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imerdwarf · 4 years

Text

Sworn To Secrecy

Requested by @imagine-all-the-fandoms: Hey colleague ❤️ I really love your writing! So I also thought to send you an idea 😊 The reader is Bucky’s girlfriend but just a normal civilian and he keeps it a secret at the compound. One day she visits him but crosses the other Avengers and Sam is immediately flirting with you but Bucky just comes, swoops you in his arms and kisses you. The others are shocked and confused and later that day they finally tell them they’ve been together for a while now and they are all happy for you two? 😊

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Civilian!Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings: Absolutely none! Just a lot of fluff 🥰

Author's Notes: Thank you so much my dear friend for sending in this beautiful request, I hope you like it and please let me know if there's anything you want me to change! 💜

Your phone vibrated in the palm of your hand and your smile reached both corners of your eyes when you saw the name light up your screen.

Bucky: I can't wait to see you, how long until you get here?

Your fingers flew quickly over the touch sensitive keyboard to reply back, without any typos might I add.

Y/N: I'm five minutes away. Patience! ;)

The wind blew in your face as you tilted your head upwards and sighed. Your relationship with Bucky Barnes was absolutely not the easiest thing in the world. He had made you sworn to secrecy about it, to protect yourself and him from potential haters and enemies.

You were grateful that you were able to spend a lot of time together when he didn't have month-long missions to go on. The sunny afternoons were spent in your small apartment on the couch watching movies with a blanket draped over the two of you, often accompanied by a hot chocolate made from his secret recipe.

Everything about Bucky screamed safety; his big beefy frame, bulging biceps that he just knew you loved and deliberately bought small sizes to show them off, his thick thighs were a dream for you whenever you draped your legs over them to get comfortable. Nothing about him scared you, not even that matte black and gold Wakandan inspired arm of his. It did wonders when you were burning up with fevers.

You met Bucky by chance at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. It was a cliché moment when you accidentally turned around too quickly and spilled your hot drink over his white shirt. Endless apologies spilled from your lips while Bucky was too busy admiring your beautiful features that your words simply fell on deaf ears. To Bucky, it felt as though time had temporarily stopped ticking, and the only people in the coffee shop at that moment was you and him.

The two of you exchanged numbers with your promises of buying him a brand new shirt to replace the one you ruined. You texted each other every second of every day. The more you talked, the easier and the flirty-er the texts became.

A month after the coffee shop incident, you almost keeled over when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend. He regretted he couldn't take you on a date because of his status, and that never really bothered you.

You didn't date him because he was a popular avenger, with a staggering 100 million followers on his Instagram. For your protection, he couldn't follow you either, but that too didn't bother you. You dated him because you loved his personality and you loved him.

You zig-zagged past the oncoming pedestrians as the tower came into view. Outside of the gates there was already a crowd of people hoping to catch a glimpse of the avengers.

The security guard in the booth next to the gate was trying to reason with the crowd, sadly a building this well known attracted all kinds of attention and tourism. You were told that people from Australia would come to visit.

You approached the guard with a friendly smile. "Good afternoon sir," you greeted politely, pulling some I.D out from your purse.

"Good afternoon! Are you expected here today?" The guard smiled but looked over your shoulder to see the crowd was now taking pictures of the front of the tower. He shooed them away and brought his attention back to you.

"Yes, Sergeant James Barnes is expecting me." The way his name rolled off your tongue was like drops of honey. Smooth and sweet.

The guard checked the list of visitors expected today and hummed with a smile.

"So he is. So what you do is, go to the front desk with your visitor badge and they'll direct you to his floor."

With a quiet thanks and holding on tightly to the badge, you walk through the screeching iron gates. Your shoes crunch underneath the gravel and the wind howls through the trees that gives off extra privacy.

The lady at reception greets you warmly and you relax when you give her your name and show her your visitor badge as directed by the security guard.

"Take the elevator and go to floor 13. Sergeant Barnes is currently in a meeting but he won't be too long." Another thank you passes through your lips as you head off towards the glass and chrome elevator.

The ride up to the 13 floors was agonisingly slow. Classical music filled the emptiness of the elevator. The glass casing gave you a beautiful view overlooking the grounds of the compound. A rose garden of all different shades of roses up the far left of the green garden surrounded by cherry blossoms and hydrangeas. Benches scattered across the grounds that you hoped to one day have the pleasure of sitting on and watch the bumblebees.

This was another reason Bucky loved you so much, you were so passionate and kind against wildlife and nature.

Finally, after god knows how long you've been staring out into the garden daydreaming, the elevator doors ding open and you're greeted with a muscular blond God with a red Cape hung over his back and a creepy wide grin on his face. His scruffy hair made you think he hadn't washed it in a few days.

"I was expecting someone else, but hello!" His voice seemed to boom throughout the space of whatever room this actually was. Some kind of hallway, but you're pretty sure you would hear his voice from all the way from that beautiful garden.

"Uh hello!" You stuttered, taken by surprise that there would be other people here.

"I am Thor, the God of Thunder!" His arms went wide and so did his smile. Your mouth gaped open and closed when you recognised the name. Thor. God of thunder. Of course, you read about these gods and how he ruled Asgard. Or was set to.

"Thor! Of course," you chuckled nervously, stretching your hand out in front of you, "I'm Y/N."

"It's a pleasure to meet you! Please follow me and allow me to introduce you to my mortal friends," you chuckled at that line, and adjusted your sweater.

"Friends, mortals! We have a guest, this is Y/N, A human of Earth." Thor stepped aside and your eyes widened; you were only standing in the same room as the avengers, the same people Bucky spoke so highly of. Thor told you the names of the people in front of you, everyone was there and you wondered where the hell Bucky was.

Tony was the first one to step forward and looked you up and down by moving his tinted glasses to the bridge of his nose. You relaxed when he smiled, but only slightly. You realised they had not asked why some stranger was standing in their living room.

"You know who I am?" Tony asked smugly, his arms folded over his chest.

You nodded, your eyes flickered down his chest, his arc reactor lit up in a bright blue. You almost reached out to touch it but stopped yourself before you could.

"Uh yes. You're Tony I believe?" You blushed under their gazes. Bucky told you they were the best people, but to you they were very intimidating.

"Very good. What brings you to my tower?"

"I'm here to see—"

"Wow! Who is this?" A voice yelled out from behind you. A guy you recognised as Sam, or Falcon, or Birdbrain as Bucky liked to call him.

"Y/N!" Thor answered before you could, the rest of the avengers took a seat on the couch.

"Yeah, hi," a small laugh came out and it made your cheeks heat up when his eyes raked over your form.

"My, my. You are gorgeous!" He kept that grin on his lips as he stepped closer. His over-sprayed cologne was suffocating you. "Beautiful, just perfect, just—"

"Mine!" Bucky yelled from the doorway as he stormed past Sam to get to you. You bit your lip to hide the growing grin and failed, he swooped you up in his arms, your legs instantly wrapped around his waist as he spun the two of you around and kissed you.

Cat calls sounded from the couch and you smiled into the kiss. When you pulled away for air, the expressions on everyone's faces told you they needed and wanted an explanation.

You could only imagine the questions they wanted to ask; how did you know Bucky Barnes? How did a soldier and an assassin manage to keep a relationship so hidden under the eyes of a mind-reader and a super intelligent spy? How did Bucky not slip up to Steve about having a girlfriend? All valid questions of course.

Bucky lowered you back down on your feet and pressed his forehead against yours. Without giving the team an answer, he slipped his hand in yours and pulled you away, leaving the superheroes with confusion etched upon their faces.

Bucky gave you a thorough tour of the tower. He showed you the gym, the kitchen where he made you his favourite sandwich, he even showed you his room. It was painted in a light blue with white curtains and blinds, thick, soft cream carpet covered the floor and his bed was as soft as a cloud. It was a lot more comfortable than your bed, that's for sure.

Later that day, Tony ordered a takeout and invited everyone to the dining room to eat, including you. The way Bucky's hand was slung protectively around your shoulder didn't go amiss by anyone in the room. It was when he finally sat down did the questions start.

"Alright, what's the deal with you two? Is this a prank? Is he paying you darling?" Sam fired off first, pointing his fork at the two of you opposite him.

Bucky glared at him from calling you 'darling', from where you were sat you could hear the heavy breathing. Your hand slipped into your lap and into his, giving his thigh a firm squeeze to keep calm.

"Y/N is not being paid!" Bucky defended, outraged he could even think such a thing.

You cleared your throat and took a sip of water before speaking, "it's true and I understand it's a shock but Bucky is actually my boyfriend and has been for the past couple of months," you smiled, proud of the fact you were in a relationship with this man and it was no longer secret.

"How the hell did that happen?" Tony queried, waving his chopsticks in the air, flabbergasted by the whole situation.

"What, you think I'm not capable of meeting people?" Bucky challenged, not really enjoying the interrogation which was the whole reason he didn't want to say anything at the beginning.

"Well of course I wouldn't be surprised if it was Capsicle here but it's you," Tony snorted.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Bucky was yelling and turning red with anger when Nat sought the opportunity to take the heat off the two men.

"So, Y/N. Tell us about yourself."

Tags: @smokeybluebrooke-lyn @pinkdiamond1016

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bluering8 · 3 years

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Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword

Back in October my friend @unrepentantauthor and I played a round of @prokopetz's mini-RPG Olaf Hits the Dragon with His Sword. Today I noticed that every post about the game was made by someone playing solo, so (with my friend's permission) I'm posting our game as an example of what it looks like as a back-and-forth between two people.

They played Olaf; I played the Dragon.

OLAF, why have you come?

I am a knight sworn to defend the innocent, and to strike down evil beasts for the wrongs they have committed. The dragon has slaughtered countless people, and must die for it, if not by my sword, then by the hand of some other brave warrior to come. Today, the task falls to me. For I am capable, and I am here.

(+IRON)

As for THE DRAGON, what is your nature?

You speak of wrongs committed, little knight, and I do not deny them. I have shed the blood of the innocent and the wicked alike, the blameless man and the murderer; it was my power to do this, for I have taken this land and named it mine, and now all things live under my dominion and fall to their knees at the whisper of my presence. You are not the first knight to come here, seeking glory and heroism, speaking of the grief and pain I have caused; you are not the first knight whose bones will find their resting place in my hoard.

You name me DRAGON, O little knight who comes in iron, who seeks for vengeance and names it justice, but I name myself DEATH, I name myself DESTROYER, I name myself END OF ALL.

(+DEATH)

OLAF approaches THE DRAGON's lair.

If I must add my bones to your horde, so be it. I have shed blood every month of my life in service of my principles and my quests, and I have lost many precious things already. I have lost wealth to bad fortune. I have lost friends to irreconcilable faith. I have lost the best years of my youth to hard training. And I have lost finger, eye, and foot to past combats. Yet I have still more to give. I do not fear losing my life today.

(+SORROW)

THE DRAGON responds:

You do not fear death, and you believe you have the capability to vanquish me? What good is that iron shell of armour when the creature inside it has already halfway to death, having abandoned himself so to sorrow and sacrifice? You are weak, you little knight, you little fool, you pitiful thing with nothing to live for.

There is no justice in the iron of your sword; there is only death, yours or mine, and the foolishness of a man who has willingly abandoned so much. Your strength will one day come to an end, and when that day comes you will have nothing remaining to you.

You can never regain what you have lost. Lay down your sword, foolish knight. Melt down your armour and forge of its iron the shovel, the hoe, the plough. Abandon this futile endeavour.

(+IRON)

OLAF speaks:

I am confident in my steady hand, my keen eye, and my stalwart heart. I have slain monsters, and the prices I have paid are but costs, not failures. I may slay you today, and I would rather take my chance at doing so than retire to a profession of which I know nothing, to live out a life of vulnerability and humility. I will not expose myself to your predations, O Wyrm. I will do as I have done many times before, and shed your blood in service of my cause. I will be a credit to the name 'knight'.

(+AMBITION)

THE DRAGON responds:

It will be naught but the highest of honours, then, to be slain by such a man. I call it a great flattery, to know you hold my death so high in your esteem! A credit to the name of knight! A beast which slaughters in service of its cause, so accomplished in violence that it can conceive of naught else, who aspires so dearly to end life that it can never dream of creating something new.

How much blood is on your hands, knight? How many lives have you already ended? If I am to die then I go knowing it is at the hands of a dealer in death as great and terrible as I myself was in my prime.

(+AMBITION)

OLAF speaks:

How telling of your nature, that you should compare your slaughter to my vengeance. Do you truly see no difference between wanton and indiscriminate killing of the innocent, and the sanctioned ending of a violent life to prevent further suffering? Do not seek to make me doubt my just cause, when I have seen the ashes of the young and the bones of the meek left in your wake. Do not tell me of my bloodied hands when there is an ocean of blood in your maw. I will not waver. I will not stay my hand.

(+IRON)

THE DRAGON responds:

You are not the first to speak these words to me, knight, and I tell you now you shall not be the last. Look now upon my horde, these many suits of armour. See them battle-worn, once gleaming but gone now to rust and ruin, and know that within each of these iron shells lies a rotten sack of meat and bones, a thing which was once a man. I have been visited by more knights than you could ever count, though you may live a thousand years, and each of them came to me with your words in their mouth. They are long since forgotten, their stories untold and their names turned to dust. Yet I remain! I am the DRAGON, red and wrathful, greater than any; I have withstood armies, lain whole kingdoms to waste, outlived even the memories of those who aspired to destroy me. What are you compared to I, little knight, little morsel of meat whom I could end with the merest snap of my jaws.

I weary of this folly. Let us speak no more. Strike me down now, if you dare!

(+BLOOD)

OLAF HITS THE DRAGON WITH HIS SWORD

(roll: BLOOD 4, IRON 6 2 1, AMBITION 6 3, SORROW 2, DEATH 3. -1 IRON, -1 AMBITION. roll: BLOOD 1, IRON 5 3, AMBITION 3, SORROW 6, DEATH 5)

SORROW dominates. OLAF is left broken by his trials.

OLAF, speak of your wretchedness.

As I had known, but not allowed myself to fear, this was surely my final combat. I have sustained more wounds this day than any year of my life, and though I may yet survive, I will not live as I have done. My sword hand is lost, forever to remain in the belly of mine enemy. So too have I finally lost the courage that brought me here, poisoned to death by the words the DRAGON spoke to me ere I began our battle. This was my choice, but it is a choice I weep for. I am not only wounded, but old, and I shall be lucky to provide so much as an odd word of combat training to young squires, if I can even bring myself to do so. I am not yet dead, but I am diminished more by my survival than by any death the DRAGON could have given me.

DRAGON, speak of what comfort remains.

Olaf has lost both his sword hand and the unyielding courage which drove him forwards in his quest for justice. He is slower than he was, more hesitant, less certain, damaged in body and mind. He was not slain in battle, but he thinks his life is over all the same.

There is more to life than iron and death. There is grief and there is suffering. Olaf cannot stand to hear the songs written to commemorate his vanquishing of the dragon, and so when they are sung he listens instead to the laughter of children who no longer live in fear. He travels to villages the dragon had razed to the ground, and sees fresh green sprouts growing in what once was blasted wasteland. He wakes each night screaming, shuddering from nightmares, but there are gentle hands to sooth him and to hold him close.

#olaf hits the dragon with his sword #rpg tag #hap writes

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nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Fallout 4 companions respond to getting captured by Super Mutants (for optional added angst, maybe even getting turned into a super mutant). Strong not included for obvious reasons.

Ada: "Be advised: My guardian has equipped me with a tracking device in the event of my capture. You lack the privileges necessary to access their estimated time of arrival."

Ada is always matter-of-fact about her situation, even if her legs aren't functioning and she's squashed between two bags of body parts on the floor of an abandoned hospital. She's also patient, and content to wait until the sole survivor comes to retrieve her. In the meantime, she'll run escape scenario algorithms to determine the best way out of the building. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Cait: "Are you f***ing serious?! I'll tear your ears off with my bare hands and string them on a necklace! You don't know who you're messin' with, you green bastards!"

No one can match Cait in sheer viciousness when fighting to free themselves, but even she has her limits. The sole survivor would likely find her in a cage, hyperventilating and on the verge of tears. If the super mutants made the mistake of exposing her to FEV, she would tear the nest apart herself. Mutation would be another internal struggle for Cait, but I think she could successfully make peace with her new state of being if given enough time. A makeshift, giant baseball bat might help.

Codsworth: "Unhand me, you brutes! By God, the class of people I'm forced to associate with these days just keeps falling!"

Pre-war Codsworth is constantly offended by the super mutants' behavior, particularly their lack of housekeeping. He can't help bemoaning his situation for all to hear, something that would probably annoy the super mutants enough to bonk him on the dome until he shuts down. Some assembly required once the sole survivor catches up with him. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Curie: "While we are waiting, would any of you mind answering some questions for me about how you came to exist in this state? Ça vous dit?"

With a wide new world of oddities to study, Curie takes her abduction as yet another opportunity to learn. If nothing else, she can observe super mutants in their natural- or at least chosen- habitat. Prior to her synth transition, not affected by FEV for obvious reasons. Post-synth transition, however, I think Curie would take the mutation as an opportunity to study the effects that turn a person into a super mutant. I don't think she would lose her bubbly personality, similar to the way Lily the nightkin retained some of her old sense of self.

Danse: "You may have the upper hand today, but you and the other freaks of nature are fighting a losing battle." [spits]

Having lost the most to super mutants in the past, Danse fights his captors until he is completely spent. In fact, the sole survivor would have to practically carry the man home for a lengthy recovery, something his suit of power armor would definitely help with. Mutation into a super mutant is one of Danse's worst nightmares, and if exposed to FEV, he would beg the sole survivor to show him the same mercy he once showed Cutler.

Deacon: "Oh yeah, this reminds me of that summer I spent camping out on the National Mall. You even look familiar. Know anyone by the name of Uncle Leo?"

Like in every tight spot he's ever been in, Deacon masks his stress level with quick wits and quicker retorts. Most likely to slip his confines, let the sole survivor fight their way to the heart of the nest, then reveal he was free the whole time and they needn't have bothered. If exposed to FEV, Deacon would probably panic and enlist the sole survivor's help in searching for a cure, positive that a mutated countenance would irreparably damage his ability to help the Railroad. Then again, he might see it as a "new look" and use it to his advantage for a bit.

Dogmeat: [snarling]

Any super mutants that get their hands on Dogmeat are highly likely to lose fingers. Still, there's not much the canine can do if he's put in a cage, other than bark and wait for rescue. While FEV leaves many dogs as aggressive shells of their former selves, I think Dogmeat would be largely okay with his new green-and-bulky form and would still happily guard settlements and follow the sole survivor around, not unlike Gracie from Far Harbor.

Hancock: "Whoa, whoa relax. I've got time to hang out for a bit, no need to get all worked up. Don't stain the coat, I doubt you can cough up the caps to get it cleaned."

Of all the companions, Hancock is the most unbothered by becoming a super mutant captive. It's just another wasteland adventure, albeit one where the opposing cast of characters are all at least two feet taller than him. He might earn some bumps and bruises for being unable to keep his smart mouth shut, but he'll just bide his time until he spots an opening to wreak havoc and escape, or until the sole survivor comes along to wiggle him out. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

MacCready: "You know, I'm getting real sick of you green lunatics. Spent almost a decade living next door to some of your cousins, and they knew enough not to mess with me."

Upon capture, MacCready would roll his eyes and accept that he's going to have to wait for some help. He'd get more desperate the longer his wait went on though, envisioning a world where Duncan lost his dad without getting to say goodbye. Mutation wouldn't necessarily dampen his spirits at first: After all, if anyone can find a cure, it's the sole survivor.

Valentine: "Not exactly a group of masterminds, are you?"

At this point, Nick is used to getting abducted and locked up by just about every group in the Commonwealth. He knows super mutants well enough to know they don't listen to reason, but he can't resist getting in a jab or two about how he's far from edible. Not affected by FEV for obvious reasons.

Piper: "So, uh, what's say I write up a column about how super mutants are seriously misunderstood creatures and we'll call it even? No?"

Piper might have similar levels of confidence as Deacon, but hers are much more likely to waver when faced with possible death by ingestion. Her quips would be fewer and more nervous until the sole survivor arrived, at which point she would put her game face back on and cheer her rescuer along. If exposed to FEV, she would beg the sole survivor to help her find a cure for Nat's sake, and eventually weasel the information about Virgil out of them.

Preston: "I didn't need to get up close to know why you're called 'uglies,' but here we are."

While terrified at what the super mutants might do to him, Preston is the most level-headed when captured. He's already great under pressure in battle, and he's used to setting his own fears aside to find solutions for his woes. Most likely to have more people coming to his rescue than the sole survivor alone, due to his role with the Minutemen. If exposed to FEV, Preston would likely accept his fate with dignity, and make the sole survivor promise to dispatch him if he turns violent. I don't think he would, though, and the Minutemen would probably be more accepting of a super mutant officer than most.

X6-88: "I can afford to wait for field assistance, mutant. They will not make the mistakes I did."

X6-88 accepts his predicament calmly, like he accepts everything that happens to him. If unable to free himself, he will patiently wait for the Institute help he knows is coming, even if it's just the sole survivor with a pipe pistol. Regarding FEV mutation, turning into a super mutant might be the straw that breaks the camel's back for X6-88. In the Institute's eyes, the Courser is now hideous and no longer viable in the field: In X6-88's opinion, though, he is even stronger and more dangerous than he was before. I could see him finally choosing to desert his post out of a growing sense of self-preservation once transformed.

BONUS!

Gage: "Well look who's suffering from delusions of adequacy! I'd call you f***ers dumb as rocks, but at least a rock can hold a door open."

Porter Gage is great at heckling, and just good enough that he toes the line right up to where super mutants would start to understand he's insulting them. The sole survivor would likely find a gaggle of them around his confinement space, convinced he's complimenting them when he's actually being very rude. Breaking him out gives him the biggest smile. Becoming mutated himself might actually benefit Gage in the long run, as the raiders he used to be wary of would instead find themselves newly-wary of the Overboss' right-hand man.

Longfellow: "Too bad you aren't one of the more reasonable ones. Might've saved your skin."

Longfellow treats his own capture with a sense of humor, acknowledging that he's not as young as he once was and might need help now and then. Chuckles the whole time the sole survivor is fighting their way to him, and grateful upon release. If turned into a super mutant, he'd shrug, accept his fate, and ask to be escorted to live with his friend Erickson up near Far Harbor.

Maxson: "I welcome the day you and your kind meet total destruction."

If Danse is angry about being captured by his sworn enemies, Maxson is seething. Kidnapping a Brotherhood Elder is something that shouldn't even be possible in his eyes, let alone by super mutants. Once freed, he would do his best to erase the nest from the earth: Fire, missiles, tactical nukes if necessary. Also like Danse, Maxson would order the sole survivor to mercifully dispatch him if he were mutated. Additionally, he'd have them destroy any evidence of his exposure to FEV, and simply turn in his holotags with the news that he had perished in the line of duty.

Desdemona: [livid silence]

Plunks herself down, lights a cigarette if her hands are free, and waits. Eventually, the sole survivor or Glory will turn up, and she'll give them one, lingering look of disappointment before vanishing into the Commonwealth ruins. Least likely to get captured in the first place. If mutated, she would reassume her job as leader of the Railroad with no comment, and everyone else would know better than to ask.

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ibijau · 3 years

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Writing prompt: How about a forbidden relationship AU for Xisang? Might include some character tweaking here and there, but somehow, Jin Guangyao's murder attempt fails and this causes the Nie Sect to essentially go to war with the Jins due to lack of evidence. The rest of the sects pick a side, except for the Lans, who are neutral as Xichen tries to desperately mediate the situation between his sworn brothers before this cold war escalates. To Nie Minjue, this makes him no better than actually siding with the Jins, and so, he cuts ties with the Lans as well.

He can't trust anyone outside of his own sect, he knows that now.

Cue an exasperated Nie Huaisang just trying to keep his brother from losing his mind even further while plotting to take down Jin Guangyao and also falling in love trying to manipulate a certain pretty Lan to help him in the process.

