight on her wound. You leaned down to grab your other gun, not easing up on the pressure. With her good hand, she tried to hit your foot off her, and you shot her in her other shoulder, stepping harder to the spot you were already on.

“That’s for 007.” You added.

“Let me guess, you’ll shoot me in the heart and that’s for you?” She muttered. You moved your foot to her throat, letting the small heel of your boot dig into her skin.

“Heart? No, head.” You raised an eyebrow at her, before shooting her right between the eyes. You watched as her body fell limp, and you quickly searched her for more guns- surprisingly, she had none, but maybe that’s why she’d been so keen on taking from you.

“Harrison, I’m coming your way.” You announced into your comms, leaving back the way you came.

In the meantime, Harrison had been stalled by more of Goldfinger’s men. At first, it was a game of duck and shoot, but then, as he ran out of bullets, it became a fist fight. He had his eye on the machine gun one of them carried, but he accidentally kicked it down the hall when getting it away from the man’s grip. Eventually, he picked up a gun from one of the men, but with six men coming at him, he didn’t really have to pause and aim properly. He didn’t even hear your call through the comms, too focused on not dying. He did his best- ducking in between two of them so they shot each other, ramming one into the wall, blindly shooting at one as he had the other in a chokehold.

He turned to fight the last man, kicking the gun out of the enemy’s hand but losing his own gun in the process. Harrison blocked the punches and sent some of his own into the man’s jaw and chest. Just as Harrison was about to kick him, the other man beat him to it, kicking him right where it hurt most.

“Fuck, that’s cruel.” Harrison groaned, falling involuntarily to his knees. He braced for a kick or a punch or something, but instead he heard a series of gunshots ring out and the man before him fell to the ground, dead.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing on the ground?” You questioned as you ran down the hallway to his side, abandoned machine gun in hand.

“Praying.” He sarcastically replied. You helped him up and he winced a little.

“Your dick really is your biggest weakness.” You teased.

“Trust me, darling, it’s not.” He stated, picking up a few guns. He noticed the red mark across your neck, clearly from a chokehold, “Where’s Galore?”

“Dead.” You smiled, proudly. “Now, come on, we’ve got to get Goldfinger.”

You and Harrison made your way through the facility in search of Goldfinger, under the watchful eye of Tom that directed you two where to go. When you both finally caught up to him, he was on the helipad, moments from taking off in his helicopter.

“Stop right there, Goldfinger.” Harrison warned, holding his gun up at the ready. Keeping your new machine gun up and your eyes trained on Goldfinger, you slowly stepped sideways, preparing to encircle him. Goldfinger drew his own golden gun, making both of you tense your trigger fingers.

“I think you’re going to let me leave.” He smirked, his eyes trained on Harrison, gun pointed at you.

“No way in hell.” You stated. You stepped forward, almost taunting him to pull the trigger. Before you could take another step, you heard Tom call through the comms.

“It’s a trap. Oddjob’s behind you.” He called out. You turned quickly, ducking behind a few boxes, as Oddjob fired his machine gun. Harrison dove towards you, finding cover beside you.

“Damn it, he’s getting away.” Harrison muttered, watching Goldfinger jump into the helicopter. Meanwhile, Oddjob hadn’t stopped firing at you two.

“Cover me.” You said, and he nodded. You popped up enough to aim your gun at the helicopter pilot, shooting in his direction repeatedly, while Harrison shot at Oddjob. Your shots hit the helicopter just right and you eyed it as it went crashing down on the other side of the building. At the sound and sight of the explosion, Oddjob ran, clutching onto his hat and gun as he disappeared from the helipad.

“We have to go after him.” You stood up from your spot, getting your gun ready for another round.

“You go, I’ll wait here.” Harrison replied, and you looked down at him, confused by his sudden tiredness. It was then that you noticed his hand pressed down on his hip. You crouched back down and slowly removed his hand to see it covered in blood. “Guess we got matching scars after all.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” You asked, a sudden worry overcoming your voice. You lifted his shirt to inspect the wound, a single golden bullet barely visible in the bloody hole. You removed your jacket, bunching it up to apply pressure to it.

“I didn’t want to worry you.” His voice trembled as his eyelids got heavier. With your free hand, you cupped his face.

“Hey, hey, stay with me. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” You reassured him.

“What’s going on with you two?” Tom asked through the comms.

“Harrison’s been shot.” You said, looking down at the growing pool of blood on your jacket and the ground, “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

“I’ve got the ambulance on their way.” He replied.

Harrison reached a hand up to hold onto the wrist of your hand on his face, his thumb gently caressing your skin. “You need to go after Oddjob.”

“I’ll kill him later. I’m not leaving you.” You told him, not budging from your spot.

“You’re my weakness, Y/N.” Harrison said softly.

