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wesimpforxiao · 3 years

Text

Inception: Chapter 4

"Tch!" Your forearm blocked a particularly heavy strike from Childe. It was sure to be bruised tomorrow, but the pain was so freeing. Maybe you should be attacking the Fatui more often if fighting made you feel THIS good.

"Don't tell me you're tired already," Childe smirked. "I haven't even gotten to see you use your vision yet!"

The lanterns lighting the city below vaguely illuminated the mountainside in which the two of you were fighting. It was the perfect view of both city and sea. Childe was interested in seeing the fantastic firework show, but the way things were going right now, he was more interested in testing your limits.

"Enough about that already," you growled and thrust your elbow into his side. The small 'oomph' that he exhaled made you a little too happy. He's wanted a fight with you ever since he came back that day, and even more so since you reunited. Who were you to refuse him now? Sure, you've refused in the past, but the anger and bitterness that came flooding back while you were at the festival needed relief. Ajax needed to know how much he hurt you all those years ago, whether you directly told him or not.

Childe, oblivious to the reason behind your sudden willingness to fight, was more than delighted to fight you. You must've been pretty desperate to change the subject of your phobia if you chose fighting as the alternative! That didn't stop him from feeling a little bad for pushing the subject, but the thrill of battle soon overcame the guilt and a new fascination overwhelmed his senses.

He was right. You are like him, even if it's just when you're angry. He can hone that: train you into becoming a warrior to be reckoned with. Childe held no intentions to convince you to join the Fatui, but instead prevent your potential from being wasted. He'd give you the opportunity to grow from amateur to expert. If you managed to surprise him in this moment, only archons would know exactly what he thought of you.

The harbinger steadied himself and threw his forearm out in time to block your swing, then countered with one of his own to your gut. It wasn't often that he trained in hand-to-hand combat, but that didn't make him any less deadly. He had to pull his punches to prevent from hurting you--though if we're being honest, he completely forgot to do that after the first couple minutes. It's not like you minded anyway. Childe was also slightly impressed at your strength; your looks were definitely deceiving and it worked to your advantage. He had underestimated you.

No wonder his men were complaining about the vigilante so much.

He caught your roundhouse kick aimed for his head and threw you off balance. The grass didn't soften your landing. The sole of his boot sat square in the middle of your chest as he towered over you. "Not bad," he praised with a raising of his lips. "I can see why you chose antagonizing the Fatui as a hobby." Something flashed in your eyes, but Childe wasn't sure what it was.

Your fist slammed into the side of his knee, knocking him off of you. As he fell you grabbed his arm so he'd land on his back. You were the one on top of him now with your knees pinning his shoulders into the grass. "Do you even remember?"

Childe blinked, and the bloodlust and thrill that was in his eyes was gone. Remember? What are-- You were struggling with something dark; your hands pulled the grass out from besides his head, eyes wavering with the slightest bit of hope swirling in the depths of pain. Seeing your expression, Childe parted his lips to speak. "Reed--?"

"Heh, forget it," you sniffed, swiping the bottom of your nose with your thumb and sitting up straighter as you vacantly analyzed the blood that now painted your finger.

BOOM! C-r-a-c-k-l-e....!

The Mingxiao lantern exploded somewhere behind you. The lights from the explosives cast a prolonged glow that illuminated Childe beneath you, but you were still staring at your hand. It was hard not to think about that night with your father. What could you have done to change the outcome? What could have helped you reach Ajax when he returned a different child? Based on your fight just now, he's never stopped looking for something to take his anger out on; a cruel contrast to the friendly toy seller demeanor. Meanwhile, Childe: What would've happened if you had fallen into the Abyss with him?

The lights were beautiful from Childe's point of view, but not for the common reason; they were blocked out save for the ones peeking out from behind your shoulders and head. You were backlit with bright colors--reds, blues, greens, yellows and oranges. Each cast a soft glow to your silhouette. The thoughtful look on your face while you refused to look his way was enticing, what with the sweat that slowly rolled down your temple and the forming bruises splattering across your arms. And the bloody nose he gave you--the blood that slowly trickled its way down to your upper lip--sent a pleasurable chill down his spine. You were a breathtaking mess of art.

He briefly wondered if you thought the same of him, but you never glanced down even after the lights of the lantern had faded.

...................

A few miles westward, at the base of Mount Tianheng. Ten minutes before the release of the Mingxiao lantern.

"Alright boys," a dark figure emerged from the shadows of the mountain and scanned the crowd of twenty-plus men all dressed in black robes. The gruff voice that erupted from the man was enough to silence the hushed whispers between comrades in arms. "Our scouts confirm the whereabouts of the target in the Northland Bank. Security is minimal as expected. Our primary objective is to retrieve those documents. Understood?"

Silent nods all around. Not one uttered a word, their obedience absolute. This was the man that compensated them fairly compared to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. Injustices laid out against them by their superiors in the Liyue division of the Fatui will be paid in due time. Now that there were enough committed to the cause, the master's plan will be put into action.

"The Fatui will fall," he bellowed.

"The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall! The Fatui will fall!" The servicemen dispersed as quickly as they heeded his words, shouts of determination fading into murmurs then silence.

"Charlie," the leader gestured towards his right-hand man. "A word."

"Yes, sir?" The brunette's wolf-like ears perked up at the voice of his master. It wasn't unusual that he was given a separate mission during times like this, so he prepared himself with a jaw clenched in anticipation.

"Though I doubt any of them would be caught in this operation by either party, I am not risking you for...obvious reasons. I have a separate matter to discuss with you." Eyes like a snake's watched Charlie with both thoughtfulness and pride. Charlie was by far the most trustworthy, being one of the few recruits that were in this group the longest. He's succeeded all expectations, to say the least. "You've mentioned before about a rogue citizen attacking the Liyue Fatui?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any new information on them?"

"Well," Charlie shifted his weight to his other foot and pulled at the collar of his jacket. "According to one of the agents, it's a she. The lack of evidence she leaves during expeditions indicate she's had some time to plot her attacks and escape routes...she's more of a threat to them than those who are joining our ranks--at least on the agent-level. Master Childe seems rather unconcerned with her."

"I see. Well, if you're up for a greater challenge, find her. And when you do, recruit her. With her skillset, the destruction of the Liyue Division will happen a lot faster."

"Yes, sir." This challenge wouldn't be easy. It was unusual for there to be someone like him in the ranks of the Fatui, but perhaps this could be an advantage for finding this vigilante that's been the talk of the Fatui for so long.

....................

Childe had parted ways with you a few minutes ago and decided to check in with the bank before bed. The city streets were still bustling with partiers and night owls, so he took the shortcut through neighboring alleyways to avoid the foot traffic.

He still couldn't figure out why you went quiet after sparring. Wasn't sure if he missed something--a cue, a word, a phrase...what was it? And why was it bugging him so much? His chest was tight and palms sweaty, his heart was even racing a bit. It was unusual for him to be so on-edge. His worries were rudely interrupted when he reached the stairs that led up to the bank.

Millelith.

"Why aren't you helping us?! We told you everything we know! We need those documents back!" Nadia was practically screaming at one of the authorities. "I told you, those documents are im--" Spotting Childe, she let out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank Her Majesty--We've been robbed, Master Childe."

"Robbed?"

"Mm, yes. The safe was broken into, but not a single mora was taken. The reception desk is in disarray, as is Andrei's office...papers are strewn about this way and that, and the documents Andrei was holding for you are missing."

"...I see."

"And these...these imbeciles aren't helping! They're saying there's nothing to do but make a report!"

"I understand the situation. I'll be taking it from here. Please return to your post, Nadia."

She turned on her heel. "Yes sir!"

Childe faced the Millelith again now that it was just him and them remaining. "Any leads?"

"N-No, sir." The taller one, who was seemingly the one in charge of the investigation, held a stern expression as he stared eye-to-eye with the harbinger. "No witnesses. Whoever pulled this off did so with help. The theory is at least five people were involved."

"Five?" Childe couldn't help but scoff at such a ridiculous idea. "And there were no witnesses at all? That's not possible."

"Sir--"

"No! You don't understand. That's impossible. Our security is too tight for even one person to slip through. There had to be someone. Are you sure you crosschecked those who are on duty?"

The guard just shrugged. He wasn't even interested in hearing what Childe had to say! Even the other guards that were accompanying him appeared bored and even annoyed that they had to deal with the Fatui.

Seeing this, the harbinger pulled at his hair. Steady now, he reminded himself, Don't lose your temper here. "If I may, I'd like to speak with your leading supervisor."

"You're lookin' at him," the lead guard answered with an arrogant smirk that pissed Childe off even more.

"Tch--Whoever's in charge of you."

"Sorry, but he's off-duty at the moment. You can speak with him at the civil affairs tomorrow evening."

"Right." Childe grit his teeth and took an extra deep breath to calm himself. Of course, it didn't work. Damn them! If I could have it my way, they'd be lying in a pool of their own blood right here and now for their audacity to ignore a crime against us--We fund them, for crying out loud! Perhaps I should send for the Tsaritsa's wisdom-- If it weren't for Lady Signora keeping him in the dark in regards to Morax's gnosis, he wouldn't feel like a dog on a tight leash right now. The great weapon of war forced to heel for the sake of the cryo archon's image. Childe made his way for Andrei's office with clenched fists.

Sure enough, it was trashed. Every document, every book, every folder lay strewn about or trampled on. Nadia and another agent were busy sorting through and placing each in their respective places; Andrei was out near the docks so it would be awhile before anyone managed to get ahold of him...

Childe knelt at the safe under the desk that sat before the set of double-paned windows. It was empty. Every single letter from the Tsaritsa was inside; each detailing next and future steps for the Fatui and Northland Bank; classified documents that updated him of the politics occurring in the Motherland; evidence of...certain matters that would no doubt give the Qixing enough power to ban the presence of Fatui in Liyue. All of it was gone.

Who'd go to such sophisticated lengths to get their hands on these? The Qixing abide by the law, so they wouldn't do something so unorthodox. The Millelith were definitely biased and held grudges against him, so they're not entirely ruled out...What was the suspects' goal? A smear campaign? If it is, they got it.

If he hadn't been away from the office, surely they wouldn't have been so bold as to pull off a bank heist. But one good thing came out of this: You definitely weren't involved since you were with him. Wait...whoever did this must've been watching him. You could be involved if you had help, but you've never mentioned anyone helping you. So you and this situation were completely unrelated. That had to be the case.

Regardless, his every move is being watched. The only question that remains is, by who?

#childe genshin impact #childe tartaglia #tartaglia genshin impact #genshin x reader #tartaglia x reader #fanfiction #inception

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mehphoobia · 3 years

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You are beautiful

pairing - Tom Holland (actor) x Reader (college girl)

summary - Y/n is visiting her parents for the first time to Rio, whom she doesn’t know properly because they left her with her aunt when she was young. She is insecure about meeting her parents but she finds comfort in a stranger.

MASTERLIST

word count- 2.9k or around 3k

warnings - mentions of insecurity and self doubt, no swearing(cause its like my first post so gotta stay ‘pure’)

“Get up Y/N and Claudia…its 8 am already. We are going to be late.” a faint alarm could be heard from the kitchen, two rooms away from your room.

_______________________________________________________________

Your parents had been looking forward this vacation for months. With your father working in Rio for the past 7 years and your mother being a full time nurse at a nearby hospital in Rio where your parents lived, you never got a chance to feel how it felt to be with your parents. So naturally with no one to your care, you grew up with your Aunt Cass and your cousin Claudia, around whom your entire world revolved for the past 20 years.

________________________________________________________________

Grumpy, filled with laziness up to the brim Claudia dragged herself to your bed and tortured you to get up. “Just two more minutes. I swear”, you begged as if she was listening. Then came the final blow with a splash of water on your face and then well….its self-explanatory. You both got up, finished through the verbal fight which left Aunt Cass chuckling in the kitchen.

“Aren’t you a tad bit excited to go to Rio, it’s been years since your parents last spent time with you.” Asked Claudia looking at you expression-less face in the mirror while brushing your teeth. “I don’t know Cloud, it’s just that I don’t know how I should feel about it. I am nervous and scared and tired just thinking about how awkward it can get.”

________________________________________________________________

Your parents had last seen you on your 16th birthday, when they showed up at your house. The 16th year where you are neither an adult nor a child, of all those years they could have shown up, it was that year. Your mother had gifted you a manicure set and your father had bought you a hair kit and you absolutely had no idea what to do with it. Little did they know that you were more interested in trekking and photography rather than painting your nails and dyeing your hair? Where other girls chose tight fitting dresses and expensive heels you chose the comfort of sweatshirts: pajamas or jeans and sneakers.

_______________________________________________________________

“You will be fine, it’s YOU after all. If I can tolerate you enough to share my room with you then trust me, anyone can put up with you” said Claudia boasting her patience and handing a comb from her dresser. “Why don’t you curse or compliment me one at a time” you snapped annoyingly. But you were grateful for supportive arms around you which calmed you down.

After getting ready, you greeted Aunt Cass with a smile on your face and a stretched good morning as you helped yourself with some toast and orange juice. “Eat well, it’s a long flight after all” said Aunt Cass followed by a “Yes ma’am.”

“Keep your phone charged at all times. Keep calling me after every two hours and did you pack enough clothes to last you a month. I don’t want to hear your mother complaining later about it. Should I pack some extra snacks for you, you will surely not take care for meals and if you skip any your meals throughout the day, I swear you have had it then.” It never ceased to amaze you how multitasking Aunt Cass could be. She is strict, tough and a woman of her words. There was not a single day when you and Claudia had not done your college assignments or homework with Aunt Cass being at home. But at the same time she would sit with you past midnight when both of you cousins stayed awake for you midterms. Maybe that’s why you never missed your parents because you never had a void in your life, Claudia and Aunt Cass had filled it lovingly.

That being said, before you knew it all three of you were in the car and already off for the airport. The entire ride was filled with constant chattering as to how famous and beautiful Rio is and as how will not be able to walk down a street without bumping into a celebrity. However you were lost in your thoughts about living with your parents for a month, about whom you knew nothing and neither did they about you.

After reaching the Leipzig Airport, you waved them goodbye, leaving the loving and proud embrace of Aunt Cass and a cute envious look on Claudia’s face you were all set for Rio.

During the flight:

It was a 15hr flight, with the overthinking and hyperactive person you were there was no possible way you could have had a simple excited flight journey, but there is no harm in wishing one for right? Or so you thought.

When you were boarding the plane you noticed an unusual number of bodyguards outside, literally engulfing the poor person standing in middle. What annoyed you the most was the people who were cheering, because at some point of time it wasn’t cheering anymore, it was a mob attack. After boarding, what greeted you were the over excited air-hostesses which was obviously because ‘the person’ as you painfully learnt through the mob attack. But all you could care at that moment was your seat being a window seat or not, and luckily it was. After putting your hand luggage in the upper compartment (you had three suitcases and one hand luggage) you finally asked a fellow passenger dressed in black hoodie with a mask on his face and skinny jeans as to what exactly was the commotion about and to brief you about the situation. The answer surprised you- it was none other than Tom Holland.

Your mouth was literally in the O shape and eyes wide open. It was the Tom Holland. It was your favorite actor travelling in the same flight with you. That explained the mob attack. The only person that came to you upper floor was your Claudia.

Y/N: TOM HOLLAND is in the flight right now!!!!!! Tom freaking Holland.

Claudia: wwwwhhhhaaatttt!!!???????, damn I knew I should have gone with you. How could you do this to me? Why?

Y/N: I am sorry ok I didn’t know or wait maybe I did. His visit to Leipzig was mentioned in his itinary on his twitter account how could we miss that? We just got lucky man and also I was squashed in the mob attack at the airport.

Claudia: Oh! You mean you got lucky dipshit!? Please tell me you got a picture!

Y/N: no I couldn’t, I hardly knew about him being on the plane I asked someone and I have been freaking out since.

*announcement for switching off electrical devices.*

Y/N: I have to switch off my phone for a while, the flight’s gonna take off.

Claudia: okay, I knew I should have come with you. Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!text me soon..love you

Y/N: yeah you should have, I miss you. Love you too.

“Are you a fan too?” asked your neighbor. You look at him with suspicious eyes was he eying your texts? Because if he was, that’s not healthy and it creeped you out. Even though, “well yes, me and my sister.” You said and hoped the conversation will die out there. He took the answer and you could imagine a small smirk curling upon his face by the wrinkling of his eyes which was adorable. By his physique and posture he looked no older than early twenties. “What about you, are you fan?” you asked, unknowingly and regretted it immediately. “He doesn’t bugger me, so you could say so. How long have you been a fan?” ,“My aunt happened to be watching ‘The Impossible’, when we were younger and we have been crazy about him since. My sister liked him like crazy as to how cute he was but I liked his acting in the movie but ended up liking him too.”

“Very interesting..” something about him was attracting you, maybe his aura, the charming vibes, you didn’t know, but you were just attracted. But something pinned you, his accent, he had a British accent. Unknowingly, when your eyes met, your heart skipped a beat. It’s him. He was sitting right here. He realized your surprised expression and said, ”You can take a picture now” he chuckled and looking directly at you. Your brain on the other hand was still processing the vital information and the very awesome physique with veiny and beautiful hands and captivating eyes. How could you miss his eyes, those beautiful passion filled dark brown eyes.

“uh..um..h hi, I mean hello nice to meet you, I am Y/N”, ”Tom Holland” he said extending a hand not taking his eyes off of you. It amazed you really, how could he despite being an actor maintain such a down to earth personality. The way he talks, listens to you, waits for your reply and him being in the economy class instead of comfortably sitting in the first class seating arrangements. Wait!?Why was he here?. As if he read your mind and a sudden change in your expression from being flustered to confused. “Too many people, I needed to get out of there and breathe by myself for once. No cameras, no media, no stylists….jus… just plain old me. By the way, my manager is my imposter”, he said with a smirk on his face.

“Oh sure, I can understand that, it can get tiring sometimes. The attention being forced on you that you were never used to it. My parents too, in that way, been out of my life since the very year I turned 1 and suddenly they want meet me and want me to stay with them for a month in Rio. I didn’t want to but my aunt convinced me and I couldn’t say no to her. ”, ”You stayed with your aunt your entire life? Didn’t you miss your parents?” his passionate eyes suddenly changed into concern and pity, “yeah, but she means a lot to me, she was there for all my dance ceremonies, each and every one of my birthday’s , my graduation, she means the world to me so does my sister, she is like my pillar, my support , an annoying one at that.” You said smiling on you lap, and you could feel his gaze softening upon yours. ”my parents, uhh…you can never miss something you never had.” You looked at him again, but this time you could feel and see his gaze on you, watching you and never leaving your eyes.

Both you were so lost in each other that you didn’t realize when the flight had taken off and the snacks table breaking your moment. “Oh it’s been so long already since the plane took off, I didn’t realize we even missed the safety instructions”, you both chuckled at that. “Oh man!, you are really beautiful, really” he said running his hand down his locks and realizing that his tone was a bit too loud, and he meant to keep the compliment to himself. “Sorry?” you asked, despite you pretty much heard it when he said it, you wanted to hear it again.

“uhh..i m..mean your teeth are beautiful.” He realized what he said and his expression was like ‘did I really just say that?’. “I mean your smile is beautiful, Not your teeth..oh wait..I mean your teeth are beautiful too but your smi…” you couldn’t hold you laugh anymore looking at him and his cute ‘war’ with himself. “Thank you, I guess, a lot of people say that about me after I got my braces removed.”

“Oh you had braces? Since when?” “around when I was 15, like every girl wanted to look pretty and wanted boys around her ,so me and my sister had braces for the sake of it, not that I cared about me getting a boyfriend, just for fun”. He seemed to have got stuck on one word, “so you got one?”…”got what?” , “a boyfriend I mean?”. His expression changed and yet again you could feel blood rushing to your cheeks, “I always wanted a crazy guy, who could have something similar to my interests, ‘cause I am not like every other girl in the town, I am into trekking and photography and outdoor activities, not just a girl who likes shopping and who always has to be around people so, my specifications are a bit particular, so I have never had a boyfriend.”

“So, no boyfriend, right?” he asked as if that being the only part he was interested in, or who knows may be he actually was.

After a few hours, you realized you had a lot of things in common and the internet was all wrong about his interests and all. It was like meeting a complete different person, a person whom you have known for the longest time as if you have always been together. You were attracted to him and so was he to you, and you could tell that.

“So what are you doing in Germany? Did you have a shoot here?” you didn’t mind asking because he already had mentioned a lot of stuff that he was not supposed to and also his eyes lit up when he was excited to tell you about some stuff anything at all. “uh..yeah we had to film a segment in Berlin and then we decided to take a break, so I around different places and now we are heading towards the Carnival.” “oh Carnival huh? My aunt says its pretty lively. That was like the main reason why I agreed to go Rio. ”

“so don’t mind me asking, but are you going to be awkward around your parents? Like I know you are not very close to them..” he asked you sincerely concerned with his hands slightly brushing off of yours on the handle of the seat. It’s like he wanted to hold your hand because he knew the weight of his question but he felt like you would disintegerate if he did so. You could feel the same pit around your stomach filled with nervousness that you had forgotten about a for couple hours. “I don’t know, it’s complicated, I don’t know anything about them and also they might have certain expectations about me and what do I do if I do not live up to it. I know we haven’t had a very comfortable story build around us but somehow I don’t wanna disappoint them from my side because they don’t know anything about me like the birthday incident I mentioned about. But I simply don’t want to disappoint because I don’t want my mother, who was never there for me, to question my aunt, who has always been there for me” It’s like you pour the entire timeline of your life in front of Tom and you were scared if he would drift away. “I understand Y/N, but your parents were the ones who planned this trip right?” “yeah they were the ones.” “so that’s it, you know when I have too much on my plate, my manager asks me to take a break and let everything go for sometime. All my meetings and appointments are cancelled because I will ruin them anyway, so there is no point of it. Your situation is kind of similar too, you have had a lot in your life with you parents not being there and now you simply just have to take a break and forget everything for a while because that’s what your aunt wants to you to do.” His hand finally rested upon yours and none of you flinched. It’s as if it’s meant to be.

That being said, you have already arrived in Rio and a beautiful ocean greeted you with open arms and you accepted it with a fresh mind. Tom’s hand still resting over yours and his fingers brushing the upper part of your hand and you look at each other embracing each other’s warmth with your eyes. That’s when you realized that you have fallen for him, not Tom Holland but just him, just Tom.

After the plane landed he was still holding on to you, scared to let go. He was scared to let you go because he cared about you and some fact had gotten him attracted towards you and he was scared to show you his vulnerable side. On the other hand you were scared to let go because you might never see him again. As if he sensed it again, what you were thinking, “I will see you again for sure. Don’t worry.” With a tight squeeze on his hand you let go and say “thank you, I will wait for you.”