In truth, it was Lan Qiren that Nie Huaisang had been trying to contact. He'd been just as furious at Lan Xichen as his brother when Gusu Lan had announced they would would stay out of this conflict between Qinghe Nie and Lanling Jin.

Almostas furious.

It was hard to be as angry as Nie Mingjue, these days. A side effect of that failed murder attempt. His mind had never fully recovered from nearly falling into a Qi deviation and since that day Nie Mingjue was... different.

Nie Huaisang had figured that what had been caused by music might be solved by music, so he'd written to Lan Qiren. He'd been terrified of the man when he was young, but since the war they'd developed something Nie Huaisang might have been tempted to call friendship, if he'd been the sentimental type. They chatted at discussion conferences, they played weiqi when they had the chance, they wrote to each other more frequently than they did to others...

They usedto write.

Of course, Nie Mingjue had forbidden contacts with enemy sects now. And that meant almost the whole cultivation world these days, but especially Gusu Lan.

Still, Nie Huaisang had managed to send a secret message to the Cloud Recesses, begging Lan Qiren to come meet him at a certain place. He hadn't signed his letter but had dropped some hints as to his identity, and of course he hadn't been stupid enough to directly mention the other man's name either. There was always the chance of the letter being intercepted after all.

And it had been intercepted indeed.

Because when Nie Huaisang went to that meeting point he'd suggested, he found the wrong Lan waiting for him in that hard to find little clearing.

“Huaisang!” Lan Xichen exclaimed when he saw him at the edge of the clearing, before running toward Nie Huaisang and taking the younger man's hands in his own freezing ones. “I was almost sure it would be you, but I couldn't be certain... I'm so glad to be seeing you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Nie Huaisang retorted, too shocked to bother with manners. “You're... why are you here? Surely you don't think you're the person I want to see?”

Lan Xichen's smile, already so strained as to look desperate, fell. His grip on Nie Huaisang's hands loosened for a moment, before tightening to the point of near pain.

“But you wrote to me,” he said. “You said you needed help.”

“I do need help, but not from you.”

When Lan Xichen only looked more confused and hurt, Nie Huaisang scoffed.

“You had your chance to help, er-ge, and instead you told everyone that you had no idea who was telling the truth between da-ge and san-ge.”

Lan Xichen released Nie Huaisang's hands and took a step backward, quickly putting some much welcome distance between them.

“Did you make me come here for this?” he asked, sounding wounded. “I thought...” He paused, and sighed. “Of course you're angry. You have every right to be. But Huaisang, I'm not...”

Lan Xichen sighed again, and glanced around, as if fearing someone might here what he would say next. It was unlikely anyone else would be there. Nie Huaisang had found this deserted place while trying to catch a bird, and had figured out quickly that it was isolated from the human world. So unless Lan Xichen had been followed... and it was unlikely. Lan Xichen had his faults, but he wasn't easy to catch by surprise, not for these things anyway.

“Gusu Lan isn't like other sects,” Lan Xichen explained, lowering his voice. “A Lan sect leader is never a tyrant. Not anymore. I am a figurehead, with the elders making every important decision for the sect.”

“So what, you're saying you're not neutral after all?” Nie Huaisang scoffed.

Lan Xichen severely nodded.

“Jin Guangyao could play that song to perfection,” he said with a grimace. “He could not have made any mistakes.”

“Yes, well, he still...”

“I mean that it cannothave been an accident if he played the wrong song,” Lan Xichen said. “I taught him personally, I made him repeat it countless times, I made sure that he could have played it perfectly even without the score if needed, and he never missed a single note. Which I told the council of elders. They were... not happy to hear my opinion on that matter.”

Nie Huaisang blinked a few times. “But... but why not just tell people anyway? Who cares about some stupid old men, why not...”

“They have Wangji,” Lan Xichen said.

“He's on their side?”

“No. But he's... I cannot explain too much, I have sworn secrecy,” Lan Xichen sighed, clenching his fists. “All I will say is that Wangji has done a great wrong in the past, and while the council of elders have agreed to show mercy, they're now threatening to have him suffer the true punishment for his crime if I act rashly and throw our sect into another war. I cannot let my brother die.”

So you're choosing him over Mingjue, Nie Huaisang almost shouted, only to realise he'd do the same. There was no friend in the world he wouldn't sacrifice for the good of his brother. Already Jiang Cheng, once one of his favourite people, was dead to him for siding with the Jins.

“But you're still here,” Nie Huaisang said. “Why?”

“You wrote that you needed help,” Lan Xichen replied a little too softly, averting his eyes. “Of course I came.”

His cheeks were a little pink, and combined with the rest...

Oh.

Well, wasn't that interesting.

Nie Huaisang took this new information into account, added it to what he knew about the Lans in general, that Lan in particular, and wondered if he could use that to his advantage.

Probably.

A man would do for a lover what he might not do for a friend, and it looked as though Lan Xichen only needed a little push to rebel against his elders.

“You're right, I do need help,” Nie Huaisang admitted, controlling his voice to sound just a touch whinier, the way he always used to do before he was forced out of his preferred comedy by the threat of war. “Er-ge, I really don't know what to do,” he said, concocting a lie close enough to the truth that Lan Xichen could actually do something useful about Nie Mingjue's state, vague enough that even if Lan Xichen betrayed them nobody would know the true state of Qinghe Nie's leader. “I really need help! I'd been trying to reach your uncle, but since you're here, and... I don't know who else to turn to, and if you'reon our side... if I can't trust you, who can I trust, rigth?”

Lan Xichen, bless his sweet and gullible soul, eagerly nodded, and took Nie Huaisang's hands again as if to comfort him. It was almost too easy, and Nie Huaisang could see how Jin Guangyao had gotten so much out of Lan Xichen.

Nie Huaisang was almost sorry for Lan Xichen, who was about to have his feelings toyed with, but...

But nothing mattered except saving Nie Mingjue, and time was running out.

Surely Lan Xichen would understand putting one's brother's life above everything else, wouldn't he?

#xisang #mostly one sided at that point but still #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #might continue later #if I figure out how #forbidden romance au

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

- Chapter 6 -

It was strange, Lan Wangji reflected, to be in public again after so long an absence. Stranger still to be addressed by strangers, to be called the Second Jade of Lan, or Lan-er-gongzi –

He wished that they would use his personal title instead. It might reduce the awkwardness.

Though, he reflected, it was likely that nothing would really reduce the awkwardness inherent in the situation, for all its old nostalgic familiarity: his brother walking in the lead, he and his uncle one step behind him, the representatives of the Lan sect in all their glory, beauty, and righteousness.

Looking at their tranquil expressions and sedate pace, one would never know that Lan Qiren was still furiously angry at Lan Wangji for his decision to abandon his sect and family, now made several times over; that Lan Wangji had been shockingly disrespectful by Lan standards in his response; that Lan Xichen had ordered that neither of them were permitted to speak until they could behave civilly (he’d used the term “like human beings”) once again.

It had been a very quiet journey to Koi Tower.

Luckily, even once they arrived, their customary reserve meant that no one noticed the tensions between them – not even the normally astute Lianfeng-zun, who greeted them at the door, much less his father and brother, and certainly not Chifeng-zun, who was listening to another sect leader speak with the stiff and stern expression that, after several years of keeping company with Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji now recognized as please stop talking to me.

(Lan Wangji briefly considered that he ought to suggest that Jiang Cheng spend more time with Chifeng-zun. They shared a history as young men who assumed control over their sects too soon as a result of the same enemy, and he knew Jiang Cheng highly esteemed Chifeng-zun – but then he rejected the idea as unnecessary and likely full of potential political pitfalls, especially given the Jiang sect’s role in the Jin sect’s current one-sided rivalry with the Nie sect.

As the Second Jade of Lan, he didn’t need to worry about political concerns, or at least not those beyond the basic premise of ‘don’t lose face for the sect’. His uncle and brother handled everything of that nature, just as they always had, holding up the sky for him and allowing him to focus on cultivation and his own interests, only he had been Jiang Cheng’s secret sounding board for too long now to fail to think of the potential problems anyway.

He found to his surprise that he missed it.)

Jiang Cheng would have noticed the tension, but he had yet to arrive – they had agreed that it would make everything easier if he would arrive to the gathering a little late, minimizing the amount of chatter they would need to endure about the two of them before the formal events began.

This would be Lan Wangji’s first discussion conference after having “left seclusion”, as people were calling it – his uncle with notably more sarcasm than usual – and the first test of his new public relationship with Jiang Cheng. They’d settled the public fight aspect with some degree of enjoyment, having a spar that extended throughout the rooftops and alleyways of the Lotus Pier, matching Bichen again Sandu and Wangji against Zidian, and the rumors had run wild ever since then. Finally, Jin Guangyao had intervened in his father’s name to “force” the compromise they’d all agreed upon: that Lan Sizhui would fall under Lan Wangji’s personal supervision, as was his right as the (assumed) father, but that he would remain at the Lotus Pier for most of the year to avoid a sudden and traumatic readjustment.

That this coincidentally would result in Lan Wangji spending most of his time at the Lotus Pier had largely passed unnoticed. Most people were far, far too busy gossiping about Lan Wangji’s mysterious Jiang sect wife, each one adding new salacious details atop the other. Some of the nonsense he’d heard…!

At least, he comforted himself, none of them would be rude enough to actually ask him about it directly.

“Lan-er-gongzi!” a voice called, and Lan Wangji would have stiffened if his back hadn’t already been straighter than a board. His uncle coughed and stroked his beard to conceal his expression of amusement – he probably thought that having to deal with Nie Huaisang, inveterate gossip and useless person extraordinaire, was exactly what Lan Wangji deserved.

He was probably right, too. Lan Wangji had brought this on his own head.

“Nie-gongzi,” he said, very reluctantly, as the Second Young Master of Qinghe Nie showed up with a feckless smile, promptly clutching at his arm and insisting that they go catch up and indulge in nostalgia about their shared school days.

Which ones, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure – Nie Huaisang had attended his uncle’s classes three times over before passing, and whether or not that final pass had been fairly earned or whether his uncle had simply yielded to his desire never to see Nie Huaisang’s face in his classroom ever again, Lan Wangji remained unsure.

Still, it suited him not to be forced to make nice with all those sect leaders pretending that they weren’t gawking at him, and so he permitted Nie Huaisang to drag him off to some unoccupied garden he had somehow managed to uncover, the other man chattering in his ear like a magpie the entire time.

“ – supposed I really should call you Hanguang-jun now, but that just seems so formal, though at least I remember it. I barely remember anyone’s title. Though now that my big brother’s sworn brotherhood with your big brother, I could probably just get away with calling you Wangji-gege –”

“No.”

“You’re so mean!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Aren’t we old friends?”

“No.”

“Well, we’re close enough to count, anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “Jiang Cheng’s my friend as well, you know; you can’t keep him to yourself just because you’re angry at your family! That’s just selfish. Aren’t there Lan sect rules against being selfish? I assume so, though I admit I’ve forgotten more of them than I’ve learned…don’t tell your uncle that, I’m afraid he’ll revoke my sympathy pass.”

Lan Wangji reflected briefly that it was good that Nie Huaisang was self-aware enough to recognize that the pass mark had likely been given out of sympathy rather than for merit, but then returned to the more critical point of what Nie Huaisang had said.

“Why do you think I’m angry at my family?” he asked. And what was that about Jiang Cheng?

It was critical that Sect Leader Jin, among others, not suspect that Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng shared a closer relationship than apparent – even Jin Guangyao had agreed with that – and if they had been sussed out so quickly, and by Nie Huaisang…

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes at him. “You may be an unreadable stone wall, my – er, acquaintance, but do you really think I can’t tell when your uncle is upset? Me, of all people?”

This was a good point.

“And if your uncle’s upset at you, again, of all people, and you haven’t apologized or made up to him yet, that means you’re the one that’s angry,” Nie Huaisang concluded. “And anyway, why else would you agree to stay for so long at the Lotus Pier if you weren’t angry? You and Jiang Cheng must drive each other up the walls.”

Lan Wangji relaxed minutely. That was a reasonable explanation.

A moment later, he tensed up again – he was abruptly convinced, albeit without any logical basis, that the explanation was too reasonable, meant to put him at ease, designed to allow him to move on with the conversation without thinking too much or questioning too deeply. No one else had put the facts together the way Nie Huaisang had, and, most notably, Nie Huaisang hadn’t yet asked a single question about Lan Sizhui, who was, without making an appearance, the main subject matter of the day.

But then, a moment after that, he relaxed again, somewhat unwillingly – this was Nie Huaisang, who’d been born useless, grown up useless, and remained useless. It was a little absurd to suspect him of having figured out something that had duped the entire rest of the cultivation world.

As Nie Huaisang said – of all people…

“What do you want?” he asked, shaking his head a little to try to clear it. It must be the oppressive atmosphere of Koi Tower, gilded and rotten, that was affecting his thoughts.

“What do I always want?” Nie Huaisang asked philosophically, and then helpfully answered his own question: “Attention.”

Lan Wangji was starting to remember why he’d avoided Nie Huaisang so thoroughly in their youth.

“I’m not telling you anything about Sizhui,” he said.

Nie Huaisang pouted at him. He was still clinging to Lan Wangji’s arm, and Lan Wangji wondered whether it would count as ‘losing the sect face’ if he threw him out a window.

(He wished Jiang Cheng were around so that he could mention the thought to him - he suspected it would make the other man turn purple with suppressed laughter, and probably get some sort of comment about it being the only sort of flying Nie Huaisang could manage, with or without a blade.)

“Fine,” Nie Huaisang said sulkily. “Turns out you’re still no fun, even after all these years. I’ll have you know, Jiang Cheng’s a lot nicer than you. He appreciates all the things I bring to the table.”

Lan Wangji seriously doubted it – unless perhaps if Nie Huaisang was speaking literally, referring to fine foods and liquor – but his mood improved a bit nonetheless at the compliment. Given the Jiang sect’s relatively isolated political position, with all the smaller sects looking at it hungrily, just waiting for it to trip up and give them a chance to snatch away the title of being the fourth Great Sect, it was only good that the second young master of Qinghe Nie had a positive impression of the ever-prickly Jiang Cheng.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nie Huaisang said, and dug something out of his sleeve. “Give this back to er-ge for me, will you?”

Lan Wangji stared blankly. “His passage token for Koi Tower?”

He had planned to ask his brother later if he could borrow it – perhaps not that night, since it was the first day of the discussion conference and he suspected his brother would want to visit with his sworn brothers, but in the next day or two. That was the only reason he had agreed to go to Koi Tower at all, agreed to visit Lanling at all: so that he might try to steal away at some opportune moment to visit Mo Xuanyu unattended, before anyone noticed where he’d gone, and talk to him about the request for safe harbor that he had made of Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji had still been thinking over how he would phrase the request for the token without giving away his suspicions of the boy’s mistreatment, which his brother would likely take as a slight against Jin Guangyao even though it was fairly obvious to everyone that Sect Leader Jin was keeping Mo Xuanyu as a weapon against Jin Guangyao. He hadn’t yet managed to think of a way to do it.

And now – how had the token ended up here, in Nie Huaisang’s hands?

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “I wanted to talk to you privately, without everyone eavesdropping, so I asked him for it. Da-ge never lets me use his, he says I’m a menace to both people and property, and for some reason san-ge never lets me take his. Probably because he’s always so busy all the time.”

That sounded – very much like all three of them, in fact. Nie Mingjue, bluntly refusing; Jin Guangyao, politely eliding; his brother, yielding in utter capitulation to the first bit of begging, confident enough in his own righteous reputation to not worry about the consequences…

An idea appeared in Lan Wangji’s mind.

It was not the sort of idea that might naturally come to a member of the Lan sect. Perhaps his uncle was right in saying that he’d been lingering at the Lotus Pier for too long.

“Nie-gongzi,” Lan Wangji said, looking at the token. “You are right.”

“I…what?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Are you getting sick, Lan-er-gongzi? I’m never right.”

“I am angry at my family,” Lan Wangji continued, deciding to ignore him. He did not specify why he was angry – let Nie Huaisang assume, as everyone else assumed, that it was because they had not retrieved Lan Sizhui earlier, and for sticking him with the ‘compromise’ of having to stay at the Lotus Pier, no matter how far that was from the truth. “I have not had the opportunity to vent my feelings.”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “You…vent feelings?” he said, sounding doubtful, but a moment later he brightened, as Lan Wangji had expected he would. “We could play a prank on somebody! That always makes me feel better – something petty and ridiculous, so that they won’t get really angry, but still know that you’re upset.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

Nie Huaisang appeared somewhat dazed by his agreement. “We could do so many things,” he marveled. “I mean, the possibilities are countless. We could throw paint at something, we could put water on top of a door, we could…”

“I do not want to be publicly associated with it,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang pouted, but tapped his fan against his cheek, thinking. “That makes things harder, but not impossible, I suppose…oh, I know! Why don’t we pretend that you’re your brother? You two look like peas in a pod, but for the color of your eyes and your expressions – if I’m hanging around and calling you er-ge and no one looks too closely, they would have no idea it was you involved.”

That was precisely the idea Lan Wangji had hit upon, and the one that he had hoped to lead Nie Huaisang towards suggesting. He had gotten to the point much quicker than Lan Wangji had thought he would; it seemed, useless as he might be, Nie Huaisang was still apparently capable of accepting at least some guidance.

(Unless perhaps...but no. It was Nie Huaisang.)

“This evening?” he suggested, and Nie Huaisang nodded.

“That’ll give me time to think of a proper prank,” he said happily. It was as if he’d never encountered a care in his life, Sunshot Campaign or no. “Don’t you worry, Wangji-gege! Leave it all to me!”

Lan Wangji returned to the main hall, the token tucked into his sleeve, and said nothing when his older brother smiled at him, faintly apologetic, nor when his uncle turned his face away from him. By that point, Jiang Cheng had arrived, scowling as usual, and he was mingling, speaking with the smaller sect leaders with a stiff and stern expression that said please don’t talk to me – Lan Wangji really would have to see about convincing him to invite Chifeng-zun to the Lotus Pier, politics or no politics – and he and Lan Wangji stared at each other briefly before turning away from each other, whispers sprouting up around them like grass.

Why must we put up with people? Jiang Cheng’s expression eloquently conveyed, and Lan Wangji didn’t disagree in the slightest. Life was so much easier in his little room back at the Lotus Pier, where he could shut the door and not let in the world – sometimes he wondered if all of this was really worth it.

Later that evening, he was reminded that it was.

Mo Xuanyu had been invited to the opening ceremonies, sitting in the main row with the important people of the Jin sect – directly beside Jin Guangyao, as if everyone didn’t know his purpose already – but he hadn’t spoken at all, keeping his face down and demeanor as withdrawn as possible. Sect Leader Jin had found an opportunity to praise him for his humility and obedience, and even Lan Wangji, who did not like Jin Guangyao, was indignant on the man’s behalf in the face of such obvious humiliation.

Etiquette dictated that no one could intervene in another man’s family affairs, but Chifeng-zun had rather loudly remarked to Lan Xichen – as if only just remembering – that it must be good to have his brother (subtext: notable for being humble and obedient) out of seclusion at last, inquiring as to whether Lan Wangji was planning on attending any night-hunts in the near future and, if so, whether he would be bringing his son, for whom he cared so deeply, along.

Lan Wangji was accustomed to being the other person’s child, held up as a positive comparison to the annoyance of the person being compared, and it took Jiang Cheng’s eyes crinkling with barely concealed laughter for him to realize that the person he was being compared favorably against this time was Jin Guangshan, absent father extraordinaire, and not poor Mo Xuanyu.

Later, when his brother slipped away to meet with his sworn brothers, as Lan Wangji expected, and Jiang Cheng was gone reluctantly to take Jin Ling to visit with his grandfather, Lan Wangji headed out with Nie Huaisang, who had come up with some prank involving feathers and glue that Lan Wangji wanted nothing to do with.

“But it would be funny,” Nie Huaisang argued.

Lan Wangji blamed Jiang Cheng for the fact that he even considered it.

“We can simply walk around in the guise we agreed,” he finally said, banishing that unhelpful part of him that loved chaos a little too much – the Wei Wuxian part, perhaps. “That will be confusing enough.”

“Oh, all right,” Nie Huaisang said. “But the feathers are hidden in the linen closet off the main guest hallway if you change your mind.”

With Nie Huaisang complaisant, it was easy enough to gradually make their way through Koi Tower, seeming to stroll without any apparent goal but in fact edging closer to Lan Wangji’s destination: the Jin family quarters.

“Wangji-gege – oops, I mean, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said after he had exhausted at least three other pointless topics. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Lan Wangji looked at him, surprised by the question.

Nie Huaisang was pouting. “You clearly have a goal,” he said. “I know I’m not much, you know, but I’m not nothing. I could still help. If you wanted.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to refuse on instinct – the idea that Nie Huaisang could be helpful to him in any way seemed utterly absurd, utterly impossible – but then he paused.

Attempt the impossible, he reminded himself. After all, was it really so long ago that he himself had done what he had never dreamt he could do and chosen to leave his sect behind?

For a life at the Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng, no less?

Maybe even Nie Huaisang could overturn expectations.

“I want to speak with Mo Xuanyu,” he finally said. “And, if he is unhappy, remove him from Koi Tower. Is that something in which you think you can assist me?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, just once – he did not appear nearly as surprised by the request as Lan Wangji thought he probably should be – and then smiled.

#mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #delight in misery

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leggomylino · 4 years

Text

Braked, Trifled | Han Jisung

Genre: slice of life, college au

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader

Word count: ~1.5k

A/n: Masterlist in bio~ | Based on true events ♫

- ♫ - ♫ - ♫ -

[12:11 오전]

The inertia that pushes your car forward makes your head spin. Like being on a roller coaster that stops all too quickly.

“What was that?” Your friend asks, turning around. “Did you just hit the brakes hard?”

Your eyes travel up to peer through the rear view mirror. “No…” you speculate, watching as the shadow of a tall, 20-something year old boy steps out onto the curbside. Your vision narrows. “Some punk just hit me.”

It was just after midnight. Your friend Daewon’s birthday was today, and to surprise him you and your other friend Junyong made plans the previous afternoon to throw him an all-day surprise party, along with the rest of their rookie college music group, Noir. Your town’s local Dunkin’ Donuts was just a hop, skip, and a jump down the road from campus, and being a Tuesday night with a new semester just around the corner, you weren’t expecting anyone to be out, especially at this hour. Even so, there were plenty of better places to go for partying than...a local 24/7 donut shop.

Which is why you were baffled to find the rival enemy, Han Jisung of the infamous 3Racha and Co., quarreling before your newly-imprinted bumper.

"Han I told you for the last time that's the accelerator! Dang it, I should have listened to Chan and not let you drive—“

"How are we gonna tell this to Minho…it's his car..."

Han waves his hands peacefully before the crowd. “Okay, okay,” he states, looking back at the imprinted [car model]. “Everything’s fine, it was just accident so— sh*T WAIT I USED CHAN’S LICENSE!” He suddenly huffs, making an elaborate 180 in behavior to stamp his foot like an immature child. “You're the one that wanted donuts at 12 am!!!” He accuses, pointing to an orangish-blonde boy. Definitely a part of the squad, but not one of the 3Racha fiends.

Freckles huffs back. “Well EXCUSE ME FOR WANTING TO CELEBRATE NATIONAL DONUT DAY!!!”

"THAT'S NOT EVEN A REAL THING!” The one from the passenger’s side erupts; another groupie. “BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!!!"

“Aaaah,” Han groans, palm on his forehead. “Okay, Seungmin’s right, we need to calm down. Like I said, everything is fi—“

“It’s not fine,” you cut in, glaring. Han jumps, seeing as you appeared to be a ghost behind the glow of taillights. “I’m pulling up over there.”

You point a couple parking spaces to the left of the drive-thru, and he nods, swallowing. A nervous glint about him. Ignoring your late-night drinks and dozen Boston Cremes, you pull up to the designated area, sighing as your head hits the steering wheel. Junyong pats your shoulder solemnly. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this. It’s just a fender-bender, so you don’t have to tell the insurance company— I’m sure he’ll agree,” he added, nodding behind him. He turned his head to glare out the back window. “...But seriously, who hits a car in a drive-thru? You’re supposed to inch forward, not ZOOM like Speedy Gonzales...”