“Harrison,” You breathed out, a small smile on your face as you looked at your partner. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, “You’re mine too.”

~~~

General Tag List: @viagracex @theamazingtomholland @Hellomoveonby @heyitsshrez @harrisonosterfieldhazmyheart @joyleenl @t-o-m-holland @lonikje @sleepybesson @sunkisseddreamer @holandsamor @in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

Harrison Tag List: @Calhtlland @tomkindholland @where-art-thau-romeo

Series Tag List: @quinjetboi @baby-haz @kickingn-ames @rougese7en @hollandsosterfield @nj01 @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @spencerreidxoxo @duskholland

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield x you #harrison osterfield fic #harrison osterfield series #harrison osterfield x y/n #kritis800followerswc

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

Day One (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: day one Rating: PG-13 Length: 2700 Warnings: None. Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in March of 1987. If you want to learn more about Carlos Lehder you can here. Also, side note.... I’m playing fast and loose with Steve and Javier’s backstories. Similar but timelines adjusted a smidge. Summary: Reader’s first day with the DEA.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes @thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie @swhiskeys @lady-tano

You stared at your reflection in the poorly-lit bathroom mirror. The U.S. Embassy was about what you expected it to be. A building made of concrete and tinted glass, fashioned into an imposing structure — which stood in a sea of equally ugly hideous brutalist buildings.

Your nerves had gotten the best of you. After a meeting with your supervisors, you’d ducked into the bathroom for a breather… rather than heading straight for your new office. You had done as much research as possible on the two men you were going to be working alongside of for the foreseeable future.

Stephen Murphy had been raised in West Virginia and had attended university for criminal justice in the middle-of-nowhere… honestly, who knew they had universities in Bluefield, West Virginia? He had gone straight to Miami after graduation, diving headfirst into cocaine and the city’s rampant crime. God were you glad you weren’t stuck in that hell hole. After enough success the DEA had thrown him at Colombia, in hopes that it would stick. As far as you could tell he was newly married to a nurse who had followed him to Colombia.

Javier Peña had taken a different route to Colombia. He had a flouncy psychology degree from one of the best schools in Texas. Straight out of college he somehow landed himself a job as a Sheriff’s Deputy, before the DEA recruited him to play special agent in Austin, Texas. He had actually volunteered for Colombia… which you couldn’t say much about, considering you had technically volunteered too.

You wanted upward mobility and if you had stayed in the states — your career would’ve hit a brick wall. At least in Colombia you had a chance to make a name for yourself. No one gave a shit about the country, but the shit going on… one day, it would end up in the history books. And you wanted your name alongside it.

“You’ve got this.” You told yourself in the mirror, before you headed out of the bathroom and down the long hallway that led towards the DEA’s office.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” You said with as much enthusiasm as your nerves would allow you to summon.

“You don’t have any shit for your desk?” Asked the dark-haired one, looking up at you from over the file he was reading.

You blinked, looking towards the light-haired man who was chuckling at his desk. At your expense? The glare you shot him cut his amusement short and he quickly got out from behind his desk and approached you. “Steve Murphy.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” You offered with a smile as you shook his hand. You glanced out of the corner of your eye, before you turned to look at the other man. “Which makes you—”

“Javier Peña.” He drawled out with a too-charming smile, reaching across the desk to shake your hand.

“Of course.” You said with a slight edge to your voice as you shook his hand.

“You’ve got a good handshake, I guess we’ll keep you.” He remarked, before he leaned back in his seat and fixed you with a sweeping look. “Why the hell are you in Colombia?”

“Why are you?” You shot back, moving towards your desk. Maybe you should’ve brought your own shit. Aside from the typewriter and a file sorter with a few used manila folders — it wasn’t much to write home about.

You glanced in the direction of Javier, catching him staring at you before he pretended like he wasn’t. You rolled your eyes and prayed he wasn’t going to be one of those guys. You’d had enough of them in the past.

“Here.” Steve said, offering you a styrofoam cup that had a couple pencils and pens in it. “You’re going to need these.”

“Thank you,” You said with a genuine smile, sitting the cup down on your desk next to the file rack. “I probably should’ve brought some supplies, but that’s what tomorrow’s for — right?”

Javier snorted, “Tomorrow we’re headed for Facatativá.” He got up from his desk and threw a folder down on your desk. “You want in on it?”

You picked the folder up, flipping through the first couple of pages of typed notes. “Is this your chicken scratch?” You questioned as you eyed notes in the margins.”

“You get used to it.” Steve assured you. “Escobar’s allegedly attending a party hosted by a few of accomplices.”

“Celebrating that Forbes article?” You questioned with a short laugh. “I’m in. We leaving at o’dark?” Your eyes flickered towards Javier, deeply amused by the impressed look he wore.

“Diving in headfirst, huh?” He questioned, pursing his lips with a nod. “We’ll be heading out about this time tomorrow morning.” Javier explained, glancing at the clock on the wall across the office. “It’s an hour’s ride out, we’ll settle.”

You nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

He steepled his fingers, leaning his elbows against the desk. “Let’s see how you do.”

“Underestimating me already, Peña?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side. “Didn’t see that in your file.”

Steve laughed, “She read your file.”

You turned to look at him, “Slow down there wild and wonderful. I’ve read both of your files.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth, “Find out anything good?”

“You think I’d tell you what I know?”

He shook his head with a chuckle, “That tells me you don’t know shit.”

“Webb County Sheriff’s Office, Laredo, Texas.” You stated with a smirk. “You must’ve had some balls going home after college, all things considered.” The juiciest morsel that you’d found in his record had been an engagement announcement in the Laredo Morning Times. No mention of the fiancé afterwards, however. “I’m good at what I do, Peña. Don’t underestimate me.”

“Duly noted.” He mirrored your smirk, before he looked towards Steve then. “I’m replacing you. This one’s my new number one.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” You told him with a roll of your eyes. “Whatever this charm thing is you keep trying… will probably work on Murphy before it works on me.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry.”

Javier grinned at you. “I… was dreading this whole change.” He gestured between the three of you. “But you can hold your own. I'm impressed.”

“Well, I didn’t come here to impress you. I came here to take down Pablo Escobar.”

Steve approached your desk with a stack of files, “I pulled the records on known accomplices, there’s a few mugshots, newspaper clippings… good shit to familiarize yourself with.”

“Thank you.”

“Also, my wife cooks a mean meatloaf and she’s dying for friends that don’t work at the hospital.”

“You never invite me over dinner.” Javier complained, flipping Steve off.

You rolled your eyes and smiled politely, “I would love to come over, but I don’t eat beef.”

“She can cook other food.” Steve laughed.

“Sounds like a plan.”

—

The Murphy’s had a nice apartment — it felt lived in, which you couldn’t say for your own apartment. In your defense, you had only lived there for a week and you had never been particularly sentimental. You’d only brought two suitcases and shipped a box of personal effects to the embassy — everything was locked away in a storage facility back in the states.

“Connie, dinner was delicious.” You said as you wiped your lips off with a napkin. “I felt like I was back home.”

“I’m glad Steve invited you,” She said with a smile. “I don’t know how you can do it. I hear the stories he tells.”

You say up a little straighter, “As soon as I found out they were looking for a new agent, I jumped. This was the break I have been hoping for.”

“So what are your plans?” Steve questioned, leaning against the table. “Off the record.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, “Easy answer is take down Pablo Escobar, but…” You shrugged your shoulders. “It’s hard as hell to make a name for yourself in this field. A good name.” You reached for your beer and took a swig. “And that’s what I want. What I really want.”

Connie and Steve exchanged a look.

“Sounds like you’ve got it all mapped out,” Steve said with an approving nod. “You want to be someone kids can look up to?”

“No one believed I could make it here.” You pressed. “But I did. I want girls like me to know they can go farther.”

“Then stay away from Javi,” Connie warned as she got up from the table and cleaned up the dinner plates. “I’ll get dessert.”

Your brows furrowed as you stared at Steve. “What does she mean?”

He shrugged a shoulder and scratched at his jaw. “Javi’s a good guy.” He assured you. “But he’s got a bit of reputation.”

You laughed, crossing your arms across your chest. “Was that what this was about? Maybe he’s not able to keep things professional, but I can.” You gritted out. “Rule number one is — don't shit where you eat.” Not to mention Javier was not your type. Sure, he was handsome, but he was also… a typical government agent.

He’d made his assumptions about you before he had even met you.

“I’m flattered that you’re concerned,” You told Steve. “But I’m good. He can make a fool out of himself, but… no.”

“I’m just warning you.” Steve said with a small smile. “I know how he is.”

“And I’ve worked with a dozen like him.” You said dryly. “And surprisingly haven’t fallen for their charm. Peña is no exception.”

“I made trifle.” Connie announced as she returned.

——

“Is that a fucking cactus?” Javier questioned, staring at the small potted cactus you had brought to put on your desk.

“No, it’s a sequoia.” You shot back with a roll of your eyes. “Come on Peña, don’t just say shit to get a redundant response.”

He stared at you, jaw clenched. “I’d flip you off, but that doesn’t seem appropriate.”

You turned your cactus carefully, gesturing towards the little growth sprouting up. “My cactus doesn’t mind flipping you off.”

“Real cute.” Javier huffed, moving across the office to grab the banker box off Murphy’s desk. “You smoke?”

“Not really.” You shrugged. “I’ve got to be in the mood.”

“And what gets you in the mood?”

Steve cleared his throat as he walked into the conversation, giving you a pointed look — which you disregarded.

“It’s an after sex thing.” You said with a shrug. “Or when I’m bored.” You looked towards Steve, “Problem?”

“There’s two of you.” He raked a hand over his face. “I’m never going to get a moment of peace again, am I?”

“This is purgatory, Steve. Didn’t you read the handbook?” You teased.

You couldn’t help but grin at Javier when he looked in your direction. You weren’t an idiot — you would gladly heed Steve’s warning, but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to play along with Peña’s stupidity, just a little bit. You never turned down good banter.

——