“me too.”

You didn’t see him again after departing the flight, he would steal glances out of every opportunity to see you ,lost between the flashes of cameras and cheering, till the last second. The last time you saw him was to murmur something to his manager pointing towards you and that was it, the escalator distanced him from you. But you would still wait..

Outside the gate you could see your parents waiting for you, with Tom’s words in your mind you greeted them with a smile and everything seemed normal, as if they were always with you.

Two weeks later, still no message from Tom.

Claudia bombarded you with messages, when you told her about the entire duration of the flight. You were kind of annoyed with messages cause they were literally somewhere is hundreds. So you decided to ignore her for sometime.

*Ting* some part of you wanted to check that message but the other part of you wanted to go eat pizza because you were really tired from messaging and explaining everything to Claudia over texts. But then you were like *screw it* and you checked the message and…

*unknown number*: I said you were really beautiful Y/N….

A/n- uh..first of all thank you for reading this, cause it like my first post and my first fanfiction so i was a bit skeptical about posting this but fuck it, here it is guys it took me around four hours to complete this and its worth it.

also if you wanna be tagged in this just let me know!!! *uwu face*

lemme know if you want a part 2 of this, because I will gladly include it with improvement of course, love you ppl...

#tomholland #tom holland #tomholland fanfiction #tomhollandxreader #tom holland x reader #actor!tomholland #actorxreader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tomhollandfluff #tomxreader #actor tom holland #actortom #marvel

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secretpeachtea · 4 years

Text

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 6

Title: the eagle, the seagull, the crow, and the Brazilians

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 5.3k (whoops)

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: this one’s a bit of a slow burn (more so than the usual hehe), but I promise it gets better near the 2nd half! There’s not much drama in this chapter, but I think y/n deserves a bit of a break ya feel? Enjoy, my dudes

Previous///Next

Tonight is a special night because it’s ‘Create Your Own Onigiri’ night! Your boss decided to hold this small event to try something new and allow his customers to have some fun in the process. There are laminated onigiri instruction sheets on each of the tables as well as a small customized menu created for this event specifically. You helped him post a couple announcements on social media about the event a week prior to inform the public, and so far, things have been going smoothly.

Osamu is mainly in the kitchen prepping any ingredients for the customers and you’ve been standing at the register as usual. You are pleasantly surprised at how much everyone was enjoying making their own onigiris, and it seems like people of all ages were having fun.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya!” You greet automatically with a bright smile as the front entrance slides open. A group of very physically fit men walk into the shop with large sports duffel bags slung across their shoulders. Despite the slightly intimidating aura the group gave off, one of the males walked inside with a young child hugging his arm. You scan over all of them briefly and your eyes widen as you make eye contact with Ushijima whom you just met a little over a week ago when the Shiratorizawa alumni visited.

You gave the tall volleyball player a small smile. “Hey, Ushijima-san! What brings you back so soon?”

“You assured me that I should bring my team, and we all wanted to participate in the event today,” Ushijima responded back. “My teammate, Romero-san, is not from Japan, so we wanted to find a restaurant with traditional food.”

“R-right…” You didn’t expect him to actually bring his team any time soon, but you’re still amused at how seriously he took your words from before. You can assume that the only foreigner in the group is the ‘Romero-san’ that Ushijima spoke of. There are probably hundreds of other restaurants the group could’ve gone to for a more cultural experience, so you’re a little giddy that he chose to come here. “Well, it’s good to see you again! I’d be more than happy to help your team have a good time here.”

To Ushijima’s left, another tall figure stood with a resting scowl. His gaze made its way to the kitchen where Osamu was and immediately lit up in recognition. Although, there might’ve been some confusion. “Miya-san, I didn’t know you worked here. Don’t you have practice right now?”

Your boss lets out a short laugh as he looks over his shoulder to look directly at the boy who spoke to him. “Wrong twin, Kageyama-san.”

“Ah.”

Kageyama looks down and glares at the floor mildly distressed at his mistake. There’s a part of you that wants to laugh at his reaction, so you do so internally. Suddenly, you feel someone staring at you, so your eyes shift over in that direction to a male with white hair and round eyes. His stature and overall mannerisms reminded you of a certain orange haired ball of sunshine, so you couldn’t help but stare back a bit longer than you intended. There was a sudden shift in his demeanor and his eyes narrowed at you.

“Why you staring? Is it ‘cause you’ve never seen a volleyball player my height? You’re impressed by the Hoshiumi Korai, right?” The boyish male lifted up his hands as if trying to intimidate you, but in your eyes, he seemed completely harmless.

With a sweet smile, you calmly reply back to his accusations. “Sorry about that. You just remind me of a good friend of mine. He also plays volleyball, and you’re both around the same height. I haven’t seen you play before, but I’m sure you’ve worked hard to get to where you are now regardless of your height, Hoshiumi-san.”

You know you’ve startled him with your kind and composed response when he freezes in place for a couple seconds before dropping his arms back to his sides abruptly and looking away to hide a small grin.

The last two people in the group, whom you assume are father and son, seem to be in their own worlds as they converse quietly. Now seems like a good time to let everyone get settled in, so you step away from the register and gesture for them to follow you. “ My name is (Surname) (Name). You guys can follow me! There’s a table over there that can fit all five of you. Then, I can explain how things are gonna work for today.”

Once the guys all settle in, you stand at the end of the table and point at one of the instruction sheets as well as the menu. “You can pick 2-3 ingredients for your onigiri! One of the ingredients will include meat or seafood and anything else can be a vegetable, seasoning, or both. All of the prices are written down on the menu and there are written instructions on how to make your own onigiri with pictures as guides. Feel free to call me over if you need clarifications. Any questions?”

Multiple heads shake at the same time. You pull out a tiny notepad and pen from your pocket and prepare to take orders. “Great! Then, what can I get for you guys?”

Romero lifts one of his arms to get everyone’s attention and begins to speak somewhat broken Japanese, “Order whatever! I will pay!”

After that declaration, you jot down all of the ingredients that the group orders including some refreshments. “Alrighty! We’ll set up all your ingredients soon on the counter. Once everything’s ready, there’ll be trays for you to take back to your table.”

You bow your head and stroll back behind the counter to relay the order to Osamu. As you’re helping set up some ingredients that don’t require any cooking, you notice that your boss frequently steals glances at the volleyball team with starstruck eyes and curiosity pokes at your mind. “What’s got you looking excited like a kid on Christmas?”

Osamu quickly turns around to face you while holding a spatula in one hand and tongs in the other. Leaning down to keep the conversation between the two of you, he unconsciously lifts both kitchen utensils up in the air with enthusiasm and flashes a childlike grin. “That’s Nicolas Romero! He’s a really famous world class volleyball player from Brazil. My brother and I used to watch him on TV all the time when we were younger, so it’s kind of crazy to see him in person!”

There’s a slight leap in your heart as you watch Osamu’s eyes brighten in joy but choose to ignore that strange feeling for the time being. “Now that you mention it, I think I saw a couple posters and billboards with his face on them when I was in Brazil.”

“I was really surprised when ‘Tsumu told me he was coming to Japan to play for the Schweiden Adlers. I never thought he’d come to my restaurant though!” Your boss is quite awestruck at the idea that such an important figure from his childhood was about to eat food that he cooks himself and it’s enough to elicit a giggle from you.

It’s not long before all the ingredients are set up on four large trays along with a couple beverages. You face the group of males and raise a hand next to your mouth. “Order’s ready for Romero-san!”

Romero stands up from his seat and pats his son on the head to stay put before gesturing at Kageyama to follow him. “Tobio, help me bring the food?”

“Of course, Romero-san!” The setter shoots up from his spot with a zealous expression and immediately follows behind his teammate like a baby duckling. When the two arrive in front of the counter, they give you a short thanks and take their trays back to their table. Osamu subtly glimpses at his childhood idol but quickly looks back down with a flustered expression when he notices you sending him a smirk of your own.

With everyone pretty much settled in, you decide to walk around to the other tables to see if anyone needs any assistance or if they have any questions. You return back to the register after a couple of minutes ready to sit down and take a quick break, but you notice a couple drinks sitting on the counter. The volleyball team must have forgotten to take them when they took their food. Since you didn’t have much to do at the moment, you decide to take the drinks to their table yourself.

With arms full of beverages, you walk up to the Adlers. “Hello, sorry to interrupt, but you left your drinks on the counter. I just thought I’d bring them for you.”

Romero takes the drinks from you and then distributes all of them to each person after sporting a grateful smile. “Ah, thank you!”

You’re about to walk away, but the sight before is almost too ridiculous for you to look elsewhere. All of the men are in the process of creating their onigiris, but each creation looks quite...interesting.

Ushijima’s onigiri is one very large globular rice ball, which distinctively resembles a volleyball, with a few sesame seeds sprinkled at the top. Hoshiumi’s onigiri almost looks like it’s about to explode with how much meat was piled inside the rice and probably would’ve fallen apart if he didn’t have it enclosed around both of his hands. Kageyama’s onigiri is of a decent size, but he must’ve put too much pressure when shaping the rice because it just looks like mush with obvious handprints. Romero is the only person at the table who was able to make a normal onigiri, but everyone seems to be enjoying their time so you don’t think Osamu needs to come over and help.

You finally look at the young child sitting next to his father and tilt your head in confusion when you notice that he’s not participating or eating anything his father made for him. With slight concern, you turn towards Romero. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is your son not fond of the food? I could offer some other ingredient options?”

“Oh, that’s okay. Everything is perfect!” Romero replies with a knowing look. “Rubens is just a little grumpy since he misses his mother. She met new friends at an onsen and they invited her out to go shopping today. Thank you for asking, though.”

After living in Brazil for a couple months, you were able to pick up on some Portuguese. You’re not in any way fluent yet, so when the older man briefly speaks to his son, you can only make out Romero asking Rubens if he wanted a different onigiri and that he needed to eat to be healthy. The boy’s pout deepens and just simply states that he was bored. Romero sends you an apologetic smile, and you just wave your hand to let him know that you understood.

A sudden idea pops into your head. “Romero-san, is your son allergic to anything? I have an idea to help Rubens enjoy himself more. Would you mind if I try to make your son something?”

“Go for it! My son does not have any allergies, but he does love pork!” Romero nods his head in approval.

You quickly make your way back behind the counter and peek over Osamu’s shoulder as he stands in front of the stove. “Hey boss, do you mind if I try to make something for Romero’s son?”

“Sure. I don’t think anyone needs any help or anything at the moment, so you’re free to do whatever you’d like,” Osamu replies nonchalantly and you tap his arm gratefully.

Situating yourself in front of the counter surrounded by ingredients, you momentarily think about what you want to do. You make the final decision to create two designs for the onigiris that you think Rubens might like. After washing your hands, you gather up all the ingredients you need and even snatch some extra pork from Osamu’s pan. After a couple minutes of putting together the onigiris, you place them on a plate and examine your creations.

The first onigiri resembles a simplified stegosaurus with meat substituting the spines of the dinosaur and some sesame seeds throughout the body for texture. The second onigiri is just a regular rice ball with pork and vegetables, but a couple irregularly shaped pieces of nori are scattered across the surface to resemble a dinosaur egg. Both onigiris lie on top of a small pile of bonito flakes to act as a nest.

You take the plate of food to where Rubens is sitting, a bit nervous since you aren’t sure how he’s going to react. Everyone else at the table just watches curiously as you place the onigiris in front of the young child and his eyes widen. He’s practically mesmerized by his dinosaur themed meal and even some of the other guys are impressed.

Rubens quickly turns towards his father and whispers into his ear. Romero chuckles and pats his son’s head lovingly before facing you. “My son wants to know how you did that. He absolutely loves it.”

A sigh of relief leaves your lips at your successful attempt at making the child happy. The only problem was that you were still in the middle of work, so you didn’t know if you could spend any more time here. Coincidentally, Osamu seemed to have overheard everything for the last couple minutes from his spot in the kitchen. “Hey, (Name)-san. If you wanna take a quick break and spend some time with the kid, I don’t think there would be any problem with it.”

You’re really grateful for Osamu’s leniency, but a part of you still feels bad as you turn to look at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to skip out on my job so suddenly.”

“Don’t worry about it. The boss said it’s all good.” Osamu gives you a reassuring smile and you take it as your cue to grab an extra chair off to the side and sit beside Rubens. You’re about to grab some rice to begin teaching the boy, but a slight tug on your sleeve makes you freeze in place. As you look to your side, you see Kageyama’s hand near your shoulder and there’s an intense look in his eyes.

“K-Kageyama-san, would you like to learn too?” You ask a bit surprised. Your bewilderment is replaced with amusement when he nods at you furiously and you almost laugh out loud at his excitement.

“Oh! Me too! Me too!” Hoshiumi intervenes enthusiastically and even Ushijima seems to be interested. These guys sure were something else.

In the end, everyone in the group was watching as you demonstrated how to make different designs with the onigiri rice. Rubens finally succumbed to his hunger and began to eat his dinosaur meal, so you were left to attend to the grown up men who listened to you eagerly like school children, aside from Romero who needed to step outside to answer a call from his wife.

“Alright! Now that you have some of the basics down, why don’t you each try to make your own? Just to keep it simple, we’ll all choose a single design. Any ideas as to what you guys want to make?” There’s a brief silence as everyone tries to think of something doable. Suddenly, Ushijima lifts up his phone and an image of what you recognize to be Japan’s adorable volleyball mascot* is shown. You sweatdrop as Hoshiumi and Kageyama clap in agreement at the volleyball player’s obvious, yet adorable selection.

Other than having to give a few pointers to Hoshiumi and Ushijima, it seems like they were doing a pretty decent job at making the character. The one who was truly struggling was Kageyama. He was still putting too much pressure when molding the rice. As he continues to squeeze the rice excessively, you gently place your hands on top of his slender fingers.

“You’re putting too much force in your hands, Kageyama-san. Here, loosen your grip a bit and I can show you.” With that said, Kageyama lets go of his vice grip and allows you to guide his hands over the rice. The two of you stay like that for a couple more seconds until you successfully make a circular rice ball. As the male opens his palms upward with your hands still wrapped around his, his eyes sparkle in amazement.

Kageyama bows his head gratefully and when he looks back up at you, you’re taken aback by the amount of admiration flooding his expression. Your body stiffens when he quickly puts down the onigiri and clasps your hands between his. “Thank you, (Surname)-san!”

“N-No problem.” You feel a bit of heat creep up your cheeks with the way Kageyama was holding your hands so delicately.

The moment doesn’t last long, however, when you suddenly feel someone’s fingers graze the side of your face and a sticky feeling is left on your skin. When you look to see who the culprit is, your eyes fall on the youngest person at the table with one of the most terrified expressions you’ve ever witnessed. Almost immediately, Rubens starts apologizing in broken Japanese similar to the way his father has been speaking, “S-sorry! Sorry! Sorry!”

While you were busy working with Kageyama, Rubens had finished eating and wanted to make his own onigiri since he was still a bit hungry. He wanted to grab more rice from the bowl next to you but misjudged his movements and accidently touched your cheek with his sauce covered fingers. The child felt absolutely horrified and was afraid that you’d hate him for this.

Using a napkin, you wipe off as much as you can from your cheek and then proceed to lower yourself onto the ground to get to the child’s eye level. Mustering up your brightest smile, you try your best to reassure Rubens who looks like he’s about to cry. “Hey, hey! It’s okay, Rubens! I’m not mad.”

You spend the next couple minutes cooing at the sniffling young boy, and once you’re sure that Rubens is no longer going to cry, you sit back down on your chair. You lift up a ball of rice to gesture that you want to help him make an onigiri and he nods his head. You make a traditional triangular onigiri but place two rolled up bonito flakes for eyes and a piece of curved rice on top of the nori to make it look like a bearded face. There’s an almost immediate shift in the child’s mood when you point at the design and then to the empty chair next to him because you had made an onigiri that resembled his father.

Both of your laughs fill the air and the whole situation resembles a heartwarming scene from an anime. You were too distracted to notice the multiple pairs of eyes watching the scene in captivation. Once Rubens starts to eat again, you look up to see some lingering stares. “Is everything alright?”

Two stoic faces avoid your eyes by looking down, while Hoshiumi snaps out of his trance. The white haired male sits up a little straighter before addressing you. “Hey, you’re pretty good with kids, (Surname)-san!”

“I’ve had a couple babysitting jobs in the past. I’m not perfect with kids, but I did pick up a few things here and there,” you respond back shyly.

At this moment, Romero walks back into the shop while pocketing his phone. “Sorry to cut our time short, but I think my wife is coming back home soon. I should start heading out with Rubens. You guys can stay longer if you’d like.”

“That’s okay, Romero-san. I think we’re all ready to leave as well.” Kageyama lifted up his tray which spurred the rest of the other guys to do the same. As everyone helps out in cleaning up their area, you head back to the register to receive the payments for the meal from Romero.

The guys were now all ready to leave, but your boss quickly grabs their attention after taking a glance at a certain framed object on the shop’s wall. “Do you guys mind signing some autographs to put up in the shop?”

“Of course!” Romero exclaims. The rest of the team complies as well and they each sign a piece of paper that will most likely be displayed by tomorrow. Once that’s done, the team stands in front of the exit with their belongings. Rubens tugs at his father’s arms to get his attention and Romero bends down to listen to what the boy wants to say.

“What’s up?....Name?....Onigiri Miya…”

You can’t make out anything other than a few words, so you’re thrown completely off guard when Rubens suddenly jumps up from his spot and waves his arms wildly at you. “Bye-bye, Mrs. Miya!”

You don’t even hear any of the other males voice their goodbyes and leave the shop as blood rushes through your ears and your face flushes into deep crimson color. It seems like Osamu wasn’t spared either as his cheeks explode with heat at the implication. Both of you stand in awkward silence for a few seconds to calm your hearts until Osamu musters up the courage to glance at you first.

His expression shifts a little as he stares at your face. Osamu then points at your cheek. “Oh, (Name)-san. You still got a little something on your face.”

Momentarily forgetting about feeling flustered, you realize that you might not have gotten rid of all the sauce from when Ruben accidentally touched your cheek. “What? I thought I got it all off. Why didn’t anyone say anything?”

You attempt to wipe off the sauce remnants, but fail to do so each time because you don’t know where it is exactly. Osamu grabs a clean towel from the top shelf and slightly dampens it under the sink before standing in front of you again. “I got you.”

Osamu lifts up the towel and starts to wipe at your cheek softly. When your head starts moving too much, he brings up his other hand and places it gently on your neck to support it. There must have been a lot more sauce left than you expected because Osamu continues to hold you in place for a couple more seconds, his eyes never leaving your face. Unconsciously, your own eyes drift around his features and you can’t help but admit how handsome he looked at the moment.

“Oh, young love~”

Both you and Osamu flinch back when you hear one of the customers that are still in the room say their thoughts. When you glance at the table where the voice came from, you see an elderly couple smiling at you while holding hands with one another in a loving manner. The previous blush you had comes back in full force as you remember that the two of you were not alone and in a somewhat intimate position together.

“T-t-thanks, Osamu-san!” You stutter and almost trip over your own feet as you start walking towards the bathroom with hurried steps. “I’m j-just gonna...um...go to the bathroom really quick!”

As you rush away from Osamu, he just watches your back disappear behind the bathroom door. He stands in place quietly as he processes what had just happened and there’s a foreign feeling in his stomach that he can’t explain. He simply turns his back to the bathroom and rubs a hand to his cheek to hide the smile that threatens to creep onto his lips.

Leftovers

You’re currently laying on your couch comfortably surrounded by pillows and blankets while watching a movie on your laptop. Today was your day off from work, so you planned to stay in for the whole day and catch up on some alone time. As much as you want to focus on your movie, your mind starts to wander off.

About two days have passed since you met the Schweiden Adlers volleyball team at Onigiri Miya, but they were still on your mind. Based on the tidbits of information you’ve gathered from Osamu, Adlers and MSBY were rival teams. It almost makes you want to laugh at how different the two teams were in terms of their dynamics and personalities, so you hope to see them play against each other one day.

Suddenly, the ringing of your doorbell interrupts your thoughts and you pause your movie. You stand up and walk towards your door in confusion. You weren’t expecting anyone to visit, so you’re a bit weary as you look through the peephole.

As if the universe knew what you were thinking about before, you’re surprised to see Sakusa standing outside your door with his usual face mask. Swiftly unlocking the door, you pull it open and greet your curly haired acquaintance.

“Hey, Sakusa-san! What’s-” You stop speaking abruptly when you notice two large bags in the volleyball players arms and they look fairly heavy too. “Oh, wow. Are those...for me?”

Sakusa just nods his head and you quickly open your door wider to let him inside to place the bags down. You’re extremely curious as to what the contents were since both bags were covered by tissue paper, even more so because Sakusa was the one to bring them to you. He places both bags onto your coffee table and you’re about to ask what they were for, but he beats you to it.

“Congrats,” Sakusa states with his usual impassive expression but there’s a hint of softness to his tone.

At this time, you’re completely perplexed. “Congrats for what?”

“For graduating.” Sakusa’s reply causes your eyebrows to shoot up. “This is from the team.”

“Oh...” You’re left speechless for a moment as you try to understand the situation and once everything finally clicks, a warm feeling encompasses your heart. “Um...thank you.”

You gaze at the gifts bags for a bit longer with various emotions swirling through your eyes before talking again. “...did the team send you because we live in the same apartment building?”

“Yeah.” Sakusa let out a sigh which made you laugh a bit, but it didn’t sound like he was necessarily bothered by the task.

The male briefly checks his phone and gestures that he needs to leave soon. As Sakusa starts to make his way back to the front door, you follow with light steps to see him out. “Let everyone know that I really appreciate this when you see them again for practice!”

He nods in acknowledgement and the two of you exchange goodbyes before you finally lock the door as he walks away. Without a moment to lose, you rush over to the large bags sitting on your coffee table with anticipation. Just from the first glance, you can tell that there are multiple things piled up, so you’ll just have to take things out one by one.

After removing the tissue paper from the bag on the left first, you pull out something large and fluffy. In your hands is a huge teddy bear that’s wearing an MSBY jersey while holding a small note card that says “Congratulations on Graduation!”. You immediately know who it’s from because the bear’s multicolored fur resembles the colors of Bokuto’s hair. You give the bear a tight hug before placing it next to you on the couch.