Wasn’t that the truth... Shrugging, you open the door, preparing to rendezvous with the enemy. In all truth, in all honesty, you were annoyed at the notion; but the fact that it was Han Jisung, well, that made you livid.

He was, after all, the boy that had instigated war between the two groups; by stealing Seunghoon’s file, and writing his group’s name on it as the demo for their music final. He stole Noir’s song, and made it their own. And nobody stopped him.

“I’m so, so sorry…” he starts, walking up with your order. “Here’s your stuff…”

You take it from him stiffly, passing it to Junyong, who came running up beside you. Sensing the awkward tension, he dips back to the safety of the dented vehicle without a word, gulping his Matcha Latte down.

“Gimme your info,” you demand, wanting to keep this short. Han begins to sweat.

“Uuuh…” he nods, slowly, and juts a thumb over his right shoulder. “R-Right, lemme just—“

“Here,” one of his friend’s says, extending a piece of paper. He has brown hair and matching eyes, paired with a calm, logical aura. You’re pretty sure you heard Han call him Seungmin. “I wrote it all down for you. If it’s alright with you, we’d like to keep the insurance companies out of this situation, so...we’d be happy to pay for the damages out of pocket. We’re very sorry.”

“Hmph,” You scoff, snatching the paper. As genuine as he may seem, it’s probably a fake number, with a false address and a made-up company name. Some forged on-the-spot license numbers. You glout over the paper and nice handwriting.

“Something wrong? Did I forget anything?”

“Show me your license.”

Han flinches, Seungmin remaining very still. Their faces both harden into something frantic. “...Well...” Seungmin begins, “...about that…”

“You don’t have your license?” You frown. “You could be arrested for this, you know.”

Han chuckles nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Ha-ha, yeah, I-I know—“

“Then why were you driving without it?” Your arms cross. “You should always have it on you, always. It’s careless to leave it at home, or in another car, or somewhere else...what are you laughing about?!” You holler, whipping over your shoulder.

Junyong covers his mouth, bowing his head so only his eyes peer over the hood. He takes an exaggeratedly loud sip of his Matcha Latte. “Nothing!” he shouts, “It’s just...” ...Sip. “...you kinda sound like his girlfriend or something, scolding him like that.”

“Huh?!”

“Oop!” He quickly ducks back into safety. You sigh, overly annoyed and done with it all.

...Zen, Y/n. Totally zen.

“...I’m...sorry,” you manage, biting the side of your tongue. Apologizing to the enemy should be treason! “This is just such a pain. But I understand it was an accident.” You look each of them in the eye. “Are you okay? No one was hurt, were they?”

Han opens his mouth to speak, but his buddy stops him, covering it in an odd fashion. “We’re fine,” he insists, smiling. “And, again, we’re so sorry about this.”

“...Right…” You rummage through the bag around your bodice, flipping out your mini planner and tearing off a page. “Here’s my information. You can call or text me about the damages tomorrow, er…” You smile, just a little. “Later this afternoon.”

“Yes!” Seungmin states, taking the paper and passing it to Han Jisung, Enemy No. 1. “We’ll definitely do that!”

You press your smile further, forcibly, politely. “Grea—”

Flash!

“OW!”

From Han’s...if you’re recalling correctly, “Minho’s” car...you see Freckles squint, hands raised to block the flash bombs going off behind you like the paparazzi just showed.

“WHO LEAVES THE FLASH ON?!?!” he cries, swatting at...the air. You spin around to scowl.

“Junyong! What are you doing?!”

“Don’t worry, Y/n!” Junyong howls. “I got pics of everyone involved, and both license plates! They can’t run now!!!”

“......” Well, the Matcha Latte was certainly kicking in. You would have thrown a donut, had one been available to you.

While being ushered off, Han continues to stare at the paper curiously. Then, as if struck by a realization of some sort, he looks up at you over his friend’s shoulder, smiling.

“I thought I recognized you! Y/n L/n, right?”

You blink, unenthused. “That’s what it says on the paper.”

Han just continues smiling. There’s some sort of sparkle in his eye that’s visible even in the blotched moonlight of storm season. It sends a shiver down your spine, even after you’ve closed and locked the car doors. “I’ll definitely call you!” He yells, waving. Like a couple of old friends reconnecting, excited to catch up over donuts and coffee.

But he was the enemy. Han Jisung had done something wrong, something cruel, something that had yet to be concluded that you weren’t sure you could ever forgive...so, then...

You start the car with a gentle whir of the engine, setting the gears into reverse. Hesitantly, you glance into the rearview mirror once more, watching him engage in harsh whispers and subtle push-and-shoves before getting in.

His face. His charisma. His profile...two months ago you’d sworn he was the enemy, yet...

...Why was it that you were just as excited?

- ♫ - ♫ - ♫ -

“Wasn’t that the girl that accused us of copyrighting her friend’s track? That was her, wasn’t it?” Felix asks. “...I hope she knows that was all just a misunderstanding…”

Climbing back into Minho’s stolen convertible, because Felix just had to have donuts for National Donut Day at 12 am, Seungmin heaves a sigh, running a sweating hand through his exhaust-riddled hair. Too close, honestly. The infamous Y/n, known for being the Campus Blizzard, could have had them fined, reported on campus, and Han behind bars. ...Yet for some reason, she didn’t.

...Must be in a good mood or something. A saving grace, if he did say so himself. “...Please tell me this was really an accident. You didn’t do this on purpose...right?”

The boy in the driver’s seat smiles...sheepishly. Pulling back up to the window to claim his goods, he places the tips of his ringed fingers together. Takes a breath.

“...If I say half yes and half no, will you be mad?”

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hello-robin-goodfellow · 4 years

Text

SHAKESPEARE AND THE PRETTY SPEECHES OF A KING

@ardenrosegarden @amalthea9 @lioness--hart @princesssarisa @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @suits-of-woe @malvoliowithin @noshitshakespeare

I was once watching Brows Held High review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V (1944), where the reviewer, Kyle Kalgreen, analized how it faired in the context of British World War II Propaganda Machine, as a Shakespeare film adaptation and in comparison to the Kenneth Branagh 1989 Film Adaptation.

There is a moment he pauses to analyze the most popular speech of the play, wich is the Saint Crispin’s Day Speech:

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland?

No, my fair cousin.

If we are marked to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

God’s will, I pray thee wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.

God’s peace, I would not lose so great an honor

As one man more, methinks, would share from me,

For the best hope I have.

Oh, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it,

Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart.

His passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

We would not die in that man’s company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day and comes safe home,

Will stand o' tiptoe when the day is named

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day, and live old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors

And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.”

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day.

Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words,

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,Warwick and Talbot,

Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

This story shall the good man teach his son,

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be rememberèd—

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition;

And gentlemen in England now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

(William Shakespeare. Henry V: Act IV, Scene III)

Beautifull. Powerfull. Lie.

Because, as Kyle Kalgreen apoints, while the Laurence Olivier had to cut it to make Henry V more simpathetic, the original Shakespeare text and the Kenneth Branagh Film Adaptation have this scene following the Saint Crispin’s day speech, where the young king reads a list of the english man who died in battle:

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,

Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;

None else of name, and of all other men

But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here,

And not to us but to thy arm alone

Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,

But in plain shock and even play of battle,

Was ever known so great and little loss

On one part and on th' other?

Take it, God,For it is none but thine.

(William Shakespeare, Henry V: Act IV, Scene VIII)

The death nobleman are named, while the death common soldier is just ‘None else of name’. The death nobleman is ‘so great loss’. The death common soldier is ‘so little loss’. Contrary to what King Henry V promissed, not everybody who died fighting on his name in France will be considered his brother, remembered and mourned by him.

And them later, we watch the consequences of the reign of his son in the Henry VI trilogy of plays, and in Henry VI Part III, our new protagonist gives this beautifull speech about the blessing of a commoner’s life while sitting over a molehill:

This battle fares like to the morning’s war,

When dying clouds contend with growing light,

What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,

Can neither call it perfect day nor night.

Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea

Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;

Now sways it that way, like the selfsame sea

Forced to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometime the flood prevails, and then the wind;

Now one the better, then another best;

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,

Yet neither conqueror nor conquered:

So is the equal of this fell war.

Here on this molehill will I sit me down.

To whom God will, there be the victory!

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too,

Have chid me from the battle; swearing both

They prosper best of all when I am thence.

Would I were dead! if God’s good will were so;

For what is in this world but grief and woe?

O God! methinks it were a happy life,

To be no better than a homely swain;

To sit upon a hill, as I do now,

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point,

Thereby to see the minutes how they run,

How many make the hour full complete;

How many hours bring about the day;

How many days will finish up the year;

How many years a mortal man may live.

When this is known, then to divide the times:

So many hours must I tend my flock;

So many hours must I take my rest;

So many hours must I contemplate;

So many hours must I sport myself;

So many days my ewes have been with young;

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean:

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece:

So minutes, hours, days, months, and years,

Pass’d over to the end they were created,

Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave.

Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely!

Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

Than doth a rich embroider’d canopy

To kings that fear their subjects’ treachery?

O, yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

And to conclude, the shepherd’s homely curds,

His cold thin drink out of his leather bottle.

His wonted sleep under a fresh tree’s shade,

All which secure and sweetly he enjoys,

Is far beyond a prince’s delicates,

His viands sparkling in a golden cup,

His body couched in a curious bed,

When care, mistrust, and treason waits on him.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act II, Scene V)

Also a beautifull and powerfull speech, if a bit revealing of a romanticized view of the poverty that Henry VI never lived. And also a lie, or, at least, a half truth for Henry VI himself.

By contrast to the Molehill Speech, here is the dialogue exchange between him and two keepers, in the next act:

Second Keeper

Say, what art thou that talk'st of kings and queens?

Henry VI

More than I seem, and less than I was born to: A man at least, for less I should not be; And men may talk of kings, and why not I?

Second Keeper

Ay, but thou talk'st as if thou wert a king.

Henry VI

Why, so I am, in mind; and that's enough.

Second Keeper

But, if thou be a king, where is thy crown?

Henry VI

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, Nor to be seen: my crown is called content: A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

Second Keeper

Well, if you be a king crown'd with content, Your crown content and you must be contented To go along with us; for as we think, You are the king King Edward hath deposed; And we his subjects sworn in all allegiance Will apprehend you as his enemy.

Henry VI

But did you never swear, and break an oath?

Second Keeper

No, never such an oath; nor will not now.

Henry VI

Where did you dwell when I was King of England?

Second Keeper

Here in this country, where we now remain.

Henry VI

I was anointed king at nine months old; My father and my grandfather were kings, And you were sworn true subjects unto me: And tell me, then, have you not broke your oaths?

First Keeper.

No; For we were subjects but while you were king.

Henry VI

Why, am I dead? do I not breathe a man Ah, simple men, you know not what you swear! Look, as I blow this feather from my face, And as the air blows it to me again, Obeying with my wind when I do blow, And yielding to another when it blows, Commanded always by the greater gust; Such is the lightness of you common men.

(William Shakespeare. Henry VI Part III: Act III, Scene I)

We can perceive here a condescending tone that King Henry VI has when he talks with two members of the people. He is surprised to see that they don’t believe in a divine right that gives him a “natural kingly aura”. They don’t see him as a superior, wise and benevolent saviour, but only as a man who once weared a crown, but now, without the crown, they don’t have any obligation to obey him.

And Henry VI can’t accept that.

Later, he is rescued by Clifford, Warwick and Clarence from imprisoment under King Edward IV’s rule. And when those three man offer him back the crown and title of king, he don’t refuse it to live the simple commoner life he described as more beautifull in the Molehill Speech. He accepts it. Even if he intends to let the actual work of ruling to Warwick, Clarence and Queen Margaret, he still wants the sense of superiority, the privileges and the confortable life offered by the title of king that he grew accustomed to since he was nine months old.

By justaposing those speeches and scenes, Shakespeare pulls us of the rug in our view of those two characters, who want the people to believe they are good, heroic and chivalrous kings, anointed by God himself, when in reality what anoints them is their money and their armies.

Intentionally or not, with those plays, Shakespeare was at the same being a precursor and subvertor of the Relatable Royal Trope, showing that those people with the title of kings are like us... but not really.

They feel sadness, fear, anger, love, envy and jealousie like us, but they are more rich, powerfull and privileged then us.And they don’t really want to renounce that power, because it will take away their sense of being superior to us.

To paraphrase Kyle Kalgreen:

Beware pretty speeches

(Kyle Kalgreen. Brows Held High: This Day is Called the Feast of Crispian, a review of Laurence Olivier’s Henry V. October 26th, 2018)

Specially if they come from a person that wears the crown of a king.

#history plays #theater #literature #tragedies #shakespeare #william shakespeare #will shakespeare #henry v #henry vi #the wars of the roses #bardolatry #brows held high #kyle kalgreen #cinema #laurence olivier

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angelatmidnight1 · 4 years

Note

hey there! so glad you're back, and happy new years btw!! idk if you're taking prompts atm so don't feel like you have to write this straight away (since you just posted a new fanfic anyway, and it was worth the wait as always), but i was thinking maybe you could write something with wattson and loba? because on this current season, loba is trying to be nicer to her, to kind of make up for the S5 accident, and i mean we love to see that character development lol. cheers!

A/N: Hi, happy (very late) New Years! I’ve actually picked up Loba as my secondary main, so I was really excited to write for both her and Wattson. This story is based on quest events from season 5 and onward, as well as the Legends’ dialogue mainly between Loba, Wattson, and Crypto (this video kind of shows the lines, but I couldn't find the one I originally watched). I was also inspired by a post from @thebliznet, which helped the story along a lot. Thank you for allowing me to mention your post and the blog! I hope this story is to your liking anon :). I had fun writing it.

Unleashing Your Inner Wolf- After Wattson’s accident, Loba has kept a watchful eye over her. This is especially true after Revenant has sworn to ruin the thief’s life. When the murderous simulacrum joined the Apex Games, Loba was hellbent on killing him herself. But, this wasn’t a job she had to do alone. Loba had all of the Legends wrapped around her fingers with the dirt she had on them, and she was pleased to have them at her disposal. The job was simple: find the artifacts she needed, locate Revenant’s source code, and end his miserable existence. So, when Wattson wandered into the building alone to retrieve an artifact, her plans literally went up in flames. Not only was she further away from what she wanted, someone nearly died, and it wasn’t the demonio. Loba secretly thanks the gods for Wattson’s recovery; the engineer has a harsher view of the world now, yes, but she’s alive. It was the first and last time that Loba would put someone in danger on her behalf. After having her as a teammate during a couple of games, Loba discovers some new, interesting information: Wattson spends a great deal of time speaking with Crypto. And, the thief finds their nervous, awkward interactions absolutely adorable. Loba decides to take the engineer under her wing to teach her the art of flirting. But first, she has to teach her the most important lesson out there: self love. Wattson finds her lessons a bit unorthodox, and is reluctant to open up. So, Loba’s first job is getting her to smile...and maybe laugh, too.

When Crypto fell on the battlefield, Loba was quick to toss her bracelet and teleport to his aid. She had a Guardian Angel backpack and there were fences set up within their hideout to deter an enemy push. She was just slipping her bracelet back on when someone else rounded the corner and ran over to the downed hacker. It was Wattson, who put her Interception Pylon in the center of the room to deny incoming projectiles. The engineer heard an angry “bloody hell” from the explosive expert outside, which made her grin inwardly. Natalie knelt down and rubbed her hands together to generate a charge. Unlike the rest of the Legends, the engineer revived her teammates by using her equipment like a defibrillator.

“Got you Tae J---ohhh…” Instead of pulling him up, Wattson accidentally dropped him back onto the floor, covering her mouth with both hands. Crypto landed with a heavy thump and a groan.

“Ugh, Natalie..” The hacker winced, prompting her to start the revive again, her mind still racing to finish her sentence.

“J...Joules and Watts are tied for my favorite units of measurements. And yours?” Natalie giggled nervously after she successfully pulled the man back onto his feet. She looked over her shoulder to see Loba staring at them like they each had two heads. But then, the enemy Bangalore shot at her through the window, giving the engineer and hacker a welcome distraction.

“...I’ll get better at this. I promise.” Wattson smiled and pushed a Phoenix Kit into Crypto’s hands. Crypto sighed and put the healing item to use, giving her a small smile of his own.

“Thank you, Natalie.” Tae Joon huddled in the corner of the room to stay out of enemy sights. This prompted Natalie to put another fence at the doorway that would lead to them. No one was going to get in and hurt her friend; not if she had something to say about it! So, when she heard someone approaching, Wattson immediately pointed her Mastiff at the door, ready to take down whoever managed to slip in. She yelped and fired at the thief when she stuck her head in; fortunately, there was no friendly fire allowed in the Games.

“Relax, it’s just me.” Loba frowned and walked further into the room. “The whole squad’s down and a wall of death is coming our way. We need to move.”

“Got it!” Wattson hopped to her feet and offered a hand to the hacker. Crypto reached up to take it but froze, looking over Natalie’s shoulder. For some reason, the thief was still looking at them. The engineer arched a brow and, since she didn’t see what he saw, she grabbed onto his hand anyway. “Let’s go, Crypto. Allons-y!”

Crypto stood without a word and followed the engineer out of the room. Wattson didn’t release his hand even when they were well inside the ring. The hacker cleared his throat and gave the woman’s hand a gentle, but urgent squeeze, and she promptly let go of him. But, since Loba was trailing behind them, she saw everything, and a knowing smirk graced her lips.

Loba found the engineer in her room after the match was over. Her high heels sounding throughout the hallway announced her arrival way before she did. So, by the time the thief sauntered to her doorway, Wattson was already facing her.

“Ah, there’s the little heart breaker in the making…” Loba grinned and leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed against her chest. The engineer furrowed her brows and pushed her organized clutter further back onto her desk.

“Huh? What’re you talking about?” Wattson appeared even more confused as she approached her. Loba glanced to the woman’s desk; besides the textbooks and random sticky notes everywhere, the thief didn’t see any obvious signs of a romantic rendezvous. No roses, no letters, and worse: no shiny trinkets.

“I used to think hand holding was a dying art. No more lingering touches, or a bat of the eye. Nowadays it’s just sloppy grabbing, a couple minutes of heavy breathing, and then...nothing.” Loba let out a wistful sigh as stood behind the younger woman, putting her hands on her shoulders. “It’s all quite dull, if you ask me. But then, I saw you and Crypto holding hands…”

The realization hit Wattson and her face turned pink. For a moment, she was at a loss for words, so the thief continued. “And it was so refreshing to see. It’s subtle. Innocent. And yet...intimate. Especially with the right person.”

Wattson hopped out of her chair and faced the thief, her pink face quickly turning red. “I...I didn’t...I wasn’t...he was injured!” She stammered, suddenly unable to meet Loba’s teasing gaze. “I only held his hand to make sure he was okay!”

“Oh, of course, beautiful. That’s kind of you..” Loba chuckled and stepped in front of her. She knelt down, “In fact, it was so kind that it must’ve stuck with him the whole time he watched you walk away~.”

Wattson looked up with a gasp and finally met her gaze. Her face grew even redder as she struggled to find her words again. “...Crypto and I...we--we’re just friends. That’s all. I’m sure he was just...um...w-watching my back. His drone is very useful on the battlefield.” She put a hand on the back of her neck; it was burning hot, just like her face.

Loba didn’t want the engineer to pass out on her, so she took a step back to give her some breathing room. “I can’t argue with you there. But...what do you think of him?” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “He’s on the quieter side, I’ll have to admit. But he’s very handsome, no?”

“...Well..maybe...” Natalie toyed with the ends of her shirt as she looked to the corner of the room. There was a radio that Octane gave her a while back, and Loba caught her looking at it. This made the thief smirk again.

“Where’d you get that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a radio like that before.” Loba strutted over to the little device and picked it up. Natalie perked up and hurried over to gently take it from her.

“Oh! Octavio gave this to me. He spray painted it using my favorite colors.” The engineer visibly relaxed and finally allowed herself to smile. Loba’s eyebrows rose and, grinning, she couldn’t help but to tease her again.

“Oh, so there’s two people vying for your affection. You like to have options.” Loba giggled when the engineer’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “I like how you think. There’s so many beautiful people out there...why limit yourself to one?”

“No! It isn’t like that, really!” Natalie insisted and put her radio back down so she didn’t drop it. “I mean...Octavio and Ta---er, Crypto, are attractive, yes. But I wouldn’t flirt with them! Because...well, I...don’t know how.”

Loba wanted to laugh, but this new bit of information surprised her. She arched a brow and crossed one leg over the other. “You don’t know how?”

“Well, I know how.” The engineer corrected herself and fiddled with her hair next. “But I don’t know what to say! Plus, I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Loba’s eyes softened; the engineer was too cute. “Aw, it’s alright, doll. A little harmless flirting every now and then doesn’t hurt anyone. Keeps things interesting, if you ask me.” She smirked, playfully nudging her side with her elbow. Natalie stiffened and pursed her lips.

“That’s easy for you to say. You flirt with everybody.” The engineer muttered, giving her a coy smile when Loba feigned offense.

“Oh, come on, I do not flirt with everyone. I’m very selective in who I choose. Not everyone is worth my time.” Loba fired back with a grin. It didn’t seem like she was winning the engineer over, so she decided to switch tactics. “I suppose you can say there’s a certain elegance to flirting. If you’d like, I’ll show you. Free of charge, of course.”

Wattson looked up at the woman skeptically. The engineer didn’t know her as well as some of her other friends, but she didn’t believe that she would steer her wrong. “Er..how do you propose to do that?”

Loba beamed at her and gestured to her closet with a manicured hand. “Put on your favorite outfit, then stop by my room.” She grinned and sauntered back out into the hallway. She looked over her shoulder and saw the uncertainty lingering in her eyes. She sighed, “Trust me, beautiful. I won’t embarrass you. I know just what you need to have whomever you like flocking over to you.”

“...Okay, Loba. I’ll be there in a moment.” Wattson smiled and waited for her to leave so that she could change clothes.

Natalie opted for a simple outfit with her favorite Nessie shirt and jeans. She stepped out of her room and closed the door behind her. Then, she wandered down the hall until she got to the thief’s room. She could hear music playing as she approached the door, and found the thief idly swaying to the beat when she stepped into the room.

Loba beckoned for the engineer to come closer, another smirk on her face. “Come on in. I don’t bite.” She snickered, her cocky smirk giving way to a small smile. “You look cute.”

“Merci. Um...so what will we be doing, exactly?” The engineer peeked behind Loba to see a pole in the corner of the room. She blinked; what on Earth was this woman planning?

“Well, before we work on making your special Legend fall for you, I think you could use a bit of a confidence boost.” Loba smiled and strode over to her pole, hooking an arm around it. “I’m going to teach you how to pole dance.”

Wattson’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates, and her face turned a bright shade of red. Loba immediately put up her hands.

“Hold on, it’s not what you think. I didn’t say you were stripping, nor does pole dancing have to involve it. This is about doing something fun, something that makes you feel sexy. Because when you feel good, you look good. And others notice it too…” Loba smiled at her hopefully and extended a hand. “Won’t you give it a try, love? If at any point you don’t like it, we stop. Simple as that.”

“Umm...a-alright…�� Natalie blushed even more as she took the thief’s hand. Loba beamed excitedly and led her to the pole.

“Wonderful. Now, let’s just set the mood.” Loba had the best wireless speakers that a thief could get their hands on, and she switched the current song to something slower.

“Mmm, there we go. So! The first thing you want to do is take your dominant hand, and reach high above your head.” Loba demonstrated what Natalie needed to do on the opposite side of the pole. “Then you want to...ah, hold on.” She let go of her side of the pole and walked behind the engineer. “Make sure your shoulders are down and back, like this…”

Loba took her shoulders and gently maneuvered them in the correct position. Her nails gently brushed against them as she drew back, causing the younger woman to squeak and flinch. The thief looked down at her with an arched brow. “...What?”