“I should’ve brought sunglasses.” You groused, shielding your eyes as you looked through the windshield at the house you were watching.

“Here.” Javier pulled his aviators off and offered them to you.

“What about you?”

He shrugged, “You need ‘em.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, taking them from him and putting them on. You pushed them up the bridge of your nose as you settled back against the seat.

“Hey,” Murphy started, leaning in between your seats. “Javier, did you bring the junk food?”

“Trunk.” He answered shortly, waiting until Steve had turned around in the backseat to look for the junk food.

Javier nudged your arm, smirking as he opened the center console to reveal two bags of Sour Cream and Onion. “My favorite.”

“A good choice.” You laughed, glancing back at Steve who had looted a bag of Goldfish that looked like it had much seen better days.

“Don’t worry, I’ll share with you.”

“We’ve moved from flattery to bribery now.” You grabbed a bag out and tore it open, popping a chip into your mouth.

Steve cranked the back window down, “Javi, you got a light?”

Javier reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, passing it back to Steve.

“Make sure you don’t leave a pile of butts outside the window.” You warned Steve as you turned around to look at him, “It’s a sure fire way to find out that someone’s been watching you all day.”

“Touché.” He nodded, taking a puff from the cigarette as he passed the lighter back to Javier.

“Want one?” Javier questioned you, pulling his pack out of his jacket pocket and tapping it against his wrist.

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip as you stared at him, “Sure, why not.” You relented, shrugging a shoulder as you held your hand out.

Javier didn’t give you the cigarette straight away, instead he made a show of lighting it for you, before he offered it to you.

“Thanks, Javi.” You said lightly, wrapping your lips around the cigarette and taking a drag. You leaned back in your seat as you drew the cigarette away from your lips on an exhaled. Your eyes flickered out the window, watching as more people made their way into the house. “Isn’t that Carlos Lehder?” You questioned, sitting your cigarette down in the ashtray before you grabbed your binoculars.

Sure enough, it was Lehder. He had walked out of the house, still yucking it up with another man who you didn’t recognize.

He had all of his bank accounts frozen, didn’t he? I’m surprised he’s still showing his face.”

Javier clicked his tongue against his teeth, “We’re gonna follow him.”

“That’s not the plan.” Steve slapped the back of Javier’s seat. “We’re watching for Escobar.”

“And Lehder hasn’t shown his face in three years.” Javier pointed out.

You followed him with the binoculars, “Look! He’s leaving.”

“We need to trail him.” Javier put his cigarette out and turned the car on. “Put them down.” He told you, grabbing the string of your binoculars and tugging lightly.

“I am, I am.” You assured him, tucking them back under your seat. Your heart was hammering in your chest. It looked like your first day in the field was going to be an exciting one.

———

“Now, don’t get cocky.” Javier told you as he took a sip of his beer, angling himself in the booth so he was facing you. “Every day is not going to be that exciting at the DEA.”

“You mean I’m not going to bag one of the top three guys the U.S. wanted extradited out of Colombia every day?” You deadpanned, shaking your head solemnly. “Damn.”

Steve laughed and pointed at you with his beer bottle. “You didn’t do it alone.”

Javier waved his hand, “Oh, fuck off Murphy. Neither of us had eyes on the door.” He nudged you in the arm. “This one and her research.”

“I’m good with faces.” You shrugged, before you confessed. “And I might’ve made index cards.”

He snorted, “What? Studying for a test?”

You flipped him off, smirking as you downed the last of your beer. “Did it work?”

“Yeah, it worked.” Javier grinned at you. “You’re good.”

You rolled the base of your beer bottle on the edge of the table, glancing towards the bar. You had noticed a man at the bar eyeing you for the past half hour. He was nice looking and after the day you’d had…

You looked between Steve and Javier then, “If I’m not at work in the morning… that guy at the bar probably killed me.” You nodded your head in the direction of the man, watching Javier as he looked towards the bar.

“Is there a problem?” He questioned, his shoulders tensing.

“No. I’m getting laid tonight.” You laughed, scooting closer to Javier so you could reach into his jacket pocket. You pulled out the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. “For later.”

“Have fun.”

Steve’s brows drew together as he looked at you. “Page us if you have any problems.”

You took Javier’s sunglasses off your shirt and passed them back to him. “Have a good night guys, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your eyes lingered briefly on Javier’s face, before you turned away and headed for the bar. He had an entirely unreadable expression written on it. You didn’t know him well enough to figure him out yet. Maybe you would one day.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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the-worst-fe-player · 4 years

Note

☕ everything about fates and the drama give us an essay king

Lamo thank you to king/queen/royalty

Okay so I'm gonna break this down into segments and header it with a different colour some will he shorter than others. Also sorry if I spell names of county wrong and rember this is just my opinion

Story

Also heads up I played it in this order conquest -> rev -> birthrights I know I should have swapped rev and birthrights but it was really expensive and I was like 14