The next thing you take out is a miniature set of hand lotions with a small bottle of pepper spray taped onto it. There’s a small note on the bottle that says “It’s dangerous walking home alone at night”. There’s no indication of who the gift giver is, but you know that Sakusa would be the only one to pick out these specific gifts. As you move the package to the side, another small piece of paper falls to the ground. It must have been stuck to the bottom of the hand lotion set. When you pick it up, there’s another note that says “Thanks for the soup”. Your smile widens. It seems like you had guessed correctly.

The last gift from the first bag is a beautiful mug with a sunrise design printed onto it. There’s a Brazilian flag sticking out of the mug, which makes it even more obvious that the gift was from your dear friend Hinata. When you push aside the flag, there’s a limited edition Bouncing Ball keychain inside the mug as well with a cute handwritten card that says “Congratulations, (Name)-san! We should hang out one day to play some beach volleyball like we did in Brazil!”. Your cheeks were starting to ache at how much you were smiling as you reread the note several more times.

You reach out to the remaining bag and pull away the tissue paper. Your nose is immediately assaulted by a pleasing floral fragrance and when you look inside, a large bouquet of flowers comes into your vision. Once the flowers are in your arms, you notice the note sticking out between the petals. Placing the flowers on your lap, you open the small folded piece of paper which says “Hey there, sweetheart. You should’ve let me know you were having such a big moment in your life! I would’ve done so much more, but for now, enjoy these flowers. The irises mean accomplishment and admiration. The peonies mean good luck. The daffodils mean new beginnings. Congrats on your win against school!” You’re quite touched by the amount of thought that went into this gift and based on the nickname, you can safely assume that this is Atsumu’s gift. You didn’t take him as a flower type of guy, but he’s always full of surprises. Nonetheless, you mentally note that you need to buy a nice vase to place these wonderful beauties in.

You thought that would be the last gift since you’ve already opened everything from the four MSBY players, but when you glance into the bag one more time, there are still two remaining boxes. They have the same wrapping, so you assume that they are from the same person. Taking both of them out carefully, you notice that the larger of the two boxes has a note that reads “I know you said you don’t normally eat sweets, so I tried my best not to add too much sugar”. Wondering what the card meant about sweets, you slowly open the lid and see two small cakes positioned next to each other with icing that spells out ‘Tiramisu’ and ‘Dark Chocolate’ on the respective cakes. Your mouth waters at the sight of the homemade desserts, but you restrain yourself because you were even more curious as to what might be in the other mystery box.

When you finally open the last remaining gift, there’s another note inside that says “It’s never too late to celebrate. Congrats, (Name)-san”. When you look underneath the note, your jaw drops as you let out a gasp. Inside was a gorgeous silver charm bracelet that was minimalistic enough for you to wear wherever you went. If the note wasn’t a big giveaway, the tiny onigiri charm attached to the bracelet convinced you that Osamu was the one who had given you these gifts.

The next couple of hours are spent finishing your movie with all of your gifts surrounding you. The inside of your room now smells like a mix of flowers and peachy lotion. The MSBY teddy bear is secured between your arms as you drink warm tea from your new mug while taking a bite out of each cake.

You’re not sure whether or not you want to jump up in happiness or simply cry from the overwhelming emotions, but either way, you’re glad to have met such amazing people the past couple months.

You couldn’t wait to get back to work.

Japan’s volleyball mascot: y’all know that volleyball mascot right? The one Ushijima loves to draw and the one that Hinata has shirt of

A/N: oof you made it! Can we all just give a moment of silence for Rubens for being the best boi? also another moment for the nice old lady at the end ;)

taglist: @kiyoo-omi

#onigiri miya #onigiri miya tidbits #secretpeachtea #haikyuu fanfiction #schweiden adlers #ushijima #kageyama #hoshiumi #romero

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moonsbasileia · 3 years

Text

Root and Bone

Also posted on AO3

Dishonored - Original Characters

Synopsis: Two witches from the Brigmore Coven venture into the Flooded District to look for their missing companion. They have a less than warm welcome from the Whalers occupying the place- despite that, the situation takes a turn, unfolding an unexpected, but positive, outcome.

An exploration of the witches and whalers as individuals. Set in the six months between Jessamine's death and Corvo's escape. Written as practice.

The way them whale fish went for us

It seemed as though t'was planned

For each one had his target boat

They played us man for man

Just knowin' now they think so clear

My heart says let them be

I swear to God them fish can think

As good as you or me

“A Whaler’s Tale” – Ken Graydon

Night fell over the rooftops of the old Financial District, painting the sky in dark orange. With the addition of the smog, pouring out of the factory’s chimneys, the horizon mixed and coiled like a bubbling cauldron. It was impressive, Rowan thought, but suffocating.

She was leaning out of the balcony of one of the many abandoned apartments of the district. Shards of glass lay around her feet, clinking whenever she moved, and the walls had become rotten with humidity.

Despite it all, and the mess of papers, clothes and shattered glass around the room, it seemed like it had been a nice place once, though simple. It had a small single-bed room that had been stripped of everything except for the bedframe, a simple kitchen with a pantry, and a considerably sized living room, still furnished with a red couch, a centre table, and a cabinet resting near the window. Rowan speculated it had belonged to a single accountant, as she’d found a book of finances forgotten on the small wooden table.

“Our time is running out,” a scratchy voice behind her sighed. Rowan shot a look behind her shoulders and saw Beatrice walk out, her face pinched, and holding a bottle in her hand. Despite her young age, her features were hard with unease.

“Is that…?” Rowan pointed at the dark green bottle. It worked; Beatrice’s face softened for a second, and she cocked an eyebrow and cut in:

“Yes, sister, Serkonan wine,” she held the bottle up so Rowan could read the label. Rivera Fig Wine, 1750. “We should drink it after we find our lost sister.”

Rowan hummed in agreement, looking back out to the water below. The stench of stagnated water wafted up, forcing her to avert her face in the direction of the breeze. The balcony next door had been blocked by planks, but the rooftops were low enough that she could see a building with an open terrace entrance.

“I will look over there. She mustn’t have gone too far,” Rowan warned.

“We shouldn’t split up, sister,” Beatrice said. Her green eyes reflected the light of the whale oil lamp that flickered inside the apartment, like a cat. “Who knows what lurks in the shadows of this horrible place.”

Rowan squeezed her shoulder, with her lips curling into a grin. “Nothing as terrible as us,” she assured.

Beatrice smiled, nodding, although she brought up her hand to hold Rowan’s wrist.

“I will check the apartment in the back, then,” she said, “But we shouldn’t take too long.”

Rowan nodded. “If we don’t find anything in twenty minutes, we regroup here.”

“Agreed. Until then, sister.”

The last thing she saw was Bea’s lingering smile while, with a crack, she vanished in a curtain of shadows, leaving behind a small pile of ashes. Rowan looked towards the terrace to the right and felt her body do the same; the rush in her ears of dark energy around her, and weightlessness from plunging into an empty space. A muted crack- and then suddenly spilling out like fish out of a net, into the dusty ground of the terrace.

It was not the first time she’d done that, and wouldn’t be the last. Yet, there was little she loved more than the feeling of surrendering her body to the Void, if for a moment.

Rowan crouched, eyeing her surroundings before going towards the door. Its wood was putrid and soft, and peeling off the bottom. It was ajar. She pushed it open slowly, and it still groaned. Rowan kept still for a moment, listening for any signs of movement inside. Nothing came. She went in.

The corridor was dark, as the only source of light was coming from the moonlight through the door she’d kept open. At the turn towards the stairs, she kept her body close to the wall, leaning sideways to squint at the dark. She saw nothing, but inhaled deeply before unsticking herself from her place to keep going.

There were two doors in this corridor, both blocked by planks. She stopped briefly by them, reaching out with her perception to try to feel Alice’s presence, but to no avail.

Down the stairs, the next floor was equally empty. Rowan crept towards the end of the corridor, where it turned into the next stairwell. The stairs were blocked by debris carried by the water, which she could hear lapping against the other side. However, there was a door, unblocked, directly in front of the stairs. She reached out. Nothing.

Still, Rowan touched the knob, and with a gentle twist of her wrist, tested it. It clicked open. She held her breath, surprised by the noise. When nothing seemed to respond, she pushed it further, and went in.

This apartment opened directly to a narrow corridor that opened to a larger room. Light poured out from it. Rowan followed. There was a doorframe to her left, leading to a bathroom.

She walked further, and the next doorframe belonged to a former bedroom. She searched it briefly. All that was left was the bedframe, a shelf with a few leather-covered books, a safe –that was open and empty- and a cabinet, with a cup still atop it.

Rowan went straight to the bigger room, this time. The light came in from an open window, busted and crooked on the frame. She widened her eyes. Bloodstains clashed with the window’s faded white wash. Rowan touched the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist.

She followed the trail of blood with her eyes. Like the other apartments, this one was scattered with dust, papers and glass shards. However, there were footprints in the dust, although they formed a chaotic pattern, like an abstract painting of dirt and blood. Two roses had been trampled over in the fight, stained and pressed onto the dusty ground. One trail of footprints went out through the window. That was certain.

Rowan walked in slowly. The silence was overwhelming in comparison to the loud beating of her heart, which she felt in her ears. She braced. And she found Alice, lying crookedly near the wall, in a puddle of her own blood.

She knelt next to Alice, cupping her face with her hands and turning it gently. There was a deep tear in her neck, almost all the way through, but not quite. She gasped, and let go quickly. It made her head hang in a strange way, which sent shivers up Rowan’s back.

An arrow had lodged itself right through her sternum. Her eyes, which had become white when she received her magic, had now faded into her natural brown and glazed over. Her jaw was lax, already open. Rowan imagined she might have screamed.

“You gave them a fight,” she said, and barely recognized the cracked voice that came out. She breathed, and said, “You showed them who you are and sent them home bleeding to lick their wounds. You are one with the Void now, sister.”

She didn’t want to leave Alice there to be eaten by rats and flies. But she couldn’t carry her. Her body was stiff and Rowan could barely hold her up, let alone transport her back. So she gently laid her out in the middle of the room with her arms resting on her stomach, and went into the bedroom. She opened the cabinet, and grabbed a few sheets, despite the strong smell of dust and mildew. She covered Alice with the least yellowed one, and took the shards of decorated porcelain bowls and plates from the kitchen to surround her.

She whispered a prayer to the Void, fighting against the nausea that threatened to rise past her throat.

When she was done, Rowan followed the footprints into the window. There was a smudged dirt stain in the lower frame, and nothing else. Either the killer had dropped down into the water or used magic. The prospect made her grimace.

She looked up at the setting sun and startled. Beatrice. More than half an hour had passed, and she had forgotten completely to come back to their meetup point. She summoned the shadows to involve her once more.

With a crack, she was back in the rooftop of the apartment. She walked to the edge, where she could see the balcony downwards. She only needed to drop.

A second, muted snap sounded somewhere behind her.

She turned back. Her fingers twitched towards the hilt of her sword.

Under the full moon’s light, however, the rooftops were well lit, and after scanning them Rowan didn’t see anybody or anything.

“Rowan?”

She barely stifled the jump at the sudden voice. It was Bea, on the balcony, calling up to her. She’d heard it as well, Rowan was certain.

“I’m here,” she said, shooting the rooftops a last glare before bracing with her arm on the edge of the tiles and dropping down onto the balcony. “We need to leave.”

Beatrice nodded, catching onto her unease. “I agree, sister. But- Did you find anything?”

Rowan felt her stomach drop. Beatrice still held onto the wine bottle, and fiddled with the corkscrew’s lid. She held Beatrice’s arms gently, guided her into the apartment, and said, “I did. I’m sorry.”

Bea’s eyes welled up, glinting in the moonlight, but she compressed his lips, as if she was afraid that if she started talking she would break down. She nodded, but the tears escaped, running down her cheeks.

Rowan put her arms around her, pulling her into a hug. Bea rested her head in her shoulder. She let the other stay for a while, pretending she didn’t hear the sniffing and hiccups. When her breath stilled slightly, she pulled away gently.

“We have to go. Take that wine with you, so we drink it in her memory.”

Beatrice wiped her face and nodded. She turned to pick up the bottle in the centre table, where she had left it before they went scouting.

She heard a dry crack behind her.

Rowan spun, her hand already closing around the grip of her sword. A person was perched on the balcony’s rail. Their face was hidden by a mask. Two red-tinted glass panels and a filter cartridge canister over the mouth. They dropped down, and with a blur of movement, something shot out of their wrist. Rowan flinched, expecting it to hit her- a dart, or a crossbow arrow?

Instead, Beatrice let out a thin noise behind her. She looked at her, wide-eyed, swayed, and dropped down.

The person approached Rowan, unsheathing their sword.

Rowan channelled the Void’s energy to her chest, and as she thought of Alice’s broken body, of Beatrice, behind her, she released it all into her shriek. The whaler stumbled back, losing his footing. He quickly balanced himself again, but that was enough to allow Rowan to unsheathe her own blade and slash it at his throat.

He caught it with his own. The metal grinded against each other, until Rowan was pushed back roughly. She stumbled. He slashed at her, but she caught it haphazardly. The assassin didn’t hesitate, and slashed again. This time, it cut a line under her collarbone.

Rowan growled, sneering at him. When he pulled the sword back to pierce through her, the only thing it caught was the smoke and ashes she left behind.

She appeared behind them, with a crack. It alerted the whaler, and he twisted back with the sword ready- until she hurled a vase at their chest.

It shattered, pushing him backwards. This time he did fall over, and Rowan was over in a second, her sword swinging in an arc towards his torso.

The whaler raised his left arm, turning his forearm outward. It didn’t register to Rowan until her sword caught on something, producing a crush. She looked down. It was a gauntlet, a tiny crossbow, notched to the leather vambrace around their wrist.

She tried to back out, but the assassin moved quickly, holding onto the lapel of her coat and hooking his leg around hers. Rowan fell, with the whaler over her, pinning her down. But his sword had been lost somewhere; hers was still on her hand. She tried to slip to the side, gain room to swing the sword again, but the whaler noticed. He trapped her arm between his own torso and left arm.

She struggled against the hold, but there was no give. Panicked, Rowan hit her palm against the mask, shattering the red glass visor and forcing his head back. She felt the meat of her hand split, caught in the metal sockets of the mask, and the warm blood seeping out.

Suddenly, the whaler disappeared, leaving behind a brief image of themselves that shattered onto nothing. Rowan didn’t wait; she disappeared as well, and when the person reappeared near the centre table, picking up their sword, she was already up on the cabinet.

Rowan threw herself at him.

The whaler had heard her, and spun around to deflect her sword, but Rowan’s was angled differently. She felt it pierce through his shoulder, not passing through, but breaking the skin. A sudden, red-hot line of pain traced her ribs, but she used her magic to pull him further into the sword. He kept pushing, trying to get her to release her hold. For a moment, they were stuck in this stalemate.

He broke first, letting go of his sword to close his gloved hands around the tip of hers. Rowan sighed out a small laugh. She pinned him on the wall. Though the whaler were much larger than she was, the sword lodged in his shoulder impeded his from reacting too fast. He tried to move, to throw Rowan off him, but she twisted the sword ever so slightly. Blood gushed out, soaking into the dark uniform.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, between her teeth. Her knuckles turned white as bone holding the sword’s grip.

“Be done with it, witch.” Despite the metallic rumble the mask gave it, his voice came with a strong accent. Instead of aggressive like she’d expected, the whaler sounded strangely composed. Rowan gritted her teeth.

“Tell me,” she said, “The witch with dark shaved hair, green-skinned. Did you kill her?”

He said nothing. Rowan plunged her knife further into his skin, and he groaned, squirming. “Did you?”

“No,” he said, and hung his head. He looked strangely ashamed when he said, “Not me.”

“Why are you whalers here?”

He hesitated, then said, “…Not for any of you.”

Rowan frowned at the cryptic answer. The man slowly brought his hand up to touch his chest and catch some of the blood that was running out, pooling in his glove.

“Why are you witches here?” he asked.

“I’m asking the questions,” she cut in. “How many of you are there?”

“Many.”

“Not all of you are looking around,” she said. “How many are in patrol?”

“Seven.” His voice was breathy now, tired.

“Where?” Her hand moved slightly, tired of holding up the sword. The man winced, sucking in air through his teeth. She heard the noise through the metallic filter.

“Near the rail tracks,” he said. That was south. They had entered through the buildings near the southwest, and if she kept close enough to the old Hound Pits quarter, maybe she would be able to avoid them entirely. It was her only shot.

She pulled her sword off, but kept it pointed at the same spot. The whaler staggered, propping himself up on the wall. He covered the wound with his hands.

“She’s not dead,” he said.

“What?”

“Your friend,” he indicated with a nod, “It was a sleep dart.”

Rowan didn’t turn to inspect Beatrice and see if he spoke the truth, but she mulled the idea over in her head. He was a whaler, an assassin by profession. He could be buying time. Yet he claimed to have spared a trespassing witch.

“Why would you let her live?” she said, looking at the inscrutable mask’s eyes. She had broken one of the visors, but the inside of the sockets were darkened. He said nothing, but his shoulders were tense.

After a while, he tilted his chin up, and said, “I don’t know.”

His eye showed through the broken visor. It was barely open between his swollen eyelids, red and slick with blood like a weeper’s tears. A piece of glass had lodged itself on the outer corner of his eye socket. He would probably lose that one, if he lived.

Rowan lifted her arm and quickly brought down the pommel of her sword to the side of his head with a crack. The whaler slumped to the floor.

She scrutinized him, still holding onto the sword. When he gave no signs of standing up or moving she sheathed it and ran towards Beatrice.

A small, syringe-like bolt was stuck on her neck. The whaler had called is a “sleep dart”. A quarter of a bright green liquid still sloshed in the syringe when Rowan picked it out carefully, and turned Beatrice over carefully. Alice’s opaque eyes. The wilting flowers on her collarbones. Rowan’s heartbeat echoed on her ribs, hammered on her throat, as she brushed her fingers against Bea’s neck and the budding saplings that grew there. She just started. She’d just started.

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered, and flew open. Rowan’s breath hitched, but as her sister looked over, searching for her, she quickly wiped the tears that had begun to overflow the corner of her eyes.

“Are you alright?” Rowan asked. She offered her hand for Beatrice to hold onto as she propped herself up.

“Yes… I think so,” she said, rubbing her hand on her temple, which had hit the ground as she fell. She looked at the body of the whaler across the room. “Good riddance.”

Rowan kept silent as she helped Beatrice to her feet. The girl stumbled slightly, but held onto her shoulder, taking a moment to regain her balance.

“We need to leave through the Hound Pit’s surroundings,” she explained, “Are you well enough to walk? Can you see properly?”

“Yes, Rowan”.

“Then, be a dear and look out to see if there’s anyone watching. Stay crouched, and don’t leave the balcony.”

Bea nodded, and went out onto the balcony with steady steps, although she still blinked slowly.

Rowan sighed. She dug into the small leather pouch strapped to her belt, pulling out a bit of moss. It was from the deep of the Wrenhaven, and was mixed with enchanted witch hazel oil, giving it a strong herbal smell.

Her heart still beat fast. Everything she’d learned told her it could still be a trick. That liquid might have been poison. Maybe the Whalers had used their magic to concoct a potion that would reveal their lair to them, and they would be made the foolish hares, walking back to their burrow and giving the hunters a better quarry.

She walked over to where the whaler laid, and pressed the moss into his wound, moving his hand to cover it. The blood had seeped out, blooming dark on the front of his uniform.

He had sounded tired, when he’d spoken. That was what convinced her he was being sincere. I don’t know, he’d said, but with a look that carried more than that. He didn’t sound tentative at all. Or maybe, she thought, it was relief that was filling in these logical holes, making up these cues for her.

When it was done, she sighed, frowning. She felt like a fool. The whaler was slumped with his head at an angle, seemingly done for, but his chest lifted and fell rhythmically. Rowan scoffed and turned back, ready to join Bea at the balcony.

“All clear?” she said, walking out with the same half-crouched posture as the other witch.

“All clear.”

“Let’s go home, Bea.”

The two vanished, and reappeared in the rooftops opposite to the apartment.

#dishonored #dishonored fic #dishonored fanfic #I miiiiight continue this bc I wanted to get into Brigmore coven ~cult mentality~#but I'm busy writing my thesis so idk #I just kinda like this it was fun to write #dishonored oc #whalers #brigmore witches

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realityhelixcreates · 4 years

Text

Lasabrjotr Chapter 73: Teal

Chapters: 73/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: R

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), Mentions of Sexual Activity, NSFW, Starting to Bring Some Threads Together

Summary: Asgard honors the giant as best it can. You continue to dream

The weather turned worse on the way back, until even the well maintained Ring Road was scarcely visible. Eventually, Loki pulled you up into his saddle on Leynarodd's back, seating you flush with his body, and wrapping his back-up cloak around you.

“I will keep you as warm as I may.” He breathed into your ear. “Would it help if I were to whisper lewd and wicked things to you?”

You giggled, but shook your head. “Just cuddle. I want to go to sleep.”

And so, he wrapped his arms around you as well, and let you doze.

Your arrival was heralded with a celebration that woke you with instruments and shouting. You moved back to Acorn as the procession moved through the city, and, still drowsy, participated in a great feast thrown in the giant's honor.

This was a part of Asgardian funerary customs, as taught to you by Saga. The burial honored the dead's body, and the feast honored the dead's spirit. Normally, the revelers told stories of the dead's deeds during life, but no one knew the giant, so instead extolled the accomplishments of all Jotun, across the ages.

You didn't have any such stories, so you listened and ate, as Bogljot described being defeated in a contest of speed by the Forest Giant, Hyrrokkin, as the normally quiet Heimdall sang praises to his many 'mothers', as an older Asgardian you didn't know described the great mountain kingdom of Utgardaloki, for whom Loki was named.

It was dark yet again by the time the feast ended, and Loki led you, stumbling and tipsy on cider, back to his bedroom. He carefully divested you of your armor, stripped every last garment from you, and sat you down on your chair beneath the sunlamp. As the light warmed your skin, Loki also shucked his own clothing, and sat down at your feet. The two of you spent an hour under the warm lamp, Loki reading you various examples of Earth poetry he thought you would like, or resting his head in your lap and letting you toy with his hair.

Finally, when fatigue had clearly caught all the way up with you, Loki turned out the light, and carried you off to bed, where he made love to you until you could no longer keep your eyes open. When you drifted away, it was on a cloud of warm bliss.

******

You found yourself in the glory of open space once more buoyed by sparkling blue light. It came from a gem that you could see now, flying before you like a comet, with yourself gliding along in its glowing tail. You started to reach out for the glittering object once more, but pulled your hand back, vaguely remembering something that put you off of grabbing it. Thoughts echoed within your blood, concepts resolving themselves into impressions in your mind.

You are learning me. Learn me. Learn more.