“Pardon (Sorry), Loba! It’s just...your nails are long, and that tickled a bit.” Natalie smiled sheepishly and rolled her shoulders. Loba chuckled and stood behind her again.

“Oh, not a problem.” The thief put her shoulders in the correct position one more time; then, smirking, she stood back in front of her to continue the lesson. “There we go, perfect. Next, you want to stand on your toes, and take three steps with the leg closest to the pole. So, like this…”

Loba walked Wattson through the rest of the steps for a basic, fireman spin. The engineer caught on quickly but, although she was performing the moves correctly, her overall movement was pretty stiff. It didn’t help that Octane wandered down the hallway, drawn to the music, and curiously poked his head in the room. He wasn’t wearing his usual mask and was eating a candy bar; but, when he saw Natalie pole dancing, his jaw dropped...along with his snack. Thankfully, Natalie didn’t notice him because of the music and her focus; Loba, on the other hand, heard the sound and she glanced at the door. She narrowed her eyes at the daredevil, mouthing ‘get out, or you’re dead.’ She grabbed her staff and pointed it at him to show that she wasn’t messing around. Octane held up his hands and, nudging the candy bar back towards him with his leg, he picked it up and took off down the hall. After a few more spins, Wattson stood up straight and looked up at the thief.

“Loba? Did I do it right?” Natalie panted a bit and rubbed the back of her neck. Loba turned back around; the engineer got the moves down to a T, but there was still something missing. She looked so shy, so unsure of herself...and, perking up, Loba knew exactly what she needed.

“You did, and I’m impressed. I don’t see many people catch on to this sort of thing so quickly.” She complimented, slowly making her way back to her side. Wattson re-assumed the position by the pole, assuming that they were going to practice again. The thief chuckled. “There is just one, tiny thing I think you need to do…”

Wattson looked up at her and stepped away from the pole. She was flattered by the compliment...but, the mischievous glint in the she-wolf’s eyes made her falter. “Okay...what is it?”

“...Smile.” Loba grinned and latched her hand onto her hip, giving it a quick squeeze. Wattson yelped and lurched away from her hand, but Loba was quick to close the distance. When the engineer pushed her hand off of one hip, she just squeezed the other one instead. Loba already had her laughing before she even pinned her down onto the mattress behind her.

“Nohohohohoh! Nohohohoh Lohohohohba, dohohohn’t!” Natale panicked and tried to roll away from the she-wolf. She arched her back when Loba’s manicured nails found her sides, giggling loudly. “DohohoHOHOHOHN’T!”

“Don’t what?” Loba grinned and gently poked at her belly, tracing five manicured nails up and down her torso. Wattson’s giggles picked up to laughter and she bucked her hips.

“DOHOHOohohohohn’t tihihihckle mehehehehehe!” The engineer squeaked and struggled harder when the thief slipped her hand underneath her shirt, clawing at her bare stomach. “LOHOHOHOHBAHAHA!”

“Oh, that tickles? I had no idea.” Loba smirked and lifted her shirt up to give her better access to her stomach. She slowed her tickles to gentle, featherlight strokes along her tummy. This still made the engineer laugh, but not quite as hard. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ticklish before? That would’ve made things much easier.”

Natalie giggled uncontrollably and sucked in her belly to try and escape the tickles. Not only did it fail, but Loba kept up the slow, teasing pace, which sent ticklish shivers up her spine. “N-Nohohohohohoh ihhihiht wohohohohuhuhldn’t!” She tittered, another laugh escaping her as the thief gave her hips another squeeze.

“Yes it would!” Loba snickered, kneading her thumbs into the woman’s hip bones. Wattson squealed and bucked her hips, but Loba didn’t let go of them. “A smile can bring even the hardest of men, and women, to their knees, falling for you...”

The color came rushing back to Wattson’s face as she squirmed in the she-wolf’s iron-hold, giggling. “Okahahahay! Okahahahay I’ll smhihihihle MOHOHOHOHRE!” Natalie shrieked and laughed when Loba’s fingers scribbled back into her stomach. “STAHAHAHAHAH!”

“Oho, yes. You certainly will be smiling more...” Loba teased and swiped her nails from one side of her tummy to the next. She laughed at the squeal it produced, which only encouraged her to tickle faster. “You’re stuck with the big bad wolf, and she’s going to tickle you to pieces~.”

Wattson fell into a deeper fit of laughter and increased her efforts to escape. The thief’s fingers strayed away from her stomach and scritched to her lowermost ribs. Natalie’s eyes widened and her laughter went up a few pitches as she rocked side to side. “NOHOHOHOHOH! PLEHEHEHEAHAHSE DOHOHOHOHN’T!” She begged, pulling at her trapped arms repeatedly. Loba had her arms pinned underneath her thighs and despite all of her struggling, they didn’t move an inch. “LOHOHOHOBAHAHA NOHOHAHAHAHAHA!”

Loba raised a brow and grinned, suddenly swiping her nails up the entire length of her ribs. Natalie squeaked and arched her back, causing the thief to giggle. “I think this is a good spot..” She purred, resting her hands back onto her lowermost ribs. She kneaded in between the bones and moved up her ribcage. The engineer kicked her legs against the bed and laughed louder, which made the thief smirk. “Aw, does that tickle? That looks like it tickles so much..”

Wattson turned crimson at the teasing and she shook her head, filling up the room with her laughter. Her laughter was so infectious that Loba laughed along with her, poking her fingers into her uppermost ribs. “No?” She tilted her head to the side when Natalie shrieked and threw her head back, laughing. Then, grinning, the she-wolf leaned in and repeatedly tweaked those ribs. “Are you sure?”

Wattson shook her head even harder and whipped her body around, trying to avoid her long nails. When that didn’t work, she opted for attempting to buck Loba off of her...which also failed. So, the engineer continued to laugh herself silly and make futile attempts to escape. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I-I MEHEHEHAHAHAN--AH!” The thief leaned over and blew a raspberry onto her bare stomach. “DOHOHOHOHN’T DOHOHOHOH THAHAHT HAHAHAAHA!”

“Do what?” Loba chuckled and blew another raspberry, snickering when the engineer bucked her hips again. She blew another raspberry on a different spot on her stomach, and then another one somewhere else. She resumed wriggling her nails on her uppermost ribs while she continued blowing on her stomach, sending the engineer on a one-way trip to hysterics.

“THAHAHAHAHT!” Wattson screamed and shut her eyes tight, her laughter sounding squeakier each time Loba’s lips made contact with her stomach. “STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP THAHAHAHAHT! PLEHEHEHEHEAHAHAHSE!”

Loba paused, pretending to think, only to resume tickling the younger woman’s ribs and stomach. “Hmm, what if I don’t want to stop?” She hummed, swiping her fingers back down the length of her ribcage. The engineer yelped and snorted, making Loba giggle again. “What if I find it enjoyable to make you laugh so much?”

The thief eased up on the tickling so that Natalie could speak. Wattson’s laughter died down to giggles as Loba squeezed her sides and hips. “Iheheheheheheheh ahahahahalready ahaahahahaham!” She tittered, snickering as Loba stroked her nails up her torso. Loba wriggled her nails in slow, circular motions just underneath Natalie’s ribcage, causing her to jolt and giggle harder. “I’m ahahahahalrehehehady laahahahaughihihihng!”

“So you are. But, I think I can make you laugh a little bit more, no?” Loba smirked and tickled further up her ribcage. This time, she pressed her fingertips into the bones and kneaded each rib individually. Wattson’s eyes bugged out and she squealed, dissolving back into laughter.

“NOHOHOHOHOH! YOHOHOHU DOHOHOHN’T NEEHEHEHED TOHOHOHO!” The engineer yelled, kicking her legs out again as she laughed. She twisted her torso around, but Loba kept up with her struggling and focused on the most sensitive ribs. Her laughter and squirming grew more desperate by the second, and Loba took advantage of her adorable state to lower herself back towards her stomach. By the time Wattson noticed, it was too late; Loba took a deep breath and ducked her head down, blowing a raspberry right over her navel. Natalie shrieked and thrashed around violently, but this didn’t deter the she-wolf. “NAHAHAHAHA STAHAHAHAHP! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHP IHIHIHIHIHIHT!”

Loba was still blowing the raspberry as the engineer cackled out her demands; she made sure to empty her lungs. Then, instead of complying, she brushed her fingers against her uppermost ribs again while she blew another lung-emptying raspberry over her navel. By then, Wattson was howling with laughter. After a few more raspberries, Loba reached up further and burrowed her nails into her armpits, prompting a sudden shriek of desperate laughter.

“NONONOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHA! PAHAHAHAHAHS IHIHIHCI! PAHAHAHAHAHAS IHIHIHIHCI! (Not there! Not there!)” Natalie screamed and pulled at her arms as much as she could. Loba smirked widely and stopped tickling, but kept her nails pressed into the woman’s armpits.

“Well, well, well...look what I’ve found…” The thief purred, applying just a little bit of pressure to make her shiver and giggle. “This spot must be terribly ticklish, huh?” She slowly raked her nails back and forth where her armpits began, looking down at the engineer with a smile. “Call it woman’s intuition.”

Wattson sputtered and giggled heavily, teetering on the edge of laughter. She gave her arms another sharp pull, but it didn’t do anything to free them. When she didn’t respond with understandable words, the thief gave her armpits a quick scribble, making her shriek and laugh. “YEHEHEHEHS! Ihihihihiht tihihihckles! Sohohohohoh leheheheht mehehehe gohohohoh! Plehehehehease…” She pleaded, staring up at the thief with nervous, giggly anticipation.

Loba playfully tutted at her and shook her head. “Aw, Natalie. When have you ever known me to walk away from a gold mine?” She simpered, sneaking her hands underneath her arms and scratching away at her hollows.

Wattson screeched and burst out laughing, bucking against the mattress. The thief focused on the very center of each armpit, where the muscles split. Loba almost toppled over from how much Wattson was squirming; so, for a moment, she believed that the younger woman would somehow be able to free herself. So, keeping her fingers buried in her right armpit, the thief shifted her weight so that she could reach above her bed.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA LOHOHOHOHOHBAHAHA NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHN!” Natalie cried out, squirming as far to the left as she could to try and get away from the intense sensation. “DOHOHOHOHOHN’T TIHIHIHIHCKLE THEHEHER--HEHEHEHEHY!”

While Wattson was laughing, Loba lifted up her left arm and slipped her wrist through a restraint above the bed frame. It was soft, black, and made out of nylon, but sturdy enough to keep her arm in place. The she-wolf stopped tickling to do the same thing to her right arm. Now, she had easy access to her armpits and torso. Loba settled back down onto her waist, making a dramatic show of wiggling her fingers in the air.

“There we go, much better.” The thief began, grinning as Natalie paled and tried to tug her wrists free from the newfound restraints. “Now there’s nothing in my way…” She whispered tauntingly, lowering her hands even closer to her exposed armpits. Wattson’s eyes were locked onto Loba’s wiggling nails and she squirmed, already giggling.

“Nohohohohoh wahahahait! WahahAHAHAHIT!” Natalie squeaked and jumped when Loba held her nails just inches from her armpits. The she-wolf cocked her head to the side and smirked at her.

“...Yes?” Loba chuckled, wiggling her fingers in the air again. She wasn’t even touching Wattson yet, but the engineer squealed and giggled harder the closer her fingers got.

“PLEHEHEHEAHASE STAHAHAHAHA!” Wattson yelled, her arms twitching from how much she was trying to pull them down. The phantom tickles caught up with her and she started laughing, making the thief laugh in turn.

“What? I’m not even touching you!” Loba giggled, barely pressing her fingertips to her armpits. The engineer screamed and bucked her hips; now, Loba was laughing almost as hard as she was. “Seriously? I don’t even have to do anything, do I? You’re too ticklish for your own good.” She smiled, letting her words hang in the air. Just when Wattson thought she was going to attack her armpits, the she-wolf switched gears and started stroking her sides.

Wattson shivered and wiggled, biting her lips to trap the giggles. Loba arched a brow at her and, grinning, she jabbed her fingers into her ribs. The engineer flinched and grinned widely, shaking with the laughter that she refused to let free.

“That’s not going to work, love…” Loba sang, rubbing her fingertips between the bones. Wattson gasped and let a few giggles slip out, but she was determined to hold out. Loba leaned in again and slowly started scratching her way up her ribcage. “I know you want to laugh. And, it would seem that I’m exceptionally good at making you laugh…” She continued teasing, causing the engineer to giggle even more. The thief continued tickling her ribs and even her stomach before finally descending on her armpits. Loba dug five wiggling nails into each armpit, causing Natalie to scream and cackle loudly.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHON LOHOHOHOHBA! AHAHAHARRÊHEHEHETE ÇAAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHARRÊHEHEHETE ÇAAHAHAHAHA! (Stop it! Stop it!)” Wattson shrieked and threw her body around, laughing harder when Loba tickled faster. Loba chuckled and jabbed her fingers into her armpits instead, making the engineer let out another cry of laughter.

“Sorry, beautiful. But I never did pick up on the language of love. You’ll have to translate for me..” Loba jeered, scribbling away along the poor woman’s armpits. Wattson tossed her head back again and shook with laughter. Any words that she tried to say were lost as she desperately tried to escape the woman’s devious nails. Loba kept up the tickling for a good five minutes before slowing the scribbling down to slow, gentle strokes. “You know what? There’s something I meant to ask you..” She remembered, slowing the tickling down even more so that the engineer could breathe and speak.

“...Whahahahahahahat?” Natalie panted and snickered, grateful for the small break, but still twitching from the residue tickles. Loba, since she noticed how especially ticklish her right armpit seemed to be, traced a nail just around that particular armpit.

“You know, all of this talk about flirting and charming others has got me wondering...who is it you have your eyes on?” The thief inquired, taking that same nail and poking it into her armpit at random intervals. Wattson snorted and pulled at her right arm, her cheeks reddening.

“I-I dohohohn’t hahahahave mhyhy ehehehehyes ohohohn ahahahanyoohohohne…” Natalie giggled; when the engineer looked up at her, there was skepticism written all over her face. And that one, lone finger poking into her armpit noticeably picked up speed. “I’m sehehehehrious! Lohohohohbahahaha plehehehehase!” She tried again, rolling her body to the side and frantically giggling.

“Aw, sweetie. I’ve been doing this sort of thing a long time. I can always tell when someone has a crush…” Loba purred, starting to poke all five of her fingers into that same armpit. Wattson yelped and turned her face into her shoulder, loud laughter mixing in with her giggles. In fact, she was giggling so loud that the thief had to speak up so that she could be heard. “Would you like to know what else I’m good at?”

“NOHOHohohohohohohohoh!” Natalie rejected and resumed kicking at the mattress. She was dangerously close to laughing; so, the thief positioned her free hand by the woman’s left armpit while continuing to tickle the right one.

“I’m also good at picking out lies…” Loba muttered with an evil grin, spidering her all ten of her nails against both of her armpits. Wattson started bucking her hips again, hysterical laughter filling up every last corner of the room.

“I’M NAHAHAHAHT LYHYHYHYING! AHAHAHAHAH I’M NAHAHAHAHAT!” Natalie argued, her trapped arms twitching in place as she fell deeper into hysterics. It didn’t matter how much she pulled or bucked; her arms stayed above her head, and Loba was having a blast tickling her super sensitive armpits. The thief decided to drag her nails along her outer left armpit while she continued tickling every inch of the right one. “PLEHEHEHAHASE LOHOHOHOBAHAHAHA I’M NAHAHT LHYHYHYINHG HAHAHAHA!”

“Yes you are! Just tell me who it is. I’ll keep it a secret.” Loba promised and, smiling, she flicked her nail against her left armpit. Wattson squirmed to the right and squeaked, so the thief did the same thing to the right armpit. She laughed when the engineer jumped to the opposite side, so she kept on alternating the pokes, amused by the little ‘dance’ she was doing.

“IT’S NOHOHOH OHOHOHOHNE HAHAHAHAHA!” Natalie insisted and shut her eyes, her laughter completely taking over her. “I DOHOHOHOHN’T HAHAHAHAVE A CRUHUHSHAHAHAHAHA!”

A small part of Loba believed her, but another part of her wanted to keep tickling just a bit longer. She could tell the engineer was reaching her limit, though, so she wanted to give her one last good tickling before she stopped. So, with a small sigh, Loba grabbed onto her right arm with her left hand. Then, with her right hand, she pressed her fingertips into her uppermost rib. Wattson arched her back and kept on giggling but, when she tried to pull her arm down again, it didn’t move at all. The restraints were already keeping her limbs still anyway, but Loba’s grip made it virtually impossible for her arm to have the slightest movement. Natalie froze as the panic seeped in.

“Last chance, beautiful. Tell me who you have the hots for, and I’ll stop.” Loba demanded, vibrating her fingers against the bone. Wattson shook her head and laughed, pleadingly looking into the she-wolf’s dark eyes. “If you don’t...well, let’s just say I’m sure you’ll come around…” She continued warning, smirking as she slowly inched toward her armpit. “So? Who’s that special Legend?”

Wattson breathed heavily, her body going rigid in anticipation of the incoming tickles. She kept her eyes on her just in case she decided to have mercy...but Loba wasn’t so easily swayed. The engineer scrambled to provide her a satisfactory answer, but she took too long, and the thief wasn’t a fan of waiting. Loba kept a firm grip on Natalie’s arm as she wriggled her nails into the right armpit, scribbling along the area where the muscles split.

The engineer thrashed in Loba’s grip, convulsing with laughter. She repeatedly shook her head and tried to get even the smallest bit of leverage on her arm, but the thief wasn’t having any of it. So, Natalie didn’t have a choice but to take the tickles and laugh her head off...which is exactly what she did.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Wattson gave up on trying to speak and resumed laughing into her shoulder. “SAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“No can do, love. I gave you plenty of chances to come clean. And you didn’t take them.” Loba donned her best pitying voice as she fluttered her fingertips into her left armpit, now tickling both armpits. Wattson squeaked and scrunched her nose up from how hard she was laughing. “I told you what would happen…” She whispered, leaning over to resume blowing on the engineer’s stomach.

Wattson yelled one more time before her laughter became silent. She was too tired to struggle, so she laid limp as the she-wolf tickled her. Loba stopped the tickling altogether when she didn’t hear anymore laughter, reaching above the bed frame to undo her restraints. The engineer’s arms felt heavy as she finally brought them down, trembling and giggling.

“I’ll tehehehell yohohohu...I’ll tehehehell yohohohu..” Natalie gasped for air and sat up, pulling down her shirt and rubbing her arms together. Loba chuckled and shook her head, crawling off the bed to give her some space.

“No need, beautiful. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough. And I’m sure whoever it is will love hearing you laugh just as much as I did.” She winked, giggling when the woman’s cheeks reddened. Loba strode away from her just to turn off the music. Then, she returned to the engineer and sat beside her. The thief’s expression became more serious and she turned to face her. “Mind if I give you some advice on pursuing this mystery lover of yours?” She quipped and offered her a smile...but, something about the way she asked made Wattson look up. And, when she did, the smile also disappeared.

“Yes? What is it, Loba?” Natalie put her hands in her lap and eyed her curiously. Loba sighed and stared at the wall for a moment before looking at the engineer.

“I haven’t always been honest with you. With anyone, really. Because after I lost my parents...well, I didn’t think any of that mattered anymore.” Loba admitted quietly, frowning for the first time in the time she and Wattson spent together. “I learned that the world is a cold, unforgiving place. And as long as I got what I wanted, nothing else mattered. I had to claw my way out of the slums to get where I am now, so if I broke someone’s heart or stole some old guy’s jewelry, so what? At the end of the day, I took care of myself. Because I didn’t have anyone to do it for me.” She sighed, putting one hand over the other as she remembered her parents. Wattson blinked and opened her mouth to speak, but the thief held up her hand.

“I don’t want you to feel bad for me, Natalie. I’m fine. I’m just...what I’m saying is that once the demonio joined the Games, I realized that I didn’t have to do everything by myself anymore. I lied to you, to everyone, to get what I wanted. And..I almost got you killed. I just want to tell you that no matter who you fall for, always take care of yourself first. And do it by yourself. That way, no one else gets hurt if things go south…” Loba affirmed, looking directly into the engineer’s eyes. “And if they’re dishonest with you, make sure you walk away.”

Wattson’s gaze didn’t falter as she looked up at the thief. She took on a serious expression, too. “You did what you did to avenge your family. I don’t blame you for that..” She answered firmly, which surprised the thief. Loba expected anger, rage even….but she got quite the opposite. “If Revenant did that to my family, I’d…” The engineer trailed off, suddenly getting louder, her eyes momentarily engulfed with fury. But then, she calmed down and sighed. “I don’t even want to say it. But, I also think that people can change for the better, if they want to. I’ve seen it myself.” A smile sprung onto Natalie’s face as she put her hand over Loba’s. “So no matter what you choose to do, Loba, I forgive you. You’re a part of the Legend-ary family now, for better or worse!” Natalie giggled and beamed up at the woman. Loba chuckled and patted her hand; she wasn’t the emotional type, but the engineer’s words made her heart feel warm.

“Thanks, Natalie. Now, it’s getting late. And I have some...things, I have to take care of. Why don’t you go break some more hearts and tell me about it tomorrow?” Loba quipped, pulling her hand free to poke Wattson’s sides. Wattson lurched away from her and laughed, hopping off of the bed.

“Okahahy...I’ll see you around, Loba!” Natalie smiled and bid the thief farewell, hurrying out of her room and down the hallway. Loba noticed the slight strut to her walk as she left, which made her heart swell with pride.

Aw, they grow up so fast…

#wattson #wattson apex legends #natalie paquette #crypto #crypto apex legends #tae joon park #loba #loba apex legends #loba andrade #ticklish!wattson #ticklish!nataliepaquette #ticklish!natalie #ticklish!paquette

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roseinaugust · 3 years

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Like an Old Enemy

Chapter Two: Beginnings

Summary: Miraculous Enemies AU. Gabriel Agreste has the Black Cat Miraculous in his possession, so when his wife, Emilie, "disappears," he sends his son, Adrien, undercover to pose as Ladybug's partner. Two years later, the once famous duo are sworn enemies. Marinette might have loved Chat Noir once, but now she would stop at nothing to defeat him. Adrien will do whatever it takes to bring his mother back. Best friends in their civilian lives, Adrien and Marinette find obstacles and complications when they can no longer deny their love for each other. But will they be able to understand and forgive the mistakes of their past? Or will they be doomed to end as bitter rivals a second time?

Rated: T

Pairings: Ladybug/Chat Noir Enemies, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5,462

Read on: ao3

A/N: I am only posting half of this chapter on tumblr so please read the rest on ao3!

Marinette tried to reenter the classroom as quietly as she could—which was not very quiet at all. She winced as the door slammed shut behind her. Perhaps her encounter with Chat Noir riled her more than she wanted to believe. She gave an embarrassed smile to Mlle. Bustier before returning to her seat, trying not to think of her classmates’ eyes following her.

Marinette sighed, relieved that she made it back before the period changed. When she sat down, she noticed that Adrien was missing. With Mlle. Bustier facing the chalkboard, Marinette seized her opportunity to tap Alya on the shoulder.

“Where’s Adrien?” She whispered to her friend sitting in front of her.

Alya leaned back in her seat to reply. “His dad pulled him out for a photo shoot.”

“On the first day of school?”

Mlle. Bustier turned to face the class again, ceasing the girls’ conversation. Marinette slumped in her seat. First, her unfortunate meeting with Chat Noir, and now she didn’t even have her best friend around to distract her.

The school year had barely started, and her attention was already drifting away from her classes. Marinette meandered through her classes, marking a fairly uneventful first day. Her scuffle this morning no longer seemed out of place—rather mundane, really. It’s been two long years since akuma battles became a commonplace activity for Marinette. Coincidentally, it was also the first day of school when her life changed forever.