Fates story is not the best but deffently not as bad as some people said. Overall I'll be honst I liked conquest story but not birthrights which I know most people have the opposite oppion on but like I found conquest to be more fun I enjoyed the idea of sneaking around garons back with your siblings and being powerless at times to stop a lot of the things like the massacre where scarlet dies and ryoma death there where moments I just groaned at the screen but apart from that I had more fun. Birthrights I'll be real the story kind of bored me i only really found certain parts interesting but my favourite moment from fates actually came from birthrights and it was the Xander fight where he killed elise and then let corrin kill him it was tragic and sad and I live for angst ngl. rev story I don't remember to much sorry I mostly fouced on the characters ngl but that sence with the kid turning into the faceless was really cool and also the one with makoto and she fucks with you and the doors but idk if that's classed as story or gameplay but either way that was sick

Gameplay

Fates gameplay was soild as fuck I will die on this hill. The pair up was cool, the skills and classes where sick and the character balancing minor some major problems *cough xander ryoma takumi cough* was pretty cool and corrin is not nearly as broken as Robin or byleth. I like to play conquest the most because I'm a maschoist lol but even though most of revs maps where gimmicks I love them there so iconic, tbh most of fates maps are like I understand most of fates criticism but the maps, apart from rev as not everyone likes gimmicks, I just dont understand

Phoenix mode

Honstly play the game how you want to if that's on normal Phoenix go a head I dont care you play the game how you want to. Like yeah Phoenix mode may take away all the difficulty but casual took away perma death and that's the most played game mode because that's what people want and if people want Phoenix then just let them have it doesn't bother me I will never play it but I dont care if others do.

Corrin

Okay so I actually like corrin and before you look away I will explain why I think their dislikes and why I do like them and think how they could be improved

I think the promblem people have with Corrin is that they dont have enough personilty to be a regular character but they have to much that they can't be an avatar if you know what I mean. Like with Robin they deffently had a personily but they weren't the main character chrom was so it wasn't in your face as much yeah they made some important decisions whitch often did nothing but at the end of the day it lopped back to chrom and this is something corrin cant do everything has to be about corrin as there the main lord. But corrin is kind they dont want to kill common soldiers and that's never really addressed (as far as I can remember) why corrin wont kill like the sibling bit make sense but the common solider whitch could have killed there spouse is just frustrating at times and something not many people feel while playing. Corrin would have worked better if they wasn't a self insert that went against the average players emotions. But yeah I do feel people are to harsh on corrin as well though like with the whole not earning the Yaot witch is like they kind of did though it was the fact that who ever held the yaot would bring the world peace and they did it was there destiny to do so to fight in a war and mabey kill there family but even then I don't see people giving the three houses leaders shit for there wepons and they did less all they did was be born from a group of people that committed genocide! But also many people say nothing bad happens to them but at least in conquest and birthrights corrin suffers, in conquest the blood of what you think are your siblings are on your hands one forced to commit sucide and the other painful possed and then there the amount of murder they just had to watch and then birthrights watching elise die for them and xander pretty much letting corrin kill him and everything else like bruh this shit is sad and is also the reson I pray fe stops using self inserts and goes back to the older ways

Translation

Why! Why! Who thought that was a good idea Xander what did they do to him 🥺 I haven't finshed reading a direct translation of fates yet but its like so much better then the English version if you have the chance to read through it's worth it so much. Also same with three houses it wasn't as bad but like certain scenes are better like the really cringy reponse el had to dimitri on gronder feild actually makes sense and just especially if you like crimson flower as out of all the routs edelgard and cf feels like it got changed the most its just interesting ngl anyway onto fates again

The petting game

I know I would hate it as I already hate the wake the slug a bug up and the "you didn't blow niles hard enough" stuff but it was also optional so like idk i don't really have an oppion

Fan service (camilla)

I like big tits (as long as there not mine lol) as much as the next person who also likes that stuff but even I'll admit It was way to much at times especially the did you miss you big sister part like I enjoy camillas character I'm a sucker for a character with a tragic backstory, loves there family, cares for others a bit to much and could bench press me but the times where she was just fan severse sucked.

Paying for everything sprealty

I hate it:(

Characters

Leo♥️leo♥️leo♥️

Overall I like the majority of characters, here are my top 3 favs girls and boy

Best girls : Charlotte, orochi and Nyx

Best boys: leo, saizo and laslow (idk if he counts if not Forrest)

I always see people being like (x) was wasted in fates i wished they were in a different game but literally 3/4 of the cast have that said about them so like do yall hate the cast or love it :/

My overall oppion

I have mixed oppions over all I do like fates conquest is one of my favourite fe and I hope mabey in twenty years it will get re made with a better translation and some adjustments to corrin and the story

Thank you for the ask sorry this is so long and sorry if it makes no sense

#ask #anon #fire emblem fates #fire emblem meta #long post