How? You thought. What are you?

A swirl of something. A blur of light, a different 'texture' than the blue.

Green.

Your right hand itched.

Learn me! Learn me! There is so much of me! Look! See!

Your world jittered, like a heartbeat slightly out of rhythm. With the suddenness of a drop of water in a still pool, the space around you rippled unexpectedly, folded in around you, and instead of nowhere, you were Somewhere.

A world full of green-skinned, red-haired people, thriving, but confused. A woman walked the streets crying out what you assumed to be a girl's name.

Titan, with its orange skies, empty, ruined. A ghost town of a planet.

Earth, running through frigid winds. Other humans ran beside you, dressed for a time long since passed. Frost Giants pursued, driving terror, like dogs, at your heels.

A woman, bald and elegantly androgynous, in flowing robes and surrounded by nothingness. She looked at you with pity, with eyes that pierced right through you.

“You are not ready for what is happening.” She said. “And I am not in a position to help.”

A severed head, the size of a small moon, floating through space. There were lights, cities built upon it, within it. You recoiled in horror, but as you watched, the cities shrank; went dark. The head floated backward, back and back. You blinked, and it was reattached to an impossibly gargantuan body. Another blink and the colossal being orbited a young sun, along with a haphazard belt of asteroids. You watched as they grasped one of the largest of them, and sundered it over their knee.

Wiping the newly exposed surface clean, the being stared out into a space that was dark and sparsely decorated with stars. Then, with fingertips each stained a different color, they grasped the asteroid and began to draw.

******

You awoke, brimming with the feeling that something important had happened while you slept, but couldn't quite pinpoint where that energy was coming from. There was something you felt the need to do, something you couldn't put a name to.

You could barely sit still under your sunlamp, wolfing down your oatmeal and dried fruit. Loki couldn't help but to comment on your increased energy. A wink and a suggestive comment, and you had him back in bed, hands on his chest, riding him for all he was worth.

You sure didn't hear him arguing.

When the two of you were finally presentable, scrubbed and dressed and fed, you took to the halls with your sunlamp in tow. Loki had some meetings to attend today; some job disputes that had come up recently. You had your classes with Saga. A light squeeze of the hand, and you parted ways.

The snow had continued through the night, piling up high against the windows. Reconstruction of your room had been forced to a halt, and all of your things had been moved, either to storage or to Loki's room. The caterpillar in a jar had become a chrysalis in a jar, but the butterfly had not emerged yet. It was possible that the cooler temperatures and lack of light had put it into some kind of stasis: unusual, but not unheard of.

It was still frightening to think that you had caused all that destruction, just because of a dream you couldn't even remember. What if you did that while Loki slept beside you?

There were far more people indoors now that winter had come, doing what Loki had described as their 'real' jobs, weavers and seamstresses, scribes, engineers, jewelers, and so many painters. In every hallway and alcove there was someone with a palette, someone with a pencil, someone carving the plaster into delicate ribbons and knots. Some of them told you they were trying to recreate murals from old Asgard. Others seemed to be trying a new take on their history. Others were focusing on more recent events.

As you walked through the halls, you saw heavily formulaic paintings of what must have been Odin and Frigga, Bor and the terrifying Hela, Heimdall, Thor, and Loki, and many others you didn't recognize. There were battles, and peace treaties, Vanir, Alfar, and Jotnar, There was Njord, Freya, and Freyr, whom you stopped and stared at for a few moments before shaking yourself free.

There were also events and vistas in a different style, some of which must have been pulled directly from the painters own memories. Soaring golden buildings and busy streets, folk dances and blacksmiths forging swords. A riot of berserkers clashing their metal staves, the view of a waterfall ocean.

There were Svartalfari in the great halls, Heimdall destroying a strange vehicle, portals to all of the realms circling each other. There was Frigga, standing tall, holding a sword over her head. There was Frigga, lying in a boat, surrounded by golden light. There was a sparkling red jewel, hanging over the head of a woman you realized must be a stylized Dr. Jane Foster. There were the Avengers again, painted in the heroic style of Asgard, haloed like holy beings. Did the Asgardians see them as the pantheon of Earth?

There was the destruction of Asgard. The great Jotun Surtr, the tiny form of Hela brandishing her thorn-like weapons against him in an almost heroic way. There was the enormous wolf Fenris, grappling with the Hulk. The star-filled expanse of space, with their island spaceship carrying them safely to Earth, a beautiful orb, painted as though seen through a window.

There were the mountains and river outside, rendered in such marvelous detail that you recognized the exact place. There were nightscapes of the Northern Lights.

And there was you.

Your little figure, next to Loki, with your flower crown helm. Among the longhouses of Trolerkaerhalla, wearing the cloak of a Seidkona. It was a very strange feeling, to see yourself immortalized like this. The impostor syndrome flared up, heavy and loud. Logically speaking, you had made history. But why should it have been you? Why should any of this be you?

You hurried through the increasingly colorful halls, seeking out the library. There would always be this battle inside you, between acknowledgment that you were deserving of good things, and belief that there were others so much more deserving.

You rushed into the library, with it's nice new door, and set up your sunlamp. Saga handed you your drum. The Valkyries were here, as well as an ancient, wizened woman who had probably been a Seidkona since the Parthenon had been built. She instructed you strictly, but patiently in the primeval rhythm of Seidkona ritual. There was a chant she was teaching you, a mystical affirmation ritual in a bygone dialect of the Asgardian language, so archaic that the meaning of the words were lost even on your venerable teacher. Saga understood them, but since she was not a Seidkona, she was in essence, forbidden from speaking them.

You got the feeling that it annoyed her a bit.

You were walked through the chant, and the drum beat over and over, committing the sounds to memory, like you had for the past few weeks. The only thing you were missing was the very last syllable of the chant, the knowledge of which would only be imparted on you at the eve of the Buridag festival. Before then, you would not be allowed to speak, or even know it, for fear of completing the spell prematurely.

After your lessons, you spent a little bit of time in one of the library's side rooms, where Asgard's salvaged art treasures were kept. Lofn and her twin Sjofn, who were in charge of preservation, display, and upkeep, were both all too happy to educate you on what they were. Sjofn had just finished cleaning and labeling a collection of Nornheim knives, very similar to your own. You could see the shift in shape and handle style that had occurred over the years of war with Asgard.

They were all made of nornbein, with stone handles, though many of them had been engraved with the names of the Asgardians who had claimed them. Yours had not. In comparison, your knife, with its lance-like blade and cylindrical handle, was clearly from the latter period of Nornheim occupation, while the earlier knives were more leaf shaped, with flattened handles. You wondered how many hundreds of years those changes represented, with rock trolls carefully shaping the blades to their preference, and picking their favorite stones; blue and green, gray, violet, white, banded, and your own pink ruby, to carve into handles. Did the color and type mean anything to them, or had it just been personal preference?

These knives all represented Asgardian lineages which had died out, with no one left to inherit the blades. It was a sad collection to look at, as sad as where the knives had come from in the first place.

Lofn had templates from past Asgardian fashion designers, arranged on an enormous poster board, and carefully glued down flat. As you watched, she affixed strange little clip-like devices at all four corners, and at regular intervals along each side.

“They are useful storage and protective devices.” She explained. “We can make them from Midgardian materials too. You see, when activated, they form a protective field.” She tapped each of them in turn, and they lit up, covering the huge poster board in a very slight, almost imperceptible glow.

“It is protected now.” She announced. In a swift and startling movement, she grabbed one of the newly cataloged knives and stabbed the board with a ferocious growl. You jumped back, even as the blade bounced harmlessly off. She laughed as a glaring Sjofn snatched the knife back. “You see? It cannot be harmed. We protect our precious things in this way.”

“It has another use too.” She grasped the edges of the poster board and squeezed them together. To your amazement, the entire thing-easily as wide as you were tall-shrank to the size of a sheet of paper. “Look, do you see?”

She touched the field and it reacted like an electronic tablet, magnifying and moving across parts of the board, so you could see the details up close.

“You see, don't you? You see?” She asked.

Your gaze shifted, away from the fashion poster, away from the knife collection, to a work of art that had caught your attention earlier in the year. An artwork that wore the same preservation devices.

Ymir's Dreamscape.

“You see.” Lofn said.

#lasabrjotr #loki (marvel)#loki x reader

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ryqoshay · 4 years

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How to Handle a Nico - Reunion B&B

Primary Pairing: NicoMaki Words: ~1.4k Rating: G Time Frame: Summer break of Maki’s 2nd year of high school and Nico’s 1st year of college. Story Arc: “Beach Reunion” Sunscreen The No. 1 Masseuse in the Universe Reunion B&B

Author’s Note: Sat on this a bit too long as I had no idea how to end it or what to title it, but at long last, here is the third entry to the Beach Reunion arc. Woo!

Also, I’m assuming my readers have seen the movie by now as there is one reference to it here. … Did I point that out in my other recent posts? I’ll have to check.

Nico opened her eyes slowly to stare up at an unfamiliar ceiling. She knew the ceiling belonged to the master bedroom of one of the Nishikino family’s vacation homes, but it was still the first time she had seen it upon awakening in the morning. And she decided it wasn’t an unpleasant sight by any means.

The gentle sound of breathing beside her reminded Nico of the night’s sleeping arrangement and she couldn’t help smiling. She had slept well, sharing a small blanket with Maki, and now she was about to behold a much more pleasant…

Wait, what was that? As Nico attempted to sit up, she became aware of a weight on her stomach. The movement caused the girl beside her to shift in her sleep and murmur something unintelligible. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be… Nico lifted the blanket to check. Sure enough, Maki’s arm was draped across her. That meant…

Oh gods…

Nico turned her head slowly, just enough to see…

Oh gods…

Maki’s face was mere centimeters from hers. Literally any closer and the younger girl would be nuzzling Nico’s cheek.

Maki-chan… Nico pleaded silently. When had the other girl moved to such a position? Why had she done so? Had she been awake or asleep? Was Nico herself still asleep and this was a dream? What the heck was going on? A deluge of questions flooded Nico’s mind as she felt her pulse quicken and her body stiffen.

And that was enough to cause Maki to stir again, managing to move her head even closer, enough that Nico could feel her breath. Geez… What to do? If Maki woke up now, would she get embarrassed and avoid Nico for the rest of the vacation? Nico absolutely didn’t want that. Well, even if Maki didn’t avoid her, she’d still undoubtedly be embarrassed and make all manner of expressions that Nico found irresistibly adorable. So maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad...

Nico sighed. At least this was ten times better than waking up to Honoka sprawled directly on top of her, even if a hundred times more stressful. And as much as Nico wanted to just lay back down and bask in a few moments of sleepy affection from the far-to-often standoffish Maki, she knew the other girls would be getting up soon. Thus, if Nico wanted to have breakfast ready for everyone, she had to get up.

Slowly, gently, and with no shortage of reluctance, Nico slid Maki’s arm off her before crawling off the bed with an equal amount of caution. She slipped into the bathroom to quickly remove her mask and wash her face before making her way down to the kitchen.

Maki opened her eyes slowly. For the briefest of moments, she questioned her location before remembering that she had claimed the master bedroom at one of her family’s vacation homes. And Nico had stayed with her.

Nico-chan…

Maki’s gaze found an empty bed beside her and a sense of disappointment washed over her. Apparently, she had fallen asleep before Nico and awakened after, thus missing the opportunity to see Nico’s ador… sleeping face… Even with that mask treatment Nico insisted on wearing every night, Maki couldn’t help thinking it was cu… well, it wasn’t completely uncute, at least… in a way, maybe. Anyway, for some reason, not being able to see Nico sleeping somehow bothered Maki far more than she would have otherwise expected.

On the duvet immediately next to her, Maki noticed a pillow. A second pillow, in fact, though having fallen asleep during a wonderfully relaxing massage, Maki didn’t remember claiming one for herself. But the second one most certainly had to have been Nico’s. Also, Maki hadn’t gotten under the duvet, so Nico must have found one of the blankets in the closet to use for her. Or both of them, it seemed, as Maki didn’t see another blanket. And since the one currently covering her was a bit small, it was really only meant to cover one’s legs while sitting, that meant Nico must have slept beside her. As in right beside her, close enough to have likely been touching…

Without her bidding, Maki’s hand reached out to touch the indentation in the duvet next to her. Was it her imagination, or did she detect remnants of the warmth left by the girl who had slept there not too long ago?

Wait, what the heck was she doing? Maki pulled back her hand as she felt heat rise in her cheeks as if transferred from the bed through her arm. What if Nico came back in and saw her? Well, it wasn’t like she was doing anything particularly embarrassing… right? Still, knowing Nico, she’d find a way to tease Maki over it.

A yawn escaped and Maki sat up to stretch. Once her blood began proper circulation again, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and made for the bathroom to wash her face. A few minutes later, she opened the door to the hallway and was immediately greeted by a wonderful aroma.

Nico-chan’s cooking…

Maki swallowed the saliva that suddenly pooled in her mouth at the thought of a breakfast prepared by Nico. With as much haste as her caffeine deprived body could muster, she headed toward the kitchen.

“Maki-cha~n~!” a voice greeted from behind her just as she rounded the corner to catch a glimpse of the girl at the stove. “Ohainya!” a weight crashed onto her back.

“Rin…” Maki grumbled. “Get off.” She gave a halfhearted shrug in a tired attempt to shuffle off the cat like girl.

“Awww…” Rin complained, as she obeyed the command. “Maki-chan doesn’t push Nico-chan away anymore. It’s not fair, nya!”

“Haah?” Maki raised an eyebrow.

“Actually, she still does.” Nico spoke up, turning away from the stove to face the second-years. “Sometimes Nico wonders if Maki hates her.” Her tone went up an octave as she pretended to pout.

“W-what the heck?” Maki protested the sudden tag team teasing. “I don’t… why would I hate you, Nico-chan?”

“Because Maki-chan loves tomatoes more than Nico.”

“Buweeeh?” Maki had all but forgotten that bit from the magazine interview almost a year ago.

“And that’s why Nico made sure to include extra tomatoes in Maki-chan’s omurice.”

Maki’s stomach growled, interrupting any retort she might have had.

Nico laughed.

Maki growled.

“Don’t worry, Maki-chan.” Nico continued to giggle. “Nico won’t tease you about preferring tomatoes over her.”

“But… you just did…?” Maki’s early morning muddled mind struggled to keep up as the older girl stuck out her tongue at her.

“Good morning, you three.” A cheerful voice greeted as a new aroma made its presence known. “Here you go, Maki-chan.”

A steaming mug of life-giving coffee entered the redhead’s vision. Like a zombie seeking brains, Maki’s hands reached for her beloved beverage.

“Thank you, Kotori.” Maki managed to murmur before the mug reached her mouth and she immediately downed more than half of it.

“Do you two prefer tea or coffee?” Kotori turned her attention elsewhere.

“Kayo-chin and Rin like tea in the morning.” Rin explained.

Wait, Hanayo was here too? Maki turned her head. Sure enough, just behind her orange-haired friend stood a brunette who looked even more disheveled than Maki felt. The younger second-year yawned and rubbed at her eyes before squinting as though she hadn’t even put in her contacts yet.

“I’ll have that ready for you in a moment.” Kotori smiled before turning away. “Sorry to not have it ready earlier, I only got Maki-chan’s because Nico-chan told me her favorite.”

Nico-chan told her… A small smile turned Maki’s lips as she lifted her mug up to take another sip, barely noticing whatever Hanayo had said to Kotori.

“Maki-chan’s getting a lot of special treatment here.” Rin pointed out. “Especially from Nico-chan.”

“Well, she is our host, after all.” Nico replied, sliding a portion of egg over a mound of rice. “And with that,” she directed a squirt of sauce into a quick design “breakfast is ready. You three can get started while I go check on Nozomi and Eli.” She motioned to a set of plates, each with a girl’s name written in sauce over the omurice.

“I’ll check on Umi-chan to see if she’s done with her morning meditation.” Kotori said. “If she is, she can help me wake up Honoka-chan.”

“Good luck.”

Whatever else may have been said by anyone was lost on Maki as she claimed her plate and made her way to the table. Though her mug was all but drained, the caffeine wouldn’t fully kick in for a few more minutes, and in the meantime, Nico’s tomato laden omurice demanded her undivided attention.

Author's Note Continued in Followup Post

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #How to Handle a Nico #Love Live #fanfic

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offbrandmercyplates · 4 years

Text

Okay I Have a Title This Time You Ready? Hear Me Out: Shenani-wings (Badum-tish!)

Heard you hurt your back and legs while trying to make the pattern for that cool sounding 50s dress you were talking about (at least, I think that’s what “drafting the pattern” means; I sewed a pillow shut once, I’m sure you can tell), so I decided to post this. Hope it makes you feel a little better!

Guess who’s back? It’s me, Yours The Author, coming to you with another fanfiction and something of a request of my own. I’ll state my request here so you can make a decision before the story begins: I don’t have a Tumblr, but I do have a fanfiction.net account that I’m fairly active on. Only if it’s okay with you, I would like to ask permission to post this story and the previous one I submitted on my account, with credit to you for the characters and AUs, of course (if you have a title in mind for that first fic, I’d be more than willing to hear it, because otherwise it would take me a while to come up with one of my own). If you’d rather I didn’t, that’s perfectly fine! I’m more than satisfied being featured on your Tumblr, so I won’t fret if you say no. Anyway, the fanfiction. Yes.

I don’t know where chapter two of the main story will start—right where we ended the first? Sometime/distance later? Who knows? —but this scenario of shenanigans with wings (get it? Get it?) popped into my mind one morning as I was slowly preparing to get up for the day, and I’d like to give it a shot. Let me know what you think! It’s a little more comedic than my last one, but I guess I just tend to default to comedy sometimes; hope that’s okay!

Trigger Warning (if it can be called that): mild action, awkward socializing, and a blatant Looney Tunes reference.

***

Shenani-wings

It was awkwardly silent as Emmibee and Gaster stood in the elevator that went from New Home to The Core. Gaster had watched her quietly as she looked with awe at the Capital’s city scape around the corner from Asgore’s house, but now that they were in an enclosed space with nothing but the shiny buttons and each other to look at, he seemed very interested in those buttons.

“…Nice weather, huh?” She said. She then proceeded to stare intensely at the corner of the elevator as Gaster stared just as intensely at her.

“The weather is always the same. Also, technically, there is no weather. We’re under a mountain,” he replied.

“…Oh yeah.”

The awkwardness cut deeper.

Emmi practically leapt out of the elevator when the doors opened, Gaster following more calmly after her. She looked around, once again amazed by the world she had inserted herself into. She had played and watched play-throughs of Undertale enough times to know the basic colors of the world, but there was only so much detail that could be shown via Earthbound-style graphics.

The dark blue walls were polished enough to reflect her face when she stood a foot away, and when she reached out to touch the wall, she felt a warm, thrumming energy zing through her fingertips. The lighter blue floor was also shiny, but not slippery. The traction was great, (there was no need to worry about slipping and falling off a crosswalk and being erased from existence haha what?) and she could feel another energy, this one a bit colder, thrumming through her legs from the floor. It was bizarre and exhilarating and nerve-wracking all at once. Perhaps it was because she was technically a new SOUL, physically in the strange world she had come to love via a video game. She wanted to run, jump, fly—could she fly? She—

“If you’ve finished examining the wall, we should probably move along,” Gaster’s voice cut in impatiently.

Emmi blinked and gave an apologetic smile to the skeleton before making a “lead the way” gesture.

They continued through The Core, Gaster leading the way and keeping Emmi from wandering into the wrong rooms out of curiosity. Eventually they reached another elevator, this one leading to a path that was a gradient of blue to orange. They were approaching Hotland.

Emmi looked up and saw a tall building with a pair of glass doors leading into a room lit with a golden light. Gaster paused here. “There are people in here,” he said.

“I would hope so,” Emmi replied.

“I’d rather not deal with introducing you to everyone at the moment, so keep your head down.”

“What’s the magic word?” Gaster slowly turned and looked at her. Emmi stared back. They might have stood there for a while if Emmi hadn’t decided to let him win this round. “Please. The word was please,” she said quietly as she opened the doors and kept her eyes on the floor. Gaster followed after a second.

She would have loved to look at all lights and colors, architecture and people around her, but she was a woman of her word, so down her head stayed. Most of the monsters that were in the building must have been busy with their own thing, though, since no one seemed to call out to her or the doctor.

Then they were out of the building, and Emmi took the opportunity to whirl around and gaze up at the MTT Resort front. Like the Core, it was just like it was in the game, but also… more. The shiny gold letters above the doors glittered, as if there were lights hidden in the surface that twinkled. A humid breeze (?) rustled the bushes adorning the sides of the doors. She could hear chittering laughter coming from one of the alleys beside the building; Catty and Bratty, most likely.

Gaster cleared his throat (? Again?) and Emmi quickly snapped to attention and followed him away from the Resort, deep into Hotland. True to its name, it was hot. She wiped sweat from her forehead multiple times, and the hot steam puzzles didn’t help matters (turns out such puzzles are a lot harder to do when you can’t see all the launch platforms from above). Gaster wasn’t of much help either, but he sighed with what Emmi hoped was a bit of relief and a smidgen of pride when she landed on the other side of the final puzzle.

After wandering along the craggy orange paths for what felt like another half hour, they reached the Lab. “Air conditioning!” Emmi breathed.

Gaster glanced at her. “Only for less than a minute.”

“It’s all I need.” The doors opened, and Emmi sped walked into the cool air, taking deep, sighing breaths and smiling up at the ceiling.

“Dramatic,” Gaster muttered, shaking his head. From the corner of her eye, it looked like Gaster had a slightly amused smile on his teeth. Probably the best interaction she had had with him yet.

The first thing Emmi noticed about the Lab was how… clean everything was. There were no trash bins full of ramen noodle cups or crumpled up papers, no tables covered in anime figurines and more papers, and the big computer that she recalled Alphys using to monitor the player was gone. It almost looked empty without it all. Emmi thought to ask about it, but figured questions were probably better saved for once they reached Snowdin.

Once back outside the Lab, Gaster led her down a flight of stairs to the river. The stone floor changed from orange-y red to a deep blue, and the cooling sound of rushing water eased Emmi’s nerves in a way she hadn’t noticed she needed.

And there, as if they had been waiting for the two of them, was the Riverman (or River woman? It didn’t matter). “Tra la la. More than one new chapter is about to begin. Would you like to ride on my boat?”

“Hmm. Haven’t heard that one before,” Gaster said, more to himself than to Emmi, but he stepped onto the boat and sat on the seat directly behind the Riverperson. Emmi carefully sat opposite him, slinging off the back pack Asgore had given her and putting it under her seat. “Snowdin,” Gaster requested.