Marinette had woken up that morning expecting things to remain constant: Alya would still be her best friend, Chloé would still torment her for no reason, and science with Mlle. Mendeleiev would still bore her out of her skull. She did not expect that Paris would be attacked by a supervillain, and she definitely did not expect to become a superhero.

The day began like any other. She was late for school—something that would never change regardless of her identity—she helped an elderly man cross the street, and only tripped a few hundred times. Things did not stay normal for very long, though. Mlle. Bustier was checking the roster when a sudden crash knocked through the classroom. A stone creature had burst through the wall and released a roar that could rival a lion.

Marinette watched, frozen in confused horror, as the creature grabbed Myléne and Chloé. All she could hear were screams from the girls clutched in the monster’s hands and the panic from her remaining classmates. The creature smashed through the far wall and jumped out of the building, leaving a rubble in its wake.

“Everyone, go home now!” Mlle. Bustier ordered. Students scrambled out of the school, scared and unsure of what was happening. Marinette ran across the street to the safety of her family’s bakery.

“Marinette?” Her mother looked at her with concern. “What are you doing home so soon?”

“There was an attack at school! Some stone monster took Mylene and Chloe!” She raced up the stairs two at a time, stopping only when she reached her bedroom. She flung herself into her pink desk chair, frantically pulling up the news on her computer.

“Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news.” Nadja Chamack started in her standard news anchor voice. “Paris is under attack by a supervillain. Stoneheart has taken two students from Collège Françoise-Dupont hostage and is now believed to be en route to the Eiffel Tower. Citizens should seek cover immediately.”

Marinette watched in horror. How could there be a supervillain? Who was doing this, and why did she feel so powerless? She tore her eyes away from the screen. She couldn’t stand to watch this happen and do nothing to stop it.

With her attention averted, Marinette noticed a small octagonal box sitting before her. Had it been there this morning? She opened it, momentarily distracted from the calamity occurring outside the walls of her small bedroom. A bright pink flash of light emitted from the box, blinding Marinette briefly. When the black spots cleared from her vision, she saw a pair of ladybug patterned earrings inside. Who put these in here? Perhaps it was a gift from her parents for starting school? She removed them and carefully put them on.

Hello, Marinette, said a voice.

She whipped her head so fast that she fell out of her seat. There was no one in the room with her. Maybe she just imagined it…

You didn’t imagine it, Marinette, the voice spoke again. Great. There were supervillains in Paris, and she was hearing voices; she was officially losing it. You’re not going crazy. I am your Kwami Consciousness—kwami for short—but you can call me Tikki. You are the only one who can stop Stoneheart.

“What is happening?” Marinette asked out loud. She sat still on her floor, unable to process the arrival of a second consciousness in her head.

Paris needs you. The earrings you are wearing are called the Ladybug Miraculous. They are magical jewels that will turn you into a superhero.

“Me? A superhero? That’s gotta be a mistake. I-I'm only fourteen. And I’m clumsy, like really clumsy.” Marinette sputtered at the absurd notion. Surely there was someone else in Paris that was better qualified for the job than her.

The fact that you can hear me is proof that it was not a mistake. Not anyone can use the jewels. The holder must fit the traits of the Miraculous. The Ladybug Miraculous requires creativity, bravery, and pure intentions, all of which I can sense in you. Marinette reddened at the endorsement from the disembodied voice.

If you were not meant to have the Miraculous, you would not be able to hear me. Kwamis like me are connected to the jewels and their holders. It allows me to communicate with you and provide guidance.

“There are others? Other Miraculous and other superheroes?” Marinette tried not to think about how crazy she would seem if either of her parents walked in on her talking to herself. If Tikki could read her thoughts, she didn’t want to accidentally offend it.

Yes, there are other Miraculous. Some have been missing for centuries. One of which, the Butterfly, has found a new holder; one that is abusing the Miraculous’s powers. The Butterfly Miraculous allows its holder to give superpowers to someone, but they are corrupted by negative emotions, turning them into villains. It’s up to you to find the holder of the Butterfly Miraculous and stop them.

Marinette stood up slowly and paced around her room. How was she going to be able to defeat a supervillain? Was she really cut out for this? The news coverage was still playing on her computer. She paused, watching the stone creature barrel down the Trocadéro. Wasn’t this what she had been waiting for? A chance to help? Marinette knew that she would never be able to sit on the sidelines when other needed help. Even if she failed, even if she was the worst superhero possible, she still had to try.

“Tikki, what do I have to do?”

Marinette couldn’t waste any more time. After the voice in her head explained her powers, she was off, traversing over rooftops to reach the Eiffel Tower. The wind stung her face, the only part left exposed by her magically impenetrable suit, as she ran faster than she ever thought possible. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage. Marinette repeated her objectives to herself, hoping that the repetition will keep her focused during the fight.

“Hey! Watch out!” Marinette barreled into someone. She had to pay more attention to her surroundings. What kind of superhero ran directly into someone? Wait—who else was on a rooftop during a supervillain attack? She pushed away from him and grabbed her…yo-yo? How was she supposed to defend herself with a yo-yo? She twirled it, finding that it made a steady shield, and looked up at the person she crashed into. Her yo-yo shield quivered, momentarily stunned by the boy in front of her. He wore a black leather supersuit, similar to her own. A mask covered his bright green eyes and faux cat ears adorned his fair hair. He was beautiful, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“Who are you?” Marinette demanded, refocusing. If he had a suit like hers, he must have a Miraculous. He didn’t look like a butterfly though…

“I’m, uh,” The boy paused, a finger lifted to his chin in contemplation. “Chat Noir. Yeah, Chat Noir.” He said with an easy confidence Marinette hoped to possess one day. “I’m guessing you’re the partner my Kwami told me about.”

“My Kwami didn’t say anything about a partner.” Marinette held her yo-yo shield steady.

“It probably didn’t know. The Black Cat Miraculous is an heirloom. It passed down through my family for generations, but I was the only one who connected with it. My Kwami told me that the Miraculous had been missing for centuries before it found its way to my family.”

“If you knew it was missing, why didn’t you return it?” She asked, warily. He opened his mouth to speak but the ground shook from below. Marinette stopped swirling her yo-yo to keep her balance.

“No time to explain!” Chat Noir yelled as he grabbed a silver baton and extended it. “We have to stop Stoneheart. Come on, er, bug girl!” He vaulted over the rooftops, leaving Marinette alone. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but she couldn’t leave it up to him.

She dropped down next to Chat Noir on the dais of the Trocadéro. Stoneheart was climbing the Eiffel Tower with Myléne and Chloé still clutched in his hands. She caught Chat Noir’s eye and could tell that they were on the same page; whatever confusion they had over their new powers and their supposed partnership, it would have to wait until after Stoneheart was apprehended. With a slight nod, they leapt into action, crossing the distance in a matter of seconds.

Stoneheart had reached the first platform of the tower. In the background, Marinette could hear Mayor Bourgeois demand the return of his daughter, Chloé. In the deep bellow of a voice she recognized, Stoneheart cried out, “Fine! You can have her,” before throwing Chloe off the building.

“Ivan,” Marinette whispered, horrified that the quiet and gentle boy she’s known for years could do something so terrible. Marinette sprinted towards Chloé’s falling body and caught her seconds before the impact. Saving Chloé’s life—the worst person she knew—was definitely not how Marinette expected her day to go. She released Chloé, who sprinted into the safety of her father’s arms. Whispers of “superheroes,” and “save us,” passed through the crowd that watched her and Chat Noir intently. Returning to Chat Noir at the base of the tower, Marinette tried to think of a plan. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage.

“Do you know him?” Chat Noir asked, catching Marinette off guard.

“What?”

“Stoneheart. You called him Ivan. Do you know him?”

Marinette realized her mistake too late. Tikki had stressed the importance of keeping her identity a secret. “No, of course not.” She lied. “I heard his name on the news.” If Chat Noir suspected she was untruthful, he didn’t let it show. Instead, the two chased after Stoneheart as he climbed higher. Chat Noir used his stick and Marinette utilized her yo-yo as a grappling hook, hoisting her into the air.

They landed on the viewing deck as Stoneheart let out another monstrous growl. Swarms of purple butterflies escaped from his mouth forming a head. It began to speak, though Marinette could tell it was no longer Ivan’s voice. This voice was cold, apathetic, and it frightened Marinette. “Citizens of Paris! I am Hawkmoth. These are not your saviors; they are children! And they will give me their Miraculous. Relinquish the Ladybug earrings and Cat ring to me!”

Marinette’s grip on her yo-yo tightened. She may have only been a superhero for half an hour—she didn’t even think she wanted to be a superhero—but she would not give it up to a bully. She was afraid, but not so afraid that she couldn’t be brave for Paris. “Nice try, Hawkmoth. We aren’t going to be dissuaded that easily. We will find you and we will take your Miraculous!” She threw her yo-yo at the gathered butterflies, capturing them in one fell swoop. She turned to Chat Noir, who she caught watching her with his mouth agape. He gave her a dazzling grin. A smile like that could make her forget her own name. A scream brought Marinette’s attention back to Stoneheart and Myléne.

Priorities, Marinette. Fight the monster, break the object, capture the akuma, fix the damage. “Chat Noir, let’s go!” Together, they raced up the tower. The duo communicated silently, as if they were already attuned to each other’s thoughts and movements, attacking Stoneheart.

“Lucky Charm!” Marinette called out her superpowers and caught a strangely colored parachute. She stood for a moment, contemplating her next move, when she saw the solution. Chat Noir followed her lead as they freed Myléne and the crumpled paper holding the akuma from Stoneheart’s grasp. Chat Noir batted the object to Marinette. She crushed it, releasing the akuma. Fight the monster, break the object��

Marinette’s mental checklist was interrupted by the bloodcurdling screams of her two classmates falling off the top of the Eiffel Tower. Without hesitation, she jumped off the tower. “Chat Noir! Get Ivan!” She pulled her limbs tight against herself to accelerate her velocity.

“Don’t forget the akuma!” Chat Noir called over the nearly deafening sound of wind as she sped towards Mylene. The akuma! She had forgotten to purify the akuma. Marinette latched onto Myléne and threw her yo-yo with all her force. She only had a few more moments before they would hit the ground.

“Gotcha!” Marinette yelled, when the akuma disappeared into her weapon. She pulled the tab of the parachute and careened into the sky as wind picked up the fabric. It took all her strength—even her enhanced super strength—to hold onto Myléne as their combined weight fell to the ground. They landed, not so gracefully, underneath the landmark, relieved to have survived. Chat Noir and Ivan were landing close by.

Marinette released the purified butterfly, it’s white wings dreamlike in the September sun. Only one task left. She threw the parachute into the sky and watched in amazement as the swarm of magical ladybugs flew around the city repairing the damage caused by Stoneheart.

It was a miracle. It was something she helped achieve. She turned to Chat Noir, thankful she had someone to share this experience with. “We make a good team,” She relented.

“I knew you’d come around to me,” He winked at her and held up his a closed fist.

“Pound it!” They said in unison, laughing quietly as they fist bumped.

Myléne and Ivan huddled together and walked over to the pair of superheroes. “Thank you for saving us, miss—uh,” Ivan’s sentence dropped off, unsure of how to address the superheroes.

“Ladybug. Call me Ladybug.” Her hands rested on her waist, hoping she portrayed the same confidence as Chat Noir earlier. “And this is Chat Noir. My partner.” She smiled at the boy next to her. There was something about him that made her want to trust him. He had faith in her immediately, following her lead in the battle, and even kept her from making a huge blunder.

Chat Noir pulled her hand from her waist and knelt. He kissed her hand and looked up at her through thick lashes. “Ladybug,” he whispered her name, softly. His intense stare made Ladybug feel like the world had melted away, leaving only them alone in the city of love. She may have superpowers, but she was not immune to the affects of a handsome boy paying special attention to her.

Her earrings blinked, losing one of the ladybug spots. Her hand left his and reached for the earrings. “I have to go, uh, goodbye Chat Noir.” She blushed as she backed away, their eyes still locked on each other’s; she couldn’t break away from his gaze.

“Until next time, My Lady,” he said with a bow and one last wink, before he extended his stick and left. Ladybug watched him vault over the Parisian skyline, absentmindedly reaching for her yo-yo, before making her own exit.

That night, from the safety of her bedroom, Tikki warned Marinette to be cautious of Chat Noir. The Ladybug and Black Cat had been partners, a duo more powerful than the other Miraculous, but that was before the Cat had been lost. If the guardian did not give him the Miraculous, they could not be certain about his intentions.

If only Marinette had listened. If she heeded Tikki’s advice, perhaps the events of the past two years could have been avoided. Perhaps Marinette’s heart would have never been broken. They had made a good team—as the Black Cat and Ladybug always have—but their compatibility meant nothing when everything had been a lie.

The bell rang, snapping Marinette out of her reverie. She gathered her books together and said goodbye to her friends. The first day of school was over. She was certain her life was going to change, as it had the past two years.

This was going to be the year she defeated Hawkmoth and Chat Noir. She knew it.

A/N: Read the rest on ao3

#Miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fic #ml fic #ml fanfic #ladynoir enemies #adrienette #ml enemies au #ladynoir #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #my fic

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ricc1 · 4 years

Text

falling for you

~ = ~

falling for you

peachy! mxmtoon

~ = ~

Have you ever met someone who at first glance, you weren't attracted to?

Now that's a once in a life time event that happens. Not many people experience that type of event.

But Error did.

It all started when he started to destroy AU's as a living, a forced thankless job, you could say.

He never spent too much time on erasing the alternate universe. Made sure that the deaths were quick and no one was spared alive before he went for the core of the universe and well, erased it.

Until one day(?), he was about to kill the human of a alternate universe when he hears a loud splash behind him.

He quickly turns to look at where the noise but he only sees a splash of ink or possibly paint splattered on the floor.

He tugs on the strings that held the human's soul, mumbling to himself. "What the fuck?"

"Language!"

A loud cheerful voice shouted next to where his ears would be and he turns and saw no one there.

"Not there, glitchy~"

He turns again and sees a skeleton near his height.

The skeleton wore these pants that draped over his legs like a cape - he was barefoot too. - his top attire consisted of a white shirt, another top shirt that was pretty tight around his chest area.

A brown scarf hid his neck. It was very long and had messy doodles and handwriting scribbled all over it. He had this weird belt over his chest with rainbows vials over the belt.

And to top it all, he was leaning on a large paint brush. A cheeky grin painted on his expression as his eyelights switched shapes and color.

The destroyed twitched at the sight, squinting.

"Who the fuck are you?"

The artist looking skeleton grin widens. He straightens his posture, leaning away from the paint brush before twirling said object and pointing it to Error.

"My name is Ink! I'm the protector of the Multiverse!"

Ink introduced himself, his eyes dimming as the grin on his face turns into a cocky smirk.

"And you are?"

Error looked at the skeleton dully, annoyed at the sight of this newcomer. He lifts his hand to pull the strings from the permanent tears on his face, pulling them away as the strings glow cooly. He gives a creepy smile at the artist.

"Nice to meet you, abomination.. #2. I'm Error, and i will destroy every alternate universe in existence and you can't stop me." The black-boned skeleton grinned.

Ink scoffs lightly at the comment.

We'll see about that, Error..

The two then clashed, a battlefield paraded in the universe leaving the poor inhabitants of the AU to watch or to evacuate from the fight. It was absolutely amazing seeing the fight but it had caused a big destruction in the AU, leaving the monsters to be traumatized and shock over the damage. Fortunately, the world was restarted and everything was back to normal.

Ever since the meeting of the two counterparts, they had been fighting each other ever since.

And a certain destroyer is starting to get very, very annoyed about a specific protector who keeps on stopping his business.

Error, as obvious despises Ink. He hates the short, grinning, smiling skeleton so much with a burning passion in his soul. The small skeleton always seems to be there every time he was just one step closer to destroying an alternate universe and it infuriates Error to an end.

The two never gone too far on fighting, they would always leave the battle with scars and bruises but come back again with no sign of them. It was as if they were evenly tied, evenly balanced. Yin and yang, you could say.

But! Despite all of that, the determined little protector wouldn't just give up! He would always fight Error - actually it's more like talking to the destroyer and dodging the strings - or try to be friends with the destroyer.

Friends?! FRIENDS?! What a joke! Error laughed when the protector first said it. He seems to regret it now when he saw the determined expression on Ink's face. It was just a complete joke! A destroyer and a protector? FRIENDS?! Now isn't that the greatest plot twist in a show.

It wouldn't make complete sense for the two to be friends. They're sworn enemies! Rivals, even. And to throw all that away just to be friends?! Yeah, Error didn't liked that and that only fueled his dislike for the artistic skeleton.

Until, he discovered an actual fact about the protector.

The skeleton had no soul.

Yes, you heard that right.

The protector had no soul and was living life through those vials of his - Error always wondered what they were for - and when Error found out about it.

Well like any other monster, he was surprised.

"Wait what?"

The destroyed stared at, well nothing. There was absolutely nothing in the artist's chest who was completely wrapped up and tied up by the blue strings that belonged to the destroyer.

Error blinked and blinked, completely shocked. He was gaping at the sight of well, nothing. There was no soul that should obviously be there floating on the artist's chest. He was completely shocked.

Laughter then shook him from his trance, turning to see the tied up skeleton laughing at the baffled skeleton.

Realizing that he showed on how vulnerable he is, Error shouted curses and threw Ink out of the void, making sure to throw his stupid brush too.

Upon finding out about the discovery, the destroyed couldn't bring himself to destroy any universes - to Ink's delight - i mean why would he?

He just found out that the most loved by all and the one that he hated the most was soulless.

Upon thinking about this, his mouth twitches, breaking into a smile.

And laughed.

He laughed hysterically- no, he laughed like he was a maniac, laughing like he had found a funny joke from the internet. The sound of his glitched laughter bounced off the nonexistent walls of the void as he come to the realization that the beloved protector of the multiverse was,

Soulless, emotionless and possibly even broken.

No wonder the bastard acts like a hyperactive child-man adult most of the time! He has to act that way so no one would know that the one protecting them all was emotionless, soulless.

Error slowly calmed down, letting out a few chuckles here and there before sighing.

He stands from his position and opens a portal to a genocidal timeline of a beautiful universe that he hasn't destroyed: Outertale.

He walks inside the portal, bringing his knitting materials with him before sitting down at the edge of the land.

He looks up at the beautiful stars that scattered the dark blue sky. Planets and possible different more stars shine as he stares at them in awe.

He then works on his knitting, looking up once in a while to stare at the sky once again.

...

"Hey pal! How are you?"

Error screamed - manly - and jumped from his spot. From the shock of the situation, the skeleton glitched and crashed.

Ink let out a hum. It seems that his counterpart is acting like a computer that's restarting. That's hilarious! The protector thought to himself.

He then decides to wait for the glitching skeleton to finish his rebooting. The smaller - to be fair, he's practically a gremlin. - sat down, a safe distance away from the destroyer as he looks up to see the view that was bestowed upon him.

"Wow! It's been a while since I've gone on any outertale universes! They really are pretty." The skeleton stared in awe.

Now that he thinks about it, he wonders on to why the destroyer hasn't destroyed this universe.

Not that he was complaining of course! He's absolutely glad- no, delighted that the destroyer hasn't destroyed any outertale universes!

..Maybe he should ask him?

Maybe.

Not now, though. Error is still re-

A sharp ping came from behind him and the white boned skeleton turned to see the destroyer coming back to his senses

The glitching skeleton seems to be confused, wondering on where he was before the memories suddenly flashed back and he glared at Ink.

"You. What are you doing here?"

"I think the better question is; what are you doing here?"

The glitch seems to stay quiet at the question before scoffing.He grumbles to himself - curses? - before going back to his previous position, sitting down. He pulls the strings from his cheek and captures the materials before he starts to work on a doll.

Ink's eyelights shifts, seemingly confused but doesn't say a word before Error speaks up again.

"Can't a 'bad guy' like me take a few breaks once in a while? Or is that something you think im incapable off? I'm still a lonely skeleton with a soul, after all."

Ink opens his mouth to protest but closes it. He seems to think about destroyer's words and smiles to himself.

Error noticed this change, raising an bonebrow(?) before shifting his position, giving his full attention to the doll he was knitting.

After what seems like hours, Error finished knitting what seems like a puppet - Ink? - and stands up.

The protector who was doodling in his notebook looks up to see the destroyer leave.

He stands up. "Leaving already? Shame! I was enjoying our time together."

The glitched skeleton retorted. "I didnt and it wont happen ever again."

"Pftth, whatever you say, Glitchy."

"You're a glitch too!" The destroyer flipped the protector off - "Rude." - and opens up his portal and leaves.

After a day or two, Error went back to destroying AU's and Ink went back to 'fighting' the skeleton. It seemed normal, they were 'bantering' as Ink likes to call it as always. Calling each other what seems to be 'insulting' nicknames like 'Glitchy' or 'Inkblot' or even 'Rainbow Asshole.'

The last 'insult' seems to have made Ink laugh and got him to stop and puked.

Yes, puked.

Not blood or vomit.

But ink.

Ink, puked ink.

Now, Error learned another new thing about Ink. When he is excited, anxious or whatsoever, he pukes Ink. INK.

It was like, as if the protector was a squid!

...

That seems like a good nickname now that he thinks about it.

The destroyer shakes his head, seemingly disgusted at the sight before opening a portal and walking inside. Error signs were quick to fill his vision but they faded away over a minute. He sighed in relief before his mind flows back to the encounter he had with the protector. Now that he thinks about it.. The laugh of the protector was very.. genuine-sounding?

From what the black-boned skeleton noticed, the laugh of the protector always seemed to be forced-sounding or annoyed - He was not stalking, shut up - and this is really the first time that the white-boned skeleton really laughed with a genuine, pure tone to it.

It warmed the skeleton that he was able to make the soulless skeleton laugh but then he was horrified that how good it felt when the white-boned skeleton laughed because of him. In fact, why is he thinking about how it feels good to make the skeleton laugh?! Wait, why is he even thinking about this?!

Seemingly done with life, the skeleton groaned at this thought process and push it at the back of his mind.

He still has billions more of AU's to destroy, after all.

but when they talk, every word, every smile and every laugh,

Weeks? Months? Years? passed along the multiverse. Error and Ink are still fighting as always but witnesses seem to notice that the atmosphere doesn't seem so tense. It doesn't feel, deadly or dangerous or scary or traumatizing.

It feels more.. casual.

It was like as if the two were just two friends that just fights with each other on a daily basis. In fact, it got to the point where they don't really see the two fight anymore. It's more like, one enters universe, cause mayhem, leave, then the other comes in and help, leave.

It was really new, really weird but the multiverse knew not to really question anything in the multiverse.

...

It all started 5 months ago when the two started to meet up - accidentally - pretty often on the genocidal timeline of Outertale. Error was just there by coincidence and Ink found out about it - somehow - and they just did the same thing that they did before. Sat down next to each other, a safe distance away and just kept quiet.

Until Ink broke the silence, calling the other's name.

"Hey Error?"

The skeleton sighed, seemingly annoyed even though the other skeleton has not even said a single word just yet. "What?"

Ink was silent for a minute before he continues.

"Why do you destroy the alternate universes?"

Error looked at the skeleton, an annoyed expression shaped on his face. He opens his mouth to answer but Ink cuts him off.

"I know that you hate it and all, and that they are abominations, blahblablahbla.

But.

What is the true reason?"

Error blinks at the skeleton before sighing, looking away as he stares at the doll he was making - Ink - and continued on knitting it.

Ink deflated, sad that the other didn't answered his question and just continued on doodling on his notebook.

....

"Balance."

"Huh?"

"Balance. I heard that the multiverse will collapsed if you kept on helping the creators and inspiring them. Too much balance and it might tip the multiverse and destroy itself."

Ink blinks at this new information and covers his mouth. A familiar feeling lunging up before he then stands up and runs off to a dusty bush and.. puke.

The destroyer didn't seemed to mind this time and just continues on knitting.

After that, the protector kept on talking, asking questions like how did Error knew about this, why does Error know about this and he doesn't, which then translates to personal questions and well, it started from there.

Because of that interaction - they left Outertale with warmth in their nonexistent hearts - and the fights were full of bantering, light-hearted jokes. They invented a first come, first serve rule.