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stellar-alley · 4 years

Text

Everfalls

•Chapter 19•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Shout out to my beta psychcticminds on Ao3 and psychtic.minds on Instagram!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Richie and Eddie struggle to get some privacy for their full moon transformations.)

Richie couldn’t help the childlike giggle that escaped his mouth while he ran, hand in hand with Eddie. The wind blowing through their hair, tickling their ears. They ran to an area that was untouched by the lights of the town. Finally able to take their hats off. The lush grass turned to dark sand beneath their feet as they entered the beach.

Richie halted and clutched his abdomen, he let out a small shriek of pain.

Eddie let go of his hand and moved to crouch in front of his boyfriend. “Hey, Rich, look at me” he placed his hand under Richie’s chin to tilt his face to look at him. He wasn't surprised to see the eyes of a werewolf staring back at him. “It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better, but I’m here, alright? So just-“ Eddie’s heart nearly stopped when the sound of another voice broke out from behind them.

“You know, when I first laid my eyes on you, of course I recognized you, Eddie. I had been searching for you for a while now. But your wolf friend seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t quite figure out who he was. Finally, that tool of a teacher gave me your full name” Now Richie and Eddie stood facing her, both of their bodies ached to shift. “Richard Tozier, son of the banished werewolf Wentworth Tozier, and a filthy human,” She said as if his mother was a disgrace.

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother that way you bitch,” Richie growled, fangs bared.

His words didn’t phase her, “It doesn't matter” She shrugged. “I’ll have to kill both of you anyways. We simply cannot allow our secret to be jeopardized,” She rubbed her hands together as if she were cleaning them of dust.

Eddie’s eyes scanned the beach, they landed on one of the large hills that turned into a cliff, overlooking the ocean. It reminded him of the day he left The All Lands. His mind raced as an idea sprouted in his head. He caught Richie’s eyes and looked between him and the cliff. Richie caught on, responded with the smallest nod.

“Come and get us, you hag,” Richie sneered, without missing a beat he and Eddie ran in opposite directions, both of them breaking out into an inhumanly fast sprint, despite the pain it brought them.

Elizah refrained from moving, instead, she glanced between the two, sighed and mumbled, “Such a shame…”.

Mike, Bev and Ben had all gathered in Bill and Stan’s room. Stan explained the situation at hand. He summarized Eddie’s backstory and what he had to do with Zack Denbrough’s death (Bill just nodded as everything made just a little more sense once someone else explained it). Then he moved onto The Council and what they’d done to Richie and Eddie. Finally he explained who Elizah is and what needed to be done if they wanted to keep their friends alive.

“We need to act now,” Mike confirmed, zipping his jacket up and pulling the hood over his head.

“But we need to be ca-carful, we’re dealing with fu-forces we don’t uh-uh-understand” Bill warned them as they all nodded in understanding. “They’re still our f-friends”.

“So remember, quickly and quietly” Stan reminded them before he quickly tossed back a pill for his stomach and chugged some water. Then proceeded to move towards the hotel room’s door. Just before he opened the door he turned to face his friends one final time and said, “Let’s do this Losers”.

The Losers had made it through the hallway and down the stairs without being caught. When they entered the lobby the sounds of voices bounced off the tile floor and stopped them in their tracks. Bill poked his head out from the stairwell and surveyed the castle’s lobby. He noticed the lounge was empty and so was the artifact hall which led to the door they needed to get to. Finally, he noticed the check in desk had a pair of big black boots propped up on it’s clean wooden surface. The guard that took the night shift was currently sitting comfortably in his desk chair as he watched something on his phone with great intensity. Which explained the voices.

“He’s distracted,” Bill whispered to his friends behind him. He waved his hand and began to quickly tip toe towards the door. They walked past the cases that contained the artifacts and that same gun from before caught his eye. Bill motioned for the others to go ahead of him when he stopped to examine it. Something deep down told him he was right, that it was the gun he knew so well. The one his father showed to him as a child, then when he finally came of age he was shown how to properly hold that same gun.

He scanned every detail of its metallic surface. But one detail, something so small and hidden confirmed his suspicions. On the bottom of the handle there was the smallest initials engraved into the butt of the gun, ZD. Zackary Denbrough. Bill smiled to himself. He was too overwhelmed to notice the way his eyes filled with tears at the sight of his dad’s gun.

It would make sense, if this bitch is who she claims she is, and she did in fact kill dad, then it’d make sense that she has his gun. We never did find it after the accident..

Beverly was the last one out, she looked back and noticed Bill was shoving something into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Bill!” She whispered yelled, “Get your ass out here!” She stepped outside, the cool night air engulfing her. She reached into her jacket pocket and adjusted the contents she had stashed away in there, obviously they weren’t meant to be stored in a pocket but she made it work.

“Whatcha got there?” Ben lightly nudged her with his elbow.

“Backup” She assured him with a wink. Bev grabbed one of the two things she had and tossed it to Ben. “You’ll know when the time comes”.