“Please,” Emmi finished, rolling her shoulders and arching her back a bit. Her wings (yes, she reminded herself for the twentieth time, she had wings now) weren’t super sensitive, but the pressure of having a relatively heavy backpack press into them for an hour felt… weird. Out of curiosity she tried to flutter her wings a bit. Nothing happened. It was like trying to tell you hand to move, the way you tell yourself what to have for breakfast: it just doesn’t work that way.

“Please and thank you. Magic words, indeed,” The Riverperson said. Suddenly, the boat rose above the surface of the water. Emmibee gasped in surprise and clung to the seat with her hands.

Gaster raised a bone brow at her. “I had assumed you knew that this happened sometimes,” he said. There was that barest trace of what Emmi could only hope was amusement.

“Seeing it happen is different from actually being there,” she explained, easing her grip.

“Tra la la. Look, it likes you.”

“What?” Emmi and Gaster turned to the front of the boat. The head of the boat was shaped like a dog/cat hybrid, and it seemed to have turned its head to smile at her. Emmi found herself rising to her feet and reaching towards it; to give it a head pat or hug, she wasn’t sure. “Aww…” she cooed. She was so focused on the doggy-kitty, she barely heard the fluttering sound behind her, like brand new sheets of cellophane flapping in the wind at high speed. She also didn’t notice Gaster looking over her shoulder with something akin to wonder.

“We are off,” The Riverperson said.

…Huh?

The boat jerked forward and bounded across the surface of the water. Emmi probably would have fallen back onto her seat under other circumstances, but the flapping sound stopped with a snap, and she looked behind her just in time to see her wings spread out like a sail before the sudden burst of air flowing by sent her flying back off of the boat. “AAAAAAA—!”

PING!

Something blue flashed in her vision and she felt a pair of hands scoop under her arms and pull her back to the boat. One second later, her face was in a warm fabric surface and there was a wheezing sound in her ear.

It was easy enough to put two and two together: her wings, acting on their own accord, went kite-mode and sent her airborne. Gaster had summoned magical hands to grab her before she went too far, and now she was in his arms. She couldn’t pinpoint what the wheezing sound was, though.

She peeked up at the skeleton and saw him staring down at her, both eyes glowing a mix of yellow and pink. The wheezing sound was coming from between his clenched teeth. Apparently, if you startled a skeleton enough, they’d start wheezing. They stared at each other for all of five seconds. Emmi broke the silence with the first thing that came to mind:

“Ehhh… What’s up, Doc?” Then she smacked her face back into Gaster’s chest to suppress her hysteric laughter.

“Tro lo lo,” the Riverperson laughed. Gaster did not seem to see the humor of the situation.

“DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!” He cried with what was so obviously worry and concern, Emmi was now wheezing herself, trying to stop laughing. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I’D DO IF SOMETHING HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

Emmi sobered quickly at that. She looked up at him again. “What would you do?” she asked.

“…” Gaster opened his jaw, then shut it again, desperately trying to come up with something clever and witty and aloof. “…I don’t know,” he finally said. “Just… don’t do that again.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Dr. Gaster,” Emmi replied, even though she technically hadn’t meant to do any of this.

“A bee in the hand is worth two bushes,” the Riverperson quipped.

“What does that even mean?” Gaster groaned.

“We’ve arrived. Tra la la, both of you.” The boat dropped like a rock onto the surface and Emmi yelped, clinging tightly to Gaster. She hadn’t noticed it had gotten colder until she was no longer about to fall off the boat, but looking out to the side, she saw a pretty layer of white snow covering the ground next to the river.

Gaster quickly stood, grabbed a strap of Emmi’s back pack, and got off the boat, crunching the snow underfoot. The boat got back up on its legs, turned around, and ran back the way it came.

Gaster and Emmi stood there for a few seconds. Or rather, Gaster stood. He had yet to put Emmi down, and as much Emmi would have liked to stay near his warm, beating SOUL, she knew he’d never forgive her if she let him walk into the town with her like this. “You can put me down now, doctor,” she said.

Gaster blinked and scrambled to put her down without actually throwing her tiny body onto the snow, shoving the backpack into her arms when he had accomplished this. He straightened his lab coat and cleared his throat. “Ahem. Yes. Well, my house is less than a minute away. You should probably put on your coat.”

Emma made to reach into her bag, then paused and shook her head. “I can handle it.”

“…What?”

“I can handle it for a bit. Let’s go.”

“There is literal ice on the ground.”

“I kind of like the cold.”

“Your wings could freeze off.”

“Then we should move quickly, huh?”

“…Fine.” Emmi grinned up at him, pleased she had claimed her first verbal victory. Gaster adjusted his glasses, then blinked again and forced his hands to his sides. His eyes were still glowing, though they were much more pink than yellow now. “Let’s go. We have much to discuss—”

“Um, doctor?”

“What is it?”

“Your eyes,” she gestured to his face. “You might want to—”

Gaster put his hand to his good eye and seemed to notice the pink light reflecting on his bones. He blushed and blinked rapidly until the light went away. Yep, Emmi thought. This is the man I’m going to care for along with his children for the rest of my life. So fine.

“Let’s go,” Gaster repeated, pointing down the path. “And… thank you, for… that.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Gaster.”

***

I can’t help but feel I have a tendency to start the story way ahead of the action, which fills the beginning with unrelated details, but maybe that’s part of the charm? I wouldn’t know, I don’t get a lot of feedback these days on my stories. But anyway, yeah.

I imagine suddenly having wings, even if they’re technically nonfunctional (at this point), could present some… unique situations. Emmi’s wings flutter when she’s excited (and Gaster thinks it’s cute), so I imagine they might react to other emotions, such as sticking out when startled, drooping when sad, etc. (What’s that? Emmi’s wings are technically under her new shirt she got from Asgore? And therefore this scenario couldn’t happen? And also her wings might not be strong enough to lift her whole body like this? … Shhh…)

I don’t know if all people notice these things when looking around, but I always love to look at as much of the lights, colors, and architecture in a new place as possible: big cities and rolling valleys of trees especially. People are kind of just there, unless I’m at an anime convention; then people are put into that first group, too.

*Bites a carrot* Ehhh… What’s up, Doc? I have no idea if Emmibee would be the type to quip in a situation as sudden as the one seen here (clearly, I have been watching too much Real Time Fandub Games), but minds do weird things sometimes; something I’m all too familiar with myself. Why Looney Tunes? I don’t know, I couldn’t think of a better quote that mentions a doctor (wait, here’s one: I’m a doctor, not an escalator!) Also I like comedy. Sue me. (Please do not.)

I had to use a lot of maps of the Underground for this chapter. I kind of forgot about the steam puzzles and where each elevator went until after I saw it and I was like “Oh. Welp.” I’m not actually sure how you would solve the steam puzzles if you weren’t able to visually map out your every move. Gaster has probably done this five hundred times and knows the right way by heart (or soul, I guess), but Emmi has never seen the puzzle from this perspective, and I’d be very surprised if she had taken the time to memorize each puzzle in the game before going into the world. Even then, perspective can change a lot.

Skeleton Eye Glowing! Pink and yellow, based on the correlating emotions on Zarla’s eye color chart. Yellow usually means fear or stress (and is also Gaster’s natural color), and pink means surprise or embarrassment. Gaster becomes more embarrassed once he realizes he’s been holding Emmi like a teddy bee to himself for half a boat ride, and it takes a second for him to return to his stoic, cool-guy persona. He really does appreciate Emmi looking out for his dignity, though.

I actually loved writing the Riverperson more than I thought I would? They’re just so cryptic while also being straightforward, but in a way that I? Like? Get? And understand? It’s like they’re speaking in poetry while also screwing with their patrons, and I’m just down for that. I’m sure I don’t have to tell anyone, but the line “More than one chapter is about to begin” refers to the meta of the story’s literal next chapter beginning soon, as well as the chapter in the life of Emmi, the life of Gaster, the life of the boys, and the life of them all as a family. Also, “A bee in the hands is worth two bushes” is a play on “an apple in the hand is worth two bushes” (See Veggietales: Larry Boy and the Bad Apple [which I don’t own]), which is a play on the actual phrase “a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. Technically, this phrase means “you should be content with what you have instead of losing it all to get more”, but I’ve always read it as “a small amount of something hard to get brings more joy than a lot of somethings you could see any day of the week.“ In this instance in the story, the Riverperson is referring to the latter, and is also just commenting on how rare it is for Gaster to be holding any person, and especially a special bee that got to him through special means.

Emmibee’s favorite part of the Underground is Snowdin, “no contest”. I would assume this is not only for aesthetic reasons (who can resist a snow-covered Gyftmas village?) but also for preference reasons. Emmibee was very immediate in her response to where in the Underground she wanted to live (Snowdin), which may have been so she’d be near Gaster, but I think it would make sense if she preferred snowier places anyway. Hence, she appreciates brisk, cooler temperatures to warmer ones, though a balance is always important. Freezing cold for a short amount of time could be exhilarating. Would her wings freeze off? Dragonflies survive the winter through some means, why can’t a bee monster? (Also, the whole monster thing; weather may not be as applicable to wing safety.)