Peace has finally, finally ascended in the Multiverse.

The two were at Error's antivoid. Shocking right? Ink bowed to never stepped back in the white void of mess but here he is now. Sitting on a colored bean bag - thank god - and watching the 'screen' in front of him which was displaying Error's favorite 'show'.

What was it again? Oh right! Undernovela! It's a really great 'show!' Although both of them don't really speak spanish so Ink doesn't really understand what they're saying but Error seems to know. He seems to be very satisfied with it.

Ink smiled to himself, dismissing the show so he can look at his counter-part who was watching the show. A chocolate bar fisted in the black-boned skeleton's hands.

Error leaned back on the bean bag, staring at the screen as he takes another bite from the chocolate bar. His face was completely relaxed, rid of any tense muscles at all as he chewed on the bar. His sockets were softened, blinking as he watched the show. He even had a small soft smile on his face. Small, but it's there.

Error's eye lights glances at Ink and the relaxed expression fades away - Ink misses it - and he scowls. Ink looks away, turning his attention to the show, feeling the destroyer's glare at the side of his head before it goes away.

The white-boned skeleton sighs to himself mentally and sneaks a glance at the destroyer once again.

Huh, he never realized on how..

pretty Error could be when he's calm.

An idea popped in his mind and he shifts around, leaning a bit too close to the black-boned skeleton - who seems a bit too quiet - and he turns to the skeleton and laid on the bean bag. He closed his eyes, listening softly to the spanish noises from the show.

Outcodes like him never really have the chance to sleep, or really need to sleep since well, he has no soul. But it's still nice to imagine that he can sleep.

"Hey, squid. Wake up. Show's over."

He opens his eyes and looks up at the skeleton, wearing glasses. He cheekily grins and sits up. "Awhe, already? I missed it!"

"Missed it, my ass. You weren't even watching it at all!"

The white boned skeleton grins which irritated the destroyer.

"Ink..." Ink leaves before the glitch gets too angry, laughing.

Although he has to admit.

He likes it when Error calls him like that.

they become more, beautiful..

Ink was patrolling with Dream and Blue around the universe. It was complete routine for them and, they were completely bored.

All three of them were chaotic by hearts - Dream's more a mild chaotic, although - which causes them to have more adrenaline and be more active and fun. Oh yes, they must always have fun. Sometimes it's nice to be alone but sometimes they just want to kick a tree until they feel satisfied. (They didn't, dont worry.)

So here are the star trio, 'patrolling.' Well, not really. They're just at the doodlesphere, sitting while playing poker while looking at the universes in case there are trouble caused by outcodes which was very unlikely.

Ever since an agreement with the Dark Sanses and the Star Sanses was talked about, the multiverse was balanced at last. Though sometimes, the Dark Sanses come to a very positive AU and try to cause negative feelings for the balance to be even.

The Star Sanses was about to leave for the AU when they forgot that they had an agreement and just stayed in whatever they were doing, leaving it up to the Dark Sanses.

Oh how, the years changed.

As the protector was about to put down his card, bright but cold blue strings wrapped around his body and he was then pulled into a portal, his head planted on Error's beanbag.

He pushed his body up and sits down before he looks around or up. He really wants to avoid looking at the white walls/floors(?) of the antivoid. Strings that held captive of souls glimmered at the ceiling but no Error.

He stands up, about to call for Error before he was then wrapped by strings and was pulled to where the glitchy skeleton is.

Ink smiles. "Glitchy!"

"Inky."

Ink blinks, his eye lights shifting to shapes and colors fast before he gasps. "You called me Inky!"

Error looks away, scoffing but a soft blue blush on his face was clearly seen.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"You've never called me, Inky." Ink was pretty sure that the other skeleton NEVER called him any nicknames regarding his name - besides Inkblot but that was for his phone - and he's absolutely overjoyed that he has a new nickname!

Error softened at the statement before sighing, the strings pulling Ink down and he ascended to the floor. The strings leaves the body and Error turned his back, making his way to the bean bag with a sign that clearly says 'follow me.'

The overjoyed skeleton followed him and sat down at the beanbag when Error allowed him to. A screen opened up showing Undernovela.

Ah, it seems that it's one of Error's moods again. The black-boned skeleton would always steal the white-boned skeleton just to watch Undernovela together. It was their little thing that they do.

Huh. Now that's something Ink could get used to. Their little secret. He smiled to himself but the smile faded away when a box was plopped on his lap. His eye lights glanced at it before noticing that it was a gift.

He turns to Error quickly who was looking away, a hand on his tear-stained cheek before he meets Ink's gaze and huffs, looking away once again.

"Open it."

Ink nods his head rapidly and untie the ribbon before opening the lid of the box. He then close his sockets and grabs the gift.

He feels a soft, plushy texture. A small gift. He open his sockets and he gasps.

It was a doll, no- plushy version of himself. Error had gotten the details just right! Along with the use of colors and materials stitched for the plushy. He has seen Error's dolls versions of him but nothing can match this particular doll.

Is it because he's never seen Error stitched this one? Ink doesn't know but he just smiled, beaming with happiness as he hugs the plushy to his chest. He looks up at Error who was watching him and grinned.

"Thank you, Error! This is so cool! What's the occasion?" The skeleton asked, tilting his head but he was still hugging the plush.

The destroyer huffed, looking at the screen where Undernovela was showing before he answered.

"A little birdie told me that it was your birthday a few days ago. You gave me a gift on my birthday-" which was new clothes since the glitched skeleton was growing a bit taller. "Why not do the same?" He shrugged.

Ink practically melted at the thought that, Error remembered. Error didn't forget!

He remembered that day. Blue planned a birthday party and it was amazing seeing the heartfelt gifts everyone gave him. He was a bit sad when Error didn't came even though he clearly told the glitched skeleton when his birthday was.

He was really glad that Error didn't forget.

"Thank you, Error. Really, thank you." He smiled, closing his sockets up at the person who gifted the plush, hugging it close to him. Swirly rainbow blush fainted his cheeks, along with freckles that were starting to appear. The artist was clearly touched by this and honestly never wanted to forget this memory.

"Heh. You're welcome, Inky." The artist glowed even more at the nickname.

God, he really loved the glitch.

~ = ~

Error has been, well confused about himself lately.

Specifically about his emotions or feelings. How they would act around, a certain protector. Ever since Ink and him proposed the agreement - yes they were the ones who made the agreement - the two were always hanging out, only leaving to maintain the balance of the multiverse - which was a complete success! - and those meetings, started to make Error feel things.

When Ink would come over, the destroyer would be very happy about it. When Ink leaves, he would feel a bit sad before brushing it off and going on to steal another chocolate from one of the Underfell copies.

What? Never said anything about stealing in the agreement.

Brushing that aside, the black-boned skeleton was very much confused about these emotions, wondering where they came from and how? Last he checked, he clearly hated Ink but a sharp pang made him clutch where his soul would be.

Maybe not?

...

Error groaned, shaking his head and then standing up. He opens a bunch of portals, hoping to find the yellow-palette guardian so he can talk to him about it. A few minutes later and he found the person he was looking for and sent his strings to pull him inside the Antivoid.

"Wha- Error?!"

Dream turned as the portal closed. His golden eye lights staring at the glitched skeleton who huffs, using his strings to pull Dream in the air so he can walk closer to him and be at within eye-level with the guardian of positivity.

He squints at the smaller skeleton before letting him go so he can drop to the floor with a oof!

"Error?! What the hell was that for?" Dream asked, rubbing the back of his head before standing up, looking at the person that dragged him here.

Error shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down, choosing to phrase his words before he mutters. "You're good with emotions right?"

The guardian tilts his head, questioning the question but he answers anyways. "Uh yeah, why?"

"Come, sit down. I'll tell you."

The destroyer moves to sit down at the bean bag, reluctantly. He's very possessive of the bag but he'll let some exceptions.

Dream follows his lead and sits down, hesitantly. Looking up at the destroyer to explain on what he means. Error breathed, inhaled and exhaled and turns to look at the smaller skeleton before he then started to explain these feelings he would get with Ink. Describing them by saying that he would be very happy when he's hanging with the protector.

In fact, now that he thinks about it; he enjoys the presence of the supposedly soulless protector who had such a warm atmosphere to him despite being well, emotionless. He enjoys talking with him or bantering him or even just sitting at Outertale with a comfortable silence as the two do their own things.

He mentioned that to Dream who nodded and started to think before a realization popped into the guardian's mind. He meekly looks at Error who raises his eyebrows in response.

"What?"

"Error.. I think I know what you're feeling.."

"Yeah? Well spit it out."

"You might not, uh, like it."

"I don't care. I just want to know what it is."

Dream sighed, his hand on his face before he looks again at the destroyer and mustered the courage to speak.

"Error, i think you're in love with Ink."

Ink was writing on his notebook about plans that can progress his relationship with Error - not that there is anything at the moment, but he's hoping there is - when he then hunches over, clutching his stomach in pain.

What the hell? What the complete fuck is Error doing? The protector thought to himself as he drops his notebook and pen, limping quickly as possible to where Broomy is and swiping the floor so he can go to where Error is.

He falls through the floor, landing delicately on the snow path and started to look for the sounds of destruction. He hears the familiar sounds of gaster blasters being summoned before he swipes the floor once again with Broomy and appears near the destroyer.

As he was about to scold Error, he stops to observe the body language of the black-boned skeleton.

He was clearly angry, that's for sure. He was glitching very badly and he wasn't even seeing straight! His sockets were blinded, clouded by error signs that continued on to appear as the destroyer summons more gasters blasters.

Ink's eye lights shifts, seemingly confused before he then sees Error spots him and just freezes.

He tilts his head as he cautiously walks forward to the destroyer, who flinches at his actions and turns away. The blasters then disappeared quickly along with Error opening a portal and running away.

Did. Did Ink just saw that right?

Did Error just ran away?

From him?

Oh, now this is making him curious and worried for his.. friend? companion? frenemy? He doesn't even care at this point. He runs after the skeleton, yelling to wait for him but the glitch did not stop.

They were at least running in circles at this point or has been seen by multiple characters in the alternate universes. The artist was practically begging for the destroyer to stop. He can see those sweats on that black hard-headed skull.

But Error was just so damn, stubborn. Always running away.

Why?!

Ink, who had enough of this, swiped at the floor and fell in.

Error slowed to a stop and turned before sighing when he thinks that the protector gave up before he looks back and was then hugged and pulled down into a puddle of ink, landing in a warm colored world.

He pushes Ink away, his glitches going frantic as he shouted. "INK?! WARNINGS FOR FUCKS SAKES!"

Once his vision cleared, he looks to glare at the protector before freezing when said protector was staring back at him, a soft glare painted on his face as he sits down and stares at Error.

"Error.."

The glitch turns, looking away, staying quiet.

"Error..."

He looks away even more, if that's even possible.

"Error-"

"WHAT?!"

He finally replied, his expression scrunched as he glares at the protector who tilts his head and simply asks.

"Why did you run away? Why did you destroy the worlds? I thought we had an agreement?"

Error's glare softened, he looks away.

"C'mon, pal. Tell me. What's wrong? Is there a problem? Did the balance tipped to much? I haven't been hearing from the creators yet, so i'm sure-"

"No."

"No?"

Error shakes his head.

"Then.. why?"

Error didn't answered. Ink sighed, tired with this and really wanting answers.

"Error please, just tell me-"

"IT'S BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU STUPID SQUID!"

Ink blinks at the accusation seemingly surprised. He was about to answer when he was then cut off once again as the destroyer stood up, looming over the protector.

"YOU MAKE ME FEEL THINGS! FEELINGS THAT ONLY APPEARS WHEN YOU'RE HERE WITH ME. AND I HATE IT SO MUCH BECAUSE I DIDN'T KNEW WHAT IT WAS. I HAD TO ASK FUCKING DREAM ON WHY AND WHAT DID HE SAID? WHAT DID HE SAID?!"

The white-boned skeleton was about to ask when he was then cut off, again.

"HE TOLD ME THAT I WAS IN LOVE! WITH YOU!"

Something snapped inside of Ink, as he looked up at Error, genuine shock and surprise on his expression as he stares up at the one who is declaring his love for him.

There were at least little spots of tears at the sides of the error's face as he pants, tired from his shouting. The two had a staring competition until the destroyer broke it, looking away as he mumbles, loud enough for Ink to hear.

"And.. i don't know why. Why, i would even catch feelings for you when you'll never love me back."

Ink finally gets the will to stand up, immediately going close to the destroyer as he protested. "That's not true! I care about you a lot and i love spending time with you every time we hang out! While, yes, i may not feel love but that doesn't mean i don't want to love you! I do, i really do! And i wish so much if i could just love you and-"

"Ink."

"W-what?" The white-boned skeleton stopped his nervous yet excited rambling before he was then pulled to the destroyer with a soft clank.

until there was a moment, where you couldn't believe that you didn't think they were?

~ = ~

holy shit.

that was a woozy.

this is, btw; 5000k+ words.

wow.

and this is just one oneshot.

damn.

honestly proud of the 5000k+ words, though there are some parts where i didn’t really nailed their personalities or was able to really capture them but i tried my best! it was fun trying to write their personalities but i unfortunately didn’t give them justice : (

characters doesn’t belong to me, they belong to their respective owners [you know who] i only own the writing!

#errorink #errink #error x ink #error!sans #ink!sans #error #ink #drabble #with 5000k words #jesus.#||#ricciwrites #riccidev

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writer-and-artist27 · 4 years

Text

Untimely Reunion

Summary: No one but the only Master in Chaldea’s staff could really make sense of the new Berserker Servant. He was much larger than any other Heroic Spirit, but the machinery and horse-like body showed he wasn’t a figure from Proper Human History. The last thing anyone expected was for him to be an Achilles’ Heel to their newest Crypter enemy.

----------------------

Note: This was inspired by my pulling of Xiang Yu in the gacha before even starting Lostbelt 3’s story. I had him in my party when first fighting Akuta Hinako and her Saber Servant, so I wanted to cover a possible version of how the fight would’ve gone had Xiang Yu saw our opponent with his own eyes.

Consider this to take place after all my other FGO oneshots, with MASSIVE HEAVY spoilers for Lostbelt 3: SIN. Also, CW for heavy angst and the occasional use of language. This has been unedited and written on a passing muse’s whims.

----------------------

Saber had leapt back into the fields of wheat, panting after taking two Noble Phantasms head on. Hinako clenched her teeth, tempted to bite the fingernail on her thumb. Of course he’d be weak. Those two attacks were stronger than anticipated.

Hell, Chaldea was more powerful than Hinako anticipated. From using a swimsuit version of what appeared to be the King of Knights (what the hell) together with the hero known for slaying Karna in a tag-team combo formation, no wonder Chaldea had defeated Ophelia and Kadoc. Vy, even when poisoned, was still alive and going strong, staring at Hinako with a determined look in her bespectacled eyes. Gao Changgong’s condition, from the sweat dotting his neck to the awkward way he was holding his sword, clearly showed that Hinako had brought the battle to Chaldea far too soon.

Goddammit.

“Is that all?” Vy said in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, standing to Mash’s right side as she clenched her right fist. All three of her Command Spells glowed in the sunlight, exuding confidence as her eyebrows narrowed. “Because if you want to keep fighting, Hinako-san, I can do this all day. Poison or not.”

Hinako did her best to not huff, channeling all her disgust and anger into returning Vy’s gaze. “Take your win for now, Chaldea. I underestimated you,” she said instead, shaking her head. “Saber.”

Gao Changgong stood to attention. “Yes, Master.”

“We’re retreating.” We need to come up with a better plan so that the Emperor does not deem me unworthy…

“Of course, Master.”

The last thing Hinako expected before Saber could run and grab her was that voice.

“YU MEI-REN!”

Every single drop of her blood froze. No. No. No one on Chaldea’s side should know that name. Hinako had discarded that name eons ago. Right now, Hinako was still—

Wait. Kadoc had mentioned that Vy had summoned a Lostbelt Servant before his Lostbelt had fallen. Scathach-Skadi, the Lostbelt King of Scandinavia — she had gone about cursing Kadoc and his Servant the entire time before Russia’s Tree of Emptiness was cut down, contrasting the gentle demeanor she seemed to have according to Ophelia. So... could it be? Could Vy really have that kind of luck again?

Against Gao Changgong’s urgent cry of, “Master!”, Hinako turned her head and found herself staring into green eyes.

The figure was tall and hulking just like his counterpart in this Lostbelt, but exuding power and gentleness that she couldn’t mistake for anyone else.

Vy had stepped to the side of the large Servant, her own brown eyes wide past her glasses as she murmured, “Berserker…?” in a respectful and shocked tone.

“My wife,” Xiang Yu whispered softly, one of his hooves making a heap of dirt in the field they were in as he stepped forward. “Even after all these years, I still can recognize you, Yu Mei-ren, new clothes or not. My only consort, the only woman I ever loved. But my wife, what are you doing? And…” The hulking Servant paused, his gaze going over to Saber before his eyes widened, his glowing green maw dropping for a moment in surprise. “Gao Su too?”

“No…” Saber whispered weakly. He must have recognized the severity of the situation too. “Why are you with them? I could have sworn that you were still with—”

With us.

Hinako felt tears start to bud in the corners of her eyes. She had only seen the Lostbelt version of him mere seconds ago. But now, seeing this version of him, at Vy’s side, better armed, far stronger and more majestic… “Lord Xiang Yu.”

The Berserker Servant smiled wryly at her, his green eyes soft in spite of his opposing figure. “My wife. I see you are still wandering.”

“Wha—”

Mash Kyrielight was looking between all three of them with growing shock, her jaw slowly dropping before she turned to Vy. “M-Master, what is going on? Why is he calling Akuta—”

“I-I don’t know,” Vy’s voice came out wispy in the reply. “Berserker just moved forward on his own, and…” She put a hand over her heart, pressing her palm against her Winter Mystic Code. “It feels like he knows her somehow.”

Sherlock Holmes had a hand to his chin, already looking like he was deducing what was going on. Bastard.

“Yu Mei-ren, you are not the kind of person to go along with a crusade that would doom everything,” Xiang Yu continued, not minding the side chatter as his hooves went about tapping the ground underneath him in a familiar melancholic tune. “I remember you being so much kinder than that. Why are you assisting the enemy?”

Hinako was shivering. “But, but, Xiang Yu, it was for…” The shock was slowly turning to anger. Why? Why why why, why? Why couldn’t she have summoned someone else? Why did the last Master of Chaldea have to summon him— “VY!”

Vy jumped about a centimeter into the air, all attention having gone back to her. “What?”

“How—” Hinako grit her teeth. “How dare you!?”

“How dare I what?” Vy filled in with the slightest bit of sarcasm, giving Hinako an incredulous look. “How dare I live? How dare I summon Berserker? You realize you helped in destroying the world I’m currently trying to save, right? Not to mention that one of your fellow allies/cronies poisoned me? Kinda not in the mood for—”

“SAVE YOUR BULLSHIT!” Spittle flew out of Hinako’s mouth just as Saber rose to take her into his arms, his grip shaky and frantic. Vy fell silent as she stared back at Hinako in surprise. “To summon him and use him for your own gains, you’re a monster! HOW DARE YOU USE HIM AGAINST ME!”

“Er, I have no clue what you’re talking about,” Vy added in a quieter voice, barely hitting the inflections of a deadpan. “I just summoned him two days ago.”

So before Chaldea had even entered China. GODDAMMIT.

“Yu Mei-ren…” Xiang Yu said softly. “You’re wrong. I willingly came to her, not in the manner of what you are thinking—”

“Silence, pretender. Do not call me by that name.”

The Berserker flinched, but still took to drawing one of his swords and holding it protectively in front of Vy. Hinako bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste iron. Whywhywhywhy, why. It shouldn’t have been like this.

Lord Xiang Yu wasn’t supposed to be drawing one of his weapons on her—

“Master,” Saber said urgently, his one hand on her shoulders clenching tightly. “We have to go.”

“Yu—”

“E-Enough of this.” Hinako forced herself to look away, burying her face into the front of Gao Changgong’s clothes. She already knew that if she looked at that Servant any longer, she would be tempted to cry. “Even if you look like him, you are nothing but an imposter of someone I know. Saber, we’re retreating. NOW.”

“As… As you wish, Master,” he said hesitantly, tightening his grip on Hinako’s figure. “May… May we meet again, Lord Xia— Berserker.”

Hinako held back a scream of anguish once Saber took the first leap away from those fields.

#fate grand order #vy plays fate grand order #writing #oneshot #cosmos in the lostbelt #tw: language #tw: long post #long post #xiang yu #akuta hinako #prince of lanling

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luninosity · 4 years

Text

Time for @whumptober2020 day 7!

The theme for number 7 is “I’ve Got You,” and the specific prompts are support/carrying, this time!

So I, er...wrote fanfic...for the fictional characters...that Colby and Jason are playing in the next John Kill movie...from the bonus stories I wrote for my own published Character Bleed trilogy... *laughs*

Imagine Jason and Colby in character as John and Cam, for this one. Also I’m not sure I’m really good at spy-action-thrillers, but hey, why not try. :-)

They’re on the run in Venice, on the run with each other, global supervillain organization hot on their trail, separated from the rest of the team but planning a rendezvous; John turns from a window, paces, restless. He’s never liked waiting. An itch builds under his skin.

“Sharpen a knife or something,” Cam says without looking up. His head’s bent over his laptop; his hair’s standing up in ridiculous dark waves, drying from the safehouse’s tiny shower. It makes him look younger, softer, more innocent. John’s seen him take out six henchmen with elegant grace, and coax an enemy vault to self-destruct with a single line of code, and crack supposedly unbeatable code in under two minutes. All within the last two days, in fact.

Cam adds, “You’re making me nervous,” and pokes something on the laptop. He’s trying to find chatter about the missing superweapon. Sales. An auction. A gathering of certain important names.

“You’re not nervous.” John circles around to him. “Unless you are. Should I be worried?”

Cam looks up. Their eyes meet.

Everything they are and aren’t hangs on a knife’s point in the middle of a run-down once-lavish hotel. Salt and water scent the air. The edge of a bruise is visible on Cam’s arm, beneath a shoved-up shirtsleeve.

Cam’s saved him once and pretended to betray him once. That plan had worked.

Cam’s beautiful and brilliant and worth every drop of his reputation. That’s all true. His reputation had also mentioned that he was young and amoral and charming. He’d been friends, in the way of the underworld of spies and quasi-official secret agents and hacker networks, with Brent. And Brent had died saving them all, months ago—had left them a name, a contact, and had sworn they could trust him, this young man with a drop of water sliding down beside his left eyebrow and the fate of the world currently depending on his fingertips…

There’s also the fact that they’ve had sex. Twice now. Enthusiastically. Explosively, to borrow a description.

John shifts weight, not off balance because he isn’t but needing to move. The air crackles.

“That depends.” Cam’s fingers don’t move, calm over the keys. “How much do you trust me?”

“I trust Brent.”

The flicker in blue eyes says Cam’s heard the present tense. “That’s not an answer about me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You trust me enough to bring me to Moscow and let me turn you in and then rescue you,” Cam says. “You trust me enough to fuck me. Twice. But not enough to tell me so.”

It’d been heart-pounding, pulse-thumping, wild and glorious. It’d been exhilarated and exhilarating, the first time: an escape from enemy organization clutches, a plan gone right, giddy laughter and triumph and adrenaline streaking through their veins like scotch and silver. They’d made it out and made it to safety and caught each other’s gazes, and John had pushed him up against a bunker door and kissed him, hard and fierce, hands going to Cam’s pants.

The second time had been here, this safehouse, this morning. They’d fallen asleep the night before, exhausted; they’d woken, and shifted to look at each other. John had touched the bruise on Cam’s arm, earned while getting him out; Cam had smiled and reached up and pulled him close.

They hadn’t talked much, either time.

“I don’t not trust you,” he says. “It’s just that trusting someone…you earn that.” Other specters rise and hover: old treachery, former lovers, dead and living, here and gone. He’d had a fiancée once. The rest of the team knows not to mention Victoria’s name.