Bill gave one last glance to the night guard who was laughing at his phone. He joined the rest of his friends outside and they all began walking in the same direction that their friends had travelled.

The werewolf could physically feel his bones shifting. So he knew he should turn to head towards the cliff. From where he started on the beach, Richie ran all the way into the forest, away from the cliff to gather some more strength before continuing. He had a hand up on one of the trees to keep him up. His breaths were laboured and he coughed up blood. I won’t be able to keep this up much longer. But before he could think anything else a deep growl erupted from somewhere behind him in the forest. He looked behind him just in time to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring him down.

“Fuck me,” Richie sighed before he booked it out of the forest. Whatever that beast was didn’t take long to chase after Richie. It looked like some type of mega monster wolf, blood covered fur, knife-like fangs, hungry eyes that stared into your soul. He kicked it up a notch after he felt the beast nip at his heels.

Richie looked up towards the cliffs and mapped out how he would get there. From the cliff his eyes fell on another figure that was in a situation similar to his.

Eddie ran in the opposite direction that Richie had gone in. So that took him past the cliff and onto the other side of the beaches where the ruins laid in front of the caves. The rabbit paused momentarily behind one of the wreckages of what looked to once have been a house. Eddie sat on the sand with his back against a semi-demolished wall as he attempted to catch his breath.

His ears twitched as the breeze blew through them. At a moment’s notice they stood tall on his head, alert. Something had made a low grumbling noise from inside the caves. Sadly they were deep in the side of the hill so the moon’s light didn’t shine in them. But Eddie didn’t need the moon’s light to make out the bright yellow eyes that opened up before Eddie.

A sigh came from Eddie who got to his feet when the monster wolf stepped into the light. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hoped the small partially destroyed wall in hopes that the ruins would act as an obstacle to slow the beast down as Eddie picked up his pace. He refrained from sprinting until he felt the wolf’s breath on his back. He was tired and knew the transformation would take enough energy out of him as it is.

He had never resented the moon’s powers for this long, and he was definitely feeling it. He felt too big for his body yet too small at the same time. His teeth felt as if someone had removed them one by one then put them all back in out of order. Eddie could almost feel the light layer of fur that crept just below his skin which threatened to break through.

Thankfully he and Richie made it onto the cliff at the same time, coming from different sides they met in the middle. They turned to stand back to back as they both faced their own beasts.

Richie’s fangs were out as he lashed and growled at the wolf before him. But the beast went unphased.

“Stand down,” a female voice called out which the boys had grown way too familiar with.

Elizah stood in the middle of the two wolves who immediately backed off, falling back to flank her either side. Though they had backed off of Eddie and Richie, they still bared their fangs, which were dripping with saliva and blood.

“We could’ve done this the easy way. But alas, the males of the species are always much more stubborn. Like your father Eddie, I see so much of him in you” The mention of Frank Kaspbrak caused Eddie’s blood to boil. “It’s a shame you didn’t inherit more of his Ancestral magic, he was a truly gifted user. He was our high priest after all” She shot them a knowing smile.

Eddie’s brows furrowed together in confusion.

She tilted her head slightly, “Did you not know that? Oh, well you were quite young when he passed. Too bad you’ll never be able to find out, isn’t it?” she asked.

“You’re the reason he’s dead. He never did anything but try to help-“

“Humans, Eddie, he tried to help humans. I still can't believe you don’t see it. especially after living with them. They’re animals,'' She shook her head disapprovingly.

“No you’re the only animal here, you sadistic bitch,” Eddie growled as he took a step forward. Before he was able to continue towards her, Richie let out a groan of pain. Eddie snapped his head around to see a glowing yellow like aura around Richie’s form. He snapped his head back to Elizah and she smirked deviously at him.

“Not another step or the wolf gets it. Do I make myself clear?” She asked with her hand out, which was covered with the same yellow aura that now enveloped Richie.

“I was once like you, filled with innocent optimism, but I was actually clueless. Blind to the fact that humans only crave power, and they will do anything to get it. Not to mention the fact that they fear what they don’t understand and would ultimately rage war on the Ancestors in order to get answers. Luckily I have a plan to keep everyone safe from this wretched species. A force that won’t let anyone out or in,” She monologues. She curled her fingers in ever so slightly and Richie’s groan turned to a shout as the aura changed from yellow to orange.

“But I cannot have either of you liabilities running around trying to stop me from putting in the barrier that would save Ancestors from the destruction of the bloody human race-“ A gunshot rang out through the valley, echoing off the hills and silencing Elizah.

Standing behind her was none other than The Losers Club. Bill held his father's gun high and proud, a wild, toothy smile plastered over his face. He didn’t aim to hit anyone, that shot was purely to grab their attention.

“Give us Eddie and Richie or else” Bill demanded, his voice stern and stutter less.