Anyway, I think that’s all of the after thoughts I have. Thank you for reading all the way to the bottom! Maybe one day I’ll write another story for this AU. It’s a lot of fun! The AU, I mean. And also writing for the AU. Anyway, I’ll see you around. Until then!

~~~

okay #1: this is ADORABLE AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH

#2: it does make me feel better!!

#3: You’re correct in that “drafting a pattern” means making one! I’m using vintage drafting instructions for a vintage dress pattern, which is very exciting.

#4: I wouldn’t mind at all if you posted your stories, as long as you link them back to my and Zarla’s blogs! I would prefer if you posted on AO3, but since you’re already active on FF that��s just fine too. Send me the link when you post them and I’ll give you a promo!

#5: As far as names go, ah.... I’m no good at names either, honestly. It depends on what you want to emphasize in the story. What do you consider the crux of that particular chapter? Seeing Emma, her relationship with her father, Wings’ conversation with ZD or his mother? Maybe family relationships in general? That might be a good angle since that was the majority of the story.

#6: This particular chapter is such an interesting take on the next leg of the story! You really captured Emmi’s excitement in being in the Underground for the first time, as well as her gentle teasing but caring attitude toward Gaster. “Yep, I’m gonna have this man’s babies.” OKAY NOT REALLY WHAT SHE SAID BUT THAT ENERGY THO

#7: I dont like to stomp on headcanons so I won’t address most of them, but I do want to comment on Emmi’s favorite place in the underground being Snowdin since that directly relates to me: My favorite place is Snowdin because it’s the only place in the Underground that truly feels like home. I actually hate the cold, haha. But the fact that the skelebros/Gaster live there, the music is lovely, and there’s Grillby’s and the librarby and gentle furry folk, it really speaks to my small-town-girl heart. Emmi’s main reason for requesting to go to Snowdin is definitely because of Gaster, but it’s a special place to me because it feels like home.

#8: The comedy is great, the fluff is great, I’m just. I love this and I love you and you do great work

#fanfic #OBMPfanfic #yourstheauthor #i feel warm fuzzies #thank you so much #submission

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first-and-last-neocount · 4 years

Text

Death, the Shadow, Spreads Its Wings Around Me - Chapter 1

Yooooo, I finally finished the first chapter of my first fic! And it’s a multi-chapter Resident Evil/Supernatural crossover, so it’s not like I’m diving straight into the deep end at all! *sweats*

All thanks to the wonderful @fonulyn, who nudged me into actually finishing and posting this damn thing by luring me into squealing about my ideas over Tumblr and then drowning me in supportive comments until I gave in. You’re an absolute darling, Fon, and I hope you enjoy my contribution to our cozy little Nivannedy rowboat.

Most of it’s under a cut, since it got awfully long for a first chapter, lol. Or you can read it on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26437897/chapters/64411741

Chapter 1:

The ocean looked as black as ink.

Wreckage from the underwater base was strewn through the rolling waves, pieces as small as sheets of paper up to entire sections of insulated wall nearly ten feet across; all the truly heavy material had plunged to the bottom of the bay, but the rest now bobbed and swirled on the surface. Stormclouds had rolled in, the winds whipping the bay to a frenzy and darkening the water until it was impenetrably dark. A sea of shadows, from which nothing good could emerge.

Leon should have been resting in a medical tent, but instead he was on a boat cutting its slow but steady way across the churning waves, helping the rescue teams as they searched against all the odds for survivors. The winds had grown too unpredictable for a helicopter, so they were doing it the old fashioned way – a half-dozen coastal patrol boats, spread out into as even a grid as they could manage on the open water, combing through the debris field. Leon didn't hold out much hope for survivors, but he needed to be here anyway.

Even if he only managed to find the body, it was the least he could do.

When Leon had made it to the emergency command centre that the BSAA had set up just outside of Lanshiang's city limits, it had been in too much chaos for him to get a meaningful report from anyone. The explosion of Neo-Umbrella's underwater base had thrown everything into a frenzy, as rescue and salvage teams scrambled to deal with the fallout and contain any potential escaping bioweapons. When Leon had found the hasty medical centre and walked into the first tent, he'd been relieved to see Chris Redfield sitting on one of the folding cots, one arm in a sling and cut and bruised to hell but otherwise seemingly unharmed. Ignoring the chaos of medical personnel rushing around them, Leon made his way over to the BSAA Captain, and even managed to dredge up a wry smile from somewhere under his exhaustion.

“Well, we did it again, I guess. You'd think someone else would take a turn at saving the world one of these days...”

Chris had looked up at him, and Leon stopped in his tracks. There was something far worse than the usual exhaustion in Chris's dark brown eyes. His face was mostly expressionless, too tired to convey what was clearly churning inside him, but his eyes – his eyes were almost black with despair, filled with the kind of pain that Leon knew all too well. He offered only a single sentence.

“Piers didn't make it out.”

The ground didn't crack open beneath Leon's feet. The sky didn't fall. There were no explosions or dramatics or apocalyptic signs; instead, the world just... stopped. The noise of the chaos around them cut off as if the audio track had simply been muted, leaving ringing silence in Leon's ears. In that moment, a grenade could have gone off three feet away and he wouldn't have heard it. His vision seemed to dim around the edges, narrowing in until he couldn't see anything beyond Chris Redfield's hunched, defeated shoulders and despairing eyes. He couldn't feel the weight of his tac vest or the aching of his own muscles, couldn't smell the lingering smoke in the air – everything was gone, leaving him unmoored and adrift, his brain no longer processing the wealth of information that his body was trying to convey.

Low and echoing, as if from down a long tunnel, Leon heard himself rasp out, “What... happened?”

“He saved my life.” Chris's expression twisted as he said it, some of the raw agony in his voice finally breaking through onto his face. “We... that thing down there... if it got out, so many people would have died. We had to stop it.” His head bowed forward, his gaze falling to the ground – yet his haunted stare was clearly seeing something else, flashes of the horror he had just lived through.

“Piers got caught under debris. Crushed his arm. We were going to lose, we didn't have a chance... then he. Injected himself, with something.” A shudder ran through the Captain's frame. “He started to mutate. Whole arm swelled, muscles, spines, the whole nine yards. Fought the creature off with some kind of electrical blast. Got me into an escape pod, even though I was barely conscious.” Another shudder, stronger than the last. “Then he... when the base blew...” He looked back up at Leon, and the mask of exhaustion was gone, fiercely held-back tears shimmering in his eyes and his handsome features warped with helpless rage. “He stayed behind.”

This time it was Leon who couldn't hold the gaze. He turned away, his gaze drifting over the walls of the tent before fixing, still not really seeing, on the view from the open flaps of the tent – on the grim orange light reflecting against the gathering clouds, the rising plumes of black smoke reaching up like grasping hands. Lanshiang was burning, whole tracts of the city turned to rubble by the wanton destruction of the J'avo mutants, and it felt like the perfect mirror to the devastation unfolding inside Leon's heart.

Piers Nivans. Leon had only crossed paths with the young sniper a few times, and always in the context of a mission, where the BSAA and DSO's interests had overlapped; they had probably only spoken directly to each other on a handful of occasions, yet that had been enough for the younger man to make a powerful impression on Leon.

Admittedly, it had been his looks that had caught Leon's eye the first time. Leon had never tried to make much of a secret of his preference for tough, muscular men who looked like they could probably bench press him if they tried; Piers hadn't only had that going for him, but also stunning hazel-green eyes, a jawline to die for, and a fierce self-confidence that he wore like the proverbial shining armor of a noble knight. After only a few brief exchanges, though, Leon had realized there was so much more beneath the surface; Piers might have acted like just another military muscle-head sometimes, but he was also kind, quick-witted, and compassionate. While other agents often shied away from Leon, intimidated by his reputation, Piers had looked at Leon with something embarrassingly close to awe in his eyes sometimes... but he'd still had the nerve to ask if Leon was okay after an intense fight, offer him a hand into an escape chopper, even once argue with him when he thought the plan to breach a building full of infected was too risky. Chris had once commented to Leon that Piers usually stayed in the background and left the detail-wrangling to others, but that when Leon was present, he seemed compelled to step into the conversation; Leon had been unexpectedly warmed by that little revelation. He'd even wondered, sometimes, if the spark of attraction he felt for the sniper might be mutual. Their line of work didn't allow much time for their private lives, and Leon had mostly given up on the idea of romance after how spectacularly his relationships with Ada and Jack had crashed and burned, but something about Piers had made him want to reconsider. Maybe someday, he'd thought. A beer after work, just the two of them, without the rest of Chris's boisterous team around – get to know each other better, see if their compatibility only existed on the battlefield or if that chemistry extended to personal interactions as well. Always, though, those ideas had come with those inherent caveats; possibly, maybe, someday.

Now, someday would never come.

The numbness was starting to wear off a little, the duller throbs and sharper aches of his body making themselves known again, but Leon couldn't fathom the thought of resting. More pressing than all the physical pains was the sudden, burning knowledge that he'd forgotten the other crucial truth of their work. That all of them spent their lives standing on the very threshold of annihilation; that all too often, someday never arrived. Planning for tomorrow was a fool's dream, because none of them ever knew if they'd even have a tomorrow – if Leon wanted something with Piers, he should have grabbed for it with both hands, when he had the chance. And the slow, collapsing hole of despair in his chest told him that whether or not he'd admitted it before, he really, really had wanted it. He'd let his own fear hold him back, though, and now the chance was gone.

“They're putting together a recovery team, to see if they can find any survivors – or remains.” The sound of his own voice was startlingly normal, but Leon didn't turn to face Chris; he didn't want to find out if his face was holding up the facade as well. “I'm going with them. I'll bring his body back if I can.”

“What?” He heard Chris shift behind him, the sudden concern in his voice. “Leon, you're exhausted, you -”

“Get some rest. I'll let you know when I get back.” Forcing himself into motion, Leon strode out of the tent, ignoring Chris calling after him. The edges of the gaping void in his chest were growing, the chasm spreading wider and wider as the reality of the situation sank in, threading tingling lines of pain through his whole body. It felt as though, if he stopped moving now, he might just fold in on himself like a dying star and crumble into nothingness.

That could come later. First, he had to do what he could for Piers – even if it was far, far too late for it to matter. Even if all he could manage was to bring his body home.

The icy spray coming off the waves as the boat cut through them barely even registered on Leon's skin; he felt just as cold inside, that black hole of pain swallowing his organs and filling his veins like tar. He wasn't alone in his focused silence – no one in the boat was talking, all of them standing rigidly at the rails and staring intently out at the waters around them, searching for signs of life... or, failing that, of human remains. So far, they had only recovered two bodies, both of Neo-Umbrella scientists who must have been working inside the facility when it was destroyed. Those bodies had been placed at the very back of the boat, tucked against the rear rail under a tarp, and were being studiously ignored; Leon wouldn't have even bothered to fish them from the water, if it were up to him. They had known what they were choosing when they signed on with Neo-Umbrella. The people who kept this interminable war going, who made it necessary for good men like Piers Nivans to give up their lives to keep their world safe... they didn't deserve burying, if you asked Leon.

Suddenly, his gaze caught something other than the smooth surfaces of the laboratory wreckage. He called it out before he even fully knew what he'd seen. “I see something! Twenty degrees left!”

The boat slowed and turned, heading toward the object he'd seen. As a wave crested and sank, Leon got a better glimpse, and his heart leapt into his throat. It was a body, alright; floating face up, half-draped across a piece of wreckage, and wearing not the white of a lab coat but camouflage military gear. They were still some distance away, and the body's face was turned away - but Leon could just make out the drape of a piece of grey-green fabric around the body's neck, sodden wet and plastered down against the tac vest but still distinguishable as a scarf, and he knew. He knew with a certainty that turned his blood to ice.

Piers.

As the boat pulled closer, murmurs swept through the boat crew; they might not have known Piers by name, but they all recognized that the man whose body they were approaching had been a BSAA Lieutenant by the insignia on his left shoulder. Leon didn't make a sound, his gaze trained on Piers, his pain-numbed brain finally starting to recognize that there was something strange about the corpse. They had almost reached their target when Leon's sluggish mind finally connected the pieces, and he inhaled sharply.

Chris had said that Piers injected himself with one of Neo-Umbrella's viral cocktails, that he'd mutated heavily enough to have spines and some kind of electrical discharge. Hell, prior to that, his arm had apparently been crushed by falling debris. And yet...

The right side of Piers's shirt was torn away, exposing not only his arm but the side of his chest as well. Even his tactical gear there had taken a beating, the vest ripped and sagging as though the swelling of the mutation had burst it. Yet – there was no mutation. All Leon could see was smooth, tanned skin. Piers's arm looked whole and undamaged, as human as it had ever been where it lay limply at his side, not even cut or bloodied as Chris had been; other than the deathly pallor under his tan, and the horrible stillness of his chest, he looked entirely uninjured.

As the boat pulled alongside the wreckage, the two men closest reached out with hooked poles and snagged the back of Piers's tac vest. With a few muted grunts, they dragged the BSAA agent's limp form closer, until they could reach down enough to grab him and haul him up onto the boat. As they lowered him gently onto the slick wood of the deck, Leon couldn't help but kneel down and reach out to touch him, mind spinning and chest aching fit to burst. He was distantly aware of a few of his companions watching him with pitying eyes, but no one tried to stop him; it was obvious that Piers was gone, but it must have been equally obvious that Leon was breaking down, and that he wouldn't fully accept it until he'd felt the sniper's cold skin and absent pulse for himself.

His shaking fingers landed first on Piers's shoulder, touching that undamaged flesh and wondering with a sick shudder what fresh hell Neo-Umbrella had cooked up, that the horrific mutation Chris had described had simply vanished as though it had never been – but the moment he made contact the muscles under his hand tensed, Piers's brilliant hazel eyes flew open, and his chest heaved as he gasped for breath and started to cough.

“Piers!” Heart suddenly pounding double-time, Leon grabbed for the sniper's wrist; even as he sought for a pulse, his other hand was smoothing the sniper's soaked hair back from his face, assessing the look of wild panic in Piers's eyes. “Get me blankets and a first aid kit, now! Piers, can you hear me? You're safe, I promise, you're going to be fine -”

“Agent Kennedy?” Piers's voice was a weak rasp, barely audible over the sudden flurry of movement around them, but his eyes had refocused and were fixed steadily on Leon. The recognition and awareness there made Leon's heart flutter, and he managed a shaky smile, smoothing Piers's hair back again needlessly. He could feel the BSAA agent's pulse with his other hand, stunningly strong and steady, and it made him smile wider despite the absolute deluge of adrenaline running wild through his veins.

“Yeah, it's me. Just stay with me, Piers, you're gonna be okay.”

Leon knew that the odds of that were not actually in their favour – hell, it was bordering on an impossibility that Piers was even alive at all, and a downright miracle that he wasn't mutated beyond recognition – but he said with all the conviction he could muster, and it was almost enough to convince himself. Piers smiled weakly back at him, then the medic was there, wrapping warm blankets around Piers and asking rapid-fire questions about where he was hurt and how much he could feel as the man began to cut away his waterlogged tactical gear. Leon moved back a little to give the medic room to work, but when he would have let go of Piers's wrist, the sniper grabbed his hand and held on; heart swelling with too many emotions to even begin to process them now, Leon mirrored that fierce grasp and stayed close, unwilling to move an inch further away than he had to as long as Piers clearly wanted him there.

As the medic did a thorough inventory of Piers's injuries, checking vital signs and testing responses while looking for any major wounds, a strange look of consternation came across the man's face. Before Leon could ask, the medic said slowly, “Lieutenant, are you in any pain right now?”

Piers blinked, then frowned. “Um, not really?” he said, looking rather surprised by that fact himself. “I figure I'm in shock, though, because I don't even feel cold and I'm pretty sure you guys just fished me out of the ocean.”

“We did, yes.” The medic was frowning too. “Yet your core body temperature is already returning to something near normal. Your heart rate is steady, your blood pressure is only slightly elevated, you have no major visible wounds, and you don't seem to be suffering any loss of sensation.”

Piers froze, and his grip on Leon's hand tightened. “Wait.” he breathed out, eyes wide, and looked down at his own arm in bewilderment. “My arm... I was...”

“Chris said you got hurt pretty badly down there.” Leon murmured, cutting Piers off – he didn't know how the medic would react if Piers admitting to having been infected, but he knew it wouldn't be in any way good and he wasn't anxious to find out specifics. There were absolutely no signs of mutation or mental alteration in evidence, and unless and until Piers started showing worrying symptoms, Leon wasn't going to let them lock him up in quarantine when he'd somehow managed to survive what should certainly have killed him. “You look fine though. Maybe... Chris just got it wrong, yeah? Heat of the moment and all that.”

Piers looked up, met Leon's gaze – and whatever he saw there, it made his eyes go wide, and Leon could have sworn he saw the sniper's cheeks flush, ever so slightly. “Right.” Piers said, voice still slightly hoarse. “Yeah. I... it was pretty chaotic there, for a while. I got thrown against the wall, and I just assumed my arm was broken and I was powering through on adrenaline. Can't stop to assess injuries mid-fight, you know? But maybe I – maybe it was just a little bruised after all.”

“It appears so.” The medic still looked perplexed, but he shrugged. “You're damn lucky, then, Lieutenant – we thought we were out here on a recovery mission only, and I'm damn glad we were wrong.” He stood up then, and cast a pointed glance at Leon. “He needs to stay wrapped up in those blankets until we get back to shore, and one of us needs to get back to helping with the search. You wanna stay and keep an eye on him, make sure he stays awake and responsive?”

Leon usually put a lot of work into maintaining his aloof persona, but right now he'd just been handed a miracle of a second chance and his facade of cool indifference was the last thing on his mind. He nodded gratefully, and the medic nodded back before striding off to rejoin the rest of the crew at the rails.

“Agent Kennedy...”

The soft words brought his gaze back to Piers, and Leon smiled down at him, squeezing his hand gently. “Call me Leon, please.” He said quietly, and got to watch a little smile tug at the corners of Piers's mouth. “Are you really okay?”

“I think so.” Piers held his gaze steadily, hazel eyes open and honest. “The Captain told you what I did, didn't he? You know that I was...”

“He did, and I do.” Leon replied, still keeping his voice low – the recovery crew didn't need to hear this exchange. “Don't particularly feel the need to spread it around, though. You look completely fine, and I don't know how that's possible but I'm not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm just incredibly glad you're alive.”

Piers was definitely blushing now, but he was also looking at Leon with dawning confusion. “Wait a second, weren't you in the city when everything went sideways? What are you doing out here with the recovery crew? And where's the Captain?”

“Chris is at the medical tent back at command. He's a bit battered, but he's going to be fine.” Leon said soothingly. “As for why I'm here, I was looking for you.”

Piers just stared at him as if he didn't understand what he was hearing. Leon bit the inside of his cheek a bit, trying to force back the nerves; it had been a long time since he'd opened up to anyone, to any degree, who wasn't Claire or Chris. Even with them, he usually just put a bit less effort into making himself appear 'fine' and let them draw their own conclusions about how he felt. He'd just been given a very sharp and painful confirmation, though, that what he felt for Piers was more than a passing fancy – and even he wasn't stubborn or emotionally constipated enough to ignore that kind of a warning, so he took a deep breath and made himself continue.

“Look, I know we haven't really spent all that much time together, but – I like you, Piers. A lot. And when Chris told me you were dead, I realized what an idiot I was for not saying anything. I let my own fears and hang-ups get in the way, and if you weren't somehow here and alive and safe, I'd have regretted that for the rest of my life.” Piers's eyes had gotten rounder and rounder as Leon spoke, and he was looking at the DSO agent like he had hung the damn moon, and they were still holding hands, so Leon smiled weakly and said, “I guess, what I'm saying is – once the trauma team back at command clears you for real... do you wanna go grab a drink together?”

For a second, Piers looked like he'd frozen in place – then he started nodding vigorously, and a broad smile broke across his face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. “Yes.” he said fervently. “Hell yes, I – honestly, it's kind of a running joke with the guys on the team at this point, but I really, really like you too, Agent Kennedy.” If anything, his grin only got wider then. “Leon.”

Leon grinned back at him, a light, giddy feeling bubbling up in his chest; it had been far too long at this point, so long that Leon had almost forgotten, and it took him a moment to identify that feeling as joy. For once not tempered by loss, or anger, or bitterness. The city was still burning and the war against bioterrorism might feel like an unwinnable uphill fight, but Piers was alive and safe and they were going to get a drink after debriefing and maybe this once, just this once, Leon could actually get to keep something good in his life.

Their boat finished its section of the grid and turned back toward shore a few minutes later, one survivor and two dead bodies retrieved from the wreckage. It took about a half hour to get from the debris field back to port, and then another ten minutes to make the trek back to the emergency command centre.

Piers didn't let go of Leon's hand until the medical team came to whisk him away for a proper examination, and neither one of them had stopped smiling.

#resident evil #leon s. kennedy #piers nivans #chris redfield #nivannedy #i'm only going to tag characters as they appear #because holy shit my tags on AO3 got long fast #supernatural #eventually anyways #the bits of it that are spn right now aren't really obvious #the neocount writes #holy shit look at that #i used my writing tag again already!#thanks fon :P #and thanks to everyone else #in this nivannedy rowboat with us #it might not be a spacious ship #but we're all having fun paddling like hell XD

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seehowsupplethespineis · 4 years

Text

Lift Home

(Here we have my first Good Omens fanfiction! Well, the first Good Omens fanfiction I’m posting; I’ve got plenty of WIPs for this fandom that I will one day share with the world. I wanted to cover all the things I’ve been wanting to write for this fandom in this one piece so expect lots of pining, bickering, and a car chase.)

(Warnings: Nazis, a tiny bit of blood, explosion, guns, accidental murder (of Nazis))

(Note: This story takes place directly after the scene at the bombed church, if that isn’t immediately made clear enough.)

The rubble of the razed church lay piled up around the angel, illuminated by fires that had sprung up from the ruins. The flickering flames cast haunting shadows over jagged edges of stone. An air raid siren in the distance, along with the far off screams of people nearby, added an ominous layer to the already depressing scene.

Aziraphale honestly couldn’t care less. He was a little too preoccupied with the demon sauntering off into the gathering darkness, the very demon who had, just moments ago, rescued him and his precious books in an undeniably selfless and courageous act of pure kindness. It was a hard concept to process in itself without the odd feeling of warmth and giddiness spreading from his chest to the hand holding his precious cargo. Adding that to the jolt of panic these sudden emotions brought, Aziraphale could hardly breathe, let alone move.

“Hurry it up, angel!” Crowley’s lazy voice made something twist in Aziraphale’s gut, “Don’t know how many Nazis might be lurking around! Should probably get a move on!”

Aziraphale took a few moments to find his voice, “R-Right! I’m...right behind you!”

Crowley spun back around and strolled unhurriedly yet with a few cautious glances into the darkness to the car he’d parked somewhere in the distance. Aziraphale took one step after him, then two. When he didn’t immediately combust in a shower of sparks, the angel found enough confidence to jog after the demon, clutching his books protectively to his chest and slipping and sliding over bits of rock as he went.

Being the unusually considerate demon he was, Crowley paused to allow Aziraphale to catch up to him. Aziraphale flashed the demon a nervous smile as he neared and averted his gaze for the remainder of the walk. He found himself in an odd state of being where he deeply wished he were alone in his bookshop while also wanting to never leave Crowley’s side. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this way, though this time he had to reckon with the strange flips his stomach was doing.

Aziraphale wasn’t an idiot. He was an angel, and angels knew a thing or two about love, or at least were very good at detecting it. Right now, Aziraphale could feel it in himself, and the feeling was directed at Crowley. The feeling was strong, too strong, so strong that the angel tried to suppress it for fear it would come off of him in waves that would wash over Crowley and give him away. But Crowley just kept walking, oblivious, hands tucked leisurely in his pockets.

The angel and the demon eventually stepped over the last of the rubble and crossed the road to reach the car parked on the other side. It was a black car, sleek and well-looked after. Aziraphale wasn’t much of an expert on vehicles not involving horses, but it seemed of a good design and make.

He was about to say as much to Crowley in an effort to relieve the oppressive silence between them, when a gunshot went off nearby. Aziraphale winced as something whistled past the demon and him. He barely had time to realize that someone was shooting at them before Crowley was dragging him roughly by the elbow.

“Blasted Nazis!” Crowley hissed through clenched teeth. He yanked Aziraphale round to the front of the car, “Get in, angel!”

Aziraphale ducked down and hurried around the car to the passenger side while Crowley fumbled to open the driver’s side door. Another gunshot went off, closer this time. Aziraphale threw open the car door and dove inside, his bag of books still clutched firmly to himself. The angel noted as Crowley clambered in that the demon’s hat was missing from his head.

“Bloody close.” The demon growled as the car sprang to life beneath them.

Aziraphale twisted in his seat to see a car speeding up behind them, “I thought the Nazis I met in the church were the only ones here!”

“They were,” The car engine roared, “But some tailed me as I came here. Been keeping track of my movements for a while.”

“Why?” A bullet cracked against the glass windows of the car. Crowley muttered a curse.

“I’m kind of a big deal at the moment. Hang on!”

“Hang on to wha-?” The car surged beneath them and took off at a speed Aziraphale had never before experienced. An involuntary yelp escaped him as the vehicle accelerated, fast leaving the car full of Nazis behind. Aziraphale fumbled for something to hold onto and eventually just latched onto his seat.

“Crowley!” The angel didn’t mean for his voice to sound so shrill.

Crowley glanced at him, “Oh, right! Never been in the Bentley before, have you?”

“S-Slow down- Watch the road!”

“We’re fleeing from Nazis, angel! Not exactly a good time to take it easy!”

“You’re going to get us killed!”

“Those Nazis are going to kill us if we don’t keep moving!”

Crowley turned his head to look through the back window, “Speak of the devils.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut as the Bentley took a left turn at a velocity that defied whatever scientific laws God had placed on the Earth. He tipped dangerously in his seat and briefly made contact with Crowley’s tensed shoulder before snapping back to his seat once the car continued straight. More bullets rained on the car, burying themselves in glass and metal.

“Can’t concentrate enough while driving like this!” Crowley made a wild gesture with his left hand, “Do something, angel!”

“Like what?” Aziraphale shrieked as a bullet zipped past his face and narrowly missed Crowley’s hand. It transfixed itself in the front windshield.

“Anything!” Crowley shouted, “Just make them stop shooting holes in my car before they shoot holes in us!”

Aziraphale’s mind raced through all the miracles he could use. Make the car invulnerable? Turn their guns into toys? Miracle a flock of birds to blind them?

Another bullet whizzed through the now shattered back window. It moved too fast for Aziraphale to see but he heard the cry of pain Crowley gave a mere half second before the bullet crashed through the front window. The cry sent a jolt of something through Aziraphale and before he knew what he was doing he had raised his fingers and snapped.

The Nazi car exploded in a cloud of flame. The metal frame of the vehicle shot up into the air like a phoenix rising from the ashes only to crash back down to the ground on its head. The melting tires pointed upward to Heaven as a last means of salvation, but of course an agent of Heaven had caused it.