“I know. And I know what you’ve heard about me. That I never used to care who I worked for. That I did…what I did, and who, in Paris.” Cam’s voice stays even, though his chin lifts slightly. “I know you know all that.”

“I’ve heard about it. I also know Brent told us to find you.” He says it again: “And I trust Brent. He thought you’d end up on the right side.”

“That sounds like him. Having faith in people.” Cam runs both hands through his hair, sending a few last water-drops flying. “Not like us. If—hang on.”

“What?”

“Stop leaning over me, your shoulder’s in my way. —Ah. Well. Not good.”

“What’s not good?”

“Someone knows about this place.” Cam’s eyes meet his, calm but aware of the situation. “Two minutes.”

“Then we’re moving.” Up, grabbing guns, grabbing their stash of money and passports. “We’ll go out the back—if we get split up, head for the third location on the list—”

“I’m not leaving you.” Stubborn, this time. “He told me you’d need help. You need me.”

“Cam—” What? I don’t need you, I do need you, you’ve saved us all half a dozen times already and I barely know you but I know the way you look when you come, as if all those edges end up surprised by pleasure? I want to know you? I want to trust you?

If Cam really did plan to betray him in truth, those blue eyes would say the same thing, about not wanting to leave him. John knows that.

He says, “I’m not planning for us to get split up. Just in case. The third, got it?”

“Yes.” Cam gets up, yanks on his boots—he’d been barefoot, out of the shower, and something twists in John’s chest for a second—and dives for the laptop. “But—”

A crack splits the afternoon in two. A bullet. Gunfire.

They both drop behind the sofa. More bullets sear the air.

“Two minutes?”

“They’re faster than I thought! They must’ve had someone already here—”

“Never mind. I’ll cover you. Get to the door.”

“About that…might be a problem…”

John starts to demand why; the question dies on his lips. Cam moves a hand, shaky. Blood on his fingers. Across his stomach. Over a hip.

John Kill, veteran of a hundred impossible missions, doesn’t have an answer. Every one of his unspoken words screams in silence, in that second.

His hands, though, are practiced. They move. Pressure over the wound. Torn fabric. Cam’s face is pale, but he manages, “I’ll live. I think. If we get out of here and do something about it.”

He’s not wrong. It’s bad but not immediately fatal. Not good, but the placement could’ve been worse.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll get you out of here, okay?”

Cam manages a grin. “Not without you, I said. You need me. Or at least my laptop.”

“Wouldn’t be nearly as much fun with your laptop and not you. Can you still aim?”

“Probably. From the angle and the speed…their shooter should be close enough. I can handle that.” Cam fishes out a throwing knife. “On three?”

“On three.” He slides an arm under Cam’s body, preparing. Cam’s not really heavy: nicely muscled, but slender. Easy enough to support. He hopes Cam can stand up.

Cam’s blood’s very red against the dark blue of his shirt. His hair’s still damp, as incongruous as a reminder of what they’d been doing to require a shower. He tips his head against John’s shoulder, breathing faster.

“Cam?”

“Here. Sorry. Kind of hurting a lot. Just got shot, you know.”

“Oh, did you…so you weren’t just trying to get me to carry you around…” Ready. Both of them. A count.

And motion: abrupt, whirling, himself scooping Cam off the floor—running for the door, knowing the gun will be firing—knowing the fire will indicate a position—

Cam’s hand moves. Silver snaps outward. It’s a small knife, made for this. And the shooter’s nearby. And Cam, as always, has exquisitely calculated aim.

Silence lands like a body falling, like bullets dropping. Cam’s quiet also, too quiet, hand falling. He’s falling too: sagging into John’s arms.

“Cam—”

“Still…here…ow, though…hey, that was…a fucking awesome throw…tell me you saw that.”

“Yeah, you’re saving our asses again. Come on, I’ve got you, you’re okay.” He’s carrying Cam now, cradled in both arms. Running.

“I’m fine…for a given value of fine…I want my knife back. I like that knife. Oh, ow, stairs.”

“I’ll get you a new set. Something shiny and expensive.”

“Oh, promises…best way to a man’s heart…” Cam’s actually pulling out a mobile phone, one of his many mysterious modified collection; he’s checking something, panting, coughing. He’s still got the laptop, because it’d been in his shoulder bag along with another knife or two. “Okay, good, that tracker’s still running…hey, do you know anything about someone named Celia Bloom, because that name keeps—”

“Her name’s Elizabeth, or it used to be, and she works for La Fantomina.” Eliza. Fuck. And Cam’s still trying to work, trying to protect the mission—bleeding and unable to stand and trying to help, because John doesn’t trust him and he needs to prove himself—

But. But John does need him, needs to trust him, needs to make sure he’s safe and alive and still here—

He keeps Cam cradled against his chest. More stairs. He’s in good shape. He can do this. He can get them out of this. He can get them to the next safehouse, and call in a favor, use any debt he’s owed, beg someone to come and look at Cam and make the bleeding stop.

He can’t lose Cam. He just—he can’t. Not another person, and not now, not Cam, not when they’re—if they’re—whatever they are, whatever they might be, dangerous and tantalizing as every possibility is. He can’t lose this. He won’t.

He feels each breath in his lungs, feels Cam’s weight in his arms, Cam’s head leaning more heavily on his shoulder. Three flights of stairs to go. He scrapes out, “Stay awake. Talk to me.”

It’s not about the mission, or Eliza, or any of that. That’s a problem for the future. He’s saving Cam right now.

“I’m awake.” Clearly true, but Cam’s voice sounds weaker. “Looks like Celia…Elizabeth…doesn’t like you. I mean…like…personally.”

“Not a surprise.”

“You want to…tell me that story…sometime?”

“Maybe later. It’s not pretty.”

“I don’t mind…not pretty…and, hey…I like you.”

“Delirious. Blood loss. We’re almost there. Private dock right out this door. How do you feel about stealing a boat?”

“It’s not my first choice of…getaway vehicle…but we’re in Venice, so…it’ll do. Nice and romantic.”

“Now you’re just saying words.” Down the stairs, getting breath back. Cam’s blood’s soaked across them both. John’s own shirt’s sticky with it.

Somewhere close, he thinks. A friend. Henry, maybe, who’s retired and will complain but will help—that should be reachable, once they get out of here—close enough—

He says, “I’ve got you, you just hang on, okay?” and kicks the door open, Cam in his arms.

#whumptober2020 #no.7 #i've got you #support #carrying #fic #original fic #character bleed #jason/colby #or more accurately their characters #john/cam #my fic #injury tw

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asongofmarvelanddc · 4 years

Text

Sworn Enemies PT4

PAIRING: Alfred X Reader

WORD COUNT: 4332...maybe more after editing.

WARNINGS: None.

SUMMARY: Y/N is surrounded by people who don't trust her, and people she doesn't trust. Alfred is forced to explain to his people why a Viking is living with him while Judith attempts to protect her son. Back in Norway, Ivar is forced to come to terms with the fact that he has driven his sister away.

A/N: Please reblog and leave comments, I love reading them 💛

MASTERLIST | INSTA

“IVAR!”

Hvtiserk stormed through the doors of King Harald’s hall, only to find Ivar lying leisurely on a bench opposite Harald.

“Calm down, brother,” Ivar rolled his eyes as he used his hands to prop himself up, “What is it?”

Hvitserk looked at the table that sat between Harald and Ivar. It was littered with various foods; meats from duck to beef, potatoes, gravy, and all kinds of vegetables. Half of the food had already been eaten, which explained why Harald and Ivar were looking fatigued.

“You feast while our sister remains missing?” Hvitserk yelled, boring holes in both men.

“She’s not missing,” Ivar waved a hand dismissively and lay back again, “She’s probably sulking somewhere over her Saxon prince.”

“We haven’t seen her in over a month.”

“Vestfold is a large place. There are many places to hide.”

Hvitserk let out a sigh as he sat down, deciding to take a calmer approach towards his brother.

“Yes, it is,” he said, focusing his gaze on Ivar, “And we have searched every inch of it. She is not here.”

Ivar paused, his eyes widening ever so slightly. It was safe to say that he was surprised.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Hvitserk asked as he threw his hands in the air and stood up, “You act as if you don’t even care!”

He stared down Ivar with fury in his eyes. Ivar could see his hands shaking in anger, but he simply ignored it. It wasn’t true after all. No one cared about his sister more than he did. No one.

***

The Great Heathen Army was marching towards Wessex, but had stopped at Repton to feed and water the horses. Ivar sat in his chariot silently as his horse fed from the river. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd talking and laughing as their horses drank. Bjorn was deep in conversation with King Harald. Everyone had someone to talk to - everyone but him.

More often than not, Ivar felt like an outcast amongst his brothers. He didn’t feel like a famed ‘Son of Ragnar’. More like a nobody. Someone who had to try harder for recognition. The only people who had made him feel loved were his sister, and his mother. His mother had loved him more than anyone else in the world - and now she was dead.

Ivar clenched his fists as Lagertha’s face entered his mind. She was the reason why he was now alone. Perhaps that’s why he challenged his brothers at every turn, and why he was angry all the time. It wasn’t just because of his legs, it was the loneliness.

“Ivar,” he heard a soft voice come from behind him. When he turned around, he saw Y/N climbing onto his chariot. She stood beside him and rested her arm on his shoulder, “What are you thinking about?”

Ivar smiled and turned back to the river, “Our mother.”

She nodded as a small smile found its way onto her face. “I miss her too,” she whispered softly. Ivar turned around to look at her, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You do?” he asked as she looked down at him.

“You sound surprised.”

“I assumed you shared our brothers’ feelings towards our mother’s death,” he spat as he remembered their indifference, “They don’t care.”

Y/N shook her head as she turned to look at their laughing brothers. “I’m sure deep down they care,” she murmured, “Perhaps, just not enough.”

“Mother didn’t show any of us as much affection as she showed you,” she added as she turned back to Ivar who was looking straight ahead, “But I know she loved me. She made sure I learned how to protect myself and taught me how to read...She loved all of us.”

They were both silent for a long time. Eventually, the rest of the camp started getting ready to continue the journey. As Y/N turned to jump off the chariot and go to her horse, Ivar spoke up.

“I was thinking,” he began thoughtfully, “What if we changed our tactics during the battle?”

“What do you mean?”

“The Saxons will be expecting us to fight in a certain way,” he continued, “If we came up with a new strategy, expanded the battlefield, they will be caught off guard.”

“Ivar, that’s...brilliant,” she said, “Have you told Bjorn?”

Ivar scoffed, “He won’t listen. He thinks I’m just a child.”

“Well, this is a chance to prove to him otherwise,” she said, encouraging him, “You may not have full physical strength, but you're very smart, Ivar. And your intelligence will serve us well. In this war and all wars to come.”

Ivar paused for a moment before nodding slowly.

When Bjorn finally found a suitable area for the army to make camp, Y/N descended from her horse and started helping the rest of the men unload the weapons and food from various wagons. Half-way through unloading one of the wagons, she spotted Bjorn climbing back on his horse with Ivar behind him on his chariot, ready to depart.

She walked up to Ivar and climbed onto his chariot.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going with Bjorn to take a look at tomorrow’s battlefield,” he said nonchalantly, then looked up at her with a smirk.

She let out a laugh and grabbed Ivar’s face in her hands. “I told you,” she smiled, “Listen to your sister and all will be well.”

She ruffled his hair and jumped off the chariot, walking back to the wagon. Ivar smiled to himself as she walked away.

Maybe he wasn’t alone after all.

***

“I care,” Ivar said through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing as his hands balled into fists.

“I told you when one of our ships went missing,” Hvitserk continued angrily, “She’s GONE!”

Ivar slammed his fist against the table, and suddenly, the room descended into eerie silence. The only sound that could be heard was Ivar and Hvitserk’s heavy breathing.

“Where could she be?” Ivar muttered to himself, a hint of worry in his voice.

“There is only one place I imagine your sister would go after your betrayal,” all eyes snapped to Harald who had finally spoken up, “Ubbe.”

“We didn’t betray her.”

“Oh, didn’t you?” Harald smirked as he raised an eyebrow and stuck a forkful of potatoes in his mouth.

“And Y/N would never side with Lagertha,” Hvitserk added, but Harald simply chuckled.

“Wouldn’t she?” Harald shook his head at the two younger boys. His own brother was siding against him in this war, why wouldn’t their sister?

__________________________

You leaned against a book shelf as you looked out of the window thoughtfully. It had been a week since you arrived in Wessex, and according to Alfred, his people were getting restless. Right now, one of Alfred’s advisor’s was cautioning him on how to proceed.

“The people are questioning why the King has a Viking living in his home,” the man, you hadn’t caught his name, said, “They need an explanation.”

“Then we won’t tell them that she’s Viking.”

“They already know that she is.”

Alfred let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, “And how did they find out?”

“Saxon guards have always had loose lips,” you spoke up from your corner as you picked some nonexistent dirt from under your nails. When you looked up, the Lord was looking at you incredulously, while Alfred had the hint of a smile on his face.

“Er, yes. The guards are responsible for leaking the information,” the man chose to ignore your comment as he turned back to Alfred, “The people are already uncertain about your capabilities as King, this will only sew more doubt.”

“And do you doubt my capabilities, Lord Durwyn?” Alfred’s eyes were threatening.

“No, no, Your Grace! Of course not!” the man said hurriedly. You almost laughed at the sudden fear in his eyes, and from the look on Alfred’s face, he was amused too.

“We’ll hold a meeting tomorrow to introduce Y/N to them,” Alfred sighed as he stood up from his chair, suddenly standing over the man, “Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Then you may leave,” Alfred raised a hand and the man immediately left the room. He placed a hand on his hip as he let out a heavy sigh and turned to you with a tired smile.

“My grandfather never told me that being King was so stressful,” he chuckled softly. You walked closer to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, his hands immediately resting on your hips.

“That’s because he had less than holy ways to relieve it,” you smiled up at him innocently. A blush tinted his cheeks as he chuckled softly and looked away from you.

“Alfred?”

You immediately pulled away from Alfred when you saw Judith, his mother, enter from the door behind him.

“Mother? What is it?”

She smiled and placed a hand on his arm, guiding him towards the door. “Lord Manton has some matters to discuss with you.”

“What matters?”

“He didn’t say,” she shook her head quickly. Alfred shrugged and left the room anyways, but not before throwing a quick smile at you over his shoulder.

As soon as the door closed shut, Judith turned to you with a forced smile, “Y/N. Good morning.”

You nodded, not knowing what to say to her.

“I hope you’re finding your stay here comfortable?” she asked, seemingly concerned, but there was something off about her tone.

“As comfortable as a Viking could be in this place,” you chuckled as you tugged at the dress you'd been given to wear, “The dresses are tighter than I would like. And the people...colder.”

“Well...If you’re not comfortable here, you can return home,” she said as she circled the table and walked closer to where you stood, “I’m sure Alfred would understand.”

You smiled thinly at her as Judith masked her true intentions with a smile, “I can assure you, Judith, I will be fine here. With Alfred.”

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. A frown made its way onto her face, and you knew that her real feelings were about to out.

“Alfred is my son,” she said through gritted teeth, “I will not stand idly by and watch as he is manipulated by a pagan with a pretty smile and whatever is under her dress.”

You tried to hold it in, but the laughter that escaped your lips was uncontrollable. It only served to leave Judith seething–of course, she maintained an outward appearance of composure.

“You will be happy to know that your son is a devout Christian and remains chaste,” you rolled your eyes at her, “As for your other accusations, I have no reason to manipulate Alfred. Believe it or not, I care about him. Not that I have to, or even care enough, to prove it to you.”

You stepped closer to her as you spoke and smiled. You were much taller, and you hoped it was intimidating.

“I admire the way you care about your son - it’s honourable - but I won’t be scared off so easily,” you said, “And I don’t know much about you Saxon women, but I don’t have to spread my legs to manipulate men.”

Her jaw clenched as she eyed you. You waited for her to say something, but as it became clear she had nothing to say, she frowned and stormed out of the room.

You let out a sigh when she was gone and flopped down into the chair Alfred had previously been sitting in. You threw your legs over the arm of the chair and leaned back.

Judith’s concern over Alfred had gotten to you. She had every right to be worried about him; any sane person would be. It made you think about your mother. Would she have been concerned about your relationship with Alfred? Probably not. Although she loved you, the only person she ever really worried about was Ivar.

But there was always someone who worried about you. Your father, Ragnar. You smiled as you thought about him. You had so few memories of him, but every single one brought a warm feeling in your heart. He loved you more than anyone else in the world, and you always thought it was because of the other daughter he lost. He always told you that you reminded him of her–but much fiercer. And you were certain that until his dying breath, he had loved you the most.

***

He was back.

After ten years, your father had finally returned. When you emerged from the crowd and saw him, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. He looked at all of your brothers before he stopped in front of you. His placed his hand against your cheek ever so softly before turning away from you and addressing the crowd. You froze in place. You never thought you would see him again. Everything that came out of his mouth was just white noise. The only thing you could focus on was the fact that he was here.

Now here you were, hiding behind a tree as you watched him from a distance. He was sitting at the trunk of a tree, twiddling a stick in his hands. Your brothers had just left him there after refusing his offer to go with him to England. It wasn’t a secret that they were angry with him; you understood why. But for some reason, you weren’t.

Yes, you wondered why he left and why he stayed away so long...why he never even said goodbye. But you weren’t angry.

Slowly, you emerged from behind the tree and began walking towards him. His head snapped up at the sound of your footsteps and when his eyes landed on you, he shot to his feet in surprise.

You nervously approached him as his eyes seemed to avoid yours, but when you stopped in front of him, he finally looked at you.

What was that in his eyes? Guilt? Shame?

“Y/N,” he whispered in the quietest voice you had ever heard him use. You looked over him properly, your eyes scanning over his dirty clothes and beard. You wondered how long it had been since the last time he bathed.

Despite the smell and any hidden resentment you still felt, you hesitantly wrapped your arms around him. As you buried your head into his chest, a sigh of relief escaped your lips and you shut your eyes. You squeezed him tighter when you felt his arms slowly hug you back and his chin rest on your head, making him chuckle. You knew the tears that had rolled down your cheeks were soaking through his shirt, but he didn’t complain.

Eventually you pulled away from him with a smile.

“You’ve grown,” he said proudly as he placed his hands on your shoulders.

“And you...smell,” you scrunched up your nose and brushed his hands off you which made him laugh.

“Shut up,” he lightly punched your shoulder the way he used to do when you were a child. You both fell into a comfortable silence as you sat down at the trunk of the tree again; your head resting on his shoulder.

“Why did you leave?” you asked after a short while, your hands playing with blades of grass.

He let out a heavy sigh and looked up at the sky, “I had my reasons.”

You nodded, knowing that he wouldn’t elaborate further than that.

“Why did you come back?”

“To see what has become of my sons. And you.”

“And now you want them to go with you to England?”

He nodded as a look of disappointment crossed his face, “They don’t want to come.”

You dusted off your hands and looked up at Ragnar, “They’re just angry.”

He turned to look at you with a raised brow. “Are you angry?” he asked. His smile was teasing, but it was clear he was holding his breath for your answer.

You didn’t have to think about it.

“No.” You shrugged your shoulders and sat up to look at him properly, “And I want to go with you.”

Ragnar did a double take before frowning at you, “Go with me where?”

“To England, of course.”

“No.” He said it like it was a done deal and attempted to brush the subject away.

“No?”

“No.” He looked to you with stern eyes, “I will not put you in harm’s way.”

“Father, I’m not a child anymore,” you said, getting increasingly annoyed, “Mother put away her pride and let Lagertha train me. I can fight. I can protect myself, I-”

“I don’t care!” The loud sound of his voice startled you into silence. He focused his gaze on you, eyes serious, and his voice firm, “It is too dangerous.”

You frowned and turned away from him, folding your arms across your chest.

“You are my only daughter–my heart,” he whispered softly, “I don’t care that you are strong, I would never risk your life.”

You let out a heavy sigh and moved back to his side in defeat, your head resting on his shoulder again as he wrapped an arm around you.

Ragnar was never one to express his feelings very often. He had only told you that he loved you once, when you were young. But he showed you and told you in many other ways since then.

This was the last time he ever did.

***

“This is Y/N Ragnarsdottr. A friend and ally of the Crown.”

You stood beside Alfred who sat on his throne addressing his court. You didn’t recognise any of the faces, but from what Alfred had told you earlier, they were Dukes, Lords and a few common people. And from the looks on their faces, they weren’t happy with what they were hearing.

“‘Friend’? ‘Ally’? How could you use these words to describe a pagan? A heathen?” one of the Dukes said and you rolled your eyes in response.

“She is Ragnar Lothbrok’s daughter. She has taken Saxon lives along with her heathen brothers,” another continued from where the previous stopped, “You can’t trust her.”

“She could be a spy,” this time, it was one of the common folk, “Just waiting for her brothers to return so they can bring more hell and carnage to our lands!”

You let out a scoff as you stared the men down.

“Am I allowed to speak?” you finally said. Alfred looked up at you and nodded, granting you permission.

“I would like to say one thing,” you began as you stepped forward, “I have been alone with your King more times than I count. I saved his life at the Battle of York, when your men couldn’t,” a smirk formed on your lips, “If I wanted him dead - I assure you, he would’ve been dead a long time ago.”

You watched the various reactions that crossed their faces–from fearful, to horrified.

“That is all.” You stepped back when you finished and nodded to Alfred, who was struggling to fight off a smile.

“Your concerns do not fall on deaf ears,” Alfred reassured them, “But I trust Y/N, and it is with this trust that we can find a way to end the war with the Vikings. We were at this point, years ago when my grandfather, and her father tried to call a truce. That allyship failed due to a lack of trust.”

He paused in an effort to allow his words to connect with the people, “I won’t be making that same mistake.”

There was silence in the room as everyone mulled over what he said, but then someone broke it.

“With all due respect, Your Grace,” one man foolishly began as he stepped forward, “Why would she help us? Why would she leave her brothers to come here?”

Alfred faltered for a second, and you noticed. He didn’t have an answer to that

“Are you questioning the decisions of your King, because that is who I am; your King,” again, you saw that side to Alfred, the aggressive side shrouded in a composure–just like his mother, “In case you’ve forgotten.”

“Absolutely not, Your Grace, I-”

“Good.” Alfred cut him off as he stood up, “Then we’re done here.” He turned to you and nodded, signalling for you both to leave the room.

That went well.

__________________________

Later that night, you found yourself knocking softly on Alfred’s door. Judith had made sure that your room was on a completely different wing to Alfred’s, so it was quite a walk to get there.

He opened the door slowly, looking confused when his eyes landed on you.

“I’m sorry, were you sleeping?” you asked when he rubbed his eyes.

“No, no,” he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door wider, “Come in.”

You entered, the door closing shut behind you, and walked towards the bed to sit down.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you began as he sat beside you, his body angled towards you.

“What about?”

“After what happened today, I’ve been thinking,” you said, playing with your fingers nervously, “Maybe I should go back home.”

“What?” Alfred suddenly seemed more alert, “Why?”

“I saw the way your people reacted when you spoke to them,” you explained, “I don’t want them disrespecting you as King because of me. I think things would be easier if I came back when they were more comfortable with you as their leader.”

“I was only crowned two months ago,” Alfred said as he took your hands in his, “Those men will question every decision I make for the next six months. I don’t know how things work with your people, but here, people don’t shift their loyalties so easily.”

“Understandable.”

“You already know I want you to stay,” he whispered, “It’s only a matter of if you want to.”

You let out a heavy sigh and shrugged, “As long as I am not causing you any trouble.”

Alfred cracked a smile and took your hand in his, but your face fell when you remembered what happened at court. You didn’t want to keep anything from him, including the reason why you left your brothers behind.

You let out a sigh and frowned, “I saw the way you reacted when that man questioned why I would leave my brothers for you.”

Alfred said nothing, but his silence spoke many words.

“You never answered his question,” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“He didn’t deserve answer.”

“No, he didn’t,” you smiled and placed a hand against his cheek, “But you do.”