Elizah examined them, giving each Loser a solid glance over before a deep and evil laugh erupted from her mouth. “Or else? OR ELSE?! Or else what sweetheart? Are you, you going to shoot me with your dead father's gun?” The mention of Zack Denbrough froze Bill, and Elizah noticed. “What? You don’t think I know about you, William? And your poor father, he learned too much. Like you have,” She explained, then glanced between all of the Losers. “But all of your deaths will be for the greater good of the Ancestors. I should stop withholding the inevitable,” She finally sighed then with the slightest flick of her wrist, the wolves charged The Losers.

Bill took aim at one of the wolves, but when he went to pull the trigger nothing happened. Panic ensured the teen as he clicked it again, nothing. The wolf was quickly approaching as Bill struggled to figure out what was wrong. Suddenly something flew out and struck the side of the wolf’s head, catching its attention.

Bill turned to see Mike had collected some rocks he held in his jacket pockets. Locked and loaded, he pelted the wolf again, this time getting the beast's full attention, it turned and started towards Mike who continued to pelt it with rocks. He used it as a distraction to give Bill more time with the gun.

With that time Bill checked the gun, finding he had clicked the safety on when he hadn't noticed. With the flick of the switch, he was ready to shoot. He pointed the gun up aimed at the wolf that was lunging for Mike. No time for mistakes, he told himself. He steadied his grip and pulled the trigger. The shot gave Mike time to put some distance between him and the wolf as the beast was momentarily shocked. Bill quickly approached the wolf, aimed, and shot off the killing blow. The beast fell to the ground in a lifeless heap of fur and claws.

Mike ran back to Bill, “Good aim” He complimented him.

“T-Thanks” Bill’s hands were shaking, unused to this much pressure, power, and the kickback.

While Mike was distracting the other wolf, Beverly stepped forward and removed the contents from her pocket. She pressed both the triggers just as the wolf approached them. A massive flame erupted from the lighter she held in front of the bottle of hairspray. It singed the wolf’s muzzle, sending it stumbling backwards. “NOW NEW KID!” She called out.

Ben stepped forward, shaking his spray bottle and spraying the wolf wherever he could, getting as much of the product onto the wolf. When it turned to snap at Ben, Beverly took that as a chance to get closer and spray more of the wolf, the flames reached its sides, and the smell of burnt fur filled the air. Ben sprayed the wolf’s face and Bev met his spray line with her fire. Just as planned, the fire from her bottle caught onto the hair spray that Ben had been spraying along the wolf’s fur, the beast’s fur caught and the fire spread throughout its entire body.

“Shit,” Mike cursed as he heard the other wolf howling in pain. Following that was the unmistakable sadistic laugh of Beverly Marsh who had indeed, set the wolf ablaze. “Burn baby burn…” Mike muttered in approval as Bev and Ben began to move away from the flaming beast.

“S-stand back,” Bill advised, he stepped forward and shot off two quick bullets, killing the wolf.

During the time that the Losers fought off the wolves, Elizah began to slowly back Eddie and Richie up until they were on the edge of the cliff. Richie was still engulfed in the orange aura as a means of keeping Eddie at bay.

Her back turned to the rest of The Losers, she assumed wrong when she thought her wolves would be able to stop them.

“You won’t get away with this,” Eddie dared to look over the edge at the crashing waves and sharp rocks that laid below the cliff. They had no room left to run, and there was no chance of them making that fall.

“Oh but I will, Edward. As long as I am at the top, no one will ever find out about Ancestors and I will rule over them all and ensure that nothing ever happens to them. No one will ever leave, we will not tolerate anything else. Or else they’ll end up like your father, dead” She laughed maniacally as she raised her hand to the sky, the aura turning red as Richie’s pain increased, causing him to scream out.

Like your father, dead. Those words hit both Eddie and Bill as they had both lost their fathers at the hands of the council.

No one noticed this, but Eddie felt it, deep within his core something opened, spilling out and filling his veins with what felt like 100 volts of electricity. He felt charged. Like he could swan dive off the edge of this cliff and survive. He knew his eyes were already icey blue, so why did he feel them shift again. He knew there was something else going on but he had bigger problems to deal with.

With that, Elizah’s back to the Losers and her attention on Richie and Eddie, Bill raised his late father’s gun, lowered his gaze, steadied his hands, aimed, and fired.

The bullet shot through the air and collided with the mistress. Her body ripelled on impact. She stumbled forward.

Richie was released from the magical bindings and nearly tripped over his own feet. Eddie dove forward to support Richie. He put one arm around Richie’s waist. The sudden weight on Eddie barely fazed him with the power that still surged through his veins. He knew he had to do something with this before he fucking exploded. Without another thought, the young rabbit extended a hand out and pushed whatever this energy was out, shooting out a bolt of magic. That was when Eddie Kaspbrak sent Elizah Brightmoon’s corpse off the edge of the cliff and into the ocean.

Word Count: 3120

GUYS THERE ONLY 2 CHAPTERS LEFT OHMIGOD! I absolutely cannot believe that Everfalls is almost over. But I hope you guys have enjoyed this new chapter and all the plot twists and stuffffff GUYS I PLANNED SO MUCH STUFF TO MAKE THIS WORK AH, but i'm really happy with how this chapter turned out.

I think that's all from me? yeah i think so

so until next time

So Long and Goodnight.

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

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