Crowley lowered the hand he’d pressed to the gash in his cheek to stare open-mouthed at the destruction behind them, the car slowing to a halt. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the orange light of the flames that danced around the inside of the Bentley.

The stunned silence went on impossibly longer until Crowley jerked back to face Aziraphale, looking from him to the fiery wreck and back again, “I...You... I didn’t...Uh...Good job.”

The angel refused to meet his gaze, “I didn’t mean to go that far. But you startled me when you...and...well...it’s done now.”

Crowley stared at him, the gaze made no less intense by his dark glasses. Aziraphale would have turned away, but the blood seeping from the wound on the demon’s cheek held his attention.

“Are you alright?” When Crowley seemed confused, Aziraphale gestured to his face.

“What? Oh, right. Yeah, I’m fine.” He smeared a hand over the injury and it healed up instantly, “Just a scratch.”

“Ah. Thank goodness for that.”

“Yeah…” Crowley didn’t take his eyes from the angel, “Thank goodness.”

Aziraphale glanced out the window and took a deep breath, “Well, we’d best be off, then. It’s getting late.”

Crowley reluctantly looked away from Aziraphale to glance at the sky, “Yeah…”

After miracling the car back to it’s original intact condition, Crowley sped away from the flaming wreck, though thankfully remained slow enough not to make Aziraphale fear for their corporations. More sirens blared in the distance, likely from fire trucks coming to put out the numerous fires the two entities had caused. It was best they make themselves scarce.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the Bentley as Crowley drove to Aziraphale’s bookshop. The demon was the first to break it, “So...tonight’s just been a night for blowing up Nazis, hasn’t it?”

Aziraphale sighed, “I didn’t mean to blow them up, not that I’m…”

Crowley turned to face him, “Not that you’re what?”

The angel gestured for him to keep his eyes on the road before responding, “Not that I’m upset about the whole matter. I’m sure Heaven won’t be upset with me for relieving the world of a few Nazis, especially in self defense.”

The barest smirk twitched across Crowley’s lips but he didn’t say anything.

Aziraphale looked at him. The demon’s glasses hid his eyes from view, and the angel wanted nothing more than to remove them to see the beautiful golden eyes beneath. Such a thought should have caused him to go up in smoke just as the Nazi car had done, but miraculously- er, luckily it didn’t.

“Are you sure no one else is following us?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley took a right turn that was still a little fast for Aziraphale’s liking but not too much as to worry him, “Pretty sure. I only counted one car following me when I drove here.”

That statement made another question spring up in the angel’s mind, “How did you know I was in the church?”

The demon shrugged, though Aziraphale noted the action was a little forced, “Like I said, pretty popular at the moment. Word reached me about some Nazis planning to double cross an old bookseller and I figured it was you.”

Aziraphale glanced at his bag and allowed himself to relax his hold on it. He nodded to Crowley, “I know I already expressed my thanks, but-”

“Don’t mention it, really.” Crowley waved the gratitude aside, “I should thank you for taking care of those other Nazis.”

“It was my pleasure.” Aziraphale gave a small smile.

Crowley simply nodded and the drive continued in a comfortable silence.

Aziraphale was far more reluctant than he should have been to bid good night to Crowley. The demon stopped the car right at his bookshop entrance. The sight of the darkened shelves sent a wave of loneliness through the angel. The sudden urge to invite Crowley inside seized hold of him and he spun to face the demon.

Crowley’s hair glowed red in the light of the streetlamps. One arm was thrown casually over the steering wheel and the other rested on his seat so he could face Aziraphale. His eyebrows raised as he sensed the question forming on the angel’s lips, his lips parting slightly in surprise and some emotion Aziraphale couldn’t read.

The angel instantly panicked and choked on his words, “Thank you for taking me home!”

Crowley sat still as stone for a few seconds before he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake and averted his gaze, “Yeah, yeah, no problem.”

Fumbling with the door, Aziraphale pushed it open and stepped out into the chill night. He placed his hat on his head and held his bag in a two-handed grip. Without a backward glance, he marched up to his bookshop, threw the door open, and slammed it behind him. After a couple of seconds, the Bentley’s engine roared and quickly faded out of earshot.

The bookshop felt dark and empty despite the mass of his beloved books surrounding the angel. Aziraphale leaned against the door, not wishing to trek any further into this lonely establishment. But trek he did, with a thud in his step and an ache in his heart.

I’m an angel. He’s a demon. We’re hereditary enemies. Get that through your head, you stupid principality!

Aziraphale set his bag down and collapsed into an armchair, throwing his hat haphazardly into the gloom.

He had made the right decision, at least that’s what he continued to tell himself in order to stifle the intense yearning he felt. If he had let Crowley into his shop, Aziraphale was sure he couldn’t have endured it. He loved Crowley. That fact wasn’t something he could ignore, however much he wanted to. It was something he needed to repress until it was rendered inert. That wasn’t how emotions worked, the angel knew, but he had no other choice. It was simply impossible for Crowley and he to be anything other than what they were so there was no point in loving him at all. Their relationship at the moment was already a forbidden one without adding love into the mix.

What kind of an angel am I? Aziraphale was forced to conclude he was a lousy one. With a sigh that came from nearly 6,000 years worth of wariness and one night of harrowing action and new discoveries, the angel popped open the first bottle he saw and poured himself a glass.

#Good Omens #Aziraphale #Crowley #Ineffable Husbands #Writing Entity #TW Nazis #TW Blood #TW Murder #TW Guns

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

Note

1 So, based on your latest posts, and because you take the time to explore things that have been on my mind lately: 1 Jon-Sansa reunion is foreshadowed in Jamie-Cersei meeting at the Sept over dead Tywin and Jamie's dream of his mother. 2. T-S wedding not annulled, T will press his claim. Horrible suspicion: Sansa forgot her bedding and her PoV is completely blurred. Her next PoV is when she escapes and she thinks she should tell T about her moodblood!

2 T never once denies that he bedded her. He thinks "I am not bedded" once but that's because he wants to be chosen and S doesn't want him. He did what Tywin wanted "bed her once". He'll probably press his claim to WF based on that. In Catelyn's chapter Robb says he'll take his head off for what he did. This foreshadow comes also in Ts chapters in ADWD. Please explore Ts chapters more! Nice catch the whore-wife thing!

Oh hi, anon!

OMG, you make an excellent point! I think that GRRM planned something quite like this with the 5-year-gap he ended up having to scrap. Now it makes sense! I’ll put in some quotes below that show the hints.

It might still happen now. Obviously, not involving the actual wedding night, but as a “completely blurred” experience that involves Sansa (and probably Tyrion) at a point in the future. A point where Tyrion doesn’t care about being nice anymore. But for now, let’s look at what might have been.

Here’s where the hints come in after their wedding in ASOS:

For their wedding night, they had been granted the use of an airy bedchamber high in the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion kicked the door shut behind them. “There is a flagon of good Arbor gold on the sideboard, Sansa. Will you be so kind as to pour me a cup?” “Is that wise, my lord?” “Nothing was ever wiser. I am not truly drunk, you see. But I mean to be.” Sansa filled a goblet for each of them. It will be easier if I am drunk as well. She sat on the edge of the great curtained bed and drained half her cup in three long swallows. No doubt it was very fine wine, but she was too nervous to taste it. It made her head swim.

They both drink a wine that Tyrion has provided for them. Arbor Gold, he says. A different chapter with Shae suggests something else.

“We should go back,” he said reluctantly. “It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking.” “You should give her dreamwine,” Shae said, “like Lady Tanda does with Lollys. A cup before she goes to sleep, and we could fuck in bed beside her without her waking.” She giggled. “Maybe we should, some night. Would m’lord like that?” Her hand found his shoulder, and began to knead the muscles there. “Your neck is hard as stone. What troubles you?”

Tyrion could not see his fingers in front of his face, but he ticked his woes off on them all the same. “My wife. (…) He had come to his last finger. “The face that stares back out of the water when I wash.”(ASOS, Tyrion)

She mentions the dreamwine and he gets tense as a stone, the thought of his wife troubles him and he can’t stand the look of his own face. Hmmm… (That last one is also a Tysha hint, but I digress.)

The pivotal moment at the wedding night:

She climbed onto the featherbed, conscious of his stare. A scented beeswax candle burned on the bedside table and rose petals had been strewn between the sheets. She had started to pull up a blanket to cover herself when she heard him say, “No.”

The cold made her shiver, but she obeyed. Her eyes closed, and she waited. After a moment she heard the sound of her husband pulling off his boots, and the rustle of clothing as he undressed himself. When he hopped up on the bed and put his hand on her breast, Sansa could not help but shudder. She lay with her eyes closed, every muscle tense, dreading what might come next. Would he touch her again? Kiss her? Should she open her legs for him now? She did not know what was expected of her.

“Sansa.” The hand was gone. “Open your eyes.” She had promised to obey; she opened her eyes. He was sitting by her feet, naked. Where his legs joined, his man’s staff poked up stiff and hard from a thicket of coarse yellow hair, but it was the only thing about him that was straight. “My lady,” Tyrion said, “you are lovely, make no mistake, but … I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little.” His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister. (ASOS, Sansa)

This feels rewritten, doesn’t it? The sudden break, the sudden reprieve. It could just be Tyrion’s creeping conscience making him change his mind. Or it could be Sansa’s mind rewriting the moment. As the series stands now, it can be both. But this issue between them is so heavily referenced that it will have to come up again in the future, one way or the other. It was always meant to be important.

This is at the end of the wedding night chapter:

“On my honor as a Lannister,” the Imp said, “I will not touch you until you want me to.” It took all the courage that was in her to look in those mismatched eyes and say, “And if I never want you to, my lord?” His mouth jerked as if she had slapped him. “Never?” Her neck was so tight she could scarcely nod. “Why,” he said, “that is why the gods made whores for imps like me.” He closed his short blunt fingers into a fist, and climbed down off the bed. (ASOS, Sansa)

That’s some violent imagery for a kindly refusal to rape her, isn’t it? We all know what Lannister honor is worth (a bucket of…) and we see that Tyrion does feel entitled to her, or he wouldn’t react with dismay at her suggestion that she may never want him.

The chapter is followed by an Arya chapter describing Stoney Sept, the Battle of the Bells, and this comes up quickly:

More recent battles had been fought here as well, Arya thought from the look of the place. The town gates were made of raw new wood; outside the walls a pile of charred planks remained to tell what had happened to the old ones.

(…)

“When the westermen came through they raped the Huntsman’s wife and sister, put his crops to the torch, ate half his sheep, and killed the other half for spite. Killed six dogs too, and threw the carcasses down his well. A chewed-up corpse would be plenty good enough for him, I’d say. Me as well.” (ASOS, Arya)

Tyrion used that ugly “smash your portcullis” metaphor just in the chapter before. That’s not subtle.

Let’s look at two angles at Sansa’s POV, keeping in mind the dreamwine. One of the biggest hints that something bad happened (or will happen) to Sansa is in a TWOW sample chapter, “Mercy”. Arya will be “raped” by a dwarf on stage, in a play that’s about the Purple Wedding. Mercy is likely to play Sansa’s character.

She had fastened the shutters back so the morning sun might wake her. But there was no sun outside the window of Mercy's little room, only a wall of shifting grey fog. The air had grown chilly... and a good thing, else she might have slept all day. It would be just like Mercy to sleep through her own rape. Gooseprickles covered her legs. Her coverlet had twisted around her like a snake. She unwound it, threw the blanket to the bare plank floor and padded naked to the window. Braavos was lost in fog. (TWOW, Mercy)

The Tyrion chapter with Shae and the dreamwine is followed directly by a Sansa chapter that opens thusly:

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so …

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

Her lord husband was not beside her, but she was used to that. (ASOS, Sansa)

If only dreaming could make everyone safe and warm.

So, why would this have happened? Because Jesus-Jon Snow Needs a Virgin Mother Mary Magdalene.

Like many other female characters, Sansa is surrounded by biblical Mary imagery. “Lys”, in fact, is French for “lily”, the virginal flower that represents the Virgin Mary and, as a city name in Essos, the den of high-end prostitutes. Look for “lys”, it’s everywhere. Madonna-Whore is one of the biggest themes in the books, right next to the light and dark messiah represented by Dany and Jon. Sansa is currently still heavy on the “Maiden” aspect, but that was going to change. But with a twist. Mary is, after all, a virgin mother.

A woman who doesn’t remember having been raped is still a virgin, yes?

Starting in Sansa’s “sweet dream” chapter, we get a barrage of pregnancy and bastard allusions all through Sansa’s arrival at the Fingers, along with lots of food symbolism. She has a fluttery “tummy”, she can’t eat. After her Escape, she arrives by ship nauseated and is offered fruit by Littlefinger. She rejects the pomegranate, i.e. marriage to Hades, she rejects the blood orange, i.e. wrathful revenge, but she chooses the pear, i.e. the virgin Mary AND child.

So, Virgin Mary and the bastard child. Or, as the world would call her: the whore.

More hints with Lysa:

As Sansa stepped back, Lady Lysa caught her wrist. “Now tell me,” she said sharply. “Are you with child? The truth now, I will know if you lie.” “No,” she said, startled by the question. “You are a woman flowered, are you not?” “Yes.” Sansa knew the truth of her flowering could not be long hidden in the Eyrie. “Tyrion didn’t … he never …” She could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. “I am still a maid.” “Was the dwarf incapable?” “No. He was only … he was …” Kind? She could not say that, not here, not to this aunt who hated him so. “He … he had whores, my lady. He told me so.”

So Tyrion “had” a whore. And Sansa has repressed the memory, making her a maiden in her own mind. But a maiden with child.

Littlefinger would have loved it, apparently.

I always anticipated that she would beggar the realm and destroy herself, but I never expected she would do it quite so fast. It is quite vexing. I had hoped to have four or five quiet years to plant some seeds and allow some fruits to ripen, but now … it is a good thing that I thrive on chaos. (AFFC, Alayne)

Thanks for the self-insert, GRRM.

There are plenty of allusions in all the chapters to rape, protective walls (around people’s hearts) and Jon, in particular, climbing walls, pregnancy, childbirth, Trauma, etc etc etc.

Tyrion’s first chapter after their wedding opens like this:

Nothing remained beyond the King’s Gate but mud and ashes and bits of burned bone, yet already there were people living in the shadow of the city walls, and others selling fish from barrows and barrels. (ASOS, Tyrion)

To make it short: “Wall” is a code for Sansa. There are people living in the shadow of the wall after a gate was destroyed. Hmm.

His marriage was a daily agony. Sansa Stark remained a maiden, and half the castle seemed to know it. When they had saddled up this morning, he’d heard two of the stableboys sniggering behind his back. He could almost imagine that the horses were sniggering as well. He’d risked his skin to avoid the bedding ritual, hoping to preserve the privacy of his bedchamber, but that hope had been dashed quick enough. Either Sansa had been stupid enough to confide in one of her bedmaids, every one of whom was a spy for Cersei, or Varys and his little birds were to blame. (ASOS, Tyrion)

This is the only snag in the theory. Tyrion corroborates Sansa’s version of events. Or so it seems. Maybe Tyrion also misremembers. Which fits with his Tysha repression. There not being a “bloody sheet” is a mystery, though, for another day. There’s a Tyrion scene with Shae in AGOT or ACOK where he, ahem, barely manages to “storm the castle” before he finishes. It may have played like that. If it did. We don’t know.

It doesn’t matter now. But anyway.

Another hint when Catelyn arrives at the Twins for the Red Wedding, describing Lord Walder Frey:

His chair was black oak, its back carved into the semblance of two stout towers joined by an arched bridge, so massive that its embrace turned the old man into a grotesque child. There was something of the vulture about Lord Walder, and rather more of the weasel. His bald head, spotted with age, thrust out from his scrawny shoulders on a long pink neck. Loose skin dangled beneath his receding chin, his eyes were runny and clouded, and his toothless mouth moved constantly, sucking at the empty air as a babe sucks at his mother’s breast. (ASOS, Catelyn)

My suspicion on what would have eventually happened to that bastard:

What does he want me to say? “That is good to know, my lord.” He wanted something from her, but Sansa did not know what it was. He looks like a starving child, but I have no food to give him. Why won’t he leave me be? Tyrion rubbed at his scarred, scabby nose yet again, an ugly habit that drew the eye to his ugly face. “You have never asked me how Robb died, or your lady mother.” “I … would sooner not know. It would give me bad dreams.” “Then I will say no more.” “That … that’s kind of you.” “Oh, yes,” said Tyrion. “I am the very soul of kindness. And I know about bad dreams.” (ASOS, Sansa)

Children starving in the winter is something we heard from Old Nan.

“The Others,” Old Nan agreed. “Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.” Her voice and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with pale, filmy eyes and asked, “So, child. This is the sort of story you like?”

I’m not sure if this would have happened, but there is plenty of precedence of decent young mothers suffering horribly: Helaena Targaryen, Elia Martell, countless unnamed civilians, even Gilly and her two rabbits that Ghost killed.

At this point, of course, it doesn’t matter because it happened differently. Since GRRM had to scrap the 5-year-gap for being unworkable, this plan had to change. Sansa has been in the Vale for way long enough to be certain that pregnancy, at least, is not a factor. This theoretical Lannister baby is a scrap in the bin.

Whether he will pick up this thread directly (by possibly even repeating it when the un-annulled marriage becomes a factor again) or transfer some of this onto Sansa’s storyline by another character, Sansa remains officially a maiden and will most probably become pregnant at some point in a way that recalls the Virgin Mary. It may straight up be Jon’s baby at this point, what with the time constraints. Not remembering is certaintly something that will come up between them. Or it may have either an uncertain or a more sinister “source”.

It’s going to be interesting!

Either way, thank you so much for the ask, it really inspired me!

#asoiaf speculation #asoiaf #sansa stark #Tyrion Lannister #rape #asks #my posts

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x688plsloveme · 4 years

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Day 1 and also 16 Whumptober 2020

Ah here it is. My first whumptober post of the month. The actual prompts are in the tags but that would spoil it. This one was REALLY self-indulgent. Like super super self indulgent. For multiple reasons. Anyways hope whoever reads this likes it!!! xoxo

The first thing Danai feels is the sticky feeling of warm blood trickling down her face as she comes back from the peaceful silence of unconsciousness. She hissed at what obviously was a head wound but was otherwise apathetic. She shakes her head to see how it would make her head feel. “No sharp pain or dizziness. So no major blood loss or concussion.”

This wasn’t an uncommon situation to be in anyways considering she likes to take the fight close and personal and when she goes to get up. She realizes that it wasn’t a possibility thanks to metal shackles that kept her restrained to what felt like a wooden beam. Now that is not a common occurrence.

There’s a groan to her left from who she assumes is Deacon as he was the last one with her before the ambush. They were traveling back from a mission to help a synth when all of a sudden, dozens of gen 2’s were surrounding them. There was no chance in fighting so they just put their weapons down. One of the bots knocked them out and now she was here. Wherever here was.

The person beside her confirms her guess when she hears Deacon’s voice let out an “Oh-!” Followed by a sharp inhale and a whispered “fuck.” He was definitely seeing something that she both wished she could and couldn’t. She had never heard him be so quiet - even in a dangerous situation. That made it all the more serious and she knew she had to prepare herself, so she steels her nerves and strains her ears to try and get a better sense of her surroundings.

She didn’t have to wait long as the man across the room who was fiddling with his favourite knife and watching her like a hawk notices her waking up.

James smiles and his steel eyes light up in mirth when he sees his rival, Danai, start to stir. He can’t help but feel uncharacteristically giddy at the situation. Her and her…friend tied up and restrained, him holding all the cards, and of course none of the backtalk or fire to be found. Not yet anyway. She wouldn’t be fun without it.

He picked this place specially for her. A location that no one knew about except for his close advisors that has the outwards appearance of yet another run down destroyed house. But go into the cellar and it’s a different story.

A plain basement fitted with nothing except a chair for his princess to rest on and anything anyone would need to extract information out of someone else. But that’s not what he was after. Not today. He had something very special for tonight’s events.

Rubi, who was always seen with her boss, watches in a very characteristically giddy way when she sees her companion’s plan start to form behind his eyes. She looks back and forth between the two rivals, her pink pigtails bouncing as she practically vibrates in her seat in excitement.

The institute operative leaves his victim tied up on the floor and struts over to the two agents. He makes sure every step is loud and precise, ensuring that the woman he was approaching knew exactly where he was.

Said woman knew better than anyone just how quiet he could be when he wanted, so it was unnerving to notice how… perceivable the man was being considering his usual methods of letting his opponent be the last person to know his whereabouts. That meant that either he was being sloppy or he knew her helplessness and no longer saw her as a true danger. Danai could guess which one it was.

She flinches when she hears him come to a stop in front of her. She can’t tell you how she knew, but something in her told her that he was smiling directly at her. He lifted her head with the tip of his knife and they both hardly breath as they still; playing a game that only they knew the rules of.

They ignore Deacon’s attempts at telling him to get away from her until he got a bit too annoying and Rubi spoke up from directly beside Deacon. “Get ya pet to shut up Da~ni. Guess what happens if ya don’t?” She grabs his hair and yanks, her friend yelping at the pain.

Danai sighs, knowing who it is immediately. “It seems that she tagged along as well. Great.”

Her bright attitude was dangerously deceptive and depending on her mood, she would kill faster than it took to say “Look behind you!” Danai couldn’t risk him by ignoring her.

Keeping her gaze fixed on James as best she could with her sightless eyes, she growled at the girl “Touch him again and I will staple your pigtails to your ass sweetheart.” The girl giggles at the venom laced words, happy that she could get under the other’s skin.

“And Deacon? Shut up.” He snapped his mouth shut and nodded out of habit. Satisfied, she pulled away and went to stand next to her boss.

The man whose attention was still fixed on Danai flashed a smile and hummed, pleased that he had won that round, and let her head drop. He could hear giggling from behind him as his second was undoubtedly amused by the resident liar’s stricken expression and Danai’s annoyed face.

He knew she hated losing and it bothers her even more when she loses their little “staring contest” that they always greet each other with. It’s usually something to see who’s the best composed for the day’s meeting. A way of sizing the other up without even speaking a word.

At least her companion was quiet for the moment. He wanted to focus completely on the woman in front of him - wanted to watch her squirm as she figured out what was going to transpire soon.

After removing his knife from her chin, he straightened up and smoothed down any wrinkles that formed on his immaculate crimson button down. He circled the pillar and quietly took in her disheveled appearance, from the blood that had started to dry on her face to her messy orange dreads, and finally her torn up signature leather jacket. He had never seen her so unkempt before, it made him positively delighted.

He stopped in front of her again and with a smirk she could practically hear, started talking. Gloating was probably closer but could you blame him? He doesn’t get many chances to humiliate her with little repercussions.

She hated his voice. The silky smooth timber that fooled far too many people and grated on her nerves at every opportunity. The cocky but even tone that he usually had was replaced with an unusual delight that he so rarely showed around her. That didn’t spell out anything good.

“Danai darling.” The word filled with as much venom as possible. “I so missed you, you should really visit more often, it gets boring without you around.”

An offended “Hey!” Comes from Rubi but all he does is wave her off. “Oh please princess you know how much our friend here entertains me. She’s special.”

The aforementioned can’t help but scoff at this and roll her eyes. “Cut the crap James. What do you want?”

He feigns hurt and places a hand on his chest dramatically, yet still smiles as creepily genuine as ever.

It sends shivers down Deacon’s spine when he sees the odd juxtaposition paired with his dangerous glinting eyes. He wants to say something - a joke, anything - and he would if he couldn’t clearly see the cards they were being dealt.

“Oh darling you wound me.” Ignoring her question he went on. “Of course you’re special, how could you not be? The only survivor of an empty vault and resident goody two shoes that insists on trying to oppose me at every opportunity. You’re the hero of the wastes sweetheart. Act. Like. It.” As he continues on, his smile slowly fades and his voice loses the joyful emotion it had previously before hardening completely at his last word.

She promptly spit in his general direction, hitting his slacks. He frowns disappointingly down at her, giving her a look a parent would when their child misbehaves in a very silly way.

“Now. No need to be childish.” His sentence is accented with a swift kick to her stomach. She immediately feels bruises start to form as she doubles over as best she can and has a coughing fit. Deacon tries to struggle and say something when Rubi catches his eye and playfully points a finger gun at him and makes a shushing motion with her other hand. He gets the message.

James laughs a little. “We still haven’t gotten to the main event after all. But don’t worry, you’ll find out soon.”

He stares pointedly at the railroad agent for the first time, trying to convey silently to him exactly what his plan is. Deacon can guess what is about to happen to the still unconscious woman across the room from them. She was tied in a similar manner that they were, but looked much more beat up. The railroad agent would be embarrassed to say that he may have whimpered in fear thinking about what these psychos could do to her.

Satisfied, James looks back toward his adversary and can’t help but chuckle. Here she is, bound and bloody, entirely helpless with no way to save anyone, and she still glares at him with a ferocity that would terrify lesser men.

Good thing he’s not a lesser man.

As it stands, her anger just fuels his desire to push her buttons more, so he decides it’s time to get the show on the road.

He claps loudly and says, “Alright let’s begin!” and starts to walk across the room. Danai cocks her head in confusion but bites her tongue to prevent from asking any questions.

“Rubi, hand me the water please.”

“Aye-aye cap'n” she says with a salute and hands him a bottle of water that was placed beside the unconscious woman earlier.

The man wastes no time in splashing it in her face, wincing at the ungraceful way she woke up, sputtering and cursing.

“Wha-? Where the fuck am I?” She wastes no time in glaring at her captors.

Danai’s eyes widen and she gasps sharply. That is Glory. They caught her separately and she is in the same situation that they are. Except… Something’s off. Her eyes widen in horrible realization. Glory isn’t near her like Deacon is. That sociopath would never let her die, would never even risk collateral damage from killing someone near her. Anyone close enough to touch was safe that’s why she wasn’t scared for Deek, but Glory was too far and-

“Figured it out have we? Good.” He sneers. “Well there’s no beating around the bush so to speak.” He snaps his fingers at the girl beside him. “Punch this one in the face.”

She obliges gladly, putting her entire weight into it, confident that the muscular woman could take it without passing out again. Her head snaps to the side with a distinct “thump” and both agents yell in protest.

“Let her go-!”

“Don’t touch her-!”

“Ah-ah. None of that. Just sit back and enjoy the show darling.”

Her face twists into scowl. “If you think I’m going to be quiet because you tell me to, you are dumber than I thought.”

He watches her carefully, letting the tension settle on her uncomfortably like a heated blanket on a summer night before speaking again.

“This time, shoot her ear off.” The little maniac actually giggles and does as she was told. The loud bang being drowned out by Glory’s screaming.

Danai was getting frantic at this point. Adrenaline shot through her and she struggles to breath through the panic. Deacon can only scream expletives as his anger rises.

“James don’t - don’t do this. You know how close we are, don’t do this.”

Something unreadable flashes across his face and he makes his way across the room to crouch in front of her again. This time he tilts her face up with his hand, ungloved, some distant part of her mind notices.

“Oh?” He cocks his head, tone still infuriatingly even and calmly says, “Then beg.”

She doesn’t even have to think about it before words are streaming from her mouth, shaky from the extra effort it took not to break down crying. “Please don’t James pl-please don’t kill her I’m sorry I’ll do anything you want just please pleasepleaseplease don’t. I couldn’t bear it you know how much it’ll hurt me.” Tears start streaming down her face at the thought of her friend getting maimed and killed in front of her.

He smiles - so so sweetly - she can hear it in his saccharine voice. “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” He pats her on the head and it takes every ounce of willpower she has to not bite him. “Good job.”