“When Ivar found out about...us, he imprisoned me and swore to kill you.” You paused to let the information sink in, “After the battle, he forced me to return to Norway and refused to tell me whether you’d lived or died. He tormented me with your fate and Hvitserk just did as Ivar wished.”

Alfred remained quiet as he paid attention to what you were saying. You let out a sigh as you continued. “He would have tormented me for as long as I lived. He didn’t care that it was hurting me, just that I was punished,” you said through gritted teeth, “That was when I knew...They don’t love me as much as I love them. So why should they have my loyalty?”

Alfred let out a sigh and wiped away a tear that had rolled down your cheek. “I’m glad you came here, but I’m sorry it’s because you fell out with your brothers,” he said, “And thank you for telling me.”

“If I’m going to stay here with you, I don’t want there to be any secrets between us,” you smiled as he wrapped his arms around you in a hug – completely unaware that in that moment, Alfred was consumed with guilt.

__________________________

Bjorn had loved his sister more than anything, and her loss was one of the most painful things he had ever experienced. So when you were born, he felt the responsibility of protecting you. You weren’t like the rest of your brothers, and thank the Gods, he thought, you weren’t like your mother. You were kind and caring. You weren’t arrogant, but loving. Just like Gyda, but much fiercer.

He cared about you, which is why when he met his brothers Ivar and Hvitserk again, on the battlefield, his first thought was of you.

“Where is our sister?” he asked when they rode up on their horses. Neither he nor Ubbe could see you at the front lines and you hadn’t rode up with Hvitserk and Ivar to meet them. In all honesty, he was relieved to see you weren’t there. He didn’t want to have to hurt you over a stupid war that shouldn’t even be happening.

Hvitserk and Ivar turned to look at each other, then back at Ubbe and Bjorn who glanced at each other. Their brothers were acting strange, and it was glaringly obvious.

“We thought she was with you,” Hvitserk asked as Ivar jutted out his chin proudly to mask his guilt.

“Why would you think that?” Ubbe’s eyes narrowed at Hvitserk in confusion.

But Bjorn knew exactly what was going on. His hands tightened on his horse’s reigns until his knuckles turned white. His nose flared and his left eye twitched as he tried to control his anger.

“What have you done, Ivar?”

***

This a repost of Sworn Enemies because my old blog got deleted. There’s a few changes, but it’s mainly the same.

Special thanks to these people! I’m glad you guys like this series 💛:

@shelbi-percifull , @florenceivy , @cbouvier23 , @icylodge , @simvez , @squirrelacorngliterfarts , @writingeverynowand-then , @fromforeigntofamiliarity , @studyingthemind , @fuckthatfeeling , @brooklynalpha , @girl-obsessed-with-things , @deficilimbecile , @paarachvtes , @xbergiex , @olamishamigo , @xinyourdreamsx @camu-winchester , @feyrearcheron44 , @alpha-pac , @candyheartsandcigarettes , @ok-roemanov , @ajxlawley

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orangeoctopi7 · 4 years

Text

Every Little Past Frustration

: Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4 :

Bill watched through the eyes of a hundred eye-bats as the truck carrying his quarry barreled down the wooded back roads of Gravity Falls. The flock was closing in, despite Sixer's erratic blaster fire and manic driving. Of course, just as soon as it looked like Bill’s victory was in the bag, the Mystery Shack came into view on the horizon through the trees. The demonic triangle growled with rage and willed the flock to fly faster. He was not letting his bargaining chip get away!

The cloud of eye bats descended on the truck. Maybe Bill’s luck was changing. The idiots had just left Four-Eyes lying in the truck bed unprotected. Bill didn’t know much about humans and the protection laws they used to try and keep themselves alive a little longer, but he was pretty sure that was a stupid thing to do even if you didn’t have otherworldly forces chasing after you.

Unfortunately, the eye-bats weren’t strong enough to turn someone to stone yet. They still hadn’t absorbed enough of the Nightmare Realm’s power. But they did have this nifty tractor beam ability, which came in handy since they didn’t have any hands or claws to speak of. A few of the eye-bats got in close enough to start lifting the scruffy hillbilly out of the back of the truck. He started thrashing and yowling in panic.

“I TOLD YOU, YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL I GET WHAT I WANT!” Bill crowed triumphantly. True, since he was back in the Nightmare Realm instead of possessing that time traveling loser, the only one who could hear him was Four-Eyes, but it wasn’t any fun if Bill couldn’t brag to someone.

“!Votmzrig ivskrx oory! Taht rebmemer ot tnaw t’nod I! Niaga ti ees ot tnaw t’nod I! Gnimoc si mlaer eramthgin eht…” McGucket howled.

Of course, every time Bill spoke directly to Fiddleford’s mind, the nerd had to go and be a drama queen about it! It was honestly the main reason the demon had continued tormenting the guy over the years. It wasn’t like Bill got anything out of it, he couldn’t possess the old coot or coerce him into helping the rift along. It was just hilarious to see how he reacted. Some mortals and the Nightmare Realm just didn’t mix.

Four-Eyes’s clamoring got the attention of the rescue team sitting in the truck cab. Shooting Star fired her grappling hook out the back window and snagged onto the old inventor’s overalls. Meanwhile, Sixer leaned almost half-way out the driver’s side window, blasting down the eye-bats that had been carrying off his friend; Question Mark struggled to keep them on the road while the driver was otherwise occupied.

Bill roared with volcanic rage as the truck veered around the corner, into the long driveway leading up to the Mystery Shack. They were almost to the barrier! He was not going to lose this bargaining chip, not after everything else that had gone wrong over the past few days.

The remaining eye-bats clustered around the open windows, trying to squeeze inside and block the view of the road. The truck careened through a few advertising signs, but stayed on course for the Mystery Shack. Maybe, if he blocked their view long enough, he could make them crash into the wall of the Shack and break the line of unicorn hair, disabling the shield spell.

But luck was not with Bill this week. The breaks squealed, and the truck skidded to a stop just inches away from the gift shop entrance. Sixer threw his door open and laid down some blaster fire to cover Shooting Star and Question Mark as they carried Four-Eyes inside. They were within the barrier.

“GGGGRAAAAAH! COME ON!” Bill conjured a glass just to throw it at the wall in frustration. “WHAT IS WITH THIS TIMELINE!? DECADES OF PLANNING, AND IT’S JUST ALL THROWN OUT THE WINDOW BECAUSE WHAT? PINETREE AND SHOOTING STAR ACTUALLY TALKED ABOUT THEIR FEELINGS!? EUGCH!”

“DiD tHeY gEt AwAy, BoSs?” Hectorgon asked, noticing his boss’ temper tantrum.

“THE ONLY REASON THEY GOT AWAY IS BECAUSE I’M STUCK WORKING WITH SUB-PAR LACKEYS!!” Bill steamed. Hectorgon took the hint, scurrying away.

It really was a shame that good pawns were so hard to come by in Gravity Falls. Since the original plan of taking the rift from Shooting Star didn’t pan out, Bill had to start improvising. And hey, he was an ageless being of pure energy. He could do that. But the mortals available to him in Gravity Falls were just so lame!

Wendy, the Cool Girl, had seemed promising. She was smart and strong, and best of all, the Pines trusted her. Unfortunately she was a little too smart. Bill had known convincing her to smash the rift was a long shot, but she would have been a real asset, had things worked out. As it was, she was a nice distraction.

Toby Determined had definitely just been a distraction. The guy was about as competent as a leaky paper cup. But he’d actually gotten most of the Pines family out of the house, so that part of the plan, at least, had worked. They’d even left the Big Mackerel in charge of guarding the place! It seemed like the perfect opportunity to try out his new pawn, Preston Northwest. Bill had been sure Stan would take the bait, but no! Everyone in the Pines family had to do the opposite of what was expected this week. And Preston was such a priss, he’d rather just make vague threats and drive off than actually do what Bill asked him to and get his hands dirty!

Unfortunately, possessing Preston wasn’t possible quite yet. The guy was too business savvy to make a deal on a handshake. It all had to be in writing with him.

The only other viable pawn in town was Lil’ Gideon, but he didn’t exactly have easy access to the Shack right now. Sure, Bill could break him out of prison, but it’d take a lot of effort, and it’d draw a lot of attention. Not just from the Pines, but from the Time Paradox Anomaly Avoidance Squad. There were a lot of perks to possessing a time traveler, but they came with the inconvenience of having to watch his step whenever he used them.

Bill sighed as he watched Sixer through one of his effigies still left in the Mystery Shack. Now there had been a good pawn! That rare balance of competence and gullibility, of intelligence and naivety, really did only come around once in a generation! So eager to please, so desperate to prove himself, so willing to just go along with things and not ask too many questions. Too bad Four-Eyes had to blunder his way into the portal on the test run. If Bill hadn’t had to tip his hand early, he might have brought the party to Earth thirty years ago. Ah well. Fighting Sixer all these years certainly kept him entertained.

For now, Bill was going to have to make due with his current pawns. Speaking of which, his latest puppet was trying to make a break for it. Bill popped out of the Nightmare Realm and into Blendin’s mindscape. The bumbling time traveler was about to pull out his time tape and jump into the future.

“AND WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”

“Y-y-you can’t do this to me!” Blendin stammered. “I-I’m a time officer! I h-have rights!”

“OH, SORRY, MY MISTAKE!” Bill said sarcastically. “WHY DON’T YOU HURRY BACK TO THOSE JERKS WHO CONSTANTLY MOCKED YOU FOR LOSING GLOBNAR TO TWO CHILDREN. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU’D BE EAGER TO ADD ‘GOT POSSESSED BY MY BOSS’S WORST ENEMY’ TO THE INSULT LIST. THAT IS, IF THEY DON’T LOCK YOU UP FOR AIDING IN THE END OF THE WORLD!”

“I-I’ve escaped the infinitentiary before!” the time traveler protested.

“YEAH, SURE, THEN IT’LL JUST BE LIFE ON THE RUN WHILE TIME-BABY PUTS OUT A DIMENSION-WIDE MANHUNT FOR YOU! FACE IT, BLENDO, YOUR BEST CHANCE OF SURVIVAL IS WITH ME!”

Blendin opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with a good comeback, or rebuttal, or any reason to refuse Bill’s offer, but he apparently couldn’t think of one. Finally, he just hung his head in defeat and held out his hand. Bill smiled with his one eye and grabbed it, taking possession of the time traveler once again.

“THAT’S MORE LIKE IT! NOW, LET’S GO FIND A LADDER AND AN AK-47!”

* * *

The flock of eye-bats dispersed once Mabel and Soos got McGucket within the barrier. Ford breathed a sigh of relief. That had been too close. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Bill had tried to bargain with Fiddleford’s life for the rift.

Thankfully, McGucket’s incoherent screams had stopped once he was safely inside. The old inventor looked exhausted, but relieved, like he’d just outrun a raging wild animal. Ford locked eyes with him, and for a moment, he could have sworn a hint of recognition flickered on Fiddleford’s face. But then, the fatigue caught up with his old friend, and he passed out in Soos’s arms.

Dipper, who had been keeping watch from the window, rushed over to them. “Oh my gosh, are you guys ok?” He asked, taking in everyone’s battered appearance.

“I think I might’ve cracked a rib.” Soos said nonchalantly, as though he was talking about a paper cut and not one of the most painful injuries he could still walk on.

“Come bring Fiddleford into my room; I’ll examine you both.” Ford instructed.

Dipper followed them in as they laid Fiddleford on the couch. A quick glance over found no serious injuries that needed immediate attention, although the old inventor definitely looked like he needed a few good meals in him. Next, Ford had Soos pull his shirt off, so he could properly check his ribs.

“Luckily they’re not cracked, just badly bruised.” Ford assured the handyman after a few moments of careful prodding. He handed Soos a small packet of some medicinal cream. “This cellular-regeneration optimizing salv should allow you to heal within the hour. I assume you can apply it yourself.”

“You got it, dawg.” Soos took the packet with a salute and left for the bathroom.

“Er, alright…” Ford wasn’t quite sure what that response meant, but it sounded like an affirmative.

“What happened?” Dipper asked once Ford finished his examinations and just sat down, watching his friend anxiously.

“Your sister was there for it all. You can ask her.” Ford replied simply. He was trying to let the boy down gently, but the kids really were better off without him.

“Oh, O-ok…” Dipper left reluctantly, casting a glance over his shoulder as he closed the door.

* * *

“And so we skidded into the parking lot next to the gift shop like something out of Nagoya Burnout!” Mabel concluded her dramatic retelling of their rescue mission.

“Aw man, I wish I was there!” Dipper complained. “Although, I did get to see Stan psych out Preston Northwest. That was pretty gratifying.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Mabel pulled out her cell phone. “Pacifica called me while we were at the dump, but it wasn’t a good time, so I hung up on her.”

“Huh. We got a call just before her dad showed up, but Grunkle Stan told me to just let it go to voicemail.”

Mabel checked her inbox to find several missed messages from Pacifica.

“Hey you asked if my parents were acting weird earlier?” The rich girl’s voice crackled from the voicemail. “Well, my dad just asked the chauffeur to take him to your shack. Last time he wouldn’t even ride there himself, he made ME go! ...Omg he’s packing a briefcase of money. I’m gonna have to call you back.”

The next message continued Pacifica’s panic, “When I asked him what he was doing he just said he was going to make a ‘business transaction’. Mabel seriously, call me back! I am freaking out!”

“I think he’s going to try and buy your house? Either that or maybe your uncle deals drugs? None of this makes sense to me. Just call me back already!”

“Mabel! Pick up! Why aren’t you answering!?”

“Uugh, fine! I’m calling your house!!”

“Oops.” Mabel grimaced. “I guess I should call her back.”

“Do you think her dad is actually working with Bill?” Dipper asked worriedly.

“I mean, I know he’s a shady rich guy and a bad parent, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person to make a deal with a demon.” Mabel reasoned. “But maybe Bill came to him disguised as Blendin, like he did to Toby, and offered him technology from the future or something?”

“Maybe.” Dipper agreed. “I can’t think of any other reason the Northwests would try to buy out this place. I know Stan’s made enough to support himself and run the portal, but the Shack can’t be that successful compared to all the Northwest’s businesses. I’m just worried about Pacifica. Her parents are already the worst. If Bill is controlling them, who knows what they’d do to her?”

Mabel pulled up Pacifica’s contact and started calling. Her crazy rich rival picked up on the second ring. “Now you pick up!? What happened!? My dad said Stan pulled a gun on him!”

“Sorry!” Mabel apologized, “I was on a rescue mission, I had to be stealthy!”

“And Stan only pulled a gun on him after he made it clear calling the cops wasn’t an option!” Dipper defended.

“Why didn’t you just text me?” Mabel asked.

“And leave a written record that I was trying to warn you guys?” Pacifica scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“...Your parents go through your texts?” Dipper asked warily.

“Yeah, don’t yours?” Pacifica asked, clearly not seeing anything wrong with the practice.

“Nevermind all that!” Mabel interrupted, “We wanted to make sure you’re alright!”

"What? I'm fine. You two are the ones living with the guy who pulled a gun on my dad!"

"After he threatened us!" Dipper repeated.

“Not in any way that would hold up in court, I’m sure.” Pacifica said, and Dipper swore he could hear her rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, we called because we’re worried about you!” Mabel broke up the argument.

“Why would you be worried?” Pacifica asked. “Guys, I’m just grounded. It’s not like my parents have me locked up in a dungeon or something.”

“We have reason to believe your parents are fraternizing with a dream demon.” Dipper explained. “Or at least your dad is.”

“Um… you’re joking, right?” the rich girl huffed a weak laugh.

“Don’t freak her out, Dipper!” Mabel elbowed her brother.

“But it’s true!”

“Hey Pacifica, sorry, Dipper’s being crazy paranoid.” Mabel forced a laugh, “But seriously though, you should keep an eye on your dad. And like, if he gets yellow eyes or something, you should just leave.”

“What!? What the heck is going on, you two? Is this another ghost thing?”

“Well I mean, it does seem like Bill’s main way of getting things done in our world is possessing people, so that’s kind of like a ghost…” Dipper answered.

“Who the heck is Bill!?”

“He’s a dream demon who wants to end the world.” Dipper explained bluntly. “But he needs something in our house to do it.”

“Are-are you serious?” Pacifica asked incredulously. “You’d better be serious right now, because if you’re messing with me I’ll come over there and buy your uncle’s filthy tourist trap myself!”

“I’m dead serious.” Dipper assured her. “What do you know about that creepy tapestry in the alcove just to the left of the grand staircase in the main dining hall? The one with the triangle eye on it?”

“Ugh, that ugly thing?” Pacifica groaned. “Mom can’t talk dad into throwing it out because it’s a family heirloom or whatever. Once I inherit this mansion, it’s going in the trash where it belongs!”

“Haha, Bill belongs in the trash!” Mabel giggled.

“So what, is Bill the guy who made the tapestry or something?”

“He’s the one on the tapestry.” Dipper corrected. “He’s the triangle eye.”

“I told you, if you’re messing with me--”

“I’m not messing with you! I know it sounds crazy, but this is a matter of life and death!” Dipper said earnestly.

“Ok, ok!” Pacifica backed off, surprised by Dipper’s sincerity. “I honestly don’t know anything else about it, though. Just that apparently it was a gift to Nathaniel Northwest when he founded the town.”

“Which we all know he didn’t do.” Dipper reasoned. “So where did it actually come from?”

“How the heck should I know?” Pacifica retorted.

“Could you maybe ask your dad about it?” Mabel proposed.

“I guess. He might find it a little suspicious if I suddenly seem interested in it though.”

“Could you at least take a picture of it and text it to us?” Dipper asked. “I didn’t think to take a good look at it while I was there, and I only remember a few vague details.”

“Ugh, ok, but you’d better help me find a good way to explain why I sent it to you once my parents find out.”

* * *

Dinnertime rolled around, and Ford still hadn’t left his room since the rescue party returned earlier that afternoon. Dipper was beginning to worry. Despite his insistence that he could live off of his nutrition pills for another three years, Ford always made a point to join the family for dinner. Even though the old researcher wouldn't admit it, Dipper was pretty sure it was because he got lonely spending all his time in the basement. The fact that Ford was absent as they dug into a plate of Mac'n'Cheese left Dipper wondering if something was wrong.

"Hey, uh, Mabel? Did Great Uncle Ford seem upset when you guys found McGucket?"

"He did seem pretty sad, but I don't think he really had time to be upset. We were busy running from Bill."

"Of course he's upset. He's finally seen first-hand how his old college buddy has become the self-proclaimed local kook." Stan said without looking up from his dinner. "Just give him some space, kid, he'll be fine."

Dipper wasn't in the habit of listening to Stan, so as soon as he finished eating he dropped his plate in the sink and snuck down the hall to Ford's room. Thankfully, it wasn't locked.

Ford looked up at him with such a dead-eyed stare when he stepped in that the boy suddenly wished he had listened to Stan.

"H-hey… um… we, uh, missed you at dinner… heh…"

"I'm otherwise occupied." Ford said quietly, not looking the boy in the eye. "Don't worry about me, I still have plenty of nutrition pills."

"Oh, uh, yeah…." Dipper scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "... That's not what I'm really worried about though."

Ford tensed. "Has there been a new development with Bill?"

"Uh… I mean, Preston Northwest did come by here and try to buy the Shack, but Stan scared him off, for now…. Oh! And Wendy wanted to know if you would help put up a barrier around her family’s house if she got some more unicorn hair.”

The old researcher nodded. “It will take time. It would be safer for her to stay here until I’m able to assemble another barrier spell.”

“Oh, ok, I’ll let her know.” Dipper shuffled his feet. “So, uh, how’s McGucket?”

“He needs rest.” Ford watched his friend’s sleeping form carefully, still refusing to meet Dipper’s gaze.

“Um, are you ok?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Ford reiterated shortly. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to your sister about now?”

“...Mabel told you we weren’t going to stay, didn’t she?” Dipper fretted. “...Are you mad at me?”

Ford finally turned to face him. “Of course not, my boy! If anything, you should be mad at me.”

“What, why?” Dipper asked in confusion.

“I came between you and your family. I got you involved in my problems. I put you in danger. I shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t-- you’d be safer if you kept your distance from me.”

“But you are my family!” Dipper insisted. “And I was involved with Bill before I even knew who you were!”

“Because you found my journal. I still started you on that path.”

“Well, technically, I guess.” Dipper admitted grudgingly. “But that wasn’t your fault!”

Ford scoffed and looked away again, obviously not convinced.

“If you and Mabel already came to your own decision to return home, then you must have realized on some level that I am a toxic influence. I don’t understand the thoughts and feelings of other people. I’ve hurt every person I’ve ever been close to.” The old researcher watched the slow rise and fall of Fiddleford’s far-too-thin chest. “You deserve better than that. You deserve better than me.”

Dipper was dumbstruck for a moment. He never would have guessed that his Great Uncle Ford, the Author of the Journals, would feel this way. And it felt so wrong, because this wasn’t the way he viewed his uncle at all. Didn’t he know he was Dipper’s hero? Deserve better? Ford being Dipper’s uncle, and actually liking him and spending time with him, was better than the boy had dared to hope for.

“That’s not why we decided to go home!” Dipper insisted. How had Mabel put it? She made it sound so simple. “It’s not like we don’t want to stay with you. Now just isn’t the right time.”

“Not now… and not ever.” Ford said glumly. “It’s… it’s for the best.”

“No it’s not!” the boy blurted. “I know a lot of the people you care about end up hurt, and I know you have a hard time understanding why other people do things sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you don’t understand other people’s thoughts and feelings at all! That doesn’t mean all you do is hurt other people! I know because you were the first person this summer who understood me!

“I love Mabel, but we don’t see the world in the same way. That’s a good thing most of the time, but sometimes when I try to talk to her about the paranormal, she just dismisses it as me being paranoid, or ‘dumb nerd stuff’. And don’t even get me started on how hard it is to talk to Stan about that stuff.

“When I found your Journal in the woods, it wasn’t just an exciting mystery that fell into my lap. It was like finding validation that all the weird things I saw actually mattered. I think that Journal helped me get out of trouble just as often as it got me into trouble. And as the summer went on and I read more and saw more, it was like I was getting to know you, even though I still didn't have any idea who you were. I knew I felt a connection with whoever wrote it, so I started trying to figure out who it was.

“Yeah, I got in a little too deep and got in trouble at a few points, but that just made it all the more amazing when I finally found out that the Author was you, and you were my family, and I wasn’t just imagining that we had something in common! And somehow, impossibly, you’re even cooler than I ever imagined because you’re more than just paranormal mysteries and cryptograms that take me ages to decode! You like to play the same games I do, and you actually take my theories and stuff seriously instead of just laughing it off or telling me I’m paranoid! And… and…” Dipper slowly became painfully aware of how long he’d been talking without any response from Ford, who was still turned away from him. “And you’re really important to me, ok? I know we’ve known each other for less than a month, but I just can’t accept a future where we can’t hang out anymore, ok?”

Ford didn’t answer for a long time. He just stared down at McGucket’s sleeping form. But if Dipper watched closely, he could see his uncle just barely keeping his breathing under control.

“You’re a very intelligent boy, Dipper.” The old researcher finally croaked. “Why can’t you see the evidence lying right before you?”

Dipper looked down on McGucket's prone form, then to his uncle, who was just barely containing his grief.

“You may have hurt McGucket, but you can’t completely blame yourself for the state he’s in now. And you obviously still feel bad about what happened, and you’re doing everything you can to help now. If you ask me, that’s not toxic.

“I know you’re scared of hurting the people you love again, but just cutting yourself off from everyone isn’t gonna help, even if it seems like the easiest option. I think you just need some people who love you back and are willing to help you learn to be better.”

Dipper decided to take a risk and stepped forward, tentatively hugging Ford around the waist. His uncle tensed for a second at the unexpected contact, but his rigidity crumbled after a moment. The old researcher dropped to his knees and hugged his nephew tightly.

“Thank you, my boy. I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear that.”

#Gravity Falls #Fanfiction #Dipper Pines #Stanford Pines #pacifica northwest #My Writing

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