The two agents breath a sigh of relief as he stands up but it was cut short as another shot rang out. Glory’s cursing stopped altogether, the crazed lackey starts laughing, Deacon blanches in horror, and in the middle of it all stands James with his smoking gun now being put back in its holster.

Danai couldn’t say anything. She just stills there and frantically strains her ears but she can’t hear even the laboured breathing of one of her most trusted friends. She looks up at the monster himself and can’t find it in herself to move. Or scream. Or curse. Can’t do anything as her mind tries to process with what just happened.

He enjoys seeing her like this too. Their banter was fun and she is the most entertaining person he’d ever met, but there was something unique about being the one to extinguish her fire in a single moment.

She starts to shake while silent tears steam down her face. He sighs. “She was a such a sight.”

Her friend on the other hand was out right sobbing and calling Glory’s name over and over on the verge of hyperventilating. He grimaced and beckoned for his second to come over.

“Knock the boy out and leave.”

For once, she follows out her orders quietly, sensing her boss’ mood. Danai could only let out a weak yell in protest when she hears the thud of something hitting her friend’s head, but she couldn’t muster up any real bite from it.

The logical part of her brain was trying desperately to keep her from shutting down completely. “He was just knocked out. You can hear his breathing, he’s fine. He’s alive. Focus now on getting you and him out of here. Breathe in. Now out. Again. You’re a bit calmer. You can do this.”

While she was still very much shaking, her voice came out steady. The first thing she says is a spat out “Fuck you,” and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Proposition me again when you’re less disgustingly dirty and tear stained.” He pulls Rubi’s chair over and sits down in it, bringing along with him a syringe filled with a strange liquid. Not that she would know that of course.

“I tell you time and time again to join my side, the winning side, but you always dismiss me.” He shook his head, curls bouncing with the action. “I had to give you a taste of what was in store for you if you kept fighting it. Fighting me.”

She takes a shaky breath. In and out. “Bullshit. This was off limits and you know it. G-Glory,” her voice cracks on the name, “hadn’t messed with any of yours since the truce you had no right!” Her voice starts to rise so he leans down and puts his hand on her face.

“Hush now. You wouldn’t want what happened to her to happen to your little friend here, would you?” That shut her up alright, although the glare and unshed tears were still present. His breath nearly hitches - her anger and battered beauty was stunning. She reminds him of the lions he read about as a child. They were always his favourites next to deathclaws of course.

He keeps his hand on her face and softens his voice in a way that usually got him what he wanted. His last card to play. His final attempt to get her to stay. “I’ll ask you one more time precious. Join me? We would be unstoppable, feared and worshiped. Between the two of us, the world would be ours. What do you say?”

She can’t believe the gall of this man. She was cracked, not broken. There was nothing that would make her betray everything she worked for. To betray Hancock. Her face twists in disgust and she shakes her head until his hand falls from it. She glares up at him, mustering all her loathing and hated for the man sitting in front of her. Her friend’s murderer.

“Go. To. Hell.”

James isn’t surprised per say but it still stung to be rejected by the one person he found interesting. Though he can’t exactly blame her, he still thought she would see reason and endeavor to pick protection over war.

He sighs and pulls away from her but otherwise shows no sign of displeasure that she could pick up. He grabs the syringe again and flicks the tip a couple of times to get rid of any stray bubbles.

Her glare was firmly in place up until he utters an almost mumbled “What a shame,” and plunges the short needle through the skin of her neck.

The spot flared up with pain but she was out before she could even think about something rude to call him. The last thing she hears before fading was James sighing almost…sadly? She would decipher that if she had more than a few seconds left of consciousness, but as it stood the most she could do was try and struggle for her last few seconds. The man in front of her strokes her face again and his downhearted face was the last thing she sees before passing out, everything fading completely to emptiness.

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kairibee · 5 years

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have some sokai angst y’all

“This time, I'm gonna find you,” she declared to him. It was an oath. Seeing how her blue eyes fiercely shone, hearing how her voice didn't once waver, Sora knew she meant what she said with her whole heart. [Post-KH3, before the ending on the paopu tree.] Oath Pairing: sokai Genre: angst but also some fluff & feel-good moments AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776826

“One sea-salt ice cream for me and one for the lady,” Sora said to the ice cream man with a grin plastered across his face. Sora fiddled around in his pockets for a moment, fishing out enough munny and handing it over. The ice cream man nodded and reached into his cart, handing Sora two sea-salt ice creams. “Thanks gramps!” Sora beamed, turning around to run over to his companion.

Kairi stood in the distance, hands behind her back with a content smile. She was taking in the surroundings of Twilight Town; the kids playing with each other, their mothers sitting and chatting amongst each other contently, the rattling of skateboards gliding down the long winding streets. Above, orange sorbet skies. Kairi couldn't help but giggle as she caught sight of Sora eagerly approaching her, two sea-foam colour treats in his hands.

“For you,” he beamed, offering her one. Kairi couldn't help but smile back at him, gratefully accepting the treat. “Thanks, Sora!” The two of them started walking towards the place Sora wanted to show her. Earlier, she asked him where he wanted to take her and he told her it was a surprise. Placing his hands on his hips in a triumphant manner, Sora promised her that she would love it.

Kairi had already been to Twilight Town before a couple of months ago. In that short time, she had become close with Hayner, Pence, and Olette. Even despite her visit being so short, she really admired the town and had only fond memories of the people and the friends she had made. What she loved most of all – however – was the orange cream sky. It reminded her of home, of the play island, and of watching the sunset with her two best friends.

It was nice to be here with Sora this time. She sneaked a glance over at him as they continued walking together. He was smiling, seemingly taking in the town and enjoying the time they were sharing together. Kairi couldn't help but grin and reach out for his hand, clasping her fingers delicately, lovingly around his. This rare moment they were spending together wasn't going to last forever, she knew, and she wanted to share how happy she was feeling being with him.

Sora's hands responded quickly, squeezing hers back tenderly. He met her gaze and flashed a toothy grin. They had recently grown accustomed to holding each other's hands like this. It had a become a sort of reactionary habit; reaching out for each other, closing the physical distance through touch. They had been separated from each other for so long, and physical touch reminded them that they were finally together.

A family of three passed them as they continued up the winding street, a small child holding the hands of her parents, giggling with each step, as her parents lovingly encouraged her. Kairi's hand tightened around Sora's all of a sudden, heat rising in her cheeks. “Sora,” she sounded out carefully, “how much farther?” She glanced over at him.

He responded to her, his other hand pointing out towards the distance, still grasping his ice cream. Kairi couldn't hear him though, didn't take in a single word. It took every fiber of her being to suppress an outward reaction, as she caught sight of his hand, for the briefest moment, fizzle out like the flame of a candle, and then, all of a sudden, appear back into view.

“Sora...” Kairi had stopped walking now. Her grip around his other hand tightened. Sora stopped and turned around to face her. Kairi continued speaking, words forming from her lips very slowly, face falling with worry. “Please tell me now, everything that happened back at the graveyard.”

Her heart knew this whole time that their time together was going to be short. A part of her felt selfish, wanting to spend these moments together with him worry-free.

“Kairi, I...” Sora knew he owed her an explanation. A selfish part of him, too, just wanted to spend time with her, without it turning sour. He frowned for a moment, looking into the distance at the clock tower. “I'll tell you every thing, I promise.” He stopped speaking for a moment, a sad smile forming from his lips as he looked at her, taking in her features, cherishing her in this moment. “Can I show you what I wanted to show you first? It's not too far from here, I promise.”

Kairi frowned for a moment before nodding in agreement with a reluctant smile. She never could stay upset with him for very long. Sora forced out a low chuckle and continued leading her through the streets towards the clock tower that towered in the distance.

They both still held each other's hand tightly, despite everything, hoping to anchor each other; keep each other bound to this sacred moment. They knew they would soon have to let go but, for now, they held onto one another like everything depended on them doing so.

...

Watching the fireworks at Disney castle, venturing across the World of Departure, seeing the Final World, were all beautiful moments Kairi would remember for a long time - but the view from the clock tower, which almost made her lose her balance, had put them all to shame. She had to steel herself, feeling as if she was being sucked into the brilliant sorbet sky in front of her. Kairi couldn't help but grin as she took it all in. The fiery sun setting behind the hills, the trees swaying in the distance, the homes lighting up like distant candles as the evening sky came in. Although she was far from the islands, it felt a lot like home here.

Snapping out of her reverie, Kairi noticed her companion gazing intently at her with a sheepish smile, hands triumphantly on his hips. He was boasting - 'told you you'd like it' - without having to say a single word. Kairi stuck her tongue out at him, teasing him back, and then giggled.

Sora beckoned her over to him, as he took a seat at the edge and dangled his legs off the sides of the tower. He took another bite of his ice cream as Kairi made her way over to join him, taking a seat at his side.

They sat like that for a while, neither saying a word. Both taking small bites of their ice cream every few seconds, wanting to savor it. Not just the ice cream either; wanting to savor this small moment together. For now, they didn't have to think about the future. For now, they could just be together; share this sliver of time with one another.

Sora's hand found hers this time, intertwining his fingers with her own.

Now that he thought about it, Sora had never seen this view himself before – it had only been through Roxas' memories. This place was important to Roxas, to Xion, and to Axel.

Sora was finally seeing it for himself, with Kairi right there alongside him. He finally was able to travel the worlds with her, like he wanted to. For so long, the two of them and Riku dreamt of travelling together. He was glad he could finally make the dream come true.

He had missed her and Riku during his travels. He had always wanted to take in the sights with them, always thought of them. He thought of Kairi specifically whenever he saw the sun set in other worlds. His favorite memories of her were always during the sunset back home after all.

Having finished their ice creams, Sora took a look at both his and Kairi's ice cream sticks. Another memory from Roxas. Although he himself didn't win, glancing over towards Kairi, he saw the word 'WINNER' written in bold across her stick. He beamed at her. Kairi chuckled, wondering what her prize would be.

The sun continued to set in the distance, and the clock tower bells chimed in the new hour. It was getting colder now, and a slight chill came over Kairi.

She broke the silence first. “We don't have much longer, right Sora?” She wasn't so much asking but rather making a declaration.

“Yeah,” Sora let out lowly, hand still intertwined with hers. “Looks like I'm gonna... fade away soon, Kairi,” he turned towards her, trying to keep up the facade that he wasn't terrified about the whole thing. “Back in the Keyblade Graveyard, I-”

“I know,” she admitted, cutting him off before he could find the words to continue. “You came to find me, even though you knew you might not make it out okay. I've had a feeling for a while now. I feel it in my heart. I know we don't have much time together.”

“Kairi... I'm sor-.”

“No, Sora,” she couldn't bare to hear him apologize to her. “Thank you for keeping our promise. Thank you for always keeping me safe.”

Sora was shocked at her words, expecting her to be upset or angry. Turning to look at her, he caught sight of a smile adorning her lips, and a fierce determination kindling in her eyes as she met his gaze.

“This time, I'm gonna find you,” she declared to him. It was an oath. Seeing how her blue eyes fiercely shone, hearing how her voice didn't once waver, Sora knew she meant what she said with her whole heart. “We're going to put the magic of the paopu fruit to the test, right Sora?”

Sora was flabbergasted for a moment, and couldn't help but let out a nervous, “huh?” Shuffling where he sat, he eventually recomposed himself, and couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Tightening his hold of her hand, his eyes shone lovingly into her own.

“I really love that about you Kairi,” he admitted sincerely, without any hint of nervousness or embarrassment. “You always know exactly what to say and do. You might just be stronger than of all of us – of both me and Riku.”

Just like their reunion back in the graveyard, Sora's sincerity caught Kairi off-guard for a moment. Sora really had a way with words sometimes. What he said came directly from his heart; he was genuine to a fault. This time, Kairi didn't look away shyly, and instead met his gaze with equal admiration and adoration.

“I know you'll find me,” he declared. His brows arched with determination, bright blue eyes shone with promise. It was his oath to her to return: “I'll always come back to you.”

The two smiled longingly at one another, taking in the oath that they had just vowed to each other.

...

As the sun began to disappear in the horizon, Sora and Kairi eventually both rose up from sitting. There was still something important they had left to do. A promise they had to keep to someone important. And once that was over, Sora had to take Kairi home, like he had promised to himself. He wanted to ensure she was safe before he disappeared.

As Sora took in the view one last time before preparing to leave, he heard Kairi speak, lowly but clear and firm all the same. It was her oath. She then moved slowly and deliberately, and he felt her hands reach up and grip his shoulders, felt her forming soft circles with her thumbs against the fabric of his jacket. She was inching her face closer to his, and Sora thought he was going to blackout for a second.

Kairi kissed him fervently. She kissed him because she wouldn't get another chance for a while; kissed him because she wanted to show him just how much she meant what she said.

Sora would have fallen right off the clock tower, had she not been firmly holding onto his shoulders, grounding him. After a brief moment of recomposing himself, he responded with equal measure, hands wrapping around her back, pulling her even closer to him.

As they pulled away from each other, Kairi repeated what she had declared earlier. Just as firmly as ever. Her eyes sparkled with determination, as the sun's last rays set her red hair ablaze with brilliant light. Sora's breath was stuck in his throat. This girl was incredible.

“I'll find you, Sora. I'll find you every single time.”

#writing #sokai #remind spoilers #im real creative with titles /sarcasm

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nekoabiwrites · 4 years

Text

Of Princes and Potions 2 - Chapter 7

This is just some soft Logince before jumping back into the plot. It is also something I’ve wanted to write since the beginning, since it was just cute as hell. (This is also my 100th post on my writing blog so yay!)

AU: Royal/Fantasy Pairing: Logince Words: 2826 Warnings: Deceit is here as Demitri. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Roman fulfils his promise to take Logan out to a very special place since he has been discharged from the infirmary.

A breeze ruffled the grass under the mage’s feet as he took the most direct path towards the castle’s stables, causing him to pull his robe tighter around himself as a shield against the chill. Logan silently cursed himself for giving in to Roman’s idea at such a time of year when the weather was turning cold. Hopefully what Roman wanted to show him wouldn’t involve being out for long.

Minutes passed as Logan stood at the stable doors, waiting for the crown prince. He watched the clouds slowly roll past in the sky, their edges tinted with oranges and pinks of the early evening sky. Logan wasn’t one for such frivolities as art or the like, but he did admit to himself that sights such as this one and the clear night sky did sometimes give him a yearning to capture the image on canvas. Logan was well aware he had very little skill in such areas, so he would just have to leave those kinds of things to his partner. Roman had invited Logan to visit his art room once. The pure chaos that was inside made Logan vow to never set foot in there again.

“Apologies for making you wait, Logan. I should have expected you to be so punctual.” Roman spoke softly as he seemed to appear next to the mage in the blink of an eye.

Logan started and turned sharply to face his partner. After the shock had subsided, his cheeks began to flush with embarrassment at being caught admiring the scenery, “I hope you endeavour to follow my example in the future, Roman. Were you not taught that being late to your own plans is quite rude?”

“I was most certainly not late.” Roman’s hands landed on his hips defensively, “I was here at the exact time I intended to be. You were just early.”

“Oh, so you are not aware of the phrase ‘Early is on time. On time is late.’? I would have thought someone of your theatrical interests would have known such a thing…” Logan side-eyed the prince, doing his best to hold in his smile as Roman puffed his chest up before retorting.

“If you have heard of such a phrase, you should be aware that it only applies to very specific circumstances, such as a place of work! It has no bearing here.” Roman said definitively, as if he’d somehow made the winning argument.

Logan snorted softly and went to respond, but a third voice cut in.

“I just love hearing you two bicker out here. Would you mind being louder? I’m not sure if the residents at the other end of town could quite catch those last few words.” Demitri stood in the doorway, staring directly at the couple.

Roman was quick to apologise to the animal handler, who made a noise that seemed to be acknowledgement before slipping back inside the building. The prince then turned his attention back to his partner. “How about we go in and I tell you my plan as we prepare?”

“Prepare what exactly?”

“Allegria, of course. Come.” Roman offered no further information before he turned and entered the stable, leaving Logan to catch up. As the mage entered the building, he saw just how many horses the royal family owned. He could easily spot Virgil’s horse, as well as the king’s, as he had seen them both riding them many times as they returned from business outside of the palace. Before Logan could ponder the idea of who owned which anonymous horse in the rest of the spaces, Roman called him over.

Logan approached, a little wary of what he was about to encounter. He had heard about Roman’s steed many times from Demitri, who had so eloquently described her as ‘a brat’ and ‘the most spoiled animal he’d ever had the displeasure of caring for’. However, the mage was not ready to come upon her space and see the pure white sheen of her coat nor the two folded wings sitting atop her sides. “Ah… so this is Allegria… the pegasus…” Logan muttered in a moment of realisation.

“Correct.” Roman responded, running his hand down the pegasus’ neck. “She’s going to take us to a very special place.”

Allegria seemed to understand immediately that it was not just Roman who she was going to be carrying this evening. In response, she looked directly in Logan’s eyes and seemed to.. scowl? Logan convinced himself he was seeing things.

“Where is this ‘special place’, Roman? Are you going to enlighten me as to your plan?” The mage asked, standing out of the way as Roman worked to fit Allegria with her riding gear.

“I did consider it, but I think that it will be far better to surprise you, my love.” The crown prince grinned as the mage’s eyes rolled on instinct at the pet name. “I will give you my word that it is something I am sure you will enjoy.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, “I’m not sure if you are the authority on such matters… but I suppose I have nothing else to do but place my trust in you this time.”

“This time?!” Roman cried out, stopping dead in the middle of attaching the saddle.

“Must I ask again?” Demitri sighed, walking towards the couple. An odd quiet answered him, as both Logan and Roman avoided his gaze. He stopped next to Logan and looked between the two men expectantly, “Well? Must I?”

“No, you don’t.” Roman reluctantly responded sounding all-together like a petulant child being scolded. He began putting all of his focus into ensuring Allegria was properly fitted. It was most definitely for safety reasons and not because Demitri’s gaze was boring directly into his soul.

“Apologies, Demitri. I believe we’ll be leaving soon.” Logan added quickly.

The prince hurried along with his prep before leading Allegria out into the fresh air. She impatiently ruffled her wings and huffed as Roman helped Logan up onto her back, situating the mage properly before clambering up himself. He guided Logan’s arms to wrap around his waist, throwing a smile back at the man behind him, “Hold on tight. It might be a bit bumpy at first.”

Logan did as he was told, gripping onto Roman tightly. He thanked every deity he could name that Roman warned him as Allegria sped away at a full gallop almost immediately. Logan, overcome by some kind of overwhelming fear as the pegasus’ wings opened, buried his face into the crown prince’s back as they began to ascend into the sky. He mentally counted through a pattern, attempting to keep his breathing steady and his shaking body under control.

In front, Roman couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. He was experiencing so many of his favourite things; soaring up into the sky at a high speed, the beating of Allegria’s wings against his legs, the feeling of Logan’s arms wrapped tightly around him as though he were his only lifeline. The intermittent shaking of his partner and the face being pressed deeply into his back was putting a shred of worry into Roman’s mind, but he didn’t want to embarrass the mage by asking. At least, not until they were done climbing higher into the air.

They levelled out after a minute or two, though it did feel like an age to Logan. Shakily, he pulled his head back and glanced around. He wished he hadn’t the moment his gaze tracked downwards. Logan’s grip tightened and he instinctively shuffled forward to press himself against Roman.

“Everything alright?” Roman asked casually, as if he hadn’t noticed Logan’s sudden shift.

“We… we are extremely high up.” Logan stated, the wavering of his voice giving him away as much as his tight grip.

Roman smiled warmly, “Yes, we are, indeed. It’s precisely as high as we need to be, right?” Roman gently patted at Allegria’s neck, which prompted a responding noise. Logan twitched violently at the sound. Roman could hear an intake of breath, which meant Logan was about to apologise. He cut him off, “Do you trust me, Logan?”

That had the mage pausing for a moment. “Of course I do, Roman.”

“Then believe me, and trust me, when I say that you are safe with me, Logan. I trust Allegria with my life. I would not even entertain the thought of bringing you along with me if I did not.”

He would later tell Roman that it was the high altitude, but still Logan found himself almost unable to breathe at the sincerity of the prince’s words. He was sure that if Roman had been able to face him, his expression would have made Logan’s heart skip a beat – as impossible as that was. A few moments later, Logan’s grip relaxed a little and he was simply resting against Roman’s back, “Alright, Roman. I will… endeavour to remember that.”

Roman’s smile widened to a grin. He wanted to say something back, but he bit his lip to stop himself from ruining the moment.

They flew in a comfortable silence towards their destination. Logan began to stare at the passing clouds, watching them in fascination. He also observed the sky he’d been admiring previously slowly change shades; the pinks and oranges fading away to tones of reds and blues. The bright stars began to seemingly pop into existence in the sky and he had a full view of it all. Logan was enraptured by it all. So much so, that he missed when Roman alerted him to their descent. All of a sudden, Allegria headed towards the ground and Logan yelped in surprise. His grip tightened so harshly that Roman could feel the air being pushed out of him, as though he’d just been knocked back in training yet again. It was over in a matter of seconds, as the pegasus’ hooves landed gently upon the white snow.

Carefully, Roman pried Logan’s grip off and he dismounted. He helped the shaken mage down to solid ground before turning his attention to his animal companion, “Thank you, my sweet. Take a nice rest.” Allegria tossed her head slightly but allowed Roman to pet her softly before she wandered off to a patch nearby to take a rest.

As Roman was busy, Logan took a moment to place himself in his surroundings. It was clearly somewhere high, as they had taken far less time to come to solid ground that they had coming up from the castle courtyard. It was far colder than it had been on ground level, and the snow was but one indicator of such. He peered off around, trying to see what was nearby in the darkness, but could only make out vague shapes. He wracked his brain, thinking of a place that held all the characteristics that he had noticed.

“So, Logan, have you-” Roman began a dramatic-sounding speech, his arms held wide as he faced away towards the distance.

“The peak…”

“What?” Roman stopped mid-sentence, sharply turning around.

“You’ve taken us to the peak of the mountains. Carlecona’s Peak, to be exact, if I am not mistaken.”

Roman pouted, “You weren’t supposed to know where we are until I told you. Now my whole speech is ruined.”

Logan snorted softly and approached the prince, reaching out to rest a still slightly shaking hand upon his arm, “Many apologies for having functioning eyes.”

The prince scowled at his partner for a moment before sighing dramatically, “I suppose I can forgive you, as this was only the start of the surprise. Come.” Roman began trekking through the snow up a small incline. Logan followed as best he could, doing everything to not fall down and make a fool of himself. Once at the top, Logan’s mouth fell open.

The view was absolutely stunning from the mountain’s peak. Somehow, this one specific spot had just a perfectly clear look across the kingdom, all the way to the sea in fact. Clusters of dim lights illuminated the darkness, giving Logan a way to place himself as he noted which town would be which. Even through the darkness, he could see the farmland and forests, the ruins and the houses. It was all so… beautiful. And then, Roman gently tilted his head upwards towards the sky. The stars were all alight, all in their places, with the full moon bright and round. It was everything Logan had already been looking at back at his tower, but there was so much more for him to see here. He could turn and look in all directions and still be surrounded by the fascinating night sky.

As the mage looked awestruck at the view, Roman was content to stand beside and watch. The excitement and surprise in Logan’s eyes were as clear as the stars in the sky above and Roman couldn’t help but smile. He rarely saw this side of the stoic man, as he preferred to keep everything close to himself, but seeing him with his guard down just did something to Roman’s heart. The prince wanted to see Logan like this more. He took a seat in a rather well-worn nook of a boulder nearby and turned his gaze out towards the kingdom, “No one else has been up here, you know.”

“What?” Logan ripped his gaze away from the sky to look towards his pensive partner.

“Up here, on the peak.” Roman reemphasised, “At least, I have never brought anyone with me.”

“Is there a reason for that?” Logan took a seat beside Roman, looking out upon the same view.

“Because… I’ve never trusted anyone to know about this place.”

“What do you mean? Many know of it; it is the peak of the mountain. The fabled one that is said to be cursed if man stepped foot on it once more, lest they be haunted by the ghost of the hero who won the battle singlehandedly right here, or so the legends say.” Logan recalled with an underlying tone of distaste for the rumours.

Roman shook his head with a soft chuckle, “That is not what I meant. I mean, that I’ve never trusted anyone with the knowledge that I come here. It’s where I come to… escape whenever things become too much.”

“Ah… I see.”

The couple sat looking out towards the horizon for a moment before Logan suddenly realised the implications of Roman’s words.

“W-wait a moment, Roman. You said you have never brought anyone up here?”

“Yes.”

“No one, at all?”

“At all.”

Logan’s face bloomed red and he settled back into his spot, trying not to alert Roman too much to his sudden comprehension, “Well… I feel somewhat… honoured that you trust me with such… things…” The mage cringed as he couldn’t quite find the words he was looking for. It didn’t seem to matter much as the warmth of Roman’s hand covering his own had him turning to see such a loving gaze turned towards him. The view was forgotten as they stared into each other’s eyes for moments on end, almost daring each other to take the plunge.

When Roman finally did move forward to capture Logan’s lips, the mage was overwhelmed with the sensation. It was far different from all the other kisses they’d shared previously somehow. He thought he’d experienced them all, but Roman always managed to find a way to prove him wrong. It was utterly indescribable, the way it made him feel. The only thing Logan could think of doing to explain was to return the kiss with the intention of letting Roman know all of it through said action.

They parted soon after, as breathless as they normally were after far more involved kisses. Neither said a word, Roman simply turned his gaze back to the view and Logan instinctively rested his head against the prince’s shoulder and also stared.

“Why did you bring me out here?” Logan asked softly, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Roman smiled down at the man resting upon his shoulder, “After you mentioned wanting to see the stars, I remembered how many I could see out here at night. I thought you would enjoy seeing it. Also… I wanted to bring you here, to show you how much you mean to me.”

Logan’s cheeks flushed yet again, and he turned to bury his face into the prince’s firm chest, “How dare you?”

A gentle laugh pulsed through Roman’s body in response as his arms came up to hold Logan close, “I will not apologise.”

Logan’s lip twitched up into a smile. He was content to sit here in Roman’s arms just a while longer, before they had to return to their regular schedule. “I think I understand now…”

“Hmm?”

“Why you come here.”

“You do?”

“Yes. May I make a request?”

“Of course, you may. You know I can never turn you down.”

“Bring me along next time as well?”

---

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#Sanders Sides #Fanfiction #Roman Sanders #Logan Sanders #Logince #Deceit Sanders #Creativity Sanders #Logic Sanders #Royal AU #Fantasy AU #Of Princes and Potions